Where does one start when talking about someone who has been part of one's family history? Especially when that person has recently passed away. That is what I'm wondering when writing about Reverend Robert W. Castle, Jr.
Who's that?you might be asking. And how does he fit into your family's history? Well, I guess that's a good place to start. Grab a cup of coffee or tea (or cocoa, if you'd like), sit back, and I'll tell you.
My parents, Jane and John, went to college at St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York; that was where they met. Of course, as anyone who has gone to college - or anywhere for any length of time - they met many people, some of whom were destined to be part of their lives. Robert Castle was one of those people. Bob was a student at St. Lawrence, and graduated the same time as my parents. Within months, my folks married, and Bob went on to Berkeley Divinity School in New Haven, becoming an Episcopal priest; I'm not sure when he married Nancy, his first wife.
Both couples managed to stay in touch throughout the years, getting together for dinner at each others' homes. Somewhere, Mom has photos of me playing with Bob and Nancy's children during one of the evening gatherings.
When did the Bob Castle stories begin? Probably shortly after he began rocking the Church's establishment. I know I heard about what he'd done while I grew up.
One such story was how, given a dying church in one ghetto, he managed to get people coming back to church. The first week, his sermon consisted of marching the dozen or so African-American congregants out in front of the church to a nearby storm drain. There, he held up a key.
"Does anyone know what this is?" he asked. After acknowledging that yes, it was the only key to the church, he opened his hand up, thereby letting the key drop into the storm drain. "Oops, guess I can't lock up the church." After bringing the congregants back inside, Bob announced that, to his way of thinking, those who were poor and struggling to make ends meet - especially if one was black, hispanic, or other disenfranchised group - needed to be able to get into church to pray 24/7 more than someone who was living on Easy Street.
He was also one to rally his slowly growing congregation whenever someone needed help with their rent, when a landlord had turned off a building's heat during a February blizzard, gave New York City grief when unmarked police cars parked on sidewalks, blocking access to church.
During race riots that seemed to spring up during the 1960s, Bob was one of the few whites who was able to walk the predominantly black neighborhoods, telling people to please calm down, let's fix things peaceably without getting attacked.
At one point, he moved his family to Vermont, where he ran a general store and did social work. Why? Because he'd been such a thorn in the diocese's side that the diocese decided it couldn't (wouldn't?) place him in another parish.
Years later, he was able to get another parish job.
During the late 1960s (late '68/early '69), my dad heard that Bob, who'd published a book of prayers titled Prayers from the Burned-Out City, would be giving a reading from his book in Providence, Rhode Island. Dad pulled me out of school for the day and invited several nuns from the Catholic high school where I was a student to come along to hear Bob. I remember Dad and I going up to Bob afterwards and talking with him.
In the early 1990s, director Jonathan Demme caught wind of a radical Episcopal priest with a familiar sounding name. He (Demme) had a cousin named Robert Castle. But the Bobby he remembered from his youth had been a somewhat quiet person; here was someone causing a ruckus, getting arrested, having marched decades earlier with Martin Luther King, Jr., talking with Black Panthers, fighting for the poor...could this be the same Bobby Castle? Turns out, it was. After reconnecting, Demme's documentary titled Cousin Bobby aired on PBS's POV series. Bob, who eventually retired, was thrust into several of Demme's movies. (If you've ever seen the movie Philadelphia with Tom Hanks as a man dying of AIDS, with Joanne Woodward as Hanks's mom, you've seen Bob Castle; he played Hanks's dad in the movie.)
Over the years, especially whenever I'd pick up my copy of Prayers from the Burned-Out City or re-watched Philadelphia, I've thought of Bob, and wondered how to go about contacting him. I'd want to tell him how I'd told both Mom and Dad to watch PBS when Cousin Bobby had aired; how the folks had divorced; how Dad had passed away in 2007, but that we'd talked about Bobby throughout the years.
Last night, as I was checking my email, I saw that there was one from POV. I usually open that one last, as I know there's usually something that will hold my interest. The first story had a photo of Jonathan Demme and Bob Castle, with a headline about Cousin Bobby. Of course, I had to read that. But the news was not up-beat: the article mentioned that Cousin Bobby, Bob Castle, part of our family history, had passed away on October 27 of this year at the age of 83. He was survived by his second wife, his children (except for Robert III, who died at 19 in a swimming accident), his step-children, grandchildren and step-grandchildren and great-grandchildrent.
I called Mom and told her the news, then, after hanging up, got teary-eyed on and off the rest of the evening.
God speed, Bobby. We'll meet again someday. And say hi to Dad and Paul for me, okay? Peace.
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/07/nyregion/robert-w-castle-jr-outspoken-harlem-priest-dies-at-83.html?_r=0
http://newportvermontdailyexpress.com/content/reverend-robert-w-castle-jr
http://www.pbs.org/pov/cousinbobby/#.UJ1QLY7FX1I
No comments:
Post a Comment