W.O. Goggins

Old Mill

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 06:20:00 +0000

My Brother,
Missing sitting by the fire with you.
Missing seeing your reflection in the creak.
Missing your arm around me.
I miss you with my heart and soul.

Jack

Bridge Poster, Reggie George & Billy Goggins 1968

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 23:16:00 +0000

Some recent remembrances

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 18:50:00 +0000

For those who haven't yet seen it, Josh Davis penned a feature story for last month's issue of Men's Health magazine, exploring the undiagnosed heart condition that led to Bill's death. The piece is both a great tribute to Bill and a fantastic work of investigative medical reporting. You can find it online here. Josh also appeared on an hour long program on KQED in San Francisco, to discuss the story and the condition together with two experts; you can listen to the audio here.

This past July there were a number of gatherings marking the first anniversary of Bill's passing, in San Francisco, Mill Valley, and Bolinas, with glasses raised in tribute much farther afield. In May, the Goggins family awarded the inaugural William O. Goggins Journalism Awards to two American Indian graduating students showing interest and promise in writing at Stone Child College, Rocky Boy’s Reservation and Blackfeet Community College, Blackfoot Reservation. Both colleges are in Northern Montana, a place to which Bill and his family have deep connections.

-Evan

A sunny day in Bolinas

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Wed, 23 May 2007 22:57:00 +0000

A couple of photos from Jorge Bachmann, taken in Bolinas on May 10, which Jorge and Bill share as their birthday.

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Fri, 11 May 2007 01:20:00 +0000

I would like to make this short and sweet.

Bill was part of my family. I lost touch with Bill when my sister Mary Jo and he broke up. I always remembered his birthday but I was lazy with making that call. Today I think of Bill and I am so proud of what he accomplished. I am so shocked that he is not here! Life is crazy! Missing Bill today!

In fond remembrance,

Julie

A Tribute to You, Billy

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Wed, 04 Apr 2007 22:55:00 +0000

It has taken me eight months to commit pen to paper…not that I am still in denial about your death. More a suspended state of disbelief. I can’t believe that someone with such presence is gone. I miss you so much.

In many ways, I can still feel your presence. Your wise words and warm smiles are still with me. In the last few months, whenever I have been in social/conversational situations where I find myself a tad, well…bored, I imagine what you would say if you were there…your ability to add humor, perspective, silliness and/or constructive confrontation to a conversation was unmatched. Your combination of brains, banter and balls was a delight to witness in public, especially if there was a stranger who thought they could take you on.

On a spiritual level I can accept your moving on – your family and friends say that you were taken by the angels – this phrase helps me let you go. But on a selfish level, I am still really struggling. We had so many good times together in so many different places…oceans, forests, bars, nightclubs, restaurants, baseball parks, softball fields, basketball courts, subways…anytime I am on BART, or see Mt. Tam or go to a baseball game, you are foremost on my mind. In fact, everyday you are on my mind. We had so many long walks helping each other figure out our current predicaments, listening to the venting and spilling and confused wonderings and then responding in sympathetic and tough and real ways, helping each other the way old friends do, maybe being a bit more honest than we would have preferred, but as truthful as we needed to be.

I still wish I could have seen you one more time.

Your friendship has made me a better friend. You taught me how to listen by listening to me. Your gift of gab helped me better articulate my thoughts. Your ability to expand the contexts of a myriad of topics helped broaden my thoughts and perspectives. I know some people thought you talked too much (you often said this about yourself), but I never got tired of hearing you talk. After being with you during a 6-hour flight delay, my mom said that you were the best person to be stuck somewhere with. Sometimes just the challenge of following your threads and references was enough to keep me engaged. Hearing you make sense of the world helped me understand its senselessness.

The utter shock, loss and grief that I feel makes me think I took you for granted. Thank you for being in my life, for guiding me to better places, for being there every time I needed you…you were so present in my life in both emotional and pragmatic ways. I was lucky to meet you when I was still a boy because you helped me grow to be a better man.

The toughest thing to let go of is missing the last chance I had to speak with you…the night before you died, you called the house. I was on a work call and chasing Zak into the bath. Cynthia answered and you said no big deal, I could call you back. After Zak’s bath and bedtime routine, I was pooped and by the time I remembered to call you back it was late. So I figured I’d call you in the morning. I did, but you would never get the voicemail. I want that back. I want to speak with you one more time. I want to hear the latest from your life. You were in such a good and hard place. You. I want to hear you ramble on about your life and the middle east and foot long hot dogs and politics and porn and somehow link them all together in a sentence and have it all actually make sense. I want to hear you tell me to take care of Cynthia, Zak and Sean one more time, like you always did at the end of our conversations.

See, Billy, I told you I wasn’t taking this very well. I’m all selfish and me, me, me about your death. I wish I could be more evolved about it all. Your family has been such an inspiration. You must be so proud of them…your friends, too…this website, the articles, the run finishing the marathon…you really were part of a loving and creative and connected community. I just miss you so much. Writing this to you helps, but I want to hear a wise crack. I want to go to Mel’s with you and Jack and lie about a birthday to get free pie and a song from a cute waitress. I want your guidance and perspective. I want to see you being an uncle with Dominic and Lina. I want to go hoarse heckling professional ball players with you. I’m so grateful for all you have given me and shared with me. I could go on and on, but damnit, I miss you.

