Barry William Croaker

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose, under heaven. A time to be born, a time to die, a time to plant, a time to reap, a time to laugh, a time to weep. A time to build up, a time to break down, a time to dance, a time to mourn, a time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together.” Those words are lifted from the third chapter of the Bible’s ‘Book of Ecclesiastes’. But, they are also from a 1965 pop single from American band, THE BYRDS. That was Dad. He believed in a Holy Spirit. He knew he was a soul having a human experience – no doubt about that, and he absolutely loved Rock N Roll to his core. Dad was a born performer. He’d tell the story of even doing local small-town radio plays with his class, as a kid. On this one occasion they were live to air, he had arrived from school to the station on his bike, a little late. The other kids were already gathered around the mic in the studio and reading their roles directly from scripts, live. The teacher gestured him in and he took out his copy of the script, and found where they were all up to. The story was centred around an alien who had landed on earth to take over the world. Dad was the alien. Now, in a script you’ll see the dialogue very clearly and then you’ll see equally clearly marked directions, that are not there for you to read aloud, they’re there to guide your performance. So, it gets to Dad’s part of the script and he delivers his line enthusiastically, in the best monster voice he can muster “I have come to rule your planet!”, anxious and worked up, he continued on, complete in monster voice, with, “pause three seconds”. This of course was a line of direction and not dialogue. Something the other kids realised immediately as they started laughing around the mic. Dad remembered that he explained to the teacher afterward that he was late because he was finishing off some homework. He would recall the teacher yelling at him, “Damn, your homework, Croaker.” Dad’s older brother, Albert, was his pathway to a love of the guitar. A strong player, Albert had inspired Dad with the idea that it would be possible for him to learn and play also. The 1950’s American Rock N Roll explosion captivated Dad. Elvis, the Everly Bros., Buddy Holly, all of this and more, seeped into his being, and the guitar would go on to become a passion he would carry through decades, working consistently as a professional musician for a large part of his life. In their early years together, he would tell our Mum, ‘If I make it big, I’m going to call myself Shane Fisher’. To this day no one really knows where he got that from, or what it meant. Following the passing of Violet, Dad moved in with his sister Lee and her husband Darcy, and a life in the Air Force was soon calling him. Ron Croaker had served, and Violet had encouraged Dad to think about a similar life and career path. Honouring his late mother’s hopes, Dad entered the Royal Australian Air Force, working his way initially through the kitchens to eventually become a fully qualified Chef, and then Flight Sergeant. But his goals were soon set much higher. Dad met the woman he would go onto spend the rest of his life with, our Mum, at the Point Cook Air Base in Victoria, in 1963. He’d told me of she firstly caught his eye when she had walked in for a meal with fellow WAAAFS (or Women’s Auxiliary Australian Air Force) representatives. Mum would serve for two years and then leave, as was required, once married, which she was on May 15, 1965, in Marrickville, Sydney. Supported then by someone who both believed in him and loved him, he soon decided he wanted to reach for the top role on any Air Base and become a Warrant Officer Disciplinary, or W.O.D. Now, this was unheard of. He told of how the idea was sneered at by some. “How could a guy from the kitchen’s take on the intensity of W.O.D training, to ultimately lead a Base?” But, true to his character, that is exactly what he successfully did. And he would go on to be the very first Warrant Officer within the Australian Air Force to come from such a background. That’s who this man was, fearless. In June 1969 I was born and named Michael David Francis Croaker, a tribute to Mum’s three brothers, two of which are here today. In July of 1970 my own brother of course came along, Shaun Barry Croaker. Dad was clearly allowed the naming rights on son number 2. Following his yearning, I accompanied Dad, when he was in late 20’s, as he began to close in on a search for the father who had vanished from his life as a small child. Once located, I can remember hopping from train to train, and being with him when he finally rediscovered Ron Croaker, and closed that circle. Family life in the force is not easy. Regular cycles of being posted from one location to another every few years, meant you were eternally the ‘new kid’ at school. Yet, as a family, we endured together and got through. Dad loved the Force, but true to his character, and together with Mum, he made the decision, after 21 years, that it was time to walk away and allow his sons a chance to finally settle into their last years of High School in Townsville. A number of different roles came, as he had to reinvent himself in order to successfully move into a civilian life. He did so without complaint, taking