Ben Whitaker

1941 - 2023

Ben Whitaker
September 14, 1941 - April 28, 2023
Now here's a challenge. Try writing an obituary for a man whose life directly influenced over 30,000 people and, indirectly, an entire community. Ben Whitaker - the master welder - spent 50 glorious years on faculty at Santa Rosa Junior College teaching many of you the fine points of welding. For Ben, it was part occupation, art, and always fun.
The "indirectly" among you also know Ben. For local athletes, he repaired your batting cages and football tackling sleds. For anyone with a disability, he fabricated handrails, ramps, wheelchair systems, and other specialized equipment to make the world a more accessible, welcoming place.
For night students at the Junior College, Ben kept the light poles vertical when an errant vehicle knocked them down. The school's once-broken wrought-iron Legion Gate stands as a sentinel to Ben's skill and his love for all students.
Oh, and let's not forget the wine drinkers among you. Ben taught nearly everyone who welds stainless steel tanks for our wine industry. Give Ben a toast the next time you open a Sauvignon Blanc.
Fair goers? Ben was there to repair the broken gates and corrals before you arrived.
State Park visitors? Ben volunteered hundreds of hours at the California Youth Authority guiding the hands and hearts of young offenders as they made fire rings and picnic tables for the parks.
But Ben was about much more than welding. Yes, he could TIG weld an aluminum Coke can (his favorite) - a thin-walled feat that only the most experienced can manage.
If a job applicant scored a recommendation from Ben Whitaker, industry bosses knew to hire the applicant. If you met Ben's standards as a welder and a person, you were certified in welding and life. You were a person who had learned from Ben to work really hard and show up to the job on time, every day. You learned about kindness and respect and putting away your tools. You learned about tough love. If Ben's midwinter class started at 8:00 a.m., and you showed up at 8:01, the door was locked and you were left standing in the cold. Enough said; lesson learned.
Ben mastered welding at an early age. But he mastered everything that interested him. He was a legend on his Bultaco two-stroke, flat-track motorcycle. Then, it was on to the rugged Rubicon in the Sierras in his Willys Jeep (license plate: SRJC) where nearly everyone broke down in tears or trouble and turned to Ben for repairs and a steady hand.
Ben canned 60 quarts of Joe Imwalle's cucumbers every summer ("the best puckin' fickles you ever ate") and took blue ribbons at the fair for his efforts. He brewed beer until you could not tell his beer from that of famous breweries. He built fishing rods and invented lures to attract kokanee salmon in Stampede Reservoir - a feat that landed him on the cover of a magazine. He took up shooting trap and sporting clays until he earned perfect scores and the Presidency at a local gun club. He cooked in cast iron, a tradition he blamed on his mother and Fanny Farmer from his childhood days in Missouri and Utah. Ben believed that a thing isn't worth doing unless you do it well. His end-of-semester BBQs with carbon soot and Randy Travis wafting in the air were legendary.
There are trucks and trailers and motorcycles (and people) that have escaped the trash heap thanks to Ben. When a repair shop told you that a crack in your aluminum engine block was beyond repair, you took it to Ben. He repaired it. Then, you took the engine back to the repair shop just to show off. Ben's boat (and your trailers, trucks, homes, and cabins) shine with his "Cal custom" touches in stainless steel and aluminum.
He could have launched his own version of Sierra Nevada Brewing. He could have launched a career as a boat manufacturer. Instead, he unselfishly launched the careers of others, then watched them fabricate and flourish from beneath his own welding helmet, emblazoned with the Jack Daniels logo. He was proud of you. He made you feel like an adopted child.
Ben is also survived by siblings, many children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and innumerable friends.
Ben Whitaker - the stuff of a Jack London novel. There is so much more to tell. In lieu of flowers, plant a garden.
Come celebrate Ben's life at noon on Saturday, June 24, Gold Ridge Fire Department, 1690 Watertrough Road in Sebastopol.
Please RSVP by email at 1941BOW@gmail.com by June 20th with the number of guests that will be attending. Wear your cleanest blue jeans.