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The Heartbreak of Westlake

Remembering the Robinsons

The Heartbreak of Westlake

No one could have imagined that a couple’s getaway would end so tragically. Principal Jamar Robinson and the love of his life—his cheerleader, his number one supporter, his friend, the mother of his sons—Ann Marie, decided a break from the lockdowns was well-deserved.  

The couple chose Puerto Rico—a place they had visited several times before. It would be a nice change of scenery from the year that was 2020, studying for their doctorates (they both had plans to obtain doctoral degrees) amidst constant COVID-19 news and online classes; he was the principal of Westlake High School and she was a professor at Georgia State.

“According to the local account, the couple were at a beach resort in San Juan, where Robinson's wife, Annmari Robinson[sic], became caught in a rip current while swimming. The principal then tried to get out into the water to save her,” broadcasted the “11 Alive” newscaster.

Everything changed November 8, 2020. Since their trip was to be a weekend visit, the couple opted for a quick swim just behind their hotel. Sadly, Ann Marie got caught in a rip current and screamed for help; in his effort to rescue her, Jamar was also overcome by the ocean’s power. Though people tried, they couldn’t resuscitate either, changing the lives of everyone who knew them and cutting short the chance to watch their sons grow, complete their doctorates, or continue working with their sorority, Alpha Kappa Alpha, and fraternity, Alpha Phi Alpha.

As the shock of the news spread, the people who loved them knew their lives would forever change, including immediate family, students, colleagues, sorority and fraternity members, church family, classmates, and friends. The loss was devastating—the world would now never be graced with the genius that was the Robinson couple. As the sun dared to rise starting the first day after the loss of the Robinsons, reality hit that Westlake High School students would not be seeing that gentle smile greet them. Incoming freshman and transferring students that have yet to attend Westlake High School will never have the honor of hearing a word of advice from Principal Robinson.

His sons will never have the chance to hear the fatherly wisdom that Jamar would pour upon them, nor will they be subjected to those long stories dads are known to tell when explaining things. That first drive in the new car with Dad as a passenger will never happen. Introducing “the one” to Dad will never happen. His family will not see the greatness that he had yet to release into the atmosphere. Time stopped for Jamar and his wife that day, and it became the heartbreak of Westlake.

To understand how the news of this tragedy rocked the lives of some who knew him best, I felt the best approach was to allow each person to speak freely. From an unanswered text asking for more information about a student who Robinson recommended to attend his beloved FAMU, to the alumni Facebook group where his input did not appear, to the office lights that were never turned on, the gravity of this loss is deep:

The Heartbreak of Southwest Dekalb High School Alumni:  Dr. Cassandra Parks, Let’s Learn Love, LLC, Class of ’93

Dr. Parks attended high school with Jamar and was friends with his older brother. “I remember Jamar being a sweet, lovely spirit. He and his brothers were raised by their father. It was a really nice family. I remember him being in the band and eventually moving on to the drums his senior year. I heard that he went to FAMU and was a drum major. He was a great guy. Really good stock—the whole family was just wonderful.” Southwest Dekalb High School Alumni are some of the closest alumni groups in the Atlanta area. 

The Heartbreak of the Mentee: Kimberlee Bunting, Fellow Rattler (FAMU) and Westlake Educator

“Mr. Robinson started as the assistant principal, then for the next three years served as principal of our school. I would arrive every morning between 7:15 and 7:30 a.m., and he would greet me. Mr. Robinson was what they call, “suited and booted” every day, but that never stopped him from doing the necessary work to ensure our school was one in which the students could be proud. I saw him kneeling on the ground one morning after the school was opened to students, placing placards on the ground directing traffic flow in such a way that it would minimize exposure to COVID-19. Mr. Robinson took such pride in our school, rolling out the blue carpet to new students like a young female student whose mother had been deployed. Mr. Robinson walked her to every class, introducing her to other students and teachers. Mr. Robinson was a proud drum major for FAMU, a Rattler at heart, and true to his nature, he was the drum major for Westlake. He was the ultimate servant-leader. You can never quantify what a person means to you until they are gone. When I first heard the news, I didn’t want to believe it, and when the news said, ‘Jamal,’ I wanted to believe it was someone else, but the correction was issued confirming it was him—it was too much to bear.”

