Coping with Grief
We would like to offer our sincere support to anyone coping with grief. Enter your email below for our complimentary daily grief messages. Messages run for up to one year and you can stop at any time. Your email will not be used for any other purpose.
Born to Margaret and Otto Wilberg in Edmonton, in the midst of the Depression, Robert “Bob” Wilberg was their youngest and fourth child, preceded by his siblings Emma, Margaret, and Eric.
His early life, like that of so many other Albertans during this era, was arduous. The family lived on a small acreage in converted boxcars, with a hand dug well, a large garden, a few animals and a root cellar for preserves. His father worked for Northern Alberta Railroads while his resourceful mother gardened, canned food and managed the household.
Along with hardship, there was also ambition. Both Otto and Margaret were cultured in arts and letters, and believed that a society should be fair and open to all. Bob shared these values and also their thirst for learning and achievement. He balanced school with part time work, RCAF Air Cadets, hot rodding and short track auto racing, as well as speed skating and ski racing. At the time, ski racers competed in every discipline—cross country, jumping, and downhill, all on the same pair of skis.
Upon graduating from what is now Old Scona, he attended the U of A, and took part in the final class of B.Ed students with a Phys Ed specialization. It was a small, but illustrious group with Bob being their last surviving member from his year at the Faculty’s alumni reunion in 2019.
His academic prowess was soon recognized by the University of Oregon who awarded him a Master’s Degree scholarship. In the fall of 1958 he travelled with his new bride, Barbara, to the U of O campus at Eugene.
In Eugene, the theme of rustic domesticity continued . Their housing was a Depression era barracks—in particular “H” block. For someone who had literally grown up in a box car, this was taken in stride. Many life long friendships were forged and his first son, Karl, also appeared.
Masters Degree in hand, the family travelled to Calgary where he spent the next four years as a Phys Ed teacher for the Calgary Board of Education. A stint at Branton Junior High was particularly memorable. Seeking to improve the school’s track team performance, Bob put offending youths (and many enthusiastic ones) to work hand digging out the basement under the school to make an indoor training facility. Dubbed “Project Earthworm,” this program gave Branton the edge that led to track and field glory.
Unorthodox? Yes, so much so that the fire department padlocked the training cavern, deeming it not up to code. The principal, Mr. Borgal, to his credit, smashed the lock off with a sledgehammer. The fire department’s concerns proved to be unfounded and Branton dominated the Calgary track and field scene for many years.
Now decommissioned, the project is part of Calgary’s school lore and even rates a mention in Wikipedia. Nowadays, handing a delinquent youth a shovel and saying, “dig,” and a principal standing up to City Hall, would be unthinkable. But it typified Bob’s uncompromising and ultimately courageous view of his responsibilities.
After Branton, and a stint at Crescent Heights, Bob joined his life long friend, Jack, Leavitt (another member of his grad class), at Central High. Along the way, Bob and Jack coached his school’s football team to victory.
During this four year sojourn in Calgary sons Chris and Curtis arrived. A new house was built, but the opportunity to study for a Ph. D. at the U of O intervened. Bob cut the box and rear axle off a Studebaker pick up truck, loaded up this make-shift trailer and carted the thriving family back to Eugene.
A part time job, programming the entire University’s only computer, an IBM 1620, helped feed the family, but also converted an early interest in computing science into his own research advantage. Bob developed what was then a rare technical skill, one that would be put to use until his retirement in 1994. As his career progressed, punch cards and ferrite memory gave way to digital computing, but Bob was always at the forefront using this technology to supercharge his lab’s capabilities.
With his Ph. D. in hand, Bob was recruited in 1966 by the U of A’s legendary Dean VanVliet. The U of A was in an expansive mood and VanVliet had scoured the world for the best up and coming academics. Bob was one of those caught in the Dean’s net and journeyed to Edmonton to take a post as a professor in what was then the Faculty of Physical Education, and also the Department of Psychology.
