Bob was living in an old trolley car on South Strand street when I, a
greenhorn Hoosier teenager, showed up in the early seventies. Red Bex had
his boxing club and a mule - all kinds of characters floated through that
neighborhood (hello Jenson). I heard those hobo ninjas Dobro Dick and
Fiddlin' Red, met up with Gary Mundon (RIP) at the Park Hotel and generally
enjoyed Missoula's creative underbelly.
After doing business between Missoula and the Flathead Valley (hello
Marco), I moved up to the valley and eventually wound up playing guitar in
most of the roadhouses and dancehalls of NW Montana, with three years hard
labor at the Blue Moon. Bob and his posse would roll through occasionally
and kidnap me for a road trip to Chico, Livingston, even Indiana and Ohio.
Remember his old Dodge with a glove on the windshield wiper?
After moving to Seattle, then to Port Townsend, I didn't see Bob as often.
But of course he would show up unexpectedly in the most unlikely places,
always with laughter, intriguing new ideas and amazing stories. When
visiting his folks up the road in Sequim, he sometimes visited PT, where we
would stroll about town and admire the dry-stacked stone walls.
Didn't Bob inspire everyone around him to laugh harder and think deeper? He
got me reading that damn David Hawkins book, so now I strive to calibrate my
vibrations up towards his levels of Duddhahood. Guess I was just one of many
who loved him madly.
Remember Bob with these words from White Eagle, 'cause the shoe surely
fits...
When you're born, you cry and the world rejoices
Live your life so that when you die
The world cries and you rejoice
Michael Townsend
Port Townsend, Washington
Port Townsend, Washington
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Bob Hiking at Tamanowas Rock |