jobs that we’re worlds away from the working life he’d known, but he did all of this willingly. He did so for family. My brother Shaun discovered the love of guitar through Dad, and it would not be long before Shaun took the love for music even further, becoming an accomplished rock drummer as well. Soon enough both Shaun and Dad were playing together onstage in local venues about Townsville. There was a moment years later, when myself, Dad and Shaun, were enjoying a rare get together, over more drinks than we needed, and stared singing three-part harmony on some early Beatles tunes under Shaun’s house. I can still see how happy Dad was. When we finished, he beamed and said, “I’ve always dreamt of doing this with my boys.” Eventually, over the following years, we all ended up living here on the Gold Coast. Dad’s last working life chapter was spent within Sea World as a member of the Cleaning Team. I was working there at the same time for a little while. It was always great to pass him in the park, and have him close, before my own path drew me further away to a role in Sydney. By the mid 2000’s however, all the family was in close vicinity once again, living on the Gold Coast. Over more recent years Dad was living well and truly amongst family, surrounded by the love of his grandchildren, the noise of Birthday parties, band jams and rehearsals, Christmas days and everything in-between. At his side through his health challenges, was Mum, the most constant influence through Dad’s entire adult life, and the one who stood by him through all the usual trials and drama’s that inevitably come along the way in any marriage, in any family. She loved him, always will, and he loved her. The absence of Dad’s father at a young age, had a lasting impact on him. The early loss of a sister, Sheila, his brother Albert, then the loss of his Mother, while still only a very young man, was a blow that saw him left to make his way without parents to provide nurture or guidance into his 20’s. But with Mum entering his life, the years that came after were steadied, and would ultimately become anchored in family. When we live long enough we get to discover that all kinds of relationships can be hard, emotional, and challenging along the way. But if we can get wise enough, we can also discover new depths of awareness and appreciation for those closest to us, before it’s too late. I’m pleased to say that the past few years have seen a lot of healing, and reconnection broadly, through our own family story. Dad introduced Shaun and I to so much life inspiration that has stayed with us, and defined our own journey’s, right to this very day. He opened the door to a love of music, introducing us to the melodies of Buddy Holly, the lyrics of Simon & Garfunkel, the country music of Hank Williams, and so much more. I remember him telling me at around the age of 12, that ‘Eleanor Rigby’ by The Beatles was “pure poetry”. Talking like that about music got you thinking differently, then seeing him play and perform was always something else. He opened the door to the love of entertainment for his two boys. He could draw beautifully, and would often sit and draw for us and then with us. Shaun and I got very good at it also. He opened our minds to the creative. He stood up and pushed through hardship to chase down his dreams. He opened the door to the importance of resilience and fearlessness. He did not fear death, and talked often to us about the existence of the soul, and how much he completely agreed with a quote from John Lennon, that “death was just getting out of one car, and into another”. Dad opened the door to the spiritual, to thinking about life with a higher awareness. That’s the man he was. In his final years, poor health had begun to increasingly rob us, and him, of the once brightly shining character he had been for decades before. The guy who could tell the funniest stories at the party. The guy that could pick up the guitar and entertain you. The guy that could go deep and talk about life and death with you, was slowly fading. He had been a multidimensional human being, he was honest about his flaws, but always comfortable under his own skin. The man who left us last week, was not well. His fall on the night before his 78th birthday, simply left him too physically, and mentally weak to win that final fight. But he passed with grace, and dignity intact. The woman who had loved and supported him in a marriage just six weeks short of 54 years, had been at his side on that final night. And he finally passed with his two sons, united in their grief, and their love for the man, right there standing by him. His hands in ours. That was our privilege. Dad said to me once, that ‘you and Shaun turned out, exactly as I’d hoped you would both turn out’. He was proud. Well, we were proud of him too. The only reason we turned out in such a way that he could say those words, was directly because of him, and Mum. He would sometimes joke with us if we were giving him a hard time, and say, ‘yeah, well I’m the best friend you two will ever have’. He was absolutely right. So, thank you, Dad. Thank you for the lessons. Thank you for the love. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you, to the greatest man we ever knew. We’ll see you on the other side. God rest your soul.