photo by: Courtesy: Randy Blank/Jeff Burkhead

Rob Blank, right, is pictured with Jeff Burkhead of Bert Nash Community Mental Health Center, in downtown Lawrence.

It is impossible to know now, but maybe in Rob Blank’s mind he believed in the power of pairs.

He paired long black hair — later gray — with a long beard to match. He often paired literal rose-colored glasses with a stylish hat of a matching color. And then, of course, there were the pair of fingers. The index and the middle finger formed in the shape of a V — the universal sign for peace.

Has anyone in the history of Lawrence ever flashed the peace sign more often than Rob Blank?

You may not have known his name, but if you were a regular visitor to downtown Lawrence, you probably knew of him. He often was simply referred to as the “Peace Man.”

“Chances are high that if you have been in Lawrence long enough, you have returned the peace sign to our local legend,” Rob’s niece Kimberly Carter said of her uncle.

He appeared as a 1970s throwback — in more ways than one — who spent a fair amount of time in downtown Lawrence. He didn’t panhandle there, he didn’t busk, nor occupy a sidewalk square. Rather, he enjoyed his morning coffee — often at La Prima Tazza — and maybe stopped at Brown’s Shoe Fit or Weaver’s Department store or perhaps indulged his love of jewelry with some window shopping.

But what put Blank into the category of a true downtown character was what happened in between those journeys while walking on the Massachusetts Street sidewalks.

Peace, and flash the sign. Peace, and flash the sign. Peace, and flash the sign.

Well, on a good day, anyway. As a young man Rob received multiple mental illness diagnoses, including schizoaffective disorder and manic-depressive tendencies, his brother Randy Blank told the Journal-World.

Rob Blank, 65, died on Jan. 8 after having been hospitalized for the previous month, Randy said. All told, Rob lived with his mental disorders for nearly 50 years, always maintaining an independent residence in Lawrence.

Not every day was a good day, though, for Rob. There were days of outbursts, and moments where shopkeepers regretted letting him in the door, Randy said. Undoubtedly, there were times that passersby did not feel much peace from Rob. There were two-finger days, and perhaps some that were just half of that.

But there were never enough bad days to outweigh the good that downtown Lawrence and the surrounding community brought to Rob, Randy Blank said. He listed Bert Nash Community Mental Health Center, Meals on Wheels and, importantly, the downtown business community as sources of immense good for Rob.

“I think they just realized they should open their doors to someone who was different,” Randy said of the many businesses that would welcome his brother, despite his “highs and lows.”

Those businesses, though, may not have realized what it did for Rob, Randy Blank said.

“It gave him a chance to have a life he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise,” Randy Blank said. “Lawrence had everything to do with that.”

photo by: Courtesy: Randy Blank

Rob Blank and his rose-colored glasses.

•••

The first diagnosis came when Rob was a mid-to-late teenager, Randy said. Until that time, it had been a Lawrence life that leaned toward idyllic. The Blank family owned a longtime photography studio — Hixson Studio — first in downtown Lawrence and then near 19th and Massachusetts streets.

Rob, a year older than his brother Randy, often would go to Francis Sporting Goods or Arensberg Shoes or other such shops that were 1960s staples in downtown Lawrence. Randy guesses that is why so many days for Rob — whether they were a good day or a bad day — were a downtown day.

“I think he felt a sense of comfort on Massachusetts Street,” Randy said.

Comfort could be hard to find for Rob. Randy said his brother was much better alone than in a group, and that communication was difficult for him in many settings. Randy guesses that is why the peace sign became Rob’s signature piece of communication. Lacking confidence in his verbal skills, the peace sign became a way for Rob to connect with people without having to use many words.

At least, that’s Randy’s guess. Such matters were not what the brothers spent their time talking about. Randy, who left Kansas in the 1980s for a career as an environmental safety manager, would call Rob in between return visits to Lawrence. Their No. 1 conversation topic was rock ‘n roll.