- Alex Atkinson

Bill's presence

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 17:58:00 +0000

Although I didn't know Bill well, he made an impression on me. My angle of intersection with Bill was Cathy, Bill's sister, who has been a close friend since college. Over the years, I would see Bill periodically, and there was always something quirkily memorable about those occasions.

I first met both Bill and Cathy at a party that I threw with roommates in Berkeley. It was kind of a wild night, the proof of which is that I don't remember much about it. Still, I remember meeting Cathy and Bill, and a meta-moment where Bill was talking and I thought, "This guy is really interesting." I didn't quite make it to the end of the party, or even the middle. According to reports, later that night Bill jumped off our balcony, making his mark on every one else's memory as well.

During subsequent encounters over the years, I was repeatedly struck by what an interesting, engaged, and vibrant person Bill was. At one New Year's party I threw with Cathy, Bill walked in the door and embraced and kissed on the lips several of the women there. He did this in a way that was somehow mischievous, playful, charming and good-natured all at the same time. I'm not sure that just anyone could have pulled that off. Another time we met in New York, and I gave him a tour of an alternative video collective I was working with. He "got" what we were doing right away, and we spent a couple of hours talking about the relationship between media, culture and society. That was my first experience of connecting with Bill intellectually.

After that, our interest in media became a common reference point. I eventually became an academic in the field of media and communication, and Bill went to work at Wired. Whenever I'd see him, he was always very supportive of my work. He encouraged me to write something for Wired's back page and offered several times to copy edit the book I was writing. I never took him up on either offer, which I no doubt should have. In the latter case, I was worried that he would find the book too academic (and possibly boring) to edit. When I mentioned this to some of his professional friends and colleagues later, they said that one of the things that made Bill a great editor was that he was able to deal with everyone's writing and ideas on their own terms. In any case, I always appreciated the generosity of his offer.

The last time I saw Bill was about a year before he died. My husband and I had invited a bunch of friends to stay with us in a house we had rented in St. Helena. Cathy and husband Paul were there throughout the week, and Bill came up for a day along with Pat and Ute. I had a new, three month old baby. Bill took the baby and played with her for a while, and I remember being struck by what a natural he was with a 3 month old, and how considerate it was of him to take the baby off my hands for a bit. He also spoke about how he was re-evaluating his life, both personally and professionally, and how he felt like he was in a good place to move forward.

I was deeply saddened to hear about Bill's death, both because of what an all around great presence he always was and because of how much I knew he would be missed by his wonderful and close family, whose openness, generosity and love over the years have always been so apparent and of whom Bill was so much a part and so representative. I think that Bill was one of those people that regardless of how well you knew him, you always felt good knowing that there were people like him in the world.

-Laura Stein

Missing my "tocayo"

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 18:46:00 +0000

I have waited so long to add my words to this wonderful homage to Bill. I do so today because Bill has been much on my mind. I think he is nudging me to "get on with it."
My name is Guillermina, which is Spanish for Wilhelmina, which is the feminine of William. My siblings called me "Bill." So, Bill was my "tocayo" and I his. While a Spanish to English dictionary might define that word as simply "namesake," I believe it means much more. In some odd, almost metaphysical way, names can define and shape us. That defining and shaping allowed Bill's soul and my soul to touch gently and with dear affection during the times we had together.
My family and I met Bill when he was 17 years old; my husband, Michael, and I were beginning a life-long friendship with his parents Patrick and Ute. Bill was a sparkling young man, about to commence his college education at Georgetown University. The last time we saw Bill was in 2005, at the celebration of our new home in Calistoga. He was in the process of "commencing" then as well. By coincidence, we must have been just a couple of blocks away the moment the angels took Bill. With our daughter, Marlena, Michael and I were walking towards a breakfast spot on that glorious Sunday and were on the marathon route at about mile 20.
In the intervening years, we shared some wonderful adventures with Bill and the Goggins clan. I won't go on with interminable descriptions of cherished moments but will describe only one. I cannot recall the year, but I do know it was St. Valentine's Day. The Goggins and Byrne families were to dine at a Mill Valley restaurant, at which Bill was working. Bill had arranged to wait on our table. I had hoped he would; I had not expected he would decorate our table in that special, thoughtful way that was pure Bill. When we walked into the restaurant, we were not only greeted with beautiful flowers on the table but also with deep red, heart-shaped confetti tastefully strewn thereon. I cannot recall what we ate but do know we have never been served with such thoughtful affection and good cheer. Bill certainly had a way with women, even those of us old enough to be his mother.
But Bill wasn't smarmy; his clear, knowing eyes were softened with warmth and acceptance. Many of you have described Bill's keen intellingence, often unfathomable verbiage, and uncontainable zest for life. All true. When he comes to my mind, however, I will recall the direct gaze of his eyes, the warmth of his hands in mine, and his freely given declarations of affection. I love you too, mi tocayo.

