Comfest’s famous dancer eulogized
He brought joy to so many in Columbus
Bishop Jerry L. Pierce Sr. stood at the pulpit and thundered away as he asked how a society could allow someone like Robert “Babachu” Spriggs – an artist, a spiritual man, a fixture known for his dancing at so many Columbus festivals, a friend to everyone – to leave this world in such a sad and unnecessary way.
“This articulate man … this model, this dancer, this singer,” Pierce practically roared, “died outside, homeless, on a snowy, frigid day, 80 years old. A senior citizen. He could have been your father. He could have been mine.”
How, Pierce demanded, does that happen?
And the couple of dozen people gathered Thursday night in the sanctuary of Miracle Cathedral on the Near East Side to say goodbye to their friend all just shook their heads and prayed for answers. They were there to remember Spriggs, a man who for decades brought joy to so many in Columbus, whether he was singing during worship inside local churches, engaging in fellowship with others at a free community meal, or stealing the limelight every summer at Comfest in the Short North.
“As much as he danced, as much as he smiled, nine out of 10 people didn’t know he was homeless,” said Pierce, who is known for his decades of fierce advocacy for and passionate ministry to the unhoused population of the city. “Babachu danced as if nobody knew he was there dancing. Oh, if we all lived like that.” And to that, the people all said together “Amen.”
Much is still not known about the details of Spriggs’ life and his death. Some said he died in late February, though they didn’t know how. But Pierce and others said at the service that Spriggs froze to death on the steps of a Downtown church, and Pierce thought it was in the first week of February.
The Franklin County coroner’s office had a record of a Spriggs with a different first name who died on Jan. 30, so the two could not immediately be matched. And public records show Spriggs was 81. Those who knew and loved him say he was 80. No matter. Everyone who gathered for the nearly 90-minute service at Pierce’s church Thursday was there simply to celebrate a life well lived – by the man’s own terms, they all agreed.
Every year, whether in the pouring rain or under a blazing June sun, somewhere out there in the middle of the mass of bodies at the free-wheeling, free-spirited party that is Comfest at Goodale Park, Spriggs could always be found putting on a show.
Turquoise rings on his fingers, silver chains dangling around his neck, often shirtless, always with a smile, this man who was a professionally trained dancer and choreographer who grew up in upstate New York, who built a career in Louisville, and who had traveled all over, somehow decades ago melded into the Columbus homeless community and sang and danced his way into the hearts of everyone he met.
Pastor Robert “Rusty” Russell of 2nd Chance Church on the Northeast Side told the small group assembled that he had only known Spriggs about four years but that was long enough to leave a mark. He said he was amazed at how often he would run into Spriggs. And whether the man was at a breakfast ministry or dancing for a crowd at Easton Town Center, he was always the same.
“He was the exact same person every time. It wasn’t a show,” Russell said. “He knew there were two reasons to be happy — either because of something or in spite of it. You never knew if he was having a good or bad day because he was always smiling.” Marla Tomastik Clark is director of administration and finance at St. John’s United Church of Christ on East Mound Street Downtown, a place where Spriggs spent a lot of time.
“Babachu was absolutely full of grace,” Tomastik Clark said. “He was in need but you never knew that. He was just always so super giving. He was so loving and kind and we were just always so tickled when he showed up.”
Pre-pandemic, Spriggs was a regular at the church’s casual Wednesday service and for the weekly meal at “The Largest Table,” where at least 150 from the local unhoused population would
fellowship and break bread.
Spriggs generally sang the opening prayer, as he often did wherever he went. Pierce said he first met Spriggs nearly 25 years ago when Pierce worked at the Open Shelter Downtown and Spriggs was a resident. Pierce remembers cleaning time at the shelter, when he would crank up music and “Babachu would grab a mop and just dance with it” to clean the floor.
He said at Thursday’s service that Spriggs – who everyone agrees was a quiet and private man who entertained but didn’t talk about himself much – has probably seven siblings who live all across the country. Pierce has been in contact with them in recent weeks as they searched for answers about the brother with whom they’d fallen out of touch.
Pierce said Thursday night that Spriggs had an apartment in a doubleunit
on Livingston Avenue for probably a decade, and that every time he visited him there it was always immaculate, the walls covered by Spriggs’ own paintings. But somehow, sometime, he ended up back on the streets where he probably was just as happy ministering to those he met and making them smile.
“Babachu was the Fred Astaire of Goodale Park. Whenever he danced, he was electric. He was a light to this city,” Pierce said. “But we cannot celebrate his life unless we talk about his death. There are people in this city we don’t know about who died because they were homeless, because they didn’t have a key to get into some heat. What about the other homeless Babachus? What about them?”
