Everybody Loves Bob
By Molly Longman
If you knew Bob Longman — or even of him — you probably heard someone say: “Everybody loves Bob.” It’s an impossible fact, yet somehow it’s true.
Maybe you fell in love with Bob when he was an ornery kid, with his Dennis the Menace charm. Perhaps you chased him down the street, shaking your fist because he uprooted flowers from your yard, which he picked for his mother. Maybe he made you a malt at the soda fountain or you saw him wandering the neighborhood as a grinning, 9-year-old with his beloved dog Cindy trailing behind him (dogs loved Bob almost as much as people, and he later collected other loyal canine devotees, Laddie, Chloe, and Clyde).
Maybe Bob beat you in golf after you underestimated him (ever modest, he wouldn’t like us to mention he was Shenandoah’s club champion at ages 18, 19, and 42 — but he was!). Maybe Bob had your back when you needed it, or even saved your life George Bailey-style. A gentle soul, he probably listened to you when no one else seemed to understand. You were almost certainly on some committee with him, as no one was drawn to a club or volunteer organization like Bob.
There’s a very small chance that you mugged him while he was stationed in the Philippines while serving in the Vietnam War. Were you, by chance, one of those men who surrounded him and asked him to give you his wallet and belt? If so, you’ll remember that Bob happily handed it over, and then… well, that friendly fella just charmed the hell out of you. You ended up giving him a few of his pesos back so he could take a return bus to his base, ending the mugging on a refreshingly congenial note (yes, you shook hands all around). It wasn’t just criminals, Bob would and did give anyone he loved the shirt off his back.
Perhaps Bob told you one of his famous stories. The man didn’t just tell a story — if you would listen, he’d make you feel like you were there. As he hit the best lines, his blue eyes would get big and his personality and kindness would sparkle through like the fuse on a cherry bomb.
Bob’s own story started in Shenandoah, Iowa, where he basically grew up inside a Norman Rockwell painting. He loved his mom, Eleanor, his Dad, Bill, and his two siblings, Jim and Carol, fiercely, along with his high school chums Doug, Gary, Gregg, Chuck, and countless others. He enjoyed hanging out with his Great Uncle Les, who gave him life-long catch phrases like, “interesting, if true” and “you’ve got a lot of ideas — and they’re all bad.” He went to Carleton College to study economics, where he made a forever group of pals, who nicknamed him ‘Doah, including Richard Cole (The King), Eugene Vaughan (The Bone), John Linner, Chris Hansen, Chris Carlson, Bill Truog (Scooter), John Wu, James Norris, and Andrew J. Korsak. He looked forward to roadtrips, gatherings, and monthly Zooms with them ’til the end of his life.
He later served in the Navy, working in counterintelligence. He was reliable (despite showing up to military training in a ‘48 Willys jeep with a peace sign on the back), but still made time to have adventures. He somehow got a marine major to respect him more after accidentally going AWOL (he’d climbed a mountain in San Antonio in the Philippines between shifts, and underestimated how long it would take to get down — the major later said, “I wish I could get my marines to climb that mountain” while serving him breakfast and tea).
After considering careers working as a lumberjack, on a barge, and in economics, Bob ultimately took over his dad’s company, Central Surveys. He loved working with his father. They thought a lot alike. He enjoyed the work, but really loved learning about people and what they thought and why. He had a brain for statistics, strong leadership skills, and he genuinely enjoyed his employees.
In his mid-to-late 40s came a surprising, wonderful, new chapter. He met his wife, Ellen, the girl of his dreams, in the theater group. Later, he fell for her “quirkiness,” beauty, and her warm, distinctive (and, okay, yes, loud) laugh while on a walk on the Wabash Trace — which he led because he was on the board of the Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation, yet another volunteer position. Bob and Ellen began walking the trail together. They have walked hand in hand through life ever since, supporting each other through thick and thin.
Soon, they gave Molly a very warm Longman welcome.
At some point in your life, you’ve probably grown fond of a TV father, whether it was Dick Van Dyke or Danny Tanner. But let us tell you, Bob put those men to shame. He loved being a dad, and when he told his daughter he was sick, he said, “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, you and your mother.” Bob adored Molly from day one and could always make her laugh, whether with his wry humor or by singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” to her. Molly loved to tease her Bob, and, almost as soon as she could hold a spoon, she would pretend to “airplane” food into his mouth, only to pull it away at the last minute and giggle. Bob didn’t mind. He would push her on her swing, and read Junie B Jones books to her and would make up creative “ghost stories” for Molly, too. He taught her the three most important pillars in life: Having kindness, integrity, and having a good sense of humor. She tries to live these values like he did.
When Molly and Bob were together, it was like no one had experienced such fun or joy before in their lives. Bob was Molly’s favorite person to talk to on a good day or a bad day or a fine day. She knows as well as anyone that the world will be a worse place without its friendliest, happiest, most wonderful dad.
Bob was most serene on the golf course. Although he is sad to go, he would like everyone to know that he sure is glad he won’t have to see his golf game decline any further. He loved the feeling of a good swing, playing with “the fellas,” and being in nature. That’s why serving as a greenskeeper at the Shenandoah Golf Course — his favorite place in his favorite town — was a perfect final retirement job for him. There, he was known as a reliable “go to guy.” He loved to leave the greens nicer than how he found them.
Everyone will miss Bob, but especially Ellen, Molly, Carol, his beloved nieces, nephews, and cousins, his loyal dog Clyde, and approximately 8 zillion friends. He made all of their lives (and many, many more) much greener and nicer than they were before.
He knows how much you loved him, and he loved you all.
A celebration of life memorial service will be held at 2:00 pm on Saturday, February 7, 2026, at the First Presbyterian Church in Shenandoah. The family will greet relatives and friends with visitation from 5:00 pm to 7:00 pm, Friday evening, February 6, 2026, at Nishna Valley Funeral and Cremation Service in Shenandoah. Memorials in Bob's name are being directed to the Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation, the Shenandoah Golf Course or to the Shenandoah Medical Center Wellness Center.
