Glen Myers

  Glen Herald Myers was born on March 27, 1926 in St. Albens township in Hancock County, Illinois, U.S.A.  He immigrated to Canada with his parents, Willis and Elsie Myers, from Medicine Lake, Montana, on Oct 27, 1930.  They travelled to St. Walburg and settled for awhile with his father's relatives.  Once their permanent residence was filed, they moved further north to Flat Valley, SK. In 1948, they moved to the ranch a few miles up the Beaver River. Over the years, Glen, along with his parents, raised sheep, mink, cattle, and finally settled on raising pigs, which turned out to be his passion.  He always said he loved his pigs.  As did many farm boys in those days, Glen found work off the farm, like fishing with Charlie Becker on Cree Lake, he worked construction on the Cold Lake Air Base, and he was a member of the Iron Workers Union working in Northern B.C., Alberta, Alaska, as well as Montana.  He was working near Leduc when the big oil well blew in. These jobs were a constant source of stories and memories of his co-workers, friendships and great camp food.  Glen left construction and returned to the farm to help his parents, and raised pigs until he retired. He lived on the ranch until Dec, 2016 when he moved to Pine View Villas in Pierceland, SK.  Living there was a lot more comfortable but he always said how he missed his old place on the river.  
  Glen was predeceased by:  his mother, Elsie (January, 1981); his father, Willis (October, 1983); aunts and uncles on both sides of the family; his cousins, Willis Lindenberger of Quincy, Illinois, Mike Myers of Livingston, Texas and recently Rosalie Skifton of Missoula, Montana.

Eulogy of Glen Herald Myers By: Calvin Urlacher
     I will start by saying I have known Glen for as long as I can remember.  He along with his mom and dad were a part of my families' lives after we moved to the farm in Emberville in 1962.  I have many memories of visiting with his dad while Glen did the chores or work on top of the hill, staying with his mom and aunt Maude when he hauled fish guts from the plant in Beacon Hill and his dad was in the hospital, and of listening to the two ladies sing gospel songs together.  Memories of helping him load pigs and hauling them to St. Vincent and seeding the flats with the Super 90 Massey, and later after his parents were gone, of visiting with Glen drinking coffee, whiskey,  and chokecherry wine straight out of the crock.  (That was rough stuff). Over the years I heard all the stories of the life he had and all the trials and tribulations those of his generation endured.  Over time it dawned on me, no matter how many years worth of stories we may have there will come a time when we start to tell them over and over and over again.   Even if it is 95 years worth of stories.  It got so I could fill in the blanks for him when his memory failed him.  This helped the conversation flow and it avoided awkward silence.  But there was one night, about a year and a half ago, one of the stories had a different ending.  It was the one from 1949 about Leduc #1.  He recounted again how he was working for a contractor subbed to Esso;  how the oil was being sucked up out of the ditches and hauled away by trucks; about the offer of a permanent job position with Esso from a high up engineer or consultant; about how he wasn’t feeling good, a little home sick and that things weren’t good at home, and how he turned down the job offer and returned to the farm.  He lamented about how big a “mistake” that had been. “And dammit I could be retired by now if I had taken that job!” 
I burst out laughing and he gave me a funny look.  I said “And here all along I have been thinking you WERE retired the last 30 years ".  He saw the humor and had to laugh and agree. Since Glen’s passing, that story has had a special meaning for me.  I know now that it was that decision or “mistake”; as Glen called it, which set him on the path to be part of my life.  I know too the decision made on that fateful day in 1949 has enriched my life, while for him it may have been the wrong choice it was not a “mistake” for me.  In retrospect, my regret today is not seeing that at the time and telling him how that decision had a ripple effect on not only my life but the lives of everyone here today.  It may have changed the way he felt about the ending of that story as well. I have often heard the measure of a man can be gauged by the “number” of people “who” attend his funeral, and there was a time I believed that to be true.  But my thoughts on that have changed.  I believe now it is more about “who” see us off, not how “many”, that is important.  If you were to do an inventory of the “many” funeral attendees we would find family members, relatives, close friends and acquaintances.  People there just for the lunch, and maybe even one or two there just to make sure the man is gone.  But if the funeral is for a man with no immediate family and extended family is far away and he has lived a long life and lost many good friends and acquaintances the many soon becomes the “few”.  Add to that how covid 19 restrictions have made funeral lunches few and far between.  “So, if you are here for the lunch, I must apologize there is no lunch.”  So, in the end the true measure will have to be made by “who” is there to see the man off.  When the funeral is attended by those “who” truly loved, cared for, and respected him for all of his good and in spite of all his faults, then that measure must surely be kind.
I know in my heart, that is the case for Glen today.  Everyone here today is here because we either loved him, cared for him, or respected him; and I thank you for that.  I would also like to send a special thank you to the staff at the
 L. Gervais Memorial Health Center for the kind and compassionate care Glen received since March, 2020.  While he always said he would much rather have been at home and had a little more salt in his soup, he always said he was very well looked after by the girls.  The last visit I had with Glen, I held his hand and told him I loved him for the first time and that I will miss him when he is gone.  He smiled at me for a bit and asked “how can you love a big shit like me”.
I could only say “Just because I do”.  Sleep in peace my friend, you have earned it!

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