Remembering Bob Cook, Friend of DMCW

Friends, family, and fellow activists gathered May 17 at St. Paul Presbyterian Church to honor the life of Bob Cook, a longtime member of the Des Moines Catholic Worker and a man remembered for his deep faith, radical hospitality, and unwavering commitment to justice.

Frank Cordaro, co-founder of the Des Moines Catholic Worker, delivered a powerful remembrance of Cook, describing him as his “best friend—outside of family, closer to me than anybody I know.” The two first met in 1976, when Cordaro was leaving seminary to start a Catholic Worker house and Cook was serving on the board of the Iowa Citizens for Community Improvement. Their friendship grew through weekly meetings grounded in Scripture and action.

Cook’s commitment to the Gospel eventually led him far beyond Iowa. Cordaro recounted how, after participating in Catholic Worker protests and facing the possibility of jail time, Cook instead traveled to war-torn El Salvador, where he founded a Presbyterian ministry. There, amid stories of violence and poverty, Cook confronted past trauma and found healing and purpose among the poor.

“Bob literally chose a life that was not normal,” Cordaro said. “We had no trouble giving up everything we had to go follow Jesus—we were that crazy.”

Photos from the memorial are available on St. Paul Presbyterian’s Facebook page, and a full video of the service, including Cordaro’s eulogy (starting at 16:00), can be viewed on YouTube. Cordaro has also collected articles, photos, and videos about Cook on his website.

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Here’s a transcript of Frank Cordaro’s remembrance of his best friend. For the full effect, though, watch the YouTube video.

My name is Frank Cordaro, and I too call Bob my friend—really, he’s been my best friend outside of family. Bob is closer to me than anybody I know.

We go back 49 years, and the through-line of our relationship is the Word of God and Scripture.

Here’s how it happened: in 1976, I was dropping out of seminary to start a Catholic Worker and needed a job. Bob was in Des Moines on the board of CCI—Community Improvement—Joe Fagan’s thing. They were hiring their first CCI organizer, and that was me. Bob helped interview me. I kept telling him, “Listen, I’m here to help you organize, but I’m going to start a Catholic Worker.” They didn’t know what that meant—and neither did I.

But Bob was on those front steps. I remember him on Indiana Street when I met him. I said, “Bob, I’m really excited about the Worker,” and he was willing to say, “I’m here with you.” And he was.

How the Scripture formed Bob and me was this: Bob was a new preacher, and he was nervous about preaching. I was out of seminary and really excited about the Word of God. We met every week to study the text and have our weekly staff meetings. I didn’t work for CCI forever, but we kept having those meetings.

We went through the text and saw our lives lived out in the weekly readings that Bob preached. Just one example of how the text might affect you at a place like the Catholic Worker: we give hospitality to people. We were giving hospitality to a young couple—nice people—until we found out the young woman was in jail. Her husband went to Bob and begged for bail money.

They skipped town.

Later, we found out the charge was prostitution. Bob had given them the bail money. We prayed on it. Then we reminded ourselves: don’t judge a person by their circumstances. Abraham and Isaac both prostituted their wives in Egypt when they were hungry. Maybe they were a new Abraham and Isaac. We don’t know.

Hospitality does strange things when you meet people and give generously.

Bob stuck with us, and we started doing protests. People started going to jail. Bob didn’t want to go to jail—but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to protest, too. That’s just part of the life here.

At Offutt Air Force Base, Bob joined a protest. Everyone was a repeater, so going to jail was inevitable. Everyone had to go to court—but Bob didn’t. They missed him. And Bob said, “This is a sign from heaven. I need to get out of the country because I don’t want to go to jail.”

And so he went to El Salvador and started a Presbyterian ministry there. Extraordinary stuff. He went to El Salvador during wartime. It was dangerous. He listened to families’ stories—of death squads coming through the towns at night. He had to stay in safe places.

In that process, some repressed memories came back to him. He remembered he had been sexually violated as a young boy.

Bob had to leave the U.S., go to war-torn El Salvador to serve others—and in doing so, get in touch with his repressed memories and be made whole. No wonder he didn’t want to go to jail.

He fell in love with the people and the poor of El Salvador, and he spent years serving them. He started something called the Legacy of Light. Look into it—it will pass on something truly unique.

One of the blessings of our friendship in recent years was that I was able to give him hospitality and a home to live in. It was a blessing to be with him through the whole process.

I want to thank Norma, the mother of his children. Bob literally chose a life that was not normal—like me. Like in Mark’s Gospel, when Jesus says to the rich young man, “Come, follow me, and give away everything you have.” Bob and I had no trouble giving up everything we had to follow Jesus. We were that crazy.

So Norma, thank you for being the great mother to the two boys.

I don’t know if Susan is here, but I want to thank Susan, his second wife. She’s the one who guided him and helped him through that repressed memory stuff. Extraordinary—just extraordinary.

And Mary Ellen, his third wife, who’s in El Salvador and half his age—I want to thank her. I went with Bob to help move her out of a ghetto that was so bad. Her home was so bad. Her mother was so unstable. The children were so poor. I had never seen anything like that.

And I’ll say this: I now understand what it’s like to fall in love with people from other places. I didn’t have to travel to El Salvador—Honduras came to me a couple of years ago in the form of a family and children. I fell in love with them. I know what it feels like to fall in love with people you don’t know—and they become family.

For those of us—family and friends of Bob—who might feel like he left you: he did. But he’s grateful that he had strong family ties to pick up after he left. In every situation, he didn’t leave anybody truly hanging.

I can’t always say that. And I can’t say this about many people—but I can about Bob: he dreamed.

I didn’t. All the people I believed in dreamed. Dreams are all over the Bible. I believe in dreams. Bob dreamed.

One time, a month or so before he died, I visited him, and he told me he had dreamed about his mother. I said, “Bob, that’s a great dream. Next time you see your mother in a dream, follow her.” I believe Bob did that.

And regarding his mom—I have a reference here. My first love, Jackie Dickey, who Bob knew—Jackie came from the same town as Bob. She said Bob was a good man. Her grandmother, who was friends with Bob’s mom, said: “Audrey Cook had a heart as big as a watermelon.” Bob lived out that legacy.

One last thing. This might not be a Bible verse, but Bob had it on his wall, and he lived long enough to experience it:

“The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you.”

Bob Cook at his best. Thank you.