John Kenneth 'Ken' Theaker

THEAKER, John Kenneth July 28, 1929 - October 1, 2020
John Kenneth Theaker, known his entire life as Ken, left us on the morning of October 1st, 2020 at the age of 91. The end, when it came, was as unexpected as the man himself was. Employed for most of his working life in the funeral trade, Ken was a very bright light in all our lives: a storyteller, a bon vivant, a musician, a friendly yet deeply compassionate man whom we love beyond words. Words just can't begin to encompass everything that he was. How ironic that Dad, who conducted many hundreds of well-orchestrated funerals from Saskatchewan to the Pacific Coast with >Born in Eatonia, Saskatchewan in 1929 to a farming family, Ken grew up in a remarkable time. Depression swept the prairies, and along with it a drought, bringing dustbowl conditions to the land - famously immortalized in the photography of Dorothea Lange. Raised on a farm outside of Prelate, Ken lived an occasionally-lonely childhood; his best friend was a Collie dog who never left his side, until she was lost through an unfortunate curiosity (via gopher poison). He would later remember Bennett buggies, and itinerant First Nations families who would beg at the door for food, or water for their horses. When he was around ten, his mother Stella sent him over to the nomadic encampment up the road with a sack of potatoes, some onions, some pies, and some slaughtered chickens. He would load it into the saddlebags of his Clydesdale pony and ride over to their camp. A friendship was forged and every season when the last of that nomadic tribe set up camp near the Theaker farm, they would visit back and forth. Thus teaching him early on that compassion was always better than indifference.
Ken performed a lion's share of the duties on the farm: feeding chickens & collecting eggs, milking cows, building fences, even driving the tractor and harvesting when it was time for it. He told a story of how his father John had once bought a harvester in a distant town, expecting "Kenny" to drive it back to the family farm the entire way. Ken made it back without incident, though discovered the nuts & bolts on all the wheels were so loose they were only a simple bump away from flying off the expensive rig and causing a gargantuan crash to earth! Through his friend, Pete Harris, he was ushered into that very exclusive club of Undertaker: Pete's dad, Milt Harris, ran the town funeral home, and Ken was easily pressed into service for funerals or body-collections out in the countryside. He discovered he liked this arcane business, unpopular with most. This would go on for years, with him attaining a semi-permanent - albeit unpaid - position with the firm. Which was interrupted by his education at Campion College in Regina, where he boarded full-time & was irked by the hypocrisy of Jesuit teachers who ate better than all the students, themselves relegated to a nearly-constant diet of baked beans. He recalled visits to the school by luminaries such as the whisky-powered Athol Murray (of Hounds of Notre Dame fame) and Bing Crosby, who was a regular donor to the college and treated like royalty by the teacher-priests when he visited every December. He left Campion for Normal School in Saskatoon, no doubt at his mother's insistence, and, along with some additional courses at the University of Saskatchewan, felt ready to enter the teaching field: there was a genuine need of teachers at that time. His first post? A one-room schoolhouse on the Prairies at Bakerville. He taught Grades One through Nine there, and the characters and idiosyncrasies of that time (including the students collecting gopher tails in the warm season for a dime apiece) - so he said - were very reminiscent of Max Braithewaite's 1965 autobiographical novel, WHY SHOOT THE TEACHER? When he eventually left Bakerville, his going was tearfully lamented by all the farm kids to whom he had become an enduring fixture in their young lives. He would augment teaching terms with seasonal work at Drumheller, Alberta as a station agent for the Canadian Pacific Railway. It was an environment where he blended well with the career engineers and train mechanics, and he made many friends there…though always returned to another new teaching post when fall arrived. The next venture happened when he learned of the Canadian Officers Training Corps (COTC) program via McGill University in Montreal. Driving out to Quebec with a carful of his buddies, stopping only for fuel and diner food, he soon found himself in a rigorous and often-grueling training protocol, though eventually rising to the commission of Lieutenant. And it was here, at the base social hall, that he met the love of his life, Marian Gabinet, head operating room nurse of the Montreal Jewish General Hospital (and daughter of an RSM!). She was intrigued by the confident and handsome young Lieutenant from the West, and he was smitten with the alluring and self-possessed heath care worker. Before either of them knew it (helped not a little by a barrage of romantic letters and gifts to her from the young soldier), they were in love, and Marian followed Ken back out to the prairies. They were married in Prelate in 1958, and settled in the Moose Jaw area. He was now teaching at the RCAF base there. (In-between, he had taught at Fort Qu'Appelle and Simmie.) Later, he would complete this career stage as Vice Principal at Wymark High School. By now, Ken looked actively for an apprenticeship to a funeral home, finally resolved to follow his life's goal. He found his position at Warren & Sons Funeral Home, Swift Current, in 1964, and began a two-year apprenticeship with them. There were many memorable experiences there. His growth as a mortician mirrored his growing young family. Then, in 1966, scouting for his own business, Ken bought and assumed operation of a mortuary in Esterhazy, Saskatchewan, ever to be known after as ‘Theaker Funeral Home.' He settled into life in Esterhazy well, and his most productive years were spent here: not only running the Esterhazy location, but expanding to the nearby towns of Churchbridge and Langenburg (also servicing the Tantallon and Spy Hill areas). During all this, he was appointed President of the Saskatchewan Funeral Service Association, and was involved with the National Funeral Directors Association and the Saskatchewan Embalmers Association. At annual service conventions, he kept the other directors laughing with dry jokes delivered from the podium with perfect deadpan timing. In addition to embalming and managing funerals, Ken operated an independent ambulance, staffed by himself, an eager young assistant named Rodney, and Marian, when she could manage it, along with her nursing duties at St. Anthony's Hospital and the raising of three children. In time, the ambulance operation earned a Grade-A standing, the only private ambulance to achieve this status in Saskatchewan up to that point, and he had a standing contract with the Attorney General of the province to be the principal ambulance service for all road accidents in the southeast corner.
