This is a family story from Don’s side of the family written by Julianne Rigali.
Don’s father: Robert Ferdinand Rigali
Birth: 03/08/1917 Fresno, CA
Death: 01/04/2003 Houston (region), TX

Grandpa Bob was a man of many hats with an unstoppable drive. Over the years, he worked as a salesman, owned a produce stand with his father, drove an ice route, ran a liquor store, served as a purchasing agent for Basic Tool Industry, and held the franchise for a famous Root Beer company in California.

His entrepreneurial spirit didn’t stop there—he also owned soft-serve ice cream trucks, managed Inner City Supply, and even sold wrought iron. If there was a way to make money, Grandpa Bob had tried it.

Despite his busy life, Grandpa Bob was a larger-than-life figure, both in size and personality. Even in his sixties, he had an energy that seemed boundless. He’d catnap on the floor, and when he woke, he’d spring to his feet with the speed and agility of a man half his age, ready to take on the next challenge.

When he and Grandma Nancy moved to Texas, Grandpa Bob discovered Blue Bell Ice Cream, and it quickly became his nightly indulgence. His love for Blue Bell became a family tradition, passed down to his children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. Dessert just wasn’t the same without a scoop of Blue Bell.

However, Grandpa Bob had a way of interacting with us as children that was anything but endearing. His idea of fun often involved squeezing our funny bones, giving us rub burns, or tripping us when we least expected it. For us, it wasn’t a game—it was painful, yet he would find it amusing, oblivious to our discomfort, not realizing the lasting impact of his actions.

But there was one grandchild for whom Grandpa Bob showed a different side—my younger brother, Ken. Kenny was his little buddy, and for reasons we never fully understood, he was Grandpa’s favorite (though Kenny was always a sweet kid). They shared a special bond, spending time together coloring, going on walks, and just enjoying each other’s company. It was a side of Grandpa Bob that the rest of us rarely saw, but it showed that there was kindness within him.

Grandpa Bob’s complex character extended beyond his interactions with us. As a father, he struggled with alcoholism. He had been physically and verbally abusive to my dad, which left deep scars. However, my father made the courageous choice to break that cycle of abuse, never disciplining us in his anger, instead, he would wait until he cooled down.

Grandpa Bob was always on the lookout for the next big thing, often dabbling in get-rich-quick schemes, pyramid schemes, and even running the occasional scam. His entrepreneurial spirit was relentless, though thankfully, not always successful.

When I was living with my grandparents for a few months as a teenager, I kept returning letters addressed to people who didn’t live at the house. Later, when Grandpa Bob wasn’t getting any responses to his schemes, he asked me if I had seen those letters. I told him I had returned them, thinking they were just misdelivered mail. Oh boy, was he furious! That was the moment I learned that he had been running scams in the classifieds. Looking back, it’s almost funny, but at the time, it was a shocking revelation.

Despite his rough-around-the-edges demeanor, Grandpa Bob had his soft spots. He loved watching football and baseball with Grandma Nancy, and he had a deep affection for wrestling. He firmly believed in the legitimacy of every match, and anyone who dared suggest otherwise would quickly find themselves on the receiving end of his ire. Given my own “rascally” Rigali nature, I would often tease him by sitting next to him and mentioning how staged the matches were, just for the amusement of watching his reaction.

I’ll never forget the time he watched Ray Steven’s VHS of “Comedy Video Classics”—he laughed so heartily that it was contagious. The air was charged with the energy of his laughter.

Grandpa Bob was a complex figure—tough yet tender, mischievous yet serious, always on the move but present in his own unique way. His legacy lives on in the stories we share, the traditions we keep, and the lessons we’ve learned from both his strengths and shortcomings.