The Day John Wayne Came To Breakfast

Last Friday I dressed with special care: black long-sleeved shirt, knee-length tasseled vest, green silk wild rag tied around my throat just like the Good Rancher does each morning, scuffed riding boots, and my white George Strait stetson.

And black jeans.

I never, EVER, thought I would wear jeans to a funeral.

But when one is going to John Wayne's funeral, how else would one dress?

The first time I met Fred was at our Hanna church's Remembrance Day service in 2018. He came with my friends Debby and Gaylene. He was Debby's cousin; of course I had heard of him because Debby had picked up several of Dad's items of clothing for her cousin when he was preparing to move to Three Hills. She and Gaylene had gone to BC to meet him and had taken him on holiday several times. And now he had moved to Three Hills.

I was at the front of the church helping with the service when I spotted them; at the end I hurried back to the foyer to greet them. Hugs all around, and a comment about a new white hat, which had been Fred's seventieth birthday present a couple of months earlier.

The three of them had to leave soon after, but not until I had extracted a promise from them that they would come visit us at the ranch very soon.

With real horses.

That Fred could pet.

And wear his white hat.

And have pancakes for breakfast.

Just like John Wayne.

We shook on it, because a man's handshake is his bond. 

And so, a week later, our VIP guests arrived.

Who are you? Fred asked the Good Rancher. My name is Fred. But you can call me John Wayne. Are you a real rancher? Why aren't you wearing a cowboy hat? 

The GR tipped his baseball cap to Fred. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Wayne."  And he stuck out his hand. 

Debby, Gaylene and I froze: Fred had no reason to trust men, on the whole, and he usually responded badly to the slightest sign of anything that might smack of forcefulness or threat to him. 

John Wayne looked way up into the Good Rancher's face for a moment and then grasped that extended hand. He smiled. Where are you going? Can I go with you? 

"I have to go back to work. But first I am going to go get Ed for you to meet."

As the GR set off briskly for the corral, the rest of us more leisurely donned coats and went outside toward the barn. 

There, in all her beauty, stood Ed. Fred took a deep breath and one of the biggest smiles I have ever seen bisected his face. 

 

The Good Rancher made the introductions: "Fred, this is Ed. Ed's a girl. Ed, this is John Wayne."

Can I pet Ed? 

"OK with you, Ed? I think she says it's OK."

Just at the time the GR had to leave for more chores, Glen, a retired Mountie who was working with him at that time and is one of the great treasures associated with the ranch's story, showed up in the yard.

"Glen, this is Fred."

"Hello, Fred."

You're not going to hurt me, are you?

"Fred," I said quickly, "Glen is an RCMP officer. He will protect you."

Will you look after me?

"Yes sir," responded dear Glen, extending his hand. "Shall we go in the barn and get some treats for Ed?" And, just like that, Glen had a new friend for life. Fred took his hand and the two men, much the same age, walked over with Ed to explore the barn.

Debby and Gaylene went to check out the other horses while I got breakfast ready. Pancakes and sausages and bacon, fried eggs, hash browns, strawberries, butter, syrup, whipped cream, juice, and coffee. "Real cowboy plates" from the bunkhouse.

Everyone gathered at the table. The Good Rancher asked God's blessing on the food.

Fred ate and ate. Then he did a little visiting. And then he ate some more. 

So comfortable was Fred that when the Good Rancher went to the kitchen window to yell at the dogs who were annoying the horses, Fred walked over to him, reached up and propped his elbow on the GR's much-taller shoulder, and proclaimed, Arny, you are a flippin' idiot! He brought down the house. Pleased with himself, he let the GR try on his most precious cowboy hat and told him he looked like John Wayne in it.

Fred was moving into his own little apartment in Three Hills and so we gave him a few household things for his housewarming. He prized the "cowboy" items, like the ceramic boot with a verse on it.

I never really got to talk with Fred after that until the awful day of Debby's funeral, about one year ago. He was devastated. After the funeral he came to me in tears and said, I told her, 'Don't die, Debby, don't die!' But she died.