It has taken me all this time

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Fri, 16 Feb 2007 22:07:00 +0000

It has taken me all this time since William O. Goggins passing to say something.

I do not take death well.

It is especially difficult to remember and say good-bye to someone who loves life and who you love and respect for the fact of their earthly existence that fills the world with love and respect.

This is, however, a good day to fondly remember someone but, for me, not to say good-bye. The fine young man I know as William O. Goggins is an old soul who has been running around the universe for a long, long time. I know that he has been doing this forever and that his spirit will continue doing so.

We will meet again, all of us, we people from the stars. But I will look forward especially to seeing him again.

I am not going to say good-bye because, for one thing, you cannot say good-bye in our Blackfoot language. You can only say something like, "I will see you again".

This is what I want to say here, "William O. Goggins I will see you again someday and we will visit and have a good time eating and drinking some thing good, while we remember when. But this time, don't go running off so soon. I know you have a universe to travel and that you have to make like a comet . . . . but then again you do leave a beautiful trail as you come and go".

* * * * Long Standing Bear Chief

Headline TK

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 07:37:00 +0000

I wish Bill was here to give me a smart and simple introductory sentence. I wish Bill was here to help me decide which of our thousand stories to tell first. I wish Bill was here to help me not think so much about what I'm typing but more about what I'm trying say. I wish Bill was here to check all references, cross-references, grammar, spelling, double spaces, tracking, leading and type style before I publish this post. I wish Bill was here to remind me to be bold and simple. I wish Bill was here to write a headline for my entry.
Oh - and most important - I wish Bill was here so we could get together and watch the USA vs Mexico soccer match tonight.
I miss my brother Bill,
Federico

Great editor, great person

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 16:41:00 +0000

I was thinking of Bill this morning, because as it happened, I needed to use "hip-hop" in something. And if you were to ask me to describe William O. Goggins, I'd tell you he was a person who could and in fact did get worked up over whether or not hip-hop should be hyphenated. And why you couldn't make "bebop" one word, because if you did that, you'd be left with hiphop, which would sound like "hifop," and well, you see.

That to me, was the essence of Bill. Lively, whipsmart, argumentative, idiocyncratic, droll.

He was my one of my first editors, early in my career, at SF Weekly and Wired. He was also my friend, and if I'm in any measure a better writer or a better person than the snarkly fledgling smartass I was then, it's in no small part to his influence. Stellar editors are a rarity, ones who are also exceptional human beings even moreso. I'll always be honored to have known him.

-- Mary Elizabeth Williams

Thanks, Bill.

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 18:00:00 +0000

It was an August Sunday in Bolinas. I slowly walked down the now familiar aisle directly behind the church; head down and fixated on my shoes as they crunched through the gravel. I stopped at plot 154. I stood there... Consumed by grief, by the seemingly overwhelming circumstances that were enveloping my life - in the two weeks that had preceded, I had lost my job; my car was totaled; I had cracked my pelvis; I had a looming court date; not to mention the war in Iraq; escalating gas prices; and now this... Bill, my friend, my "brother", was unbelievably gone.

I stood there alone, with tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, a very heavy heart, and my myriad of worries. Unable to really focus on anything(!), I simply stood there angrily questioning... Why? How? What? I was there less than a minute, when my chaos was interrupted, parted by a gentle (but clear) voice whispering through me these five simple words... "It's about the little things".

Slightly bewildered by this encounter (and its meaning), I made a "b-line" for my awaiting rental car. As I walked past the small church, I became aware of how comforting the warm sunshine felt upon my face. Over the next few days I started grasping the beautiful gift(s) that I was given on that Summer day. The little things... A ray of sunshine, a smile, the sound of the ocean, holding hands, my morning shower, saying "I love you"... These limitless "little things" are what should be noticed, what should be treasured; these "little things" are what life is about.

Thanks, Bill.

- Adam

A Night To Remember

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 02:02:00 +0000

At the request of Bill's family I am making an entry (verbatim) of the thoughts written down in my card of condolence, intended originally to be quite short, but for reason as explained subsequently I added later more in light of an unexpectred adventure:

(after the preprinted wording of the card ("May the peace of Christ ease your pain of loss and give you strength") "P.S. I didn't know Bill well but do remember him well!"

(added on the day following the Mass and Reception Celebration)
"P.P.S. I forgot to leave this card at the reception after the Mass because I was in a hurry to leave since the last bus out of downtown to S.F. supposedly was at about 8:45pm. However it didn't show up, although a different bus route vehicle did. Luckily the driver was willing to take me close to the freeway, then gave me a short explanation of where to go from there. But it didn't work out the way I heard it and so I ended up walking along the freeway shoulder for a ways, then gave up and went back up. Luckily a couple of "homeless" guys also were going to S.F. and one had figured out where to find the bus pad along the freeway (had to cross the busy street, first).Once there, I noticed a couple of young women sitting quite a ways apart - seemed like a bad idea since it was dark! Anyway, eventually the bus came and I found room to stand for a couple of stops, then got a seat. I never knew getting back to S.F. could be such an adventure, but during the whole experience I thought of BILL and his adventures!

