In the hushed glow of early February morning, Bob Moore slipped away quietly at home — not in some boardroom fight or public fixture, but in the place where his life’s work began, surrounded by the hum of machines and the scent of grain. He was 94. “He peacefully passed away at home,” the company announced.
His death marks not simply the end of one man’s journey, but the passing of a rare kind of entrepreneur: one who refused to sell out his vision, instead giving it away.
A Late Bloom — And Then A Rising Tide
Bob Moore’s path to milling was anything but linear. Born in Portland in 1929, he spent parts of his youth in Southern California. After high school he served in the U.S. Army, building roads on remote Pacific islands.
He tried gas stations, hardware work, even managing an auto shop at J.C. Penney. He married Charlee Coote in 1953; the couple would later form an inseparable team.
Then, in the 1960s, Bob encountered a turning point: he read John Goffe’s Mill by George Woodbury, a book about resurrecting an old flour mill. Something in him stirred. He began collecting old quartz millstones and experimenting with stone-ground flours.
In 1974, with Charlee and two of their sons, he launched Moore’s Flour Mill in Redding, California. Four years later, the couple opened a second mill — Bob’s Red Mill — in Milwaukie, Oregon, converting an old feed mill into a working stone-grinding operation.
From that modest beginning, Bob’s Red Mill would grow into a global name, with more than 200 whole-grain products sold in over 70 countries. But the real transformation — the one that would outlast its founder — came later.
A Radical Act Of Faith: Giving The Company Away
While most business leaders focus on growth, profit, and personal legacy, Bob Moore chose a different path rooted in responsibility and care. In 2010, when he turned 81, he took a remarkable step by launching an Employee Stock Ownership Plan (ESOP), setting in motion a process that would gradually hand over the company’s ownership to the very people who helped build it.
By April 2020, the process was complete: more than 700 employee owners held 100 percent of Bob’s Red Mill. “It is in keeping with my faith,” Bob said — referencing the golden rule, “Do unto others…” Even after he stepped aside as CEO in 2018, Moore remained on the board, watching, supporting, shaping.
In his death, he left behind not heirs fighting over control, but a living, breathing community of employee-owners committed to carrying his vision forward.
The Man Behind The Bag — And The Brand
To many, Bob Moore was more than a name on packaging. His white beard, flat cap, red vest and gentle smile became iconic — his likeness printed on every product with the phrase “To Your Good Health.”
Reporters have described him as “folksy, almost Santa-like” in demeanour. Inside the mill, he was known as a tinkerer. He would test flecks of flour, walk the plant floor late into the evening, even play piano duets in the office.
He kept his curiosity alive. He once admitted he was skeptical of the gluten-free trend, calling some early advocates “nuts” — a comment he later acknowledged as youthful stubbornness.
He spoke frequently about his father — who died of a heart attack at 49 — as a guiding memory. It drove Bob’s commitment to healthier foods. Tributes poured in after his death: chefs, food writers, farmers, home bakers — people who saw in him a force for kindness, integrity, and shared prosperity.
The Blueprint: Business As Community
The story of Bob’s Red Mill is not just one of growth, but resilience. In 1988, an arsonist fire destroyed the original mill. Miraculously, the quartz millstones — buried under collapsed grain — remained intact. Bob rebuilt.
Despite growing demand and global expansion, Bob refused multiple acquisition offers. He wanted the business to remain true to its mission. By the time of his death, the company had become a pillar of natural foods culture in the U.S., ranking alongside other employee-led companies in integrity, sustainability, and innovation.
His philanthropic work echoed these principles. The Moores donated generously to institutions in Oregon, helping fund centers for nutritional research, whole grain education, and wellness programs. Today, the employee-owners continue his legacy — guided not by profit alone, but by care: for ingredients, for community, for a future where ownership isn’t just for the few.
A Quiet Passing, A Loud Legacy
His death was gentle; his impact is loud. As one commenter noted on social media: “RIP Bob, hopefully since the company is employee owned, things will stay the same… when founders die, things often go to shit.” But in this case, the structure was built to outlive its architect.
One year later, the company announced the closure of its flagship Whole Grain Store and café in Milwaukie, citing sustained losses and a shift in business focus. Some expressed heartbreak — after all, that store was a gathering place, a tangible touchpoint of Bob’s mission.
Yet the company emphasized that the focus must remain manufacturing and distribution, where Bob’s products now reach shelves in more than 70 countries. And so, even as one chapter closes, the larger story continues.
The Quiet Pulse Behind The Packaging
Bob Moore’s life teaches us something profound: legacy is not built by skyscrapers or headlines, but by passing power to those often left invisible. He whispered ownership to 700 people, and in doing so, wrote a different story than so many founders do.
His mills still hum. His employee-owners still wake to the grain’s song. And somewhere in the hum, you sense the echo of one man’s improbable faith: faith in people, in process, in fairness.
If you’ve ever held a bag of Bob’s Red Mill flour — with his face on it, smiling — pause for a moment. Behind the flecks of bran is more than a brand: it’s a belief, a gesture, a promise. May his quiet generosity ripple outward for generations to come.
Sources:
Bobs Red Mill
ABC News
KLCC
INC
