Robert “Bob” John Gandolfo, beloved husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother, uncle, coach, and friend, passed away peacefully in Sonora, California, on September 29, 2025, at 80 years young, but what a vibrant, unforgettable 80 years he gave us.
Let me tell you about Bob Gandolfo, a man so full of life, love, and laughter that just saying his name brings a smile to my face. Born on October 20, 1944, in the heart of Sonora, California, Bob was a third-generation Tuolumne County treasure, his roots tracing back to his grandfather who sailed from Genoa, Italy, to plant a legacy of warmth and grit.
Little Bob, scampering through the one-room Algerine Schoolhouse, undoubtedly charmed his teachers with that mischievous grin of his until he graduated in 1958. At Sonora High School, he threw himself into FFA, already showing the passion and leadership that would define him, graduating in 1962.
As a proud veteran, Bob served in the Army from 1966 to 1968, where he trained in Georgia and served in Germany as a Teletype Operator, mastering Morse Code with the same focus he’d later bring to everything he loved.
Back home, he studied at Modesto Junior College, pumped gas at Bookers, and delivered propane at Van Gas, and then poured 30 years of dedication into the California Department of Corrections, retiring as a Lieutenant in 2000.
Bob lived for the things that lit up his soul: the crack of a shotgun; the roar of the crowd cheering for his San Francisco 49ers; and, most of all, the giggles and triumphs of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This man was a force in the shooting sports world, a proud member of the Mother Lode, Angels, and Oakdale Gun Clubs. At the Mother Lode Gun Club, he served as Range Safety Officer and on the Membership Board, and was a coach who turned youth shooting into moments of pure magic. The kids adored him, and his patience, his humor, the way he’d cheer them on like they were Olympic champions. He coached the Nuggets, a youth team that held his heart, and gleefully taught his grandchildren the art of shattering clay pigeons. Nothing made him prouder than the day he and his grandkids competed in at the Black Oak Shoot together. His granddaughter and grandson took first, and Bob, grinning ear to ear, snagged second. You could feel his pride from a mile away.
Bob was a character and joy. His subtle laughter and quick wit could light up any room, and he had this knack for leaving everyone in stitches. Whether he was tinkering on his beloved 1976 Cheyenne pickup or battling that stubborn fig tree in the backyard, his colorful half frustration, half comedy outbursts were the stuff of family legend. You couldn’t help but laugh with him, because Bob’s heart was as big as his humor.
But if you really want to know Bob, talk to his grandkids. He was their “Grandpa,” their hero, and their safe harbor. He poured every ounce of himself into guiding them, cheering at their baseball and football games, on the soccer fields, and shooting ranges. He was there for every performance, every milestone, his eyes shining with pride. To Aeva, Jackson, Klayton, Angela, and Lori, and great-grandkids Abigail, Mason, Layney, and Gracie, he was more than a grandfather. He was their mentor, their biggest fan, and their rock. The love they shared was a bond so deep it could move mountains.
And by his side was his beloved wife, Linda, who was his partner in every adventure. His daughters, Erin and Denise, and his son Michael, they all knew Bob as the anchor of their family, the one who brought laughter, wisdom, and an unshakable sense of belonging. He was the guy who’d be the voice of reason, cheer you up, and remind you what it means to be loved, all in the same breath. Bob’s life wasn’t just a series of moments, it was a masterpiece of kindness, loyalty, and generosity. He left us with memories that sparkle like the glint in his eye when he told a joke. His family will carry his light forward.
Bob is survived by his wife, Linda Gandolfo; his daughter Erin Gandolfo-Brune and her husband Joe; his daughter Denise Powell; his son Michael Whitt and his wife Delia; his grandchildren Aeva Silva (Steven), Jackson Brune, Klayton Powell (Lindsey), Angela Anderson, and Lori McWilliams; and his great-grandchildren Abigail, Mason, Layney, and Gracie; his sister Cheryl Maddox and her husband Dave; his nieces Denise Burns (Mike) and Deanna Victor (Mike); and his cousin Kathy Graham (John).
He joins his parents John and Dorothy, his paternal grandparents Domingo and Virginia, and his maternal grandparents Edward and Elizabeth (Otis) Parke in a place where I’m sure he’s already cracking jokes and cheering on the 49ers.
Bob wouldn’t want us to linger in sadness. He’d want us to raise a glass to his 80 years of love and laughter, to tell stories about his antics, and to keep his spirit alive in every chuckle and on the sidelines.
To know Bob was to know what it feels like to be wrapped in warmth, to laugh until your sides hurt, and to feel loved beyond measure. His lessons linger, his love endures, and his memory is a gift that’ll keep us smiling indefinitely
