From FB’s Oliver Heritage memories
JUNE 16, 2016

The story of my “crazy Uncle Roman Bird” who lived halfway down the steep hillside off of Bellevue Road in Oliver. He was a town character that few he ever met forgot including me.

Crazy Roman Bird
by Denny Bastian (2012)

Crazy Roman Bird, my pseudo Uncle, had a gold tooth in the middle of his boisterous laugh. It was always a challenge not to stare when he talked because it shone like a bright sun in the middle of his face. If you couldn’t help yourself, it would not have bothered him one little bit. Uncle Roman was very comfortable expressing his colourful opinions on life and love. He laughed long and often especially at his own animated stories which he often filled with cursing for effect. His favourite curse word was never intentionally uttered to offend anyone; it was simply his random expression employed to better make his opinion heard. He spoke loudly and with unrestrained passion on any subject you or he chose. If you had just been introduced you just might be intimidated by his directness to avoid him in future.

Crazy Roman Bird met his second wife to be, Gerd , in the midst of World War 2. They both fought in the underground during the Nazi occupation of Norway. He came to this place in the most unusual way. He was born in Russia and was serving as an elite Cossack horse soldier in the Russian Army when he was captured in battle by the Germans. The war was not going so well for Germany at the time; they desperately needed fighters, so they offered him two choices, “you will be shot right now or you will fight for us.” He chose the latter but when the first opportunity presented itself he escaped to Norway where he sought out the underground to continue his battle against Hitler. He witnessed so much death and destruction during those war years; I wonder how much that shaped his love of life afterward.

Crazy Roman Bird, at the end of the war came to a big crossroads in his life. Because he had changed allegiance to the German Army to save his life he knew he would be branded a traitor in Russia and therefore could never risk a return to his homeland. It must have been agonizing for him to leave his first wife and two children behind in Russia but that is what he knew he had to do. After exchanging letters with her, she, with sacrifice and love for her husband gave her blessing for him to start a new life. Uncle Roman found that life in Canada with the woman who was to become his second wife. She would marry Roman and become the unforgettable, “Gerd Bird.” Uncle Roman and his two wives, one in Russia and one in Canada became dear friends, sharing their lives through letters for many years.

Crazy Roman bird and Auntie Gerd worked hard in the fruit packing houses, saved their money, and soon had enough to buy a piece of property in a small town in the Okanagan Valley in British Columbia. This event was the start of him acquiring the moniker “Crazy.” The property was a small acreage on a very steep hillside that no one else in town would have been remotely interested in. It was perhaps 300 feet from top to bottom and was so steep that a person would have to walk sideways in order to descend it. The price amounted to little more than a gift. Uncle Roman could not resist the opportunity to buy; besides he had a vision. Auntie Gerd was reluctant at first but always trusted her husband’s judgement. The deal was done and the work began to fulfill the vision Uncle Roman had in his head.

Crazy Uncle Roman and Auntie Gerd began the hard work of digging into the steep hillside with nothing more than shovels and pick until they had a narrow path leading diagonally 100 feet down the hill. It was there he told Auntie Gerd that “this is the perfect @#$%! place for our house.” From their vantage point some 200 feet above the valley floor they looked out at the wide river meandering aimlessly through the little farms and grazing land below. directly across on the far side of the valley stood the rocky cliffs of the mountainside. At night in the distance they could see the lights of the small town of Oliver. They dug with renewed vigour anxious to have this inspiring view permanently that is until they came upon a huge boulder smack in the middle of their proposed house. What could be done now?

Crazy Uncle Roman was satisfied that he had reached the correct depth to build the foundation to their home. But there was still this gigantic rock right in the middle. He dug around it hoping eventually to dislodge it but found that the rock seemed to grow bigger as he went until it was obvious it could never be removed. Rather than sacrifice all the hard work he and Gerd had already done, he decided to build around it, a decision that once again was to contribute to the moniker “crazy.” Once finished to go from the kitchen to the living room a person would have to walk up 4 steps, ducking in the process to avoid bumping one’s head on the concrete ceiling, and descend 4 steps on the other side. Guests most often chose the easier route of exiting the house via the kitchen door and re-entering via the living room door.

Crazy Uncle Roman constructed his entire home of cement, mixing and pouring all of it by hand. It looked somewhat like a castle with a flat cement roof and jutting abutments at the roof line. He built a 6 foot wide patio along the entire front of the house and to prevent him and others from tumbling down the hillside he built protective railings by salvaging old metal bedposts from the local dump. He painted them bright reds, yellow, and blue from paint he scrounged from the hardware store. Later he terraced large sections of the surrounding hillsides to grow grapes which he converted to wine in short order. He built a bird aviary and stocked it with budgies which he sold to the public. He built a pigeon coup and kept a flock of 15 or 20 on hand. It was a sight to see them fly every 20 minutes over the valley below.
Crazy Uncle Roman died at the age of 79 having lived a life full of colour, passion, love, and fulfillment. Auntie Gerd died some years later leaving their home and property to the local Legion, an organization they felt close to having had many friends there who had also survived the war. If I could meet with Uncle Roman once again and talk to him about life as I often did when he was alive, I’m sure the first thing he would do is pour both of us a large glass of wine while we sat at the outdoor cafe table, the one with the red and white checker tablecloth in front of the kitchen window. We would put our chair backs against the concrete wall so we could look out over the valley and watch the pigeons flock in their crazy zigzag patterns. He will tell stories and laugh boisterously. I will hang on his every word.

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