2022
Remembering a Friendship: Robert W. Whitaker, III (Nov. 9, 1950 – Sept. 16, 2019) d av i d d a n i e l
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e became friends through propinquity. Bob and his wife Anne and my wife Stephanie and I were among the first inhabitants of the regal old Lamson Estate on Nesmith Street in Belvidere when it was reimagined as condominiums. The Whitakers lived on the top floor, one above us, and since both units featured rear porches with dramatic skyline views of Lowell it became opportune, as daylight faded, to convene and watch the chimney swifts, the original mosquito squad, flying aerial maneuvers over the city. On the 4th of July there were fireworks. It was a common sentiment that from our vistas the sun never set, because we could always see the red and green neon of the landmark Lowell Sun sign. Passing through the glossily restored common areas of the Lamson Estate, I would see Bob, usually with a Nikon camera draped around his neck. I was brand new to the city, and curious about everything. I asked about his camera and learned that he worked for the Sun as a photographer—and then he unflapped a shirt pocket and showed me another camera, a small vintage Leica. In his formal role, using the newspaper’s Nikon, he covered city council meetings, local sports, entertainment openings at the Memorial Auditorium and the Merrimack Repertory Theater, auto accidents, and all-round late-night mayhem, like the great mill fire of 1987. The Leica, I would learn, was for his own stuff, the street photography which he loved: crisp, mostly black-and-white, story-laden images of the everyday. Over the course of these initial interactions, we discovered we had life overlaps. We were both from the South Shore, so there was a kinship in remembering the beaches, and woods, and the idiosyncrasies of the towns we knew. In time, other links would emerge: a fondness for art cinema, jazz, classic rock, Viet Nam war-era history (we were both veterans), and a growing enchantment with our adopted city of Lowell. He also was interested in philosophy and religion, particularly the Tao, and could discuss it with a real understanding. But what cemented the bond, made it a friendship, was our artistic ambitions. Apart from his job, Bob was chasing a passion for his personal photography. Apart from my job, teaching college English in Boston, I was writing fiction in the evenings. I think we quietly felt this duality gave us outsider status, and outside is a good place for an artist to stand. The condos in the Lamson Estate were small, and living quarters could be tight, but we each managed to fashion a creative workroom: mine a closet hung with a wall mirror 94
The Lowell Review
