| Jans, Gotlieb "Gib" |
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| Local Content - Obituaries |
| Written by publisher |
| Tuesday, 16 February 2010 16:54 |
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Jans – Gottlieb “Gib” Jans Gottlieb Jans, beloved husband of the late Genny Skorupa Jans, passed away Feb. 4, 2010 at the Maple Creek Hospital. He leaves to cherish his memory his step-children, his loving grandchildren and numerous nieces and nephews. God speed, Grandpa. The funeral service was held at the Maple Creek United Church in Maple Creek, Sask. on Wed., Feb. 10 at 2 p.m. with Rev. Eva Stanley officiating. Honorary pallbearers were Bob and Mary Elliott, Bill and Evelyn Plummer. Active pallbearers were Kyle Elliott, Albert Jans, Darrell Gold, Delvin Good, Melvin Jans, Marvin Maser. Interment took place at the Maple Creek Cemetery. Those who wish to, may remember Gib with a gift to the new Southwest Health Care fund or Cypress Lodge. “Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength” To email an expression of sympathy you may visit www.gonebutnotforgotten.ca. Binkley’s Funeral Service, Maple Creek and Leader, in charge of arrangements. In Gib’s own words I, Gottlieb, was born in the year 1917 on the homestead that my parents Mr. and Mrs. Dan Jans had taken up, north of Hatton. I grew up on the farm and attended Observation School, where Paul Trout and Mary Mastito amongst others taught while I went. As a young boy, I worked for farmers in the area. At the age of 23, I began herding sheep, which I did for 10 years. During that time, I herded for Edward and Henry Stahl and Jimmy M. Wilson. As I recall those days, I remember how long and lonely they were. Then in 1948, I purchased the Frank Stahl place, northwest of Hatton, only living there and renting out the land. In 1949, I started to work for the C.P.R. During the next 30 years, I worked in Maple Creek, Mackid, Hatton, Cummings and Walsh. It was hard work, with pick and shovel from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., when the wages were at one time, 64 cents per hour. My retirement came in 1979. In 1967, Genevieve Skorupa and I were married. We resided on our farm and enjoyed the freedom and serenity of farm life. A celebration of Life by Cindy Skorupa-Chomistek I’d like to share with you some memories, thoughts and qualities of my, our Grampa - our loved one, our friend. Grampa was born on March 25, 1917. He began herding sheep at age 25 and did this for 10 years. He worked at the C.P.R. as Sectionman. Every penny he earned he saved until he was finally able to buy his farm. Everything he did he planned out carefully and thoroughly throughout his life. He was a simple man but he was very clever. He was a very, very, VERY hard worker. I like to think the best part of his life story started back in 1967. For that is when he married my grandma. For years he had admired her, and loved her from a near distance. When Grandma’s first husband died Grampa promised him he would look after her. Look after her he did. Rumours have it that the sparks flew when he started to court her. After they married he would say, “I don’t have any of my own children, but now I have all these grandchildren and they feel like my own and how I love them.” Visiting Grampa was always an adventure. How our ears would perk up when we’d hear the “put, put, put” of the old red tractor outside the house. There’d be Grampa on Cranky Old Red and how we all wanted to be the lucky one to sit on Grampa’s knee. That was the place of honour! The rest would crowd in beside his seat hanging on tight - and when we’d be done our ears would be buzzing and our little hearts would be filled with joy. What lucky kids we were to have a Grampa with his own tractor! One of the highlights of visiting the farm was rooting through the old garbage pile. How many bottles of whiskey could we find with that much coveted silver star stuck to the front? Our little minds were filled with wonder at how many bottles there were. Evidence of many a good party! The thing about Grampa was that as hard as he worked he could party just as hard. Why one summer night my brother and I, at the hearty age of 12 and 13, found ourselves counting the endless hours into the early morning light of dawn as Grampa “socialized” at the old Hatton Hall. We were exhausted and it was Grampa that had worked the fields all that day tossing hay bales up onto the wagon - his stamina knew no bounds. And his need to visit with one and all outdid even that. Grampa had the sweetest and most joyful smile. His whole face would beam with happiness. On the other hand Grampa took his role as our grandfather very seriously. On those scorching, soul-sucking hot summer days we kids would take to hunkering down in some spot of shade panting from the dry heat. Grampa would hunt us down and give us the speech about finding a hat and putting it on to avoid sunstroke. We always thought we’d found the perfect hiding spot ’cause we hated that speech but he’d always sniff us out. “You