Staff Reporter
In the heart of Dallas, few figures captured the city’s quirks quite like Robert Crawford, better known on the streets and in the clubs as “Keyboard Bob.” Friends say the one-of-a-kind character passed away peacefully on Sunday morning. He was 73.
Lisa Johnson Mitchell — director of the 2010 documentary His Name is Bob — confirmed his death in a Facebook post, noting that details for a celebration of life will be announced.
Story Highlights
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Name: Robert Crawford, known as “Keyboard Bob”
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Age: 73
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Place: Dallas, Texas
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Known for: Street jokes, unexpected appearances, carrying a keyboard
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Documentary: His Name is Bob (2010)
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Notable myth: Rumored $86 million inheritance
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Death: Peaceful, Sunday morning, confirmed via Facebook
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Memorial: Celebration of life details to be announced
Born in New Hampshire in the 1950s, Crawford’s life took him far from his roots — and into the cultural fabric of Dallas. He became a fixture in neighborhoods like Lower Greenville and Deep Ellum, a man of contrasts: diminutive in height yet towering in presence, mischievous yet unexpectedly gentle, crass in humor yet strangely sweet.
His trademark was unmistakable — a keyboard slung in tow, oversized hats and coats worn for days, and a glimmer in his eye when a joke was coming.
Neighbors recall that his first wave of notoriety came from simply showing up. On Lower Greenville, he appeared in restaurants, sidewalks, and street corners as if by instinct. By the 2010s, Deep Ellum became his stage. Traveling by DART, he would spend long hours in the district — sometimes stepping onto a rock club’s stage mid-performance, grinning and hoisting his keyboard in the air. The bands played on, and the crowds, recognizing him instantly, erupted in cheers.
At the end of those nights, Crawford often returned to the sidewalks of Elm Street, still cracking jokes, still hoping for a ride home. Friends say his circumstances were shaped by hardships early in life, including reported abuse that left lasting effects. He relied on the generosity of semi-strangers — not just for rides or food, but for the attention he clearly cherished.
“He sure loved to be noticed,” Mitchell once said in describing him. “But he also loved to be a mystery.”
That mystery grew when he began asking people if they had “seen his movie.” The documentary His Name is Bob not only introduced his story to a wider audience but also gave rise to a persistent — and unverified — rumor that he was owed an $86 million inheritance from a distant uncle.
His humor was sharp, often aimed at friends themselves. One of his favorite lines came with a pause and a grin:
“How do you keep a [jerk] in suspense?” he’d ask, eyes locking onto his target.
Then, with perfect timing:
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Crawford’s wit also surfaced in less likely places. In 2018, during a Deep Ellum public safety meeting called in response to summertime violence, then–Dallas Police Chief U. Renee Hall invited questions from the audience. Crawford’s hand shot up.
He wasn’t concerned about policing strategy. Instead, he told the chief that he had been “having too tough a time lately waving down bartenders to bring me a soda — preferably a Dr Pepper.”
Hall smiled and replied, “We’re working on it!” before quickly leaving the meeting.
The moment left the room buzzing. One attendee muttered in disbelief, “She only took one question, and it came from… Bob?”
To those who knew him, it could have been no one else.
Crawford’s life was stitched together by these small but memorable encounters — in bars, on sidewalks, in unexpected public moments. His presence was less about where he was going and more about the mark he left behind.
His name was Bob. And in Dallas, that was enough.
Crawford’s story was never about fame or fortune, though myths and rumors followed him. It was about a man who carved out a place in the city simply by showing up, day after day, with his humor, his quirks, and his ever-present keyboard. In a city that changes quickly, his presence was a constant — unpredictable, unforgettable, and entirely his own.
His name was Bob. And Dallas will remember.
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