Ken thrived in this era, and especially enjoyed connecting with people: both those on the ascendant of life's pendulum, and the other ones considerably worse-off. They were all equal in his eyes. In these years, he cultivated friendships with so many different folks: other funeral colleagues, the police officers he often worked alongside, neighbours, even family members of former clients. Strangers were only potential friends.
His daughter Deb remembers vividly the time he came through the door with a homeless elderly man in tow in threadbare clothes, carrying a plastic bag of his belongings. Ken had picked him up in the bitter cold from the side of the road and brought him home for a roast beef dinner. He offered him a room to sleep, a wool overcoat, leather gloves, a fur hat. He found him a job and an apartment above Schmidt's car wash. It was thrilling to see the spry old gent get a second shot at life. However, the joy was short-lived when it was discovered that the foundling had slipped town, anonymously, on the first Greyhound bus headed East. Ken was disappointed but put a positive spin on things. "At least he'll be dressed for the weather," he opined. That was him in a nutshell. He was always a glass half-full, sunny optimist. Perhaps he had to be…in order to work in a job that could break your heart in a million ways before breakfast. He was genuinely respected and well-loved by everyone he encountered. And this special ability with people parlayed into civic involvement; he was an Esterhazy town council member for at least four years, and the Mayor of Esterhazy for seven - nearly two complete, popular, terms. Ken was a good man to have on your side when the chips were down. He had a deeply ingrained sense of integrity that compelled him to take action when things were dodgy. Though it wasn't always smooth sailing… Once, he was forced into a lawsuit he ultimately did not win because he couldn't stay silent in the face of obvious injustice. To his kids, he was an aspiring, though usually too-compassionate, disciplinarian. He never raised a hand to any of us… He won our compliance more through our respect for him and desire to please than any threat could do. More importantly (to us), he was always the designated driver for all of our competitions: band, poetry or singing. He took Shelly and Debbie to Yorkton in the station wagon to see that other sister act, Heart. Then spent the entire night in the parking lot with foam ear plugs wedged in place! Later, he carted the girls back as they ran through their own version of "Barracuda" the whole sixty miles home. (The plugs never left his ears.) He supported theatrics too, more than once carting the heavy antique velvet furniture from the basement over to the high school, then helping craft sets out of props from home. The funeral home greens were put onstage every time there was an outdoor picnic scene. Meanwhile, there would be nothing to sit on but lawn chairs during the play's entire run! He and Mom always encouraged and cultivated our creativity. They taught us all our innate love of literature, music, and comedy. They set up a library in our house in Esterhazy and encouraged us to be creative when we weren't reading. For this reason, all three of us pursued careers in the arts, which one would think would be out of the norm, unheard of for kids raised in relative isolation on the prairies. Our parents made sure we had rich creative lives to offset the bleak winter months. (You have to remember this was years before cable TV and the internet.) Dad always looked to the joyful side of things. He loved to laugh and always delighted in pulling off a surprise. One year trick or treating, he claimed he had prayers that night, and so we kids headed out to hit the neighbours up for candy on our own. Suddenly, a crazed ape man in a familiar ski sweater leaped out from the trees at us, and sent us shrieking all the way up the street.
A health crisis finally ended the Esterhazy years. Because Dad always gave it his very best. Always. He wasn't one to phone it in. However, in 1981, ‘Mayor Ken' decided he had to sell the business and house, relocating his family to Saskatoon. He spent the next couple of years in retail. But the interim away from the funeral industry only whetted his appetite for more, and before we knew it, he was following newer opportunities out to British Columbia for Act III of his life. First in Burnaby, then in Victoria. Through the 80's, 90's, and early Millennium, he worked at B.C. funeral establishments such as the Loewen Group, Royal Oak Woodlawn-Bowell, Sands Funeral Home, McCall Bros. and First Memorial. He loved his work. It's unlikely he would ever have stopped…but for the fact of his advancing years. His stories of nearly four decades in the industry culminated in an amusing self-published memoir, GRAVE MATTERS, printed shortly after his retirement in 2002. It was offered in humility and respect for all those whose lives had touched his own. He considered himself so rich in experiences from his much-loved career. And this was an integral part of the man his family especially cherished: his ability to weave a tale well-told, the characters of these historical accounts so vividly-drawn they are forever ingrained in the memory of the listener. Many a night we were held spellbound by his stories at the dinner table. Whether it was reminiscences of his early teaching days, recollections of his life on the farm with people and places long-gone, or a specific death or obituary remembered, he always held his audience/family in the palm of his hand. And he could make the stalest of school poems come alive with his rousing recitation. Ken was a man of acute intelligence, and forever witty, with a sly disarming humour. He loved life, and lived contentedly, right up to his final illness. Now Marian has lost her constant companion and sweetheart of six decades, which is devastating to be sure. You could always rely on the fact that if Mom was nearby, Dad wouldn't be too far away. They flourished in each other's orbit, always a team from the get-go.
It is with the greatest sadness and difficulty that we say goodbye to him now. However, while devastated by his loss, we are comforted by his many years on the planet, and all the hilarity and light and love he has brought to our lives. We ask those who are interested to donate to Thrombosis Canada in lieu of flowers. There is no service currently planned, only a private deposition.
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