Rattling Your Cage

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Sat, 13 Jan 2007 22:24:00 +0000

It's still on my calendar: "October 4, 2005, from 10 to 11am, Bill Goggins". He came to meet with me and my coworkers at my new job. He stayed an extra hour just talking to the two heads of my small firm. They were dazzled by him, and afterwards rushed to my desk to thank me for introducing them. For weeks, they referred to things he had said, thoughts he had shared.

Later, we traded emails so we could get together for a long-planned drink and catch-up session. Our emails went back and forth, busy week after busy week, the quick check-ins written in classic Billspeak: "Rattling your cage...", that sort of thing.

Months later, when I was on the verge of starting yet another new job, he was the first person I thought of calling. I needed his advice, his input, as I headed into a new magazine adventure that needed his touch and his wisdom. But he was gone.

I miss Bill every day, as I work with the words and images that remind me of him. He was a friend to so many, and remains an inspiration to all. I look forward to rattling his cage someday, and having that drink we never got around to.

Daniel Carter

New Year's Message from Billy's Family

noreply@blogger.com (Friend of Bill) — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 03:50:00 +0000

A few days after Billy suddenly collapsed near the end of the July 30 San Francisco Marathon Benefit for Cancer Research, his niece Lina Rose (7) entered the doorway of our home in Mill Valley, stopped, stuck her arms up in the air and proclaimed “Wow. It’s just like Uncle Bill is alive and living with us in this house, right now.” After Thanksgiving, Cathy & I took Lina and Dominic Chester (5) for a nighttime walk in the redwoods, each with their own flashlight. On return Dom announced, “Uncle Bill was with us on the walk. Lucky dog was too. We couldn’t see her, but Uncle Bill could”.

Billy’s physical resting place is a glorious 15 miles over to the coast at St. Mary Magdalene Cemetery near Bolinas where Billy, Cathy and Aimee bloomed on the mountain, beach and ocean. Billy was surfing off Bolinas this summer. One afternoon in July, near sunset, he called us on his cell while drying off after a Great White Shark sighting and reported he was bleeding from banging his shin on a rock. Ute and I scolded him with motherliness and fatherliness, knowing his liking of life. Billy’s headstone, from the Black Hills of Dakota, was selected by Ute for its strength, exquisite nature and its congenialness and getatableness for Lina and Dom to sit on. The stone has a small cameo, in two of Billy’s favorite colors, burnt orange and lemon yellow, showing a young Billy’s shadow against a grain elevator in Alberta while he was running on top of a railroad car.

Bolinas Ridge Road

Bolinas Ridge

Overlooking Stinson Beach and Bolinas Lagoon

Path to Stone Circle

Stone Circle

Through The Redwoods

St Mary Magdalene Cypress and Eucalyptus

Cathy and Lina Bringing Flowers

Billy's Headstone

Headstone Face With Cameo

Bolinas Lagoon

Photos by Ed Greenly, Aimee Goggins & Patrick Goggins

Our continuous appreciation to our Creator and you during this season of hope and love.
Cathy, Paul, Lina, Dominic, Aimee, Cedar, Ute and Pat Goggins family.

For Bill

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Sat, 06 Jan 2007 22:38:00 +0000

As I read these posts, I am moved by how others were also touched by the phrase taken by angels.

Taken by angels is a nice way of saying
that it seemed unusually severe and perverse
to stop a man in a race at the 24th mile.

The chairs in the café are still as we left them.
I can replay each word of our sidewalk stop and chat.
You left us with one too many mysteries.

That morning, as you got ready in the dark,
what milestone did you think you were about to reach?
Most peoples’ days hadn’t started by the time your heart stopped.
To be taken in such a perverse way.
And yet the idea of angels.

- Indu Subaiya

Crossing paths with Bill

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Thu, 04 Jan 2007 23:26:00 +0000

I worked very briefly as a freelance copyeditor at Wired way back in 1997. Bill was the only one there who took the time to talk to me about anything other than work. I ran into him about a year and a half ago, and he remembered me before I said a word to him. He had a rare ability and willingness to connect to others.

-Anonymous

A Gift of the Angels

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Fri, 22 Dec 2006 03:01:00 +0000

Of our first meeting, I have no recollection- although this is not to say that it was not a significant one. I have only a scattered collection of pictures to remember those first moments I spent with him- as he and my cousin, Cathy, held me at my Baptism. Over and over again, I hear how he was “Taken by the Angels,” and it makes me think: well, then, he must have been given by the angels as well. How blessed am I to have had Bill as my Godfather for these past 20 years? How appropriate that a man so loving, so generous, so committed to the human beings around him, should be chosen to nurture my spirituality? God works in mysterious ways, and now there can be no doubt in my mind that Bill is indeed one of those treasured gifts from above.

Much of my memories of Bill are from my childhood- and perhaps offer a different yet nonetheless relevant perspective on the beautiful reflections that have been posted here. As a child, I was perhaps not as aware of the day-to-day kindness that Bill showed towards his friends, his coworkers, his family, and, truly, anyone he met. He was smart, this I knew; but of his extraordinary skill in languages, his eloquent writing, his professional success, I was unaware. Yet, somehow Bill has held a certain warmth, a special place in my heart.

