About This Blog

Since moving to Taipei, Taiwan in 1996, I’ve much missed Madison, and of the things I miss most, being friends with Cosmo ranks near the top. The man was a gold mine of humor and mythmaking wit. Madison was lucky to have him to add his particular edge to the city, and Cosmo, in turn, was lucky to live in Madison, a place where people made space for him on his ever-expansive good days and looked after him on his bad days.

So I was choked up to hear of his recent passing. Many were. Online forums (check The Daily Page) show how many different kinds of people were saddened by his death. They had things they wanted to say in memory, stories they wanted to tell. Because there were really so many stories, Cosmo himself being a great storyteller, if you dared listen, and being so apt at provoking reactions in everyone who came into contact with him.

I decided to open this blog to make a space for people to post memories, anecdotes or anything else related to Cosmo. I’m hoping if you have some recollection of something he said or did, or how you knew him, that you'll take some time to type it out and send it to me. I’ll post it directly. No matter how brief the entry, just send it in. Let me know where and how you knew him: "My name is . . . . I knew Cosmo when I was studying . . . / working at . . . ." and go from there.

Everyone is welcome: State Street acquaintances, long-time friends, family members.

In memory of Bob Hicks, aka Rock ‘n Roll Bob, aka Cosmo di Madison. He will be sorely missed.

Send your anecdotes to: inthemargins03@hotmail.com.

Eric Mader
April, 2008

P.S. --Enter the Labyrinth-- My own writing on Cosmo, which I sweated over considerably back in the day, is linked here, most recent things first. In this writing I was doing my best to make a complete portrait of Cosmo’s doctrine, his ideas as best I could get them, which sometimes wasn’t easy. Some people might consider this a pretty strange project, but not me: Cosmo's imagination and way with words were often magnificent. I don’t know about recent years, but back then, early 1990s, Cosmo was a great preacher and spinner of tales.

I've tried to write in a style appropriate to the sometimes Gothic, sometimes slapdash, usually conspiratorial Cosmo I knew. The result is that the writings are definitely murky and arcane (reader be warned!) but still, most people, once they get past a few pages, usually start to get the knack of Cosmo's way of making history:

Picnic Point: What is it Really? (And other Unpublished Texts)

Gospels from the Last Man: the Deeds and Sayings of Cosmo di Madison, vol. I

Gospels, vol. II

Gospels, vol. III

In any case, regarding the above links, my warning in the published book still holds true:

. . . .I ought to take this opportunity to warn new readers of Gospels from the Last Man, those who haven't already read Books I and II. Do not proceed too quickly, but do not lose heart either. Do not laugh too loudly while you read, lest a demon fly into your open mouth. I've seen what can happen, and believe me, it's not pretty. You are liable to feel in the beginning as if you were dangling helplessly over a valley strewn with sucked cadavers. This is because the doctrine here presented holds together in a very circuitous manner, like a giant web in fact, with the inevitable result that one cannot begin to know the pattern of the whole until one has gotten one's limbs tangled in many troublesome particulars. You yourself will get tangled up. You'll be stung by this spider repeatedly. It doesn't sound pleasant, I know. But trust me: you're in good hands with me as your guide. I've been through this web myself, and I know it like I know my own mind. And I can assure you: the beauty of the web, once glimpsed, will make any loss of blood along the way seem insignificant.

Keeping the Streets Safe: A Family Tradition of Service

All those who knew Robert were aware that he had an "alternate life" fighting crime and foreign aggressors, in either a police or military capacity. This is because, at the bottom line, he hated criminals and corrupt politicos--and he recognized that there was no difference between them. Being on the right side of the equation was important to him, and was a part of him.

While he couldn't participate, he could live a vicarious life through others who were putting check on the "world's assholes," endeavors he always respected. Many of his friends may not even realize it, but there, for the lack of some proper wiring, probably went a cross between an infantry officer and a Doc Holliday. Of those that he rubbed shoulders with at family gatherings, one brother-in-law was a Police Captain (Robert's statement that his brother-in law was Chief of Police wasn't as far out as some thought); his stepfather, a career military officer, actually flew in the airdrop of the 101st Airborne Division into Normandy in the wee morning hours of June 6, 1944, as Communications Officer for the 439th TCG (his photos appear in the book Into the Valley by Col. Charles Young); his brother (me) was involved in Federal anti-racketeering operations, and subsequently drove the lead limo in some of the White House motorcades during the Reagan Administration; and his nephew, Tom, spent 16 years in the Air Guard, serving a tour in the Middle East. Robert once expressed his personal appreciation, to me, for everyone's efforts at "keeping the world's jerks out of everyone's hair." He had a great personal solidarity with that.

Robert's empathy with the plight of people in any bad circumstance, individually or collectively, and his desire to do something about it, was a life-long characteristic, even reaching back, as his mother has testified, to his childhood. That part of him was never short-circuited.

After everything was sorted out, what was to be heard? The thing to be heard from Robert was just the thing most people needed to be told: "I love ya, Babe." And it was heard without doubt.

Dennis Moran
Rio, WI

---

Many thanks for this post, Dennis. I knew about Robert's step-father's military service, but didn't know the extent of your family's service in these other ways. Certainly Robert's similar concerns were part of an ongoing "family business": he got his desire to fight for justice from the example of you others who were doing so.

I also really appreciate getting a post from someone in the family. I know that Bob had his family life, on the one hand, and his State Street life and friends on the other. The thing that links the two, now, is the fact that both will miss Bob and his brilliant spirit.

My condolences to all of you, especially to Bob's mother, whom I only met on one occasion but remember well. As the Capital Times article made clear, Bob was lucky to have such a family backing him up.

