A Stamp of a Memorial, at Least

"He didn't know beans about it [presiding over a meeting], and he found it very embarrassing," Robert III said. "He made up his mind that if he got out of it alive, he would learn something about the subject."

Learning something about parliamentary procedure involved reading a few books and making some notes, which he carried in his wallet for about four years.

When he moved to San Francisco, he encountered a city where prostitution was rife and Chinese laborers brought in to build the railroad were exploited, even chased by dogs for sport. Robert, a Baptist lay leader, was offended.

He joined the YMCA and several newly formed religious groups dedicated to relieving the plight of exploited souls, but he found that the city's motley population had discordant notions about how to conduct meetings. San Francisco needed rules.

When Robert came out with the first version of his rules of order in 1876, he had trouble finding a publisher. Who'd want to read such a book? So he printed up 4,000 copies himself. Since then, Robert III says, it has sold 5 million copies. (He is listed as one of the five authors of the 10th edition.)

A physicist by training and a staff member at St. Mary's Church in Annapolis, Robert III gives his age as "World War I vintage." (He's 87.) He has no memories of his grandfather, but the book, he says, "was in the family -- it was imbued into me."

He started lobbying for a memorial to his grandfather in 1982, just before the N Street house was razed, all but the front wall. The memorial was dedicated in 2001 by the National Association of Parliamentarians, headquartered in Independence, Mo.

It's certainly no tourist attraction. Bundled-up pedestrians hurrying by are oblivious to the granite block.

"I've never really noticed it," said Mark Lean, an architect whose office is in one of the N Street row houses just steps away.

In a way that's appropriate, because Robert's ubiquitous rules are not meant to call attention to themselves. They're an integral part of society's essential substructure, hidden in plain sight and absolutely vital. Robert, the old civil engineer, could appreciate that importance, but not the Postal Service, it seems. The National Association of Parliamentarians will keep trying, DeFord says, but so far she's not hearing a second. Not yet, at least.