When I think about Bill, the first two things that come to mind are his smile, and his strength. As a little girl, I remember running to greet him, and jumping into his arms; he would hold me above his head and shake me around playfully. I never had to worry I would fall; his arms were so strong, so safe. Then he would smile at me in his particular way. I remember often thinking or, rather, feeling that his smile was saying I know who you are…and guess what? I love you for it. He gave me an incredible sense of unconditional acceptance, of comfort that I sense with only a select few people in my life. I think it is this that drew me to him, that has drawn so many who feel he has impacted their lives.

Of course, you cannot speak of Bill without remembering his sense of humor. For me, this was the entertainment of having a 35-year-old man play beanie babies, re-enact scenes from the Lion King, and participate in elaborate, filmed advertising skits for high-tech energy drinks. He certainly knew how to endear himself to children. Yet, he never failed to impress me with his eloquent, witty comebacks- and I spent many-a-time laughing along with the adults not having the faintest clue as to what I was laughing at.

I guess you could say Bill came to be invincible in my mind- he was the generous spirit I could count on for Birthday gifts and Giants games’ outings, he was the smiling face I looked forward to seeing at Easter and Christmas, he was the symbol of goodness and faith in the world I was just beginning to discover. How do you say good-bye then, to someone who should have such a permanent presence in your life? He was taken by the angels. Yes, and he was also given by the angels. I thank God for the blessing Bill has been in my life, for what he has taught me, for his love that endures.

A most blessed and thankful God-daughter,

Meghan Elizabeth Casey

Aufwiedersehen

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Thu, 16 Nov 2006 19:22:00 +0000

Dear Bill (I never knew you as Billy),

Along with everyone else, I was shocked to hear that you had left us so suddenly. You didn't even have time to say good-bye. The first question I asked myself was when did I see you last. Then I remembered that it was at the Colm Toibin event. It was very crowded there but you made your way to me to say "hello". I never knew you well, but a few things will stand out about you in my mind. To me, you cut such an impressive figure. You were tall, well-built and always impeccably groomed. You also possessed a kind of quiet dignity. Such things impress women like me. Finally, you were always gracious toward me (I expect that the children of my friends will be polite, but I don't expect more). You always gave more. You seemed genuinely interested in talking to me. The other thing that I won't forget is that you kissed my hand! Who taught you to do that? That is a practice that has, unfortunately, long since disappeared from social life. In a phrase, you were a gentleman in every sense of the word.

What did we talk about that night? A few fragments come to mind. I asked about you and your siblings, since I don't see any of you that often. You told me that you had left WIRED and, I believe, were doing free-lance journalism. I am sorry that I don't think that I ever read one of your pieces. Maybe your parents will give me one.

I mentioned that your parents had told me the story of how they met in Stuttgart on a Sunday afternoon while your father was a soldier stationed there and your mother was "ein junges Madchen". Your father told me how his mother-in-law-to-be plied him with "Kuchen mit Schlag" and he was won over.

Then you said that your mother spoke English with a British accent. I told you that I had been living in Germany at about that time (1960) and had considered teaching English to earn a few extra dollars only to find out that they would only consider hiring teachers with a British accent. American English was considered totally unacceptable. Of course, all of that has changed now.

About this time, we drifted apart to talk to other friends who had attended the event. In retrospect, ours seemed like such a simple conversation - an exchange of pleasantries - the kind of talk we all have with many people. It was only after you left us that I realized that it would be our last. I think that the Germans and the French have it right when they wish their friends "Aufwiedersehen" and "Au Revoir" - until we see each other again. That idea gives me more comfort.

Claudia O'Callaghan

Bill's Day of the Dead Altar

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Fri, 03 Nov 2006 05:31:00 +0000

Please join Bill's family and friends at San Rafael's

Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead

where we will be creating an Altar in Bill's memory.

Information about the Day of the Dead celebration at:

http://www.cityofsanrafael.org/Special_Events_Calendar/Dia_de_los_Muertos__Day_of_the_Dead_.htm

http://www.cityofsanrafael.org/Assets/Redevelopment/Photos/Dia+de+los+Muertos+Flyer.pdf

For more information email me at: spprendiville@comcast.net or call me at 415-479-7523.

Sean Prendiville

Beale

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Tue, 31 Oct 2006 21:47:00 +0000

I met Bill at the Avenue Grill in Mill Valley. At the time I was 25 (he was 23) and shared an apartment with my sister, Julie. Several times a week we would go to the Grill for meals - it was a necessity for that feeling of family when so far from home. Bill tended bar while my sister and I talked with him for hours. I thought he was an absolute hunk, with his curly blond hair and dazzling blue eyes. I was mesmerized by our conversations and his quick iconoclastic mannerisms. Every time we went there I thought he had eyes for my sister. So I was surprised and delighted when he softly took my hands one evening as we were leaving the Grill, and with that penetrating gaze said, "Mary Jo can’t leave here until she agrees to go out with me."

