Remembering One Tough Warrior

On May 27, 1994 at age 75, my father died at Barnes Jewish Hospital (St. Louis) in the early morning hours. He was born in 1917, one of six children in a hard working blue-collar family of meager means. The Roustio Clan of many occupied an entire block of homes on 56th street in lower Washington Park East St. Louis. They were a rather fearless lot that would 'throw-down' in a heart beat.

Dad quit school after the ninth grade and went to work as a truck driver hauling coal in winter months and ice during the summer months. He would hold many jobs in his life's journey. His expertise in the chemical corrosion protection industry developed as the result of becoming a journeyman lead burner. His life was interrupted at age 26, when this father of two sons was drafted into the Army where he severed two years under General Patton.

Upon his return from military service, his industrial knowledge, in time landed him a sales job in the corrosion protection field and eventually he would be assisted by a large nationwide chemical supplier to become their industrial fabricating company. He was President of plants in St. Louis and Dallas, Texas before his retirement. He designed and built a steak house in Collinsville, Illinois, which he operated for 15-years. His community service, Shriner's Children's Hospital and Church work became legendary in Collinsville.

At the age of 54, he had a massive heart attack that nearly took his life. After spending 30-days  recovering in the hospital, my father enjoyed family, friends, Grandkids, his restaurant and community organizations for twenty-one years albeit with fighting periodic heart failure episodes. Finally, his weakened heart responded no longer to the once miracle drugs and procedures offered by the cardiology staff at Barnes Hospital. I shall always remember that moment when the doctors explained to the family and my father that they had exhausted all options. That medical staff, which knew my father well did not disappear after sharing that news but stood outside his room as two orderlies wheeled Dad's gurney out into the corridor to take him to a room where he would receive life-ending care. Each member of the cardiology team shook my Dad's hand and expressed their sorrow. My Dad said to one doctor, "You folks did wonders for me and I thank you."

Later as the nurses made Dad comfortable with medication, I asked if he needed anything and he answered, "No, I just need to play this hand that I've been dealt." As everything I knew him to face in life, Dad played his last moments courageously like the warrior he was.

We all miss you, Fox but we thank you for the blueprint!