And to that, the people all said together “Amen.” hzachariah@dispatch.com @hollyzachariah
MADISON, Wis. – Prosecutors trying a white former Minneapolis police officer in George Floyd’s death plan to use a legal doctrine called “spark of life” to humanize Floyd in front of jurors.
It’s a doctrine with roots in a 1985 state Supreme Court case, and one that several legal experts said makes Minnesota a rarity in explicitly permitting such testimony ahead of a verdict.
Assistant Attorney General Matthew Frank told Hennepin County Judge Peter Cahill on Wednesday that he plans to invoke the doctrine during Derek Chauvin’s trial. It allows prosecutors to call witnesses to testify about crime victims’ lives, ostensibly to portray them as more than a statistic. Defense attorneys complain the doctrine allows prosecutors to play on jurors’ emotions and has nothing to do with evidence. If Cahill allows prosecutors to go too far, he could hand Chauvin grounds for an appeal.
Here’s a look at the doctrine and the potential ramifications of it coming into play during Chauvin’s trial.
What is the ‘spark of life’ doctrine?
The doctrine emerged in 1985 when a defendant accused of killing a police officer argued to the Minnesota Supreme Court that the prosecutor prejudiced the jury with a speech about the officer’s childhood, his parents and his marriage. The prosecutor became so emotional the trial court had to take a recess.
The Supreme Court ruled that prosecutors could present evidence that a murder victim was “not just bones and sinews covered with flesh, but was imbued with the spark of life.” The prosecution has some leeway to show that spark and present the victim as a human being as long as it is not an “attempt to invoke any undue sympathy or inflame the jury’s passions.”
How is spark-of-life testimony relevant?
Victim statements about the impact a crime has had on their lives are common during the sentencing portion of trials across the country. But allowing the introduction of deep biographical information about a victim ahead of a verdict appears to be unique to Minnesota.
The idea is to use witnesses to present a victim as a human being, essentially allowing the victim to speak from beyond the grave, legal observers say.
“This puts some personal nature back into the case for somebody who’s treated so impersonally in an unfortunately biased system,” Frank told Cahill.
Defense attorneys counter that the doctrine allows prosecutors to play on jurors’ emotions and contributes nothing to jurors’ understanding of the crime.
“I’ve never encountered this before,” said John Gross, an associate law professor at the University of Wisconsinmadison who has worked as a public defender in New York City and taught criminal defense strategies at Syracuse University and the University of Alabama.
Defense attorney Eric Nelson, left, and defendant Derek Chauvin listen to Hennepin County Judge Peter Cahill during pretrial motions Thursday in Minneapolis. Chauvin is accused in the May 25, 2020, death of George Floyd.
“It’s pretty obvious how much potential prejudice that could have on the jury. It’s a little surprising to me this is potentially fair game in Minnesota. If it isn’t evidence of guilt, why is it there?”
How far can the prosecutor go?
The doctrine gives judges tremendous discretion on what to allow during spark-of-life testimony.
Frank told Cahill he plans to bring in photographs of Floyd at various stages of his life and present at least two witnesses. He described one as a family member who will speak about Floyd’s family, his childhood, how Floyd’s mother was important to him and how Floyd was “a brother to this witness,” Frank said.
The other witness will testify about Floyd’s life since he moved to Minnesota from Houston in 2014, Frank said, as well as his drug use in an attempt to head off Chauvin’s attorneys. The defense is expected to argue that Floyd’s drug use killed him, not Chauvin’s decision to press his knee into Floyd’s neck for several minutes.
Chauvin attorney Eric Nelson noted such testimony should be limited and they will face cross-examination if the testimony becomes too fawning. Cahill said he won’t allow cross-examination about Floyd’s drug use but testimony about whether Floyd was a peaceful person or prone to violence could open the door to the defense introducing evidence of his criminal record.
“It can’t go on for too long because it distracts from the merits,” the judge said.
Could the strategy backfire on prosecutors?
Yes. If defense attorneys are allowed on cross-examination to introduce Floyd’s criminal record and drug problems, they could raise doubts about what killed him in jurors’ minds. If the state’s witnesses offer too much information, Chauvin could argue on appeal that Cahill let too much spark-of-life testimony in.
“It puts a judge in a precarious position,” said David Schultz, a law professor at the University of Minnesota. “If too much is brought in, does it set up the possibility of an appeal, that the judge erred and allowed too much emotion? The smart defense attorneys will figure out how to use this.”