Our first date was spent at the top of Mt. Tam sipping a bottle of champagne while we watched the sunset. It was the beginning of our five year relationship. In the evenings after work he would stop by my house, always whistling a distinctive little tune to let me know he was approaching our house. That tune is so ingrained in me that I whistle it frequently today to signal my own approach (I didn’t realize it was his until after his death). That tune drove my sister crazy, but I loved it. Bill became a regular at 19 Laurelwood - we hung with an old gang of Michigan friends and began a tradition of dinner parties. Our famous was the big yearly Thanksgiving feast. Although Julie and I left California, Bill still hung with those same friends from Michigan after we departed. He was family.

Eventually Bill moved to the city and got a little apartment over the Stockton Street Tunnel. I was amazed that it was always neat as a pin - nothing out of place. He always kept a "clean, well- lighted place" while internally his mind was a churning machine that never rested. The image of Bill sitting at his Danish style desk, thoughtfully writing or reading is imprinted on my mind - as are his dragging us around to some seedy bar, new play, or restaurant bumping into his network of countless folks. Life was so simple, yet filled with endless possibilities. I remember those carefree days with immeasurable fondness and gratitude.

For the next three years we lived together in a sweet utilitarian flat in North Beach with a stellar view. At times it felt like we were an old married couple with our crotchety workaday routines. We would slipper around the apartment with our ratty old newspapers and candy bars, reading or watching television, laughing at ourselves all the way. We created our own melodious language that no one else appreciated. Some teased us for it, but in fact it was the essence of our connection. I was always hopeful we would marry - and in fact Bill asked me. For a time we were engaged, but some have said that Bill probably thought he couldn’t give me what I needed and like a gentleman stepped aside. It is one of my most painful memories, going our separate ways. Bill was my best friend.

Looking back now I see that Bill and I became grown-ups together. We learned how to fight fair, play hard, and be responsible and accountable. As the years slipped away we continued our relationship through writing, at first with letters and then by email. I continued to feel connected to Bill. I will always think of him as family. He became part of my heart and never left my life. I confess I didn’t believe in heaven until his death. Now I am hopeful that someday I will see him again - if only for one more fascinating conversation, heady laugh and a hug.

I miss you Bill.
Mary Jo Hrisca Bochner

Missing Bill's Voice

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Mon, 23 Oct 2006 16:31:00 +0000

I am another one of the "group of girls" referenced in this earlier blog post that knew Bill from his Georgetown days. Anne Marie said she doesn't remember how we all met Bill initially, but I do! He and his friend Dan Dubrowski made their way through the freshman girls' dorm soon after the start of the school year and systematically knocked on every door! And on that auspicious day in 1982, when I responded to that knock, the seeds of an enduring friendship were sown. Bill used to call me on my birthday every year, no matter where in the world I happened to be - a testament to his loyalty to friends and his amazing capacity for maintaining ties. October 10th was a quiet day this year... .

A birthday, October ten
The phone rings, rings again
On the line
An old friend of mine
His voice, wry and warm
His gently mocking tone
As if he swallowed a smile
And let it linger a while
The smile now a laugh
Needs room, finds a path
Once free, a full-bodied sound
Envelopes, embraces all those around
October ten ends, in the corner the phone
No rings all day, quiet, forlorn
The echoes of Bill
In my heart still.

Lisa Mason

Note: The image above is from a home-made card from Bill, sent to me in June 1989.

Que vayas con Dios

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 12:08:00 +0000

I remember Billy when he was a 10-year old blond haired little boy with a great deal of energy, eagerness and inquisitiveness about him and at the same time a shy and gentle little guy. Bill and his two sisters, Cathy and Aimee were the cutest, sweetest and most adventuresome kids I had ever met and so-well mannered and thoughtful. They came into my life when I was in my late 20’s and had finally escaped the Fresno, CA scene to make a life in San Francisco. I was working with my husband, John (Jackie Babe) Ortega, at the time and hadn’t yet found a place to live. Pat and Ute who traveled to Montana during the summer, or maybe Germany, Mexico or Ireland, offered me their home. It was beautiful, nestled in Mill Valley across from the Golden Gate Bridge. They’re the kindest, most generous people I have ever met and so passionate about life. Nothing ever stops them from living life it to its fullest. It’s no wonder that Bill grew into the gregarious, intelligent, thoughtful and sensitive man that he was. He was the son of Pat and Ute.

I remember one of their visits when we lived on the Mexican border back in the 70’s. Pat, Ute and the kids arrived and presented me with a beautiful tumbleweed that they had found as they drove through the desert. I’d never thought of tumbleweed as beautiful until then. Ute was on her way to the tip of Baja California in search of the mission trail and wanted to know if I’d go with her and act as a translator. It would just be her and the kids and Pat was to join us later. I jumped at the chance as I had never been to Mexico, my country of origin, and Ute and Pat were offering to pay all the expenses, including the flight back and all I had to do was help Ute with Spanish. It was a dream come true and I’ll be forever be grateful to them for giving me this opportunity.

