Bill Ortman: January 9, 1954 – May 20, 2025
One is never able to prepare for burying a parent. How can you? Growing up, they’re always there when you need them and do whatever it takes to raise you properly. At one point or another, they seemed invincible to you. They did what they could to make sure you became the man or woman you should be and seemed to have no trouble doing it.
Granted, now that I’ve (mostly) grown up, have two kids of my own, and now have two grandbabies, I start realized how much parents had to sacrifice — and how much the upbringing I had made me the person and parent I am. If I was even half the dad that my dad was, I’ll consider that a win.
My parents both always taught us the value of hard work and taught us how to fend for ourselves. That teaching has served my brother, sister, and I well, and we’ve independently tackled some major milestones and phases in our lives. We always knew, however, we could call if we needed anything. But we were taught how to survive on our own should the need arise.
But nothing in those years of teaching and upbringing can prepare you for this.
The last few months have been hard since dad received his cancer diagnosis. He went fast, spending the last few weeks on in-home hospice care. He is now at peace and those who have been taking care of him — especially my mom — can hopefully get some peace as well. She was a nurse for 40 years, but nothing in your nursing training or experience helps you prepare to take care of a dying husband and best friend.
When I look back on my relationship with him, it was always a wonderful one. I could share stories of all the random fun things and experiences we had together as a family, but there is one story and experience that is uniquely Dad and I.
My dad was a drummer. I remember when I was little I’d watching him play drums with a few of his buddies in a couple rock bands, thinking it was the coolest thing ever. It was one of the things that motivated me to play the drums when I got into middle school (where everybody had to do music of some sort). As I started playing more and truly becoming a decent percussionist, I got into high school and was able to join the Central Oregon Community College Concert Band (the precursor to the Cascade Winds) as well as play with the Central Oregon Symphony.
One day when I was in high school, I was sitting there at our kitchen table, looking over my music for the COCC Band. I’d been in the band a year or two at this point. Dad — who was a rock drummer but hadn’t read sheet music since he was in high school — came over and sat by me, and we looked it over together. I was explaining to him the parts, what I’m playing, and how it’d be nice to have an extra body to cover some of the parts. And we got to discussing if he’d be interested in playing in the band and getting back into it again. I gave him a little crash course in reading music, and after I talked to the director (who was happy to have another warm body), he came and joined me up the hill (we lived down the hill from COCC at the time). That began many years (probably 20 years if not more) of playing together in the concert band and eventually in the Symphony for many years as well.
I still remember playing in the summer concert bands (back when those used to exist) where we’d be the only two guys in the percussion section at some concert in the park, running around, covering at least half a dozen parts each, and having a great time doing it. We’d constantly talk about the chaos and the choreography. We had played together long enough that we always knew what the other guy needed without even thinking about it. We were constantly helping each other out, making sure everything was covered and played. We weren’t the best percussionists in the world, but we had more fun than anybody.
Even if we didn’t have a lot in common in some areas, we always had our music. That re-introduction back to sheet music back on the kitchen all those years ago got my dad back into it. He then went to play in other bands around the area (The Notables, the Cascade Horizon Band, among others) and was a member of the Keizer Community Band when he moved to the Salem area.
One of my fondest memories was when my daughters started playing instruments (violin and cello) and they both had goals of making it into the Central Oregon Symphony so they could play with their dad and “O-pa” as he was known by our kids (and even our kids’ friends). They eventually progressed far enough in their playing to audition and make it in. At one point, the Central Oregon Symphony had three generations of Ortman performers on the stage at the same time. That’s the picture on top of this post that you see — my oldest daughter, my dad, and I, almost 10 years ago to the day, performing in our first symphony concert together. I probably still have the program somewhere. My dad truly loved his kids, his grandkids, and great-grandkids. But I do know that sharing a stage with them was a treat for him.
While my parents had long since moved away and I wasn’t playing or performing with him any more, there always seemed to be an empty spot at rehearsals. Just like in the rest of life, it was just nice to know he was there.
I miss you, dad.