kids get inside right now and get out of the sun, or you’ll get heatstroke.” As we grew older that tune changed to, “You drive carefully, always stop at the stop sign, put your blinkers on” and most importantly, “look both ways when you come to a train crossing and always stop.” Advice we all follow religiously to this day. His favorite activities were bingo and card playing. If he wasn’t watching baseball or the stampede on TV, he’d sit in his favorite chair and bounce and jerk and flail around living the experience right along with the bull riders. We had more fun watching Grampa than anything that was going on the TV. You always knew how it was going by the shouts of glee and clapping or the muttered curses. Grampa was always in the middle of the action. He adored children and he showed us what determination, stamina and an honest day’s work was worth. After a day of blister-forming, sun-soaking and muscle-ripping work in the fields there was nothing like coming home and having a game of cards with a cool glass of iced tea. He was a good teacher and patient. We learned how to play a fast game of gin rummy but more than that we learned of how tickled he would be when he won a hand against us kids. Adults or kids, it didn’t matter, for him to win a game - you have never seen such an ear-to-ear grin. So it didn’t matter if we lost..a lot. When his eyesight went he was still playing his card games and still gloating over his wins. His memory was something else. He could tell you of bullriders that took part in stampedes of years past or some event that occurred back in August of 1972 at 12:13 p.m., and the sky was bright orange and the wind had died down and he was wearing his blue shirt with the snap buttons and it was an exceptional wheat crop that year. His memory was astounding which proved worrisome if you did something that irked him. Like the time my brother took Grampa’s overalls, without asking, it became Grampa’s favorite story for a good two years, to anyone who’d listen. Poor Tim endured Grampa’s scathing scorn for that entire time...even after Grampa apparently found those same missing overalls hidden under a stack of blankets in his own bedroom that he himself had moved. We sisters love that story. When Grandma passed away Grampa bought his house in Maple Creek, making sure it would be big enough for his kids and grandchildren to come and stay for as long as they liked. He was so proud of his home and insisted on cooking enormous meals for all. He refused any help, insisted on doing all the cooking. He’d pull baby onions from his back garden and slice them thin, sprinkle salt and make onion sandwiches. He loved cukes and sauerkraut. The teapot was always on and there was something so comforting about sitting in his living room while he shouted out his news to family he hadn’t seen in a long time. Photo albums abounded and stacks of photos piled here and there of the people in his life. No matter what picture you showed him he’d know the name of the kids at the appropriate age. He spent a lot of time looking at those photos. If you stayed overnight, in sheets that he washed by hand and then rolled in the “antique” roller washing machine; if he knew you were awake downstairs he’d bellow, “Breakfast!” until you scooted upstairs. He would wait patiently until one was awake and then if he had any inkling you were awake he was eager to have you near him. He loved to pamper and feed you until you couldn’t pack anything more in. It was so easy to make him happy. Grampa took my husband and I to a game of bingo at the bingo hall about 15 years ago. It was an intimidating and nerve-wracking experience. Grampa sat himself in the middle of the two of us and proceeded to let his arms fly, with bingo blotter attached, like tentacles of lightning speed and dexterity, as he dabbed at not only his own two bingo cards but my husband’s and mine at the same time. He loved his bingo. I don’t think it mattered what the activity was - he simply loved being around people. Grampa will always be in our hearts. When I think of Grampa I recall that amazing grin. He absolutely beamed. I’ll think of him everytime I hear a railway crossing ding. I will remember the tears filling his eyes when he watched his grandson Keith and his bride Sheri walk down the aisle at their wedding. His gentle, almost gingerly hug when saying goodbye and then turning stern and wagging his finger to proclaim, “Make sure you take everything with you because I won’t mail anything if you leave it behind you know.” He’s gone on before us this time and he has left something behind. He’s left us wonderful memories and his love for us in our hearts. We will hang onto that tight because he was our Grampa and we loved him for who he was. He was special, he was a simple man but he had so much life. I know if he were asked, he’d say, “I had a good life.” I hope we can all say the same thing when it’s our time. We will see him again and then the party and socializing will kick up again and I know who’ll be right in the middle of it. |