The Heartbreak of the Assistant: Ouida Burke, Westlake High School

“One thing about him, I always knew where he was. He was also highly competitive; like one day, he arrived at the school before I did and sent me a “GAME OVER” text and a picture of him, verifying he had indeed won—even though we weren’t competing—at least I didn’t think we were, but he liked competition, healthy competition. Jamar was a true friend, who you knew actually cared about how you were feeling. He was a very good listener; it’s like as you talked, he listened, reaching into himself to pull from some of the most diplomatic places in his spirit to provide sound advice. The morning of November 9, I hadn’t gotten the text bragging that he’d arrived early again, thus winning the competition. I could feel something was wrong. The door to his office was closed; the lights were off. Jamar would always turn the lights to his office on, leave the door open, and he would always tell me where he was in the building. This time, I knew something wasn’t  right.

When I found out what had happened, all I could think was how could this happen to Superman? How could one of the strongest people I know allow himself to be vulnerable at the worst possible moment? But I knew. He loved his family, he loved his wife, and I knew that he would have had it no other way. He would’ve tried to save anyone, that's who he was. He wouldn’t let you go down by yourself, but her—there could not have been a thought.

We are back in the building now and though we have 2,100 students enrolled, only 300 have opted for in-person learning. The pain weighs heavy on our seniors, the class of 2021. These are the students that matriculated through with Principal Robinson. His first year was their freshman year and he so looked forward to their graduation and seeing all that life had to shower upon them. They were HIS class. There is definitely a void here.”

As I listened to each person share what they knew of Principal Robinson, it struck me to think about how I would be remembered. Was I fully engaged in every moment? Do I listen intently in order to provide advice, or am I waiting for my turn to talk? Do people know what I am passionate about? Am I all in? These are also the questions that those who are dealing with the void they now have to accept ask themselves.

He was passionate about his work and inspired others to take pride in their work. He loved his school, his students, his teachers. If he asked the staff to work long days, he also worked long days.

He cheered for the Westlake High School football team from the sidelines, never missing a game. The pride in his school was contagious.

Principal Robinson loved his family and would take pride in those rare nights the workday ended early; it was then he would cook dinner, and then put his sons to bed. Anyone who heard him speak of his family knew they were the highlight of his life.

It was seeing him win a game at Andretti, on the first try, of course, during a team-building staff meeting that encouraged others to engage in the fun. It was how he made each person he spoke to feel like they had his undivided attention. It was the sound advice that he gave with care and compassion that will be remembered. 

The video he recorded for the Westlake High School graduating class of 2020 promising them he would not allow the cumulation of the years they spent in school since kindergarten to be overshadowed by the coronavirus is available on YouTube. The song, “Keep Your Head to the Sky,” will always remind the class of 2020 of him. It was highlighting the students by featuring pictures of them on billboards prominently displayed around the city where they would be celebrated—they will never forget.

His impact on the lives of others is why on the 8th of each month a token of love is given to his sons. His sons—the ones that during their first Christmas without Mom and Dad asked, “Do you think Dad would like how we decorated the tree? It would be so much better if he was here.”

The heartbreak of Westlake may become less painful over time, but there will always be a void. It is often said that each of us has a beginning date and an ending date, and it is what we do between that matters. Principal Robinson in the time he was gifted shared his passion, talent, love, professionalism, and care, which changed everyone he met. 

There will always be a part of him at Westlake High School; the graduating seniors will always carry a part of him—whether it was his celebration of test scores, recommendations to college, walks in the hallways, a hug for an unruly student versus scolding, or just a simple “good morning,” it’s his saying, “Never let them see you broken,” that will help those he touched when they are faced with a challenge, that's how he handled obstacles.

Most importantly, a part of him will always be with his sons. They will always know that their father loved their mother deeply. It is rare in this world to find the one for whom you would give your very life, the one that you would spend eternity with, but as fate would have it, Jamar found Ann Marie—the soulmate with whom he shared 14 earthly years and now forever. His sons, I hope, over time, will accept that neither Mom nor Dad would have returned from Puerto Rico without the other. 

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