At 8 years of age Billy, with an enthusiastic look on his face, told his Mother he wanted to learn to speak Spanish, already showing his love of being able to communicate with everyone and not missing out on anything. So, we took off, two women, four kids, luggage, and Ute’s paint brushes and sketch board to capture the local scenery, artist that she is. What a country, Mexico. Every time we came to an Aduana (Customs) checkpoint, Ute pulled out the mandatory written permission that the father had given to the mother allowing her permission to travel with her own kids, Machismo at it finest. After reaching the southern demarcation line of Baja California we got to experience the natural features of the area and drove through forests of huge Saguaro cactus, elephant trees and along miles and miles of white sanded beaches of blue green water that seemed to go on forever until we came upon an oasis in the middle of the desert, a small town called Mulege. To me it was like coming upon a jungle and imagined alligators in the water, like something out of all those western movies I love to watch that were filmed in Mexico. We drove into a town with no phones, a plaza with a church built in the 1700’s that was still being used by local residents, the plaza canopied by a large tree that provided shade on the old wrought iron and wood benches where people sat and freshly peeled purple-red cactus pears all neatly packed in a wooden crate ready to eat. We stayed there for the night and it was heaven. All of this because of Pat & Ute’s generosity.

This was part of Bill’s childhood and what a wonderful one it was. I won’t say good-bye as Bill’s spirit lives on in his family in the words he wrote. I feel so very lucky to have known him and to still be able to share memories of Bill’s life with his family and friends.

You’ll forever remain in my heart, Bill. I close with a beautiful poem I found when I heard about your death that symbolizes for me the beauty of who you were. Que vayas con Dios, Billy.

Maria Rodriguez & Jackie Babe

Egret

Three times I’ve seen the
Egret—no, four times
if I count that once
when, turning past rocks
hot and bare in May,
I saw one in the
burned-off field—stark
white against ash black.

But three times (at least)
I’ve seen him/her not
two miles from my dry
suburban home. I’ve
seen him/her glide hot
air above golden weeds on the freeway
offramp, glide past oaks

centuries old, past
poppies that would die
in July’s heat, past
concrete rivers that
will outlast them all.
Three times I’ve seen the
egret wing—white, calm,
silent memory.

Insert for Bill in the U.S. Congressional Record

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Thu, 19 Oct 2006 18:43:00 +0000

Extension of Remarks
Representative Lynn Woolsey

September 13, 2006

Mr.Speaker, I rise today to honor William Oskar Goggins for the kindness and influence he showed the world during his 43 years here.

Billy was born at St Mary’s Hospital in San Francisco, CA on Sunday, May 10, 1963 – on Mother’s Day. He was the first child of Patrick & Ute Goggins, both very well-known and respected individuals in the Bay Area and beyond.

From the hospital he was carried right into a civil rights demonstration in Golden Gate Park. Billy took his first trip to Ireland at 4 years old to meet his family relatives in the west of Ireland in County Mayo. Annual family trips by car to Montana & Dakota included reunions in the Bear’s Paw Mountains, hi-balling on the Iron Road, the old Great Northern Railway and running brave with Chippewa, Cree, Blackfoot and Sioux Indian friends. The Goggins’ adventured on two-month road trips to Baja and the Pacific Coast of Mexico where mother Ute painted, and sisters Cathy & Aimee followed in Bill’s energetic footsteps. Billy toiled in family vineyards in Germany with equally embracing relatives. These things were the soul of his education.

Over the years Bill played soccer, drew cartoons, tutored younger students from Mill Valley and Marin City, played volleyball at Stinson Beach, surfed in Bolinas, and much much more. He graduated from Tamalpais High School as a National Merit Scholar and Salutatorian.

Summer jobs were at Bancroft-Whitney legal publishers, San Francisco and Wausau Paper Mill, Wisconsin. He worked at numerous restaurants including the Book Depot Café and Avenue Grill in Mill Valley, and Embarko in San Francisco. He also volunteered at St Anthony Dining Room in the Tenderloin, providing free meals for the homeless.

Bill attended Georgetown University School of Foreign Service and San Francisco State University, Departments of Communication and Philosophy. He began his vital journalism career with Frisko Kids, KALW radio, and then moved on to the old SF Weekly.

Former SF Weekly editor and colleague Andrew O’Hehir remembers, “Of course he worked harder than anyone and became essential, and in three years moved from all-purpose intern to copy editor to running the Arts & Entertainment section. I can’t remember exactly when he became the go-to guy for headline copy, but I’d say that by the time he’d been there a year, he was writing half the heads in the paper.”

Bill thrived at Wired for 10 years. He started as a freelance copy editor and rose to become deputy editor. Bill served as a special link between the digital industry’s pace-setting magazine in the center of San Francisco’s media gulch and an eager, educated national and international readership. His colleagues admired him tremendously.

“Bill was that rarest of things: a true original,” says Chris Anderson, the magazine’s editor in chief. “He was brilliant, witty and culturally omnivorous, all of which combined in his signature headlines. They usually worked on at least three levels of meaning, from some remixed cultural reference to at least one pun. In many ways his winking style and clever turns of phrase became Wired house style for nearly a decade, and to look at our covers and headlines over those years is to hear Bill’s voice again.”

