Two years ago, I was sitting at my computer, watching with astonishment as this man turned a ceiling fan into a windmill. A video so full of amazing information, yet so entertaining you hardly realized you were learning. My wife walked into the room and said, “I like this guy, he’s always so happy.”
I probably binge-watched Robert’s videos for weeks. When Ecuador, the country I’m living in now, had its energy crisis, I found myself rewatching them all over again. I even started experimenting with chemicals, making my own batteries, trying to apply what Murray was teaching, what he was so generously giving away to his audience.
What a treasure trove of knowledge—useful, practical, invaluable. You could almost restart society with this type of wisdom, and it was all accessible because a charismatic man chose to turn it into fun, engaging videos. Sometimes I hyperfocus on the bad, and there’s plenty of it, but I quickly forget how many amazing things this era has brought us too. Robert, in my opinion, is a generational gift, and one that will be missed.
Twelve days ago, Robert published a video on his channel. As one of his thousands of followers who did click the bell, I got the notification right away. “Always a good video,” I thought—until I read the title: 2440 My Last Video.
A bittersweet goodbye to his audience, to his students, as I consider myself to be one. I wondered what he would do with his time now. He always struck me as the creative communicator, someone who needed to teach in order to feel fulfilled, to feel purpose.
“Well,” I thought, “he’s left the world his legacy, and I hope these videos live forever.”
Then today, another notification came. Robert had posted again. Oh snap! I thought. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he had more lessons in him after all. But this time, it wasn’t Robert. It was his brother. I recognized him right away, since he had appeared on the channel before. The title of the video read: RIP Robert Murray-Smith (1963 – 2025).
What? Robert died? How?
As the video went on, and his brother’s voice grew darker, I recognized something I’ve seen before—depression.
Sometimes happy people aren’t really happy. Sometimes they compensate because they’re so broken inside. I knew Robert had lost his wife about a year ago. That was known in the community. I thought, naively, that he had been able to cope, to heal. I had no idea it had left him so purposeless, so lost. Maybe he poured himself into the channel just to drown out the darker voices in his head. We’ll simply never know.
It hit me like a ton of bricks to hear that he had taken his own life, right before the video went public. It reminded me of my friend Paul, who also came to visit me, gave me a hug even, before he took his too.
Depression has too many faces, I suppose.
Rest in peace, Professor. You will be dearly missed.
—MenO
