IN MEMORIAM

Bob McGowan

            I met Bob McGowan more than 30 years ago when the AFA had just organized the adjunct faculty in what was the first adjunct union in the country. Bob was one of the founders. From the beginning, he was as active as anyone in the leadership of our organization. For many years, he was the department representative for the English Department and the chairman of the grievance committee. He served on the negotiating committee many times as we fought to bring fairness to the bargaining table. I remember well Bob’s contributions during the two strikes we were forced to stage in order to secure contracts.

            But there was more to Bob McGowan than a tireless, dedicated union representative. There was Bob the colleague, Bob the coach, Bob the referee, Bob the scholar, Bob the teacher, Bob the golfer, Bob the husband, Bob the father and grandfather, and Bob the friend.

            I recall with fondness the time Bob, Lois Cowie, and I were on the constitutional revision committee. We were charged by the Executive Board to make some critical changes to the AFA Constitution. I chaired the committee, so meetings were held at my home.

The first night we met we were sitting in my living room working when I offered coffee or tea. Bob declined, but asked if I had any Coca Cola. I explained that we did not keep that kind of stuff in the house because we did not what our children to get into the habit of drinking soda. After all, I lectured, each can of Coke has 10 teaspoons of sugar in it, and the phosphoric acid played havoc with the enamel on your teeth. So, I cautioned my friend that he was better off staying away from that stuff. He listened politely and fired up a cigarette asking for an ashtray. I explained that we did not smoke and consequently did not have ashtrays in the house. Bob took a couple of puffs and went into the kitchen to put out his cigarette. On we labored revising the constitution.

Lois arrived before Bob at our next meeting. Soon the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, there stood Bob McGowan, all six-foot something of him, with a 2 litter bottle of Coke in one hand and an ashtray in the other. The three of us laughed hysterically, and I learned a lesson about Bob as well as myself. Bob was his own man. His life was his to smoke and to drink Coke if he wanted to. And I put my lecturing about what’s good for you and what’s bad for you where it belongs—in the bin.

Sad to say, Bob succumbed to cancer. It started in his lungs and spread. He continued coming to Executive Board meetings, and we watched as he lost his hair to the treatments. We saw him decline and then recover. His hair grew back and he gained weight. We breathed a sigh of relief. Then things reversed, and at each meeting Bob wouldn’t let that big C put his spirits down. He would give his grievance reports and talk about upcoming hearings like nothing had changed.

Then we heard that the doctors had stopped all treatment and given Bob a timetable. We were crushed, but not Bob. Fran O’Brien, Bob Gaudino, and I went to the McGowan home to visit Bob. He was in incredibly high spirits. We talked about everything—mostly the AFA and the long struggle. Bob insisted that I take a ride on the chair lift that was installed so he could get up the stairs to the bedroom. As I rode on the lift, Bob laughed and joked about it. There he was, days away from the hereafter, having fun kibitzing with his buddies.

He was a model of inner strength. We will miss him sorely.

Charles Loiacono