In Memory of Robert J. Bastian

Robert John Bastian, Age 22, Korea (First on Right)

I'm not even going to try to memorialize my father in the way he deserves, but there are a few things I want to say on this, the tenth anniversary of his death.

Robert (Marble Head Murphy) Bastian was born in West Bend Wisconsin and later moved to Sister Bay in Door County, Wisconsin as a young child. He died from complications of a bronchoscopy related to small cell lung cancer and COPD (and other wounds to the heart previously discussed) on December 12, 2002.

Robert was the youngest of three, with an elder brother Bill and elder sister June, both of whom I remember very fondly from childhood, especially Aunt June and Uncle Art because they had a daughter close to my age and let me stay with them at their place up north in the summers and we had SO MUCH FUN!

Please Donate

Robert's father, my "Grampa Erwin" was a farmer/heifer breeder in Sister Bay. I am not sure what he did in West Bend. Later Robert became Marble Head Murphy when he not only worked the farm but was an honor student and star football player (that's where the Marble Head nick name came in). He also helped run the retirement home in Sister Bay that my Grandfather's second wife Mertil brought into the family. It is now the Country House Resort in Sister Bay. A small cottage on the grounds was my first home. I would dearly love to still live there...if it even still exists. Then again, now that it's literally a tourist trap, ie "FIB-ville" ....maybe not. Of course FIB stands for ...um ...Friendly Interstate Boaters? ...Brethren? ...Beings? Either way, FIB certainly has nothing to do with the F-word, Illinois or the marital status of anyone's parents. No, no, no....

Dad's natural mother died when he was only six years old, and he spent some very unpleasant time with abusive relatives at that very tender age, but when Grampa remarried, Dad blossomed, He adored Mertil, who was a teacher and a truly lovely woman. Dad had cataracts at a very early age and wore glasses from about age four and was legally blind in one eye, as well as being left handed, which was greatly frowned upon in those days (he was born in 1930). Later, when he volunteered for the Army they wouldn't take him. When he was drafted for Korea that eye didn't matter though, and he had to serve a term there. He was nearly court martialed for refusing medals he earned in a nasty fire-fight after finding his friends wired together and burned to death, but he still didn't think it was right to get a medal for killing people. One of my first memories is of him throwing me under a car when a low flying plane came over our house--a good 15 years or so after he got back from Korea. He, as many, came back from war a changed man, and it took some work for him to get back to some semblance of normalcy. He never complained though. He never did. He was never sick, he never complained. When he finally did get sick it was with the big C...and even then he let Mom force him out of bed at 4am every morning because she didn't want to be alone, and he never said a word when she kept smoking on him, even though he knew it was killing him. He hadn't smoked for decades. He just sat in his recliner and turned up his oxygen until she fell asleep watching tv once her meds kicked back in, then he'd take a nap until 9 or so. He was so good to her...to the very end...even trying to grill steak for her, turning blue from lack of oxygen doing it. Then he got in trouble for spilling steak juice on the carpeted stairs as he huffed up the stairs almost passing out. It kind of sums up their married life.

I took over for four years after he died, so I have a pretty good idea what it was like. There has to be a very special place in heaven for my father. I read old letters he wrote before the war, before he was married, and I think...who was this cheerful, upbeat, happy, incredibly optimistic man? I saw some of that, especially when he was "in his cups" which was often on weekends off, but he sounded so different. SO different. Okay, I'm getting too introspective here. I'll never finish.

I think my father is the person who gave me such a strong sense of having my own moral...or maybe you'd call it ethical compass. I waver no more than he does when I feel strongly about something. Yes, we butted heads a little bit as I grew up, but that didn't keep him from being a loving and fun dad when I was a little girl. He taught me how to play football like a boy, and he taught me how to behave like a lady among the high society patriarchs and other ladies who resided at Peabody Manor in Appleton, Wisconsin, when Peabody Manor was still being run according to the wishes of George H. Peabody, the man by whose will and endowment it was created and funded for all the decades my father Administered there with pride and excellence. Now it has become a corporate shell of what George H. Peabody intended, and I'm sure he's spinning in his grave. But his Manor didn't turn into just another piss-smelling warehouse for the elderly and unwanted on my dad's watch! He'd have literally died first, and probably taken a few people with him. That is how strongly he felt about "quality of life" ...a term nursing homes throw around while hiring the dregs of the nursing and physician community to allegedly care for the human beings entrusted to them.

