Remembering Bob Castagnola

Last month, In the Vineyard filled more than a page with reflections from many friends and acquaintances on the life of Bob Castagnola, an early VOTF MA member who died in January. Mary Hogan's thoughts didn't make the January issue. We are happy to have them in this February issue.

In Memoriam - In Vivo!

How does one capture almost 50 years acquaintance with a unique life force? With the death of Bob Castagnola we have lost a rare blend of conscience, wit and compassion at a time when we most need all three - let alone the loving and lovable person in whom they were housed.

As a novice Registrar at B.C. School of Social Work, I first met Bob and his equally impressive wife-to-be Charlotte Salerno in the Fall of 1956. In an era of conventional approaches to both education and social work Bob didn't hesitate to break the mold. He reserved his (ever-deepening) reverence for God … anything or anyone else was fair game.

Whether it was breaking up a class or calling the School offices in a perfect imitation of then-dominant Cardinal Cushing, Bob was as adept at pricking pomposity as he was at demanding attention for those in greatest need. Embracing the new civil rights efforts after graduation, he'd appear on a picket line at the Boston School Committee, the Cardinal's residence or whatever venue was being called to task - most often at 11 or midnight, just in case the graveyard-shift wasn't being covered.

When he returned to the School as a faculty member, it was with little regard for the "publish or perish" motif then taking hold. He believed - and conveyed brilliantly to students - that as much as they had to establish themselves professionally, the very purpose of the profession was not only to analyze or ameliorate the lot of the poor and marginalized, but to change the assumptions and conditions that contributed to it. His sabbatical was spent at Pine Street Inn - not to study the guests like butterflies on pins, but to listen, to comfort and to learn.

His sense of commitment never weighed heavily on his unselfconscious humility. When he heard (after an orientation "intro" he, of course, walked out on) that I had described him to students as a cross between Francis of Assisi and Mort Sahl, he said, "Boy are you showing your age - half this group doesn't know who St. Francis was and the other half never heard of Mort Sahl."

A devoté of Dante and all things Italian, he would stand in the foyer and declaim what sounded like "Abandonate Spera Tutt…" and we would debate whether the introduction to the Inferno was "Abandon all hope ye who enter…" or "Abandon hope all ye who enter…" Look it up, but know that it was quintessential Bob never to abandon his North End accent, style or integrity. "What you see is what you get" - and it was totally authentic. (On the death of Pope John Paul I, he was quite unnerved at the increasing possibility of a non-Italian Pope and asked to be called ASAP if an election was reported during one of his classes. When I dutifully rang and intoned as somberly as possible "Habemus Papamski," he shouted, "No, No! Now I've gotta' sell my pasta stock and buy kielbasa!" He never quite forgave that break in a 500-year tradition. No pejoratives intended, but no political correctness for its own sake, either.)

The humor lightened but never really hid his anguish at the pain of injustice and indifference suffered by so many of his fellow human beings, whatever their age, status, race or proximity. He fostered dialog and hope on every controversy that threatened to divide people … class, racial or religious prejudice, war and peace, priorities of social justice, AIDS and bias towards gays and lesbians; he offered pro bono seminars on both notions and the reality of G-d, significance of the Spirit to individual lives, various traditions and whatever dilemmas people wanted to discuss. He strove to be a "companion of justice." It was a hope fully realized.

Bob was not so much a contrarian as, literally, a "sign of contradiction" in the tradition of the Jesus he followed so sincerely. If an opinion or course of action was adopted with too much speed or unanimity, he felt obliged to challenge it - and whether at a faculty meeting or a VOTF discussion. It was instinctive with him not only to make sure that all sides/possibilities were considered, but also that neither he nor any of us become so wedded to a position that we could not hear its impact on others or the risks of absolutism that it might imply. Passionate advocacy never justified ad hominem argument or disdain for those on the other side. He was ever open to reflection, correction, new insights and grace.

Those who found him present at MCI Norfolk in a life-deadening or crisis situation; at Pine Street when all respect for human dignity seemed to have disappeared; at Norwood Hospital in the middle of the night, available for whatever listening or consolation an emergency case or family might need; in hospice visits; in everyday contacts with students, colleagues, clients, friends or family when some wall or doubt seemed insurmountable, will never forget him - or keep from smiling at the memory of some irreverent jibe or reassurance.

When we were lost in our own thoughts, preparing to leave for the funeral, Kit Maillett said, "For all the sadness of Bob's death, weren't we blessed to have known him!" Amen.

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