Robili
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My parents named me Robert, for my Uncle who lived in Geneva, Switzerland; but, most of my family call me Robbi, a diminution of Robert. My Aunt Mary called me Robili, a further diminution of Robert. I liked her name for me the best. Some people say they can remember as far back as being in the womb of their mothers. I’m not one of those. But, I do remember quite a lot from about age two. Of course, most of the things I remember from that time have to do with things that either pleased me or confused me. Also, some of the details of what I experienced were predicated on my need for personal survival. I particularly remember people whom I liked. My favorite person in the whole world was my Aunt Mary, my father’s sister. She was an unmarried lady who lived with my Grandmother at Meierhöfli, the ancestral family home, about a mile down the mountain from us, in Ennetmoos, Switzerland. Meierhöfli, is located approximately a half mile from Saint Jacob’s Catholic Church, the sin and sanity center of our community in Ennetmoos. Everyone was expected to be involved with the church in some way, if they entertained serious aspirations of going to heaven or to America, or both. Those who were not making their minimal required contribution, by at least attending mass on Sundays, automatically became candidates for a sort of assumed excommunication. I hated Saint Jacob’s Church, because the adults in charge of my life invariably seated me, along with my brothers and other little boys, on the front pew, where the people could keep an eye on us, particularly on me. The accepted assumption was that all little boys were bad little boys; if they could get into trouble, they would. The mission then, of little boys in church, was to be quiet and to look as holy as possible. My dislike for Saint Jacob’s had nothing to do with basic church dogma; it had to do with the huge pipe organ located near the front of the church, almost directly above the front pew. I don’t recall ever hearing a gentle sound come out of that instrument. It always sounded angry, loud and painful to my ears. But, none of the adults, not even my wonderful Aunt Mary, believed that I was in genuine discomfort because of the harsh pipe organ. The sound was presumed to be one of those Catholic things to which kids would ultimately become acclimated as part of their right of passage, particularly if a kid had a secret ambition of growing up to be Pope, the “president” of the Catholic Church, as I did. There were other aspects of religion which caused me considerable consternation during my early childhood. One major problem was that we lived on a mountain farm, Gadenstatt, almost a mile above Meierhöfli; so, the journey to the church was no small feat, particularly in the winter time. The only acceptable excuse for not getting to church was a snowstorm, or weather which might cause small children to experience too much exposure to cold. I learned early to pray for snow, lots of snow. The march to Saint Jacob’s every Sunday morning was a miserable trip, even in the best of weather. I would much rather have stayed at home, in the Gadenstatt, in a warm goose down bed, or visit with my Aunt Mary at Meierhöfli.
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About the Book
In Robili, Robert Barmettler recounts memories of the latter 1920s in a valley below the Swiss Alps. Follow the author as he tells what happened to him from as far back as he could remember up to his arrival on Christmas Eve at the front door of his family’s first home in America. His childhood antics and misadventures are entertaining and his excitement about the trip to a new homeland – filled, he thought, with cowboys and gangsters – charms every reader. Dr. Barmettler, an author, playwright and theatre director, had distinguished careers teaching at two colleges and spent time on the road in regional musical theatre. He served the United States in three wars, retiring as a Lt. Colonel, but it all started with his earliest years in Switzerland. Robili is a story for all ages to enjoy. Deanne Charlton Please see the review below: ForeWord Clarion Review MEMOIR Robili Robert Barmettler AuthorHouse 978-1-4208-6349-9 Four Stars (out of Five) Robert Barmettler, now in his eighties, wrote Robili in response to requests by his grandchildren for stories about his childhood in Switzerland. Robili, a Swiss diminution of Robert, was a nickname given to him by his favorite Aunt Mary, a lovable character in this humorous and poignant book. Written in the first person, with a youthful guilelessness and large type, Robili is a fast and easy read. Young audiences, especially boys four to twelve years old, will be entranced by this tale, as would the adults in their life. Robili was a fearless little boy growing up on a Swiss alpine farm in the 1920’s, where abundant opportunities for mischief piqued his indefatigable curiosity. The antics of Robili’s extended family, and their entertaining fixation on all things American -- the ubiquity of gangsters and orange trees, for example—offers an historical aside. The mandatory Sunday hikes, up and down the mountain, to the interminably long Catholic mass where Robili was forced to sit next to the cacophonous organ with the other squirmy boys, are also vividly portrayed. These vignettes give one an intimate feel for the alpine people and their singular culture. Robili, though, is so much more than the delightful story of a precocious child and his adventures with goats, porcupines in the cellar, and cesspools. It is the tale of a taciturn and constantly- working father determined to give his six children an easier life, and spare his three sons conscription into the Swiss army. His further determination to move his family to America (also achieved), is the central theme of the book, and when told in the voice of a child, it takes on a unique perspective. Robili's older brother came down with infantile paralysis, and to keep him safe, Robili was sent a mile down the mountain to live with his grandmother and Aunt Mary. His three other siblings, being better behaved, were deemed safe to stay at home while their brother recovered. Robili lived more than two years away from his family, a life he relished as aunt and grandmother spoiled him, and he was never punished for his endearing naughtiness. He stayed, in fact, until the day the family left for America, a new baby sister in tow, and minus the father who left a year earlier to start their life in California. The several weeks it took the six children and their mother to reach California, are an extraordinary and riveting odyssey. The children had never traveled more than a mile from their farm, and their mother not much further, nor had they been in an automobile, train, or boat, so every leg of the journey was a great thrill. From flush toilets to toothbrushes to peanut-butter sandwiches, a myriad of new experiences kept Robili and his siblings reeling with ever new joys. Once they meet up with their father and he takes them to their new home in the middle of the night, the book abruptly ends. The reader is left ravenous for more, and frustrated by a multitude of unanswered questions. Another few pages would have been a delight, but, blessedly, the book is still a very worthwhile read, and one can hope for a sequel. Patty Sutherland
About the Author
Most of Robert S. Barmettler’s education , since his arrival in America, as a young boy, has been in English, Drama and Religion. He entered the American Military in 1943 as a GI, saw action in Normandy in 1944; attended San Jose State University in 1946; entered The United States Air Force in 1949. He retired from the USAF after spending a decade in the Strategic Air Command (the 11th Bomb Wing in B-36’s and the 5th Bomb Wings in B-52’s); Spent a tour at the Air Force Academy; he completed a tour in Vietnam; and several years of teaching at the Air War College. He retired from the USAF as a Lieutenant Colonel. He then taught theater at Huntingdon College for eighteen years, until retirement in 1988, after which he involved himself in performing at various Regional Theaters until 1993, at which time he was employed to teach Speech and Theater at Alabama State University until 2003. Since that time he has devoted himself primarily to writing and to tending his garden in Montgomery, Alabama, with his wife, composer, writer, musician, performer, Radio Personality, Dr. Jeanne E. Shaffer.