Robert (Bob) E. Pelletier — "Pelley"

August 3, 1940 – Called In For the 19th Hole

Robert E. Pelletier—known to most as Bob, and to the inner circle as "Pelley"—officially hit his final drive into the sunset on Friday, July 24, 2026.

Born on August 3, 1940, in Franklin, New Hampshire, to Alphonse and Alice (Drapeau) Pelletier, Bob grew up surrounded by a full house. He was preceded in death by his loving parents, his sisters Irene and Pauline, and his brother Alphonse. 

In August 1968, Bob made the absolute best decision of his life when he married Dorothy ("Dottie," Baron) Pelletier. For nearly six decades, Bob and Dottie were each other's stalwart partners, taking on every adventure, move, and milestone side by side. 

Back in 1960, Bob had joined the State of New Hampshire Department of Transportation, where he went on to spend 37 dedicated years ensuring the roads of the Lakes Region were safe, plowed, and smooth. After decades of keeping the Granite State moving, he hung up his keys in 1997. He and Dottie spent several wonderful years splitting their time between New Hampshire and York Beach, Maine, before realizing that Florida sunshine was far superior to snow plows. They officially relocated to North Port, FL, in 2002.

Bob was, above all else, the ultimate family man—a gentle soul whose greatest joy was utterly spoiling all "his girls" and his son-in-law, Rob. He leaves behind his beloved Dottie; his daughter, Lori and her husband Rob Sanville; and his two ultimate treasures, his granddaughters Samantha and Francesca, all of Sanford, FL. His granddaughters affectionately called him "Baba," and they always knew he was around by the familiar jingle of change in his pockets—a soundtrack usually followed by finding little piles of coins left secretly outside their bedroom doors. 

He was also a beloved, legendary "Uncle Rooster" to his many nieces and nephews, whom he delighted in chasing around the house while loudly singing cock-a-doodle-doo when they were younger.

Beyond his family, Bob leaves a massive gap in his local golf and bowling leagues. It took him 85 years of practice, but he recently bowled his all-time career high of 226—a triumph he was immensely proud of. Golf, on the other hand, remained a different story. Whenever anyone dared to ask how his golf game went, Bob would simply stick his thumb straight down and deliver a loud, resounding raspberry.

He also leaves behind a deeply bereft flock of ducks on the St. Johns River in Sanford, who are no doubt wondering where their 6:00 AM daily breakfast service went.

Bob was a master storyteller with a very specific, signature style: he would carefully build a narrative, wind up the suspense, reach the absolute climax of the tale... and completely forget how it finished. Thank God for Google—it was the only way the rest of the room ever found out how those stories actually ended. 

Per Bob’s wishes, there will be no calling hours or funeral service. If you would like to honor Bob’s memory, the family asks that you skip the standard playbook and simply donate to a charity that speaks to your own heart—or perhaps just throw an extra crust of bread to a local duck. 

Arrangements are being handled by Baldwin Brothers Funeral and Cremation Society of Orlando, Florida.