ATOMICFREAK BIO

R.I.P., Dad...I will miss you and love you always.

My father, Starling Ershel Reidburn, was born in a small town in Arkansas on October 12, 1937. That town is now underwater in a man-made lake. As an infant he was diagnosed with breathing problems which led to moving to a less humid area, namely Cashmere, Washington. His birth father died when he was very young, and during high school my father and his brother had their names legally changed to Reidburn, as a surprise to honor their step-father by taking his last name, as he had raised them. He played football for the Cashmere H.S. Bulldogs and graduated in 1956. His older brother having gone into the Air Force, Starling, or Ersh as he was called, went into the Navy. As a non-rate he was stationed on the USS Staten Island, an ice-breaker that took him to both the North Pole and Antarctica. He then became an FT, or fire control technician, and served on the USS Brinkley Bass, a destroyer escort, before attending sub school and going to Poseidon class submarines the John C. Calhoun and the Daniel Boone, both ballistic missile subs. He retired as an FTB1 in 1976 after a short stint as an instructor at a reserve school in Washington, having previously been the first submariner to be an instructor at one of the submarine schools on Ford Island, Hawaii, when military instructors took over from civilians in between his tours on the Calhoun and the Daniel Boone.. That was the year I was born. He was a strong man with a giant heart, and a great father who liked camping and fishing...even though he refused to eat seafood. Ersh also had a great sense of humor and managed to embarass me in hilarious ways in front of my friends as only a truly good dad can do. He has inspired me in many ways, from my joining the U.S. Coast Guard to speaking my mind about what I think is right when I think it should be heard (although he and I disagreed frequently on when that was...kids, eh?). He died of his second bout of cancer, the first in his esophagus, the second in his liver, at home on December 3rd, 2001. One week before my 25th birthday. I was lucky enough to get a humanitarian transfer in fall 2000 after the cancer was diagnosed as terminal to help him and my mother, but mostly I am thankful for that last 15 months I was able to spend with him. Even up to the end he insisted he was going to beat the disease. I cannot convey in any real words how much I love him, miss him, and how great it was to have known him AND have him as a father.