I am EXTREMELY proud of my father for all the years he resisted so much pressure, from State and from the Board, on the behalf of the residents he represented.I am proud that he allowed me to come to work with him from an early age and learn how to be a lady from some very great ladies indeed. I loved listening to their stories and learning how to knit and crochet and do all the things my mother ...didn't do with me until much later in life, after she was widowed, alone and friendless, at which time I became her full-time care giver for four years despite my own disability and having a child of my own to care for as well. Needless to say, my father's sense of responsibility was passed on to me, and I "burned the candle at both ends and several places in the middle" as my doctor warned me for all those years to my own detriment, and did my best to do so in good grace, despite the difficulty of our relationship throughout my life. I did my best for my mother and so did Dad.

I learned a lot about the kind of person I wanted to be when I was with my dad at the Manor with those wise and wonderful elder ladies, and I felt loved and wanted by them; and they felt respected and valued, as well they should. I realize now that he directed me toward those who had little or no family to visit them, so we were good for each other. They filled a void in my heart and I think his heart too because his second mother Mertil (he never called her a step-mother) passed away when he was a young adult, and he missed her greatly in his life. I learned from him and from them what a great tragedy it is in our society that we treat our elderly as disposable when they have so much wisdom to share. 

My father was a man of great humor, little false humility, and absolute honor, with one glaring exception, but The Bard himself often pointed out that even the finest of men has one fatal flaw. Dad wasn't perfect and he made that one great mistake--selling the home in Door County, but it was not his decision alone, and he was under a great deal of pressure to do so. That is all I will say about that.

Dad was a good husband and excellent provider. Mom was well loved, adored even, and so spoiled she didn't even know she was spoiled. Mark and I were kind of superfluous really unless needed for something. He and I used to joke that the cat my now-ex husband and I gave them in their older years was more of a child to them than we ever were. Dad went to the store daily to buy him pork liver. Not just any liver...it had to be pork liver...and that cat lived over twenty years! 

Murph and Sharon truly were a world unto themselves. They had few friends, and saw them only very rarely, except for a decade or so of partying on weekends up in Door County during their snow-mobile and later their motorcycle phase. It was the height of the "me" generation, for sure! Mom did play the hostess then, unlike at home, where from age 11 on, I did the "female" end of the housekeeping and child care duties, except laundry, which Dad did, because Mom was studying or worked part time ...and she had a bad back. I didn't know our family was unusual though, and I was proud of my mother. She was one of the original "nontraditional" students, and I am not sure I'd have returned to school after the Army if she hadn't set that example first. She flew through LPN school and passed the State Boards with flying colors while I was in Junior High. That was a huge accomplishment at that time, truly very rare. We were all so proud of her when she graduated. 

I still remember the look on my dad's face as Mom danced around celebrating in her strategically cut and shredded student uniform, showing off her new cap newly slimmed body (not that she was ever really big) during her graduation party, and I try not to be sad that my parents never attended one of my graduations...from High School, Army Basic Training, AIT, Nursing School Pinning or my University Graduation, which was kind of a big deal, since I was the first in our family to attain that goal. But everything was all about Mom in Dad once I was past age 12 or so. But in fairness, she was one hell of a nurse! The very things that made her a ...somewhat detached mother made her a very cool, calm and unflappable LPN. She worked most of her years in pediatrics of all places! Mark and I always found that more than a little ironic. 

Personally or professionally though, I never did find anyone who measured up to my dad. He was a great boss, a wonderful husband and the best father any little girl could ask for. I thought maybe I'd find someone like him in the Army, and I almost did I think, but things didn't work out given the way people move from duty post to duty post, and there were other complications where I was stationed and housed (officially) that left me absolutely no choice but to find an immediate civilian protector. Given I have my sons, in retrospect that relatively short-lived suffering was a small price to pay. 

At this late date I have pretty much given up on the hope of having, even for twenty years, anything near to what my mother had. The only person who's ever really come close to measuring up to my father in recent years is more than half the country away, and his mistress (I can't say master--he wouldn't like that) is the Marines....so, no competition Dad. You'll always be the standard by which all others fall short. If such a thing as reincarnation exists, I hope I have the good fortune to have you in my life again...maybe as a brother this time. Now THAT would be fun! I'll have to be very good and earn myself up some good Karma, because I have a feeling I was making up for a lot of bad in this life.

It's zero hour. I love you Dad. I miss you. I MISS YOU! See you soon.