clickThis is my brother Bill. In 1969, following Diane Linkletter's suicide, he was living in Radnor, Pennsylvania with our father Bill, senior, and his wife Louise. I was in L.A. with Nancy on Sweetzer Ave. in West Hollywood. My entire life was sinking into some dark forbidden place and I was unable to stop the emotional and psychological demise.
I began drinking enormous amounts of alcohol, because I could not get hold of any drugs. The death of Diane had gotten into me on a level I had no prior experience with, and I was unable to deal with the aftermath rationally. The Manson Murders, Diane's suicide, and the loss of everything in my career, combined in a destructive atmosphere that enveloped me.
Nancy was there, but was powerless to help pull me out of the destructive state, and at some point I knew she was going to be dragged down with me. I began telling her she had to get away from me, because I was worthless, but she would not go. She'd decided somewhere in herself that where I went, good or bad, she would go with me, even if that meant dying.
I was doing just enough yard work at the building on Sweetzer, to maintain the right to the apartment Nancy and I lived in. We didn't eat much, and any extra money, of which there was little, was spent on alcohol and small amounts of food. My hope was, and I mean this in a most desperate way, that I be allowed to join my brother Bill and my father in Penn., and get the hell away from L. A.
That did not happen. To the contrary. I was given a message by the Stecks, from my mother, I think, and told that the message from my father was, "Don't send Bob." This single act felt like a hammer being bashed into my head. "Don't send Bob!" Once again I felt as though the forces of the world were stacked against me, and that I was no match for them.
What had once been a proud person, who was able to overcome any obstacle in his path, I was quickly becoming a person crushed by each new challenge that arose. 1969 turned into 1970, and the darkness of the times came right along with it.
Nancy and I wandered through the haze together with little help from anyone, other than Joe Steck and his wife Judy, who continued to allow me to work at the building where we lived. Fortunately, during those times, Joe saw me in a light that was not as negative as the view most others had of me. He was more philosophical about it, and was glad I was in the building.
He understood the pain and misery I was engulfed in from a different vantage point. To him it was a massive learning experience for me, rather than the ultimate end to Bobby Jameson. Conversely, both Joe and Judy, were concerned, as was I, for the welfare of Nancy, who was determined not to leave me.
I am a bit foggy on a fact here regarding Nancy, and that is, that at some point I got her to leave. It was one of the most unselfish things I have ever done. I was more concerned with her well being than my own. The fact that I am having trouble remembering, is whether I managed to get her to leave before, or after, the next God awful event that came crashing into my life.
On a sunny California day in 1970, I was told by Joe Steck, that my mother was trying to reach me. I walked south on Sweetzer, down to Santa Monica Blvd., where there was a Mayfair market and a telephone booth. I called my Mother and asked her what the trouble was and this is what I heard her say. A remark that I will never forget as long as I live. "I don't know how important this is to you,- Bob, but your father Bill committed suicide."