A Tribute to Robert B. Riley 1931–2019

A tribute to Robert B. Riley should have many distinct and diverse voices. Thinker, writer, administrator, educator, critic, mentor, editor, architect, he assumed leadership in several international academic organizations—including the Council of Educators in Landscape Architecture (CELA)—and his influence was felt in many realms and extended over many years. Here however the tribute—the task to remember, record, celebrate, and inspire—is mine, and inevitably impossible. With a nod to Pericles's Funeral Oration, I shall hope Bob Riley's reputation will not be imperiled by my lone voice and know my account likely will not satisfy those who knew and revered Bob and that others will suspect I exaggerate his good qualities. So be it.

Robert B. Riley, born in 1931, grew up in south Chicago where his parents ran a residential hotel. He attended the University of Chicago's Laboratory School and graduated at age 19 from the University of Chicago with a PhB in philosophy, assumedly thoroughly inculcated with the degree's Great Books curriculum. He studied architecture for a year at Illinois Institute of Technology before enrolling at MIT and earning his B. Arch in 1954. He was a meteorologist in the Air Force from 1954–1958. He entered architectural practice in 1959, working, he would say, "as a production architect" in suburban Maryland until a fateful day when he encountered May Watts's Reading the Landscape and J.B. Jackson's Landscape side-by-side on the American Institute of Architects bookshelves. In 1964 he and his family moved to New Mexico where he started his own practice. He became University of New Mexico's campus planner and a couple years later Associate Professor and Director of that University's Center for Environmental Research and Development. His first article in Landscape magazine, "Architecture and the Sense of Wonder," appeared in Autumn 1965 (Riley 1965). In the following issue, he was listed as Architecture and City Planning Editor, the only other editor ever to appear with Jackson on the magazine's imprint. Bob wrote some of the magazine's opening unsigned "Notes and Comments" over the next few years as well as articles with his byline. After Jackson's retirement as editor in 1968, Bob continued as Associate Editor under the new editor, Blair Boyd, until 1970.

In 1970 Bob moved back to Illinois—downstate—to become Professor and Head of the University of Illinois Department of Landscape Architecture. He continued as head until 1985 and then enjoyed a joint appointment with the Department of Architecture until his retirement and appointment as Professor Emeritus in 1996. His many external service positions while at Illinois included President of CELA, Chair of the Board of Directors of the Environmental Design Research Association (EDRA), and Chair of the Board of Senior Fellows in Landscape Architecture at Dumbarton Oaks. CELA's Outstanding Educator (1992) and President's Award (1994) were among his honors. He was editor of Landscape Journal from 1987–1995. His writings appeared as a book, book chapters, and journal articles. He continued to teach part-time after his retirement and continued to publish, most significantly his book, The Camaro in the Pasture in 2015. He was a widower, and is survived by a daughter, a son, and four grandchildren. His house, usually graced by at least one cat, was filled with his art collection, mainly works by Southwestern artists, and he amassed a collection of fine wines. His yard, often overgrown despite Terry Harkness's efforts, had native flowers and trees that Bob and his wife Nancy planted years before.

Bob wanted to understand landscape and design and so he would seek out and really listen to people involved in architecture, design and planning. And then he would think about it critically … testing, weighing, questioning.

(Terry Harkness, personal communication, 2019)

Bob had a discerning and tough mind; he eschewed obfuscation. He was often charming, witty, funny, even charismatic, sometimes all at once. He could be disarmingly direct; he was able and often did, cut through others' pretensions, professional and academic posturing, jargon and general crap. He knew how to listen...