Nearly 30 years of intensive work, supervising grad students, conducting primary research, and occasionally teaching undergrad courses, was the core of Bob’s professional life. However, Bob was instrumental in the creation and governance of professional academic organizations, grant review boards and professional publications.
For starters, in 1969, he and Jack Leavitt formed SCAPPS, (the Canadian Society of Psychomotor Learning and Sport Psychology). The group continues its important work to this day, and an annual fixture is the Bob Wilberg Senior Lecture.
He was a regular presenter at motor learning conferences and published scores of studies in over 51 publications. His work ran from the esoteric— “ the effect of recall from short-term memory on a continuous tracking response,”—to the very pragmatic: how ice hockey goalies perceived their physical presence between the posts.
He was busy. How busy?
NASA asked him to be an advisor—they needed help with the Space Shuttle-- but he turned them down.
These years were rich with achievement and camaraderie. His grad students arrived from around the globe. These men and women--bohemians, non- conformists, Vietnam war vets, NHL hockey players, and other elite athletes-- were a brilliant and diverse lot. Student parties at Bob’s home could feature international cuisine, impromptu ski races, hockey matches and lots of incomprehensible (to his children) shop talk.
His influence on the study of motor learning and perception was immense. It would be laborious to list the number of Bob’s students that went on to become full profs, department heads and even a dean.
All the while, he was devoted to his wife and sons. There was always time for skiing, coaching minor league hockey, family travel to Europe, and renovating the house. He encouraged (nay, expected!) his sons, and Barbara to get their degrees too. Although last to get her Bachelors, Barbara’s GPA was a family record.
By the early 1990s however, he was ready to retire. A property at Nanoose Bay BC, and ample time for golf, mountain biking and surfing, as well as some health concerns, signalled time for a change.
He left behind a magnificent legacy of achievement, and left his profession a much richer and better place than the one he joined, and in many ways created, some 30 years earlier. Awards and honours from a grateful U of A followed, many of which he would only reluctantly acknowledge.
The years that followed, brought unexpected challenges. Dementia took its toll on Barbara, but Bob remained a steadfast and dutiful caregiver until his passing. Their over 60 years of marriage bloomed to its fullest flower. It is the mark of a person how they respond to adversity. Bob schooled himself in the personal care of a dementia sufferer, and transformed himself into a one man nursing army.
Of course, he didn’t actually do it alone, and he worked tirelessly with Barbara’s faithful caregivers, Zoe and Amanda, to give Barbara a full and happy life at his Nanoose Bay home. The days became a cheerful routine involving music, gardening, local outings, trips to the Rec centre and receiving visitors.
Like most parents, he was delighted to see his children, and grandchildren. A summer family ritual was a visit to Bob’s and the many happy days at their home exploring the Fairwinds trails, swimming at Brickyard Bay and enjoying Bob’s growing ability as a master chef.
Well into his 80s, Bob never stopped thinking about his, and man’s place, in the cosmos. You could encounter him, deep in thought, and find out that he was pondering quantum physics, his own personal ethical obligations as a sentient being in Creation, or the latest episode of “NCIS.”
You hear it all the time: “that guy could do anything.” But Bob could. He could build a house, tear down a motor, wire a garage, pipe fit, finish concrete, cook, drive a race car, get a Ph. D., convince Communist athletes to give up their secrets during the Cold War.
But more than that, he could think.
The thinking, and the questioning, about everything that makes life important, never stopped. The fearless questioner takes a big chance. You may not get answers, and, if you get the answers, you may not like them—especially the ones about yourself. Before he passed, he beat the odds though. He may not have had all the answers to quantum physics, human perception, or plot developments in NCIS.
But this much is known.
He knew that he was loved, and that he deserved that love, from friends, family, and the Cosmos, and he passed gently with that well earned reward.
In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation to the Alzheimer's Society or a charity of your choice in Bob's memory.