“He had a good memory,” Randy said. “He told me the first concert Mom took us to was Sonny and Cher at KU someplace.” (Let the record show Sonny and Cher did play Allen Fieldhouse in October of 1973.)

In recent years, Randy and Rob would Facetime and talk about rock ‘n roll. Often, when Rob would mention a song, Randy would pull it up on his Spotify account.

“He was flabbergasted by how that was occurring,” Randy said.

They were great conversations over a topic that both men could relate to, which Randy said he suspects is a key to having a quality relationship with someone who has certain mental illness diagnoses. “You’ve got to find those common areas,” he said.

There wasn’t always such agreement, though. That first diagnosis changed so much. It hit a teenage Randy in ways that he still thinks about today. Often, it was left to Randy to have the one-on-one conversations with Rob to try to convince him to get treatment. The family found that Randy could get through to Rob in ways that others couldn’t.

“It was hard to convince someone with mental illness that they need help,” Randy recalled. “That is where I would come in. I would take him to Topeka State or Menniger’s because he trusted me that this was best for him rather than mom and dad saying you have to do this.”

All that from a young man who just barely had his driver’s license.

“Not that it was necessarily fair, but that is what he needed,” Randy said.

In the years that have passed, the other thing that seems unfair is the timing of it all.

“I try to think how it would have changed if it happened now instead of back when there weren’t a lot of answers,” Randy said.

photo by: Courtesy: Randy Blank

Rob Blank and one of his many hats.

•••

Something else arrived about the time of the first diagnosis — art. Randy doesn’t recall art being much of a thing for Rob early in their childhood. But when art did enter Rob’s world as a teenager, it became like the sun that so much else revolved around.

“He loved his art, he loved it,” said Rob’s sister, Sheri Robertson.

Robertson said Rob’s downtown routine was just a part of his day. Usually he would get his downtown time in during the morning before he returned home — he lived a few blocks west of downtown most of his years — to begin painting.

Most of his paintings were abstract in nature. He would give a few pieces to downtown businesses, and he made a couple of sales to complete strangers through a show at La Prima Tazza. Randy said those sales made him tremendously happy, to the point that he had business cards printed for his career as an artist.

But, without question, the largest collector of Rob’s work was his father, Robert “Bob” Blank. In addition to being a photographer who took senior class portraits and other such works, Bob was a professional picture framer. Rob would produce a piece, and Bob would insist that it be framed. Randy said the family has at least 100 framed pieces of Rob’s artwork.

Bob Blank died in 2012, and Rob’s mother, Elaine, died in November 2023. That was tough on Rob, and Robertson suspects it contributed to Rob’s decline in health.

“It left him feeling alone,” she said.

Randy said that is a fact he has learned about many mental illness diagnoses — they can make the aging process even more difficult. But Randy said what made life easier for Rob is the people he did have around him in Lawrence. Rob was a client of Bert Nash Community Mental Health Center since at least the 1980s, Randy said.

Case managers there would help him with so much more than just traditional mental health treatment. They often drove Rob many places, including to the grocery store — or frequent trips to Michaels to buy art supplies.

Randy said Bert Nash officials seemed to understand the importance of care that goes beyond just an appointment with a provider. He said he’s lived in multiple communities in Texas and California, but Lawrence — everything from Bert Nash to Meals on Wheels to how the police department is trained on mental health issues — seems to have a better care system than any of the other places he’s lived.

“It has been a pretty generous thing that Douglas County and the community has done for him,” Randy said.

Generous and pivotal. As he reflected on the decades of care and memories about his brother, Randy said there were several lessons that could be shared. The need for a thick skin. The realization one person’s normal is different from another’s. The will to connect however you can. The acknowledgment that none of this is easy.

But when thinking about the peace his brother found in Lawrence, one lesson stood out. “It does take a community to really rely on,” Randy said before pausing to clarify.

“It takes a good community.”

photo by: Courtesy: Randy Blank

Rob Blank with one of his abstract paintings.

photo by: Courtesy: Randy Blake

A younger Rob Blank with artwork that he created.