Loss was the theme running through Fred's whole life story. 

He was born with some challenges, too great for his parents to be able to cope. The doctor finally told them when Fred was 4 years old that the best thing would be to institutionalise their little son. He arranged for admittance to a government institution named Woodlands School.

Fred endured 17 years of horror there. Atrocities is not too strong a word for the evil this particularly vulnerable child was subjected to. (Of course, he was not alone in this systemic abuse; the institution was finally shut down in 1996.)

He was then moved through various group homes - at least 10; he stayed at the last one for 26 years.

And this is where Debby, his cousin, heard about Fred seven years ago. For the next five years she and Gaylene took Fred on vacation on Vancouver Island. 
He was eventually brought for a visit to Three Hills, where for the first time he met other cousins who lived in the area. After that he desperately wanted to move to Three Hills - having finally been able to claim family, he wanted to be near them. Oh, he remembered his great losses: his mom and dad, his grandma and grandpa, Aunt Delores, cousin Joy ... he knew he had had two elder siblings, but he had no idea where they were, what had become of them after he was taken away.

Debby arranged for Fred to be taken into the Rehoboth Christian Ministries community, where he was lovingly cared for. In addition, he was welcomed with open arms at the Trochu Baptist Church. The last two years of his life were for the most part happy. He finally felt a sense of belonging, of home.

Fred was very quick witted, and managed to sustain a dry sense of humour. As he was being interviewed for Rehoboth, the director said to Fred, "I like your hat. Where's your horse?"

Immediately Fred fired back at the man, Where's your head?! 

His basement apartment was named the Whitford Ranch, complete with sign in the entry way ... 

After Debby passed away, Gaylene and Debby's sister became Fred's guardians. Due to a complete botch-up in some government office, Fred's stipend was cut off: when they received notice that Debby had died the agent marked down that it was Fred who had died. The next few months were spent trying to prove to the satisfaction of the agency that Fred was indeed still alive - a comedy of errors, except that this was for real and Fred's funding was cut off until they were reluctantly persuaded just who was alive and who was dead ...

When the diagnosis of leukemia came shortly before Christmas, Gaylene reported that Fred got angry. He didn't want to die now, now that he was just getting settled and happy. I am not going to die, he proclaimed. When she suggested that he would be able to see Debby again, he retorted, I don't want to see her YET! 

This time the loss would be himself and his new-found, hard-won contentment. The greatest loss of all.

But his Pastor Alan from Trochu, his dear Gaylene, his new friends and caregivers rallied around. They told him about Jesus, who would never leave him or forsake him. Jesus, who loved him through everything. Jesus, who is the greatest helper of all, as Pastor Al spoke of at Fred's service.

Pastor Al told us all that, like Fred, we all have limitations. We all have struggles. He made these two points:

- Jesus, our greatest of all helpers, sets us free from sin, which is anything I say, think or do that falls short of God's holiness, goodness and love.
- Fred opened himself up to the love of God, which made him equal in God's sight to everyone else.

And when Fred trusted in Jesus for his very life, Jesus did not let him down. Going through treatment and care for leukemia would have been extremely difficult for Fred. And so, in the providence of God, he developed double pneumonia, which took him in a matter of days.

God knew that His cowboy had had enough suffering. And now that Fred wanted to see Jesus, Jesus called him home to his permanent ranch in Heaven.

"He didn't go into the dark," Gaylene said, delivering the eulogy. "He had no questions; he had no more fears - he told his Pastor Al so when they went for lunch the Saturday before he died." 

Pastor Alan said that the last words Fred said to him were I love you. "We should all leave people we care about with those words," he said softly. 

A verse out of one of the songs sung at his funeral says this:

Who brings our chaos back into order
Who makes the orphan a son and daughter
The King of glory ...

As Fred put it to Pastor Al that last Saturday they were together and the pastor was making sure Fred was at peace, Here today, gone tomorrow! 

Sounds like something John Wayne would say.

On Fred's coffee mug:

"Beneath the grumpy exterior beats the heart

of a dashing hero"