Bill’s voice also made its mark through the alternative dot-com generation’s website Suck.com where he wrote under the name ‘Bartelby’. Bill recently enjoyed writing and editing with the new magazine Todo, and they remember him not just as a logophile, a wordsmith, a gifted editor, a true friend; but also as “one who tirelessly pursues perfection, fraternity and goodness.”

A real linguist (German, Spanish & Bill-English) and traveler – Bill visited Tunisia, the Philippines, Bahamas, Mexico, Canada, and all over the United States and Europe. He was a dual citizen of the US and Ireland. Bill was a citizen of the world.

Bill was a San Franciscan through and through. He openly embraced and explored all of the city’s neighborhoods. He was an avid supporter of the arts, with active memberships to many museums and regular attendance at the symphony, opera, ballet, varied theatres and clubs.

Bill participated with his family and compatriots in the antiwar demonstrations from the Vietnam era to Iraq of today.

My daughter, Amy Critchett, had the good fortune to be a friend with and to work with Bill at Wired for many years. “Bill Goggins made work seem like work - because it was and he was so incredibly good at what he did - but with him around there was always a twist of irony and a splash of curly-haired, smiling-cheeked sunshine not far away,” according to Amy. “Get ready to laugh all you up there.”

Bill inexplicably collapsed and passed away suddenly during mile 24 of the San Francisco Marathon Benefit for Cancer on Sunday, July 30, 2006. He was in fit condition and many knew him as a wonderful, companionable runner, reconciled, strong and happy.

An outpouring of hundreds from around the globe, representing family, friends, colleagues, public officials on local, state and national levels, ambassadors, the Irish & British governments, the Democratic party, and diverse cultural non-profit organizations attended a memorial mass held at our Lady of Mount Carmel Church and a life celebration at the Outdoor Art Club in Mill Valley on August 4, 2006.

Billy was a deeply loved member of a very close family. He supported all of them individually and together – helping hang his mother Ute’s art shows, assisting his father Pat with community outreach via organizations such as the Irish Forum, Irish Mexican Association, and Irish Literary & Historical Society to name a few, being the proud uncle to sister Cathy’s two children, Lina Rose & Dominic Chester, and showing up for sister Aimee’s various work events or helping edit her writing.

Bill believed in justice, peace and humanity. He connected with people everywhere he went. No one and nothing escaped his keen eye and warm words. His sense of community was broad and all-encompassing. Bill was a man of grace. He chipped in for everyone.

He had old-fashioned manners, was a staunch listener and he gave of himself enormously. His roughish grin, sparkle in his eye and love of discussion and opinion will live on with us forever.

Mr. Speaker, Bill had enormous integrity and loyalty, and taught us all how to be total human beings. To be fearless, to be bold, to be true to yourself. To be both gracious and outspoken. To pursue what matters in life and cherish each other. Bill knew all of these things and helped us be them too. Bill lived his life and made all of us proud. He will be deeply missed by many.

To view the online version of the official Congressional Record go to: http://frwebgate.access.gpo.gov/cgi-bin/getpage.cgi?position=all&page=E1657&dbname=2006_record

Note: Since the entry spans two pages, you need to click 'Next Page' at the bottom of the screen to see the entire thing.

Cousin Billy

noreply@blogger.com (bluetopaz) — Thu, 12 Oct 2006 04:07:00 +0000

My mother, Bridget Goggins Tierney, was a 1st cousin of Billy's grandfather Goggins. That makes Billy my cousin too!

I have very fond memories of Billy. I will never forget a visit from Billy when he first arrived at Georgetown University. He was already missing his family and phoned me to say that he was taking the train from D.C. to Wilmington DE to visit me. Needless to say, I was elated. I'll always remember that infectious smile and those blonde curls -- incredible. We had a wonderful long visit. He just talked and talked about Georgetown and the good time he was having, albeit at the same time missing his Dad and Mum and Aimee and Cathy. I still remember a similar visit my sister Maureen and I received from Billy's dad, Pat and his friend Glenn in 1961, when he (Dad) worked in D.C. My sister and I had only recently come to the US from Ireland and it was wonderful to see Pat, as he had just visited with my mother in Ireland on his way back from Germany. I remember Pat and Glenn stopping their rental car along scenic Route 52 in Greenville DE and scooping up cherry blossoms and literally filing the back seat of the car with the petals -- all the while my sister and I trying to fit in. Now we know where Billy got his adventure and zest for life.

Billy often visited with my mother in Ireland. She really enjoyed these visits. She lived in the same house in a village named Carnalecka in the town of Ballinrobe, Co. Mayo where her father, also named Patrick Goggins, was born. This was across the field from where Billy's great grandfather was born. There are just ruins left, however, Billy always went to see the ruins. Sadly on January 9, 2006, my mother passed away. Then in February 2006, another cousin of Billy's, who lived next door to my mother passed away. Her name was Bernadette Caulfield. And in July 2006, Billy went to join them in Heaven." It is now comforting to know that the three of them are together now.

Cousin Eileen Tierney Ruby
Hockessin Delaware