Robert Joseph Johnson

Born September 29, 1934. Died July 20, 2018.
Father: George W. Johnson. Mother, Helen Barnes Johnson

Robert Jay Johnson was born in Tulsa during the Great Depression. His family moved from Oklahoma to Wichita, and thence to Greeley, Colorado, where he went to high school. He left early to attend the College at the University of Chicago, in a program akin to what we now call Early Admissions.

Jay studied at the University of Chicago and at Colorado State (Greeley), where he got his teaching certificate. He worked in Denver doing color matching for a printing concern and painting, before moving to California, where he taught high school, first in the Gold Country, then in Petaluma, where he taught drama and English. Many of his students remember him as a great influence and mentor.

Meanwhile, he acted, directed, took more classes, ran a restaurant in San Francisco, called the Venetian Glass Nephew, and pursued his lifelong dedication to theater, movies, opera, film, and literature.

All the while, he wrote poetry, publishing two books, Frames Per Second and Motion Picture Ball, titles that reflected his love of film (available on Amazon, FYI). He wrote of himself for one submission, "He was encouraged by Robert Duncan and John Crowe Ransom, who noted that his humor ranged from the evasive to the slapstick, sometimes dwindling to melancholy. He has received awards for a novel, Bluejacket, and a play. His poetry has appeared in magazines as diverse as Light, The Gay and Lesbian Review, Art and Understanding, and Blue Unicorn."

When he retired, he split his time between San Francisco and Palm Springs, eventually relocating to Desert Hot Springs, then to Long Beach, and finally settling in Santee Court in Los Angeles, where, he said once, he was the happiest he'd ever been, much to his surprise. He loved the wildly diverse community there, the way they took him in, and the energy and verve of the young artists and entrepreneurs there.


He died at home in July 2018, surrounded by friends who loved him, his true family. Though we know he was impatient to leave life, with its increasing incapacity, we greatly mourn his death. His absence will leave a Jay-shaped hole in our psyches for the rest of our lives. With his erudition, insight, experience, and sly wit, he encouraged and enlarged us, showing us new visions of ourselves and the world. There has been and will be no one like him.