The corner is a little quieter today

A letter from the editor in chief upon the passing of Founding Editor Dr. Robert Docter, O.F.

Today, we said goodbye to Dr. Robert Docter, O.F.—our founder, mentor, encourager and friend.

Though his familiar voice grew quieter in recent years, his wisdom never drifted far. We continue to feel the imprint of his vision, his values and his heart in all we do.

Bob’s influence on New Frontier Publications and on the life of The Salvation Army Western Territory is woven so tightly through our history that it’s hard to know where to begin. He didn’t simply start a publications department in 1983—he shaped a culture of thoughtful, honest, faith-filled communication. Through more than 600 “On the Corner” columns, he invited us to see the world through a lens of hope, sincerity and conscience. He believed deeply in the power of words, yes—but even more in the power of the character behind them.

It was a gift to work alongside Bob for many years, and when I stepped into the role of editor in chief nine years ago, he continued to invest in me in ways that went beyond professional guidance. He taught me—and so many of us—what it looks like to live with intentionality, integrity, humor and heart.

I often return to three lessons I learned from Bob, which today feel truer than ever.

He taught me to live with positivity. Bob had a remarkable gift for joy. His frequent greeting—“Are you happy today?”—wasn’t small talk; it was an invitation to consider how we were choosing to move through the world. He believed this work was fun, and his delight in it made it so.

He taught me to build character. Conversations with Bob were rarely surface-level. He once said, “Decisions reside in the brain, but values are in your heart.” He believed that a conscience-based awareness was the foundation for a meaningful life. He modeled kindness, integrity and a way of being that made you want to become a better version of yourself.

He taught me to seek understanding—and to believe. Bob wrestled with faith honestly, in print and in person. He never pretended to have all the answers. His authenticity drew people in. In one of his written prayers, he said, “Help me to speak less and listen more…that I might more powerfully share your grace.” That was Bob: a man who sought God sincerely, listened deeply and offered grace freely.

Some of my most cherished memories with Bob weren’t in the office at all, but around a breakfast table early in the morning before the day began. Nearly every week, we walked to breakfast, and Bob would spend most of the meal talking about his family. He adored them—especially Diane. As someone preparing to be married at the time, watching the way he loved, honored and championed his spouse was one of the most formative lessons I could have received. He modeled true partnership, and the kind of faithful love that shapes a life.

Bob cared for people—not as titles or roles or responsibilities—but as human beings. If you knew him, you know that his investment in you didn’t end when a story did. His mentorship was personal, heartfelt and lasting. I still treasure how, on his way out of the office, he would pop into my doorway to say, “Bye, Chris. I love ya.”

Today, the corner is a little quieter. His voice is missed—in our pages, in our halls, and now in our hearts. But his legacy remains. It remains in the stories he told, the values he instilled, the laughter he shared, the truth he championed, and in the lives and ministries of those he encouraged.

To our readers across the West and beyond: thank you for honoring his life with us. May we carry forward what Bob embodied so well—joy, integrity, curiosity, compassion and the willingness to see and love people as they are.

And to Bob: thank you for your words, your wisdom and your witness. Thank you for building this corner. We will keep the light on.