March 25, 2010
Mark Guydish
mguydish@timesleader.com
I spent a chunk of the summer of 2000 on Public Square drifting for
long stretches with a diffuse group derisively labeled "Square Rats."
Ranging from teens to 30s with varying education and employment, they
had hit public prominence after complaints prompted a boost in police presence.
Editors wanted a story probing deeper into who they were. During my
time with them I met Bob Witkowski, a common square presence with a
distinctive "Grateful Dead" look silver-haired pony tail and beard
reminiscent of Jerry Garcia known for his soft-spoken but
unwavering commitment to peace and environmental causes. It was
Witkowski who gave me the last line of my story, defending the young
people he had clearly befriended.
"Aimlessness was never a crime," he said. "If it was, we'd all be in trouble."
Tuesday evening I stood on the square with another diffuse group,
ranging from scampering toddler to slow-stepping senior, from
architect to OSHA inspector, from scruffy beard and dreadlocks to
bald pate and necktie. Roughly 100 had come to a candlelight vigil to
say goodbye to Bob, unexpectedly dead at 57.
The variety of people present and the depth and breadth of society
they represented spoke volumes about the scope of Bob's appeal. Yes,
he periodically stood out there with a sign decrying even the most
justifiable war. It was, to many, his signature cause. But it wasn't
his only interest.
Other public endeavors
Bob helped found the local Green Party in an effort to break the iron
grip of a two-party system that increasingly serves us shoddily amid
the hyperbole of opportunistic pols.
He pushed softly but tirelessly for even small changes that could
lead to a big environmental impact, like walking or taking the bus.
He opposed the death penalty, a practice that, as I've noted
previously in this space, is increasingly hard to justify when you
look at statistics.
He supported the Chicory House, the area's most consistent, eclectic
and under appreciated folk music venue.
He came to the contra dances, an old-fashioned art that is as much
social gathering accessible to all as it is exercise and entertainment.
And he showed up at Folklore Society songfests, a group open to
voices of all calibers that sound good without a moment of practice.
Maybe it's the camaraderie that wrestles disparity into harmony.
Leaving a recent songfest, my wife and I chatted with Bob as he
gushed about his daughter's marriage, pride and joy in every word.
Beth Ann was at the candlelight vigil Tuesday, tears welling as
speakers praised her father.
Bob was not a mover and shaker, he does not leave a legacy of
sweeping change. He was a persistent voice of conscience, a chronic
reminder there are less destructive paths to most goals.
I did not know him well, but you didn't have to. You could see the
type of man he was from the type of organizations he supported, and
the timbre of people who considered him a friend worth memorializing.
They outlined a history of activism ranging from Kent State (1970) to
Iraq. They testified to his personal assistance in rebuilding
shattered lives. They sang Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land,"
Dylan's "I Shall Se Released" and Lennon's "Imagine"
You can argue the practicality of the man's causes, particularly in a
post-9/11 America, but you can't deny his persistence. And for a
person so consistent in opposition to war, the old epitaph has
profound meaning.
Rest in peace, Bob.
.
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