Best,

Eric

Isthmus Article

David Medaris gets it right in his Isthmus article "Remembering Bob 'Cosmo' Hicks". Medaris notes how many people’s stories about Cosmo follow a particular formula:

Among all the Cosmo stories, there is a subcategory of tales that begin with intimidated first impressions but soon yield to appreciation for his compassion and generosity.

Indeed. This is the same dynamic that provided so much of the drama of Cosmo’s sudden entrances at places like Steep ‘n Brew on State.

I barista'd there for a couple years and witnessed it many times. Cosmo would come in dressed all in black leather, declaring something at the top of his lungs, maybe something like:

“Where is that fucking Monkey Butt? He’s lucky I didn’t have my boys take care of him already. Time to face the music, ya hear me? Baaaahhh-hhhaaahhhh-hhhhaaaaahhhh!”

In the cafe would be the people who knew him well, who’d smile and think to themselves, “Cosmo’s here.” But there were the others, those who’d never seen him before, maybe people in Madison for the first time, people just quietly standing at a coffee shop counter waiting to order a cappuccino. I remember in particular the look on many a customer’s face, the wide, worried eyes that said to me: “Should we call the police?”

I’d intentionally ratchet up the drama by not responding to those eyes, my deadpan mug leaving them at a loss. Is this guy dangerous or not? they'd wonder. I gave no indication one way or another. So they'd nervously look to others in the front of the cafe, trying to get an answer. And soon, when they finally saw that most of the people in the shop were taking this sudden presence in stride, they’d dare glance over and up at the Menace himself, standing a few feet away, who’d return the look and say: “How’s it goin’, honey?” Then he’d turn back to me, all business:

“Eric, I need an icy on the double. [An iced coffee.] And I want you to get that Monkey Butt out here. [One of my coworkers.] He’s been fucking putting barbiturates in my coffee again! Psssssh!”

Of course “Monkey Butt” himself loved Cosmo, just as the frightened newbie from out of town would most likely learn to love him if he or she got to know him.

It's this same fear/affection dynamic that David Medaris gets at in his article, as do so many others who’ve taken the time to write something about the man during this past week.

But all this, while we're at it, gets me thinking again of those barista days. And I wonder: Was I--were we--maybe wrong to let Cosmo so dominate the place when he came in? Were we ourselves--we behind the counter I mean--maybe a little over the edge from drinking too much top grade coffee, maybe a little rough on customers who were either 1) actually scared, or 2) annoyed by such Cosmic volume?

In fact I remember at times flatly saying "No" to people--newbies and decaf drinkers all--who'd asked me to do something about the Man and his Diatribe. Was I perhaps wrong to have such an attitude? I'm sorry, but I don't think so. And the reason is simple. There are more than enough shopping malls out there for such people to chat and page through their catalogs. Truth be told, there are far too many shopping malls and catalogs. My idea then and my idea now is simple: a good cafe in a city center will occasionally be a place of flash and conflict; it's a place for debate and drifting from table to table; read when you can, certainly, chat quietly when you can, but when the scene changes you must accept what comes.

And as for the guy behind the counter--namely me in those days, the "barista"--I've always held to the same maxim: An espresso jerk is like a soda jerk, except more of a jerk.

Capital Times Story

Katjusa Cisar has contacted me. She'll be writing a story on Cosmo for The Capital Times. Look for it as early as Thursday's paper.

Healing Bullet Wounds

I worked behind the supplements counter at Community Pharmacy on State and Gorham intermittently from 1991-2003.

Like many State St. businesses, the pharmacy could expect a Kramer-style sudden appearance of Coz at any time (and often synchronistic times, like when the store was jammed with senior summer scholars).

On days when he was happy, we were treated to fashion shows. I vividly remember the red leather Michael Jackson jacket (replete with zippers all over). He even wore it during Maxwell St., the sweatiest time of year. I also recall a full suede cowboy ensemble that hugged his scarecrow frame. Coz even rode his bike right into the store on several occasions.

My colleagues at the pharmacy loved Coz, but he was especially attached to the worker known as "Mom." I hope she submits her stories! You knew Coz trusted you if he called you "Punkin," but when he called me "Baby," it was like a small victory. In fact, Coz loved babies, and seemed to worship women who might bear them. He is the only person who could get away with (repeatedly) asking me if I was pregnant during a baggy clothes phase.

I never learned the source of Coz's afflictions, but the pharmacy staff catered to his metaphoric complaints about having gotten "bullet holes" by offering Tums or a homemade, all-purpose salve. Often "Mom" dipped into her own vitamin supply to help Coz up his immunity. The kindness paid to Cosmo even when he might have scared off a few potential customers (merely the uninitiated) made me proud to work in such a compassionate environment.

There were times I felt afraid around Coz, not of what he might do to others but what psychic pain he seemed to be experiencing. He wanted to be heard, he felt things so passionately and was not well understood. I wanted to understand him, but it wasn't always possible. But I think Coz could tell who was humoring him and who was really trying to listen.

Love to all who recognized the gems inside Coz's wild exterior.

Bazile Booth,
Madison

Isthmus Thread

A lot of great comments and anecdotes have been posted by friends and family at the Isthmus forum, the Daily Page.

At livejournal, tetaelzbieta wrote:

If you haven't heard, Bob Hicks (better known as Cosmo) passed away a few days ago. Take a few minutes to remember this guy, because he was one of things that made Madison so beautiful. For those who don't know him by name, you've almost certainly seen him around: very tall and very skinny, often wearing a jumpsuit, talking or shouting or singing. If you've ever had the chance to chat with Cos, I know you'll never forget him.

There'll never be another like him. Ya hear me?

Memorial Services

According to Anne McGuire, there will be a event celebrating Cosmo's life at the Madison's Pres House on Wednesday, April 9, from 1:00-3:00 p.m. A more formal funeral service will take place in Rio, Wisconsin on April 12.