At an event in the early ‘70s, my father gave a tribute to his neighbours, Reg and Audrey Watson. He told of how his own children loved to go and stay at the neighbours’ home when the children were little. He said that the neighbours, Reg and Audrey Watson, must be really good people if your kids want to go stay there all the time. When I was a young boy, I spent so much time at Reg and Audrey Watson’s that I began telling people that my name was “Marvin Watson”. Everyone thought it was very cute. This phenomenon of my calling myself “Marvin Watson” was really not all that surprising. Reg and Audrey were like my own parents, because I spent so much time there and they treated me like I was their own child. It was also not surprising because Reg was always so good to me, like he was my real dad. Why Reg was always good to me is a bit of a mystery, as I certainly gave him occasion to act otherwise.
Audrey got to take care of me at age five while the rest of my family were on a vacation to the U.S. Audrey had to wash my bum thoroughly everyday that my family was gone, as I had a severe toilet training problem. Apparently, when Audrey had to be away for awhile, then Reg got to look after me, and he had to wash my posterior. I never heard about either of them complaining about having to do so. Never. In fact, I don’t remember Reg ever complaining about me, even when I did stupid things as a kid.
On one particular occasion, I took an old broken tine from a pitch fork and proceeded to smash it against the windshield of an “abandoned” pickup truck in Reg’s yard. Although the truck was not being used, the windshield was still in good condition, at least before I covered it with cracks, rendering it useless. I heard later that Reg was angry about it, but he never chewed me out, nor told my parents. Years later, when I apologized for my stupidity, he just shrugged it off, saying it was no big deal, and gave me a big smile.
I remember attending the Regina Exhibition with my parents, and Reg and Audrey one year where we got to take in a country music show. Once we found five seats together, the adults sent me to purchase some pop for our group. When I got back and was making my way to my seat, I managed to spill some cold Pepsi down the back of Reg’s shirt. Reg arched his back from the cold discomfort as he glanced over at me, but never said a word to me. What a trooper.
Reg gave me a little pig for my birthday one year. I was very excited to own my own hog, and proceeded to name the piglet, John Weed, for some unknown reason. Eventually, John Weed grew up into this enormous boar that we used on our farm for several years.
When I was a boy, my parents decided to undertake a major upgrade to our farm house. This involved moving another farm house, joining it to the existing structure and totally redoing the roof. It was an enormous project. After harvest was finished, my dad was into the construction in earnest. And Reg came to help, virtually every day. I would come home from school on the school bus, and there was Reg, high up on the ladder helping my dad nail boards onto the wall studs and the roof rafters. My dad said that he didn’t know how he was going to pay Reg for all his help, and Reg just smiled back.
Back in the ‘70s, my Dad became very ill suddenly and my Mom phoned Reg to drive them to the hospital. While my Dad was being treated, Reg waited with my Mom in the waiting room for several hours and wouldn’t leave her to wait by herself. He didn’t say much, but he was there for both my parents, as a loving, caring friend.
The Watsons were so cool to us Luthers, as they had running water. I would get to go down to their house and take a bath in a real bathtub. They didn’t have a lock on the bathroom door yet, so Reg, realizing that a young boy could be embarrassed or insecure, just told me to shove the bathroom weigh scale up against the door so no one else would come in during my bath. He was always looking out for me.
Reg was so proud of his beautiful little red haired girl, Rosaleen, later called Rusty. My siblings and I grew up just three quarters of a mile from the Watson farm and we were all blessed to watch Rusty grow up along with us. Reg always encouraged Rusty with raising horses and enjoying the outdoors.
Later on Reg was blessed to have a son, Kevin, during Canada’s centennial year. I also enjoyed watching Kevin grow up, and to see how his dad took an interest in all his activities. Our family would spend Boxing Day with the Watsons, and during Kevin’s first Christmas, I don’t know who was more excited showing off Kevin’s new toys, Reg or Reg, Jr.
After high school, I was away from the community for a few years getting more education, but then got married and moved back to the farm near the Watsons, and near where I was raised. It was interesting and wonderful as an adult, getting to know Reg even better, as my neighbour and friend. He was always there, with an encouraging word, some advice and that friendly smile.
Reg sold me my first horse. I wasn’t much of a horse trader, so I just paid the man what he wanted. I figured, you can’t beat the cost of delivery, as I just rode the horse a mile and a half home, with my wife driving the truck home. I knew also that Reg would sell me a good horse, and I always appreciated that. That horse was so gentle; all my little girls could safely ride him.
During the long, bitterly cold winter of 1981-82, Reg’s snowplough was my best friend. My wife and I and our little toddler were blocked in most of that winter. Reg must have cringed every time he heard my voice on the telephone asking him to plough our road. But he never complained. One time after an extended blizzard, Reg ploughed the road into our yard, and then came into the house for a cup of coffee. We were experiencing cabin fever so bad, that we begged Reg not to leave, but to stay a little longer. He must have thought we were both crazy, but to my wife and me, he was like a long lost friend come to visit that day.
Reg gave me my first flock of chickens. It happened one autumn when he was going to be away for a few days, which was a rare occurrence. Reg had asked me to look after his eight hens, then told me that I was welcome to just take them home for myself, if I liked. I took him up on the offer and, for the next few years, I enjoyed having fresh eggs on my farm, courtesy of Reg. Reg did his best at helping to set me up with farming, providing me with a pig, a horse and some chickens.
The year the municipality built up an access road to my farm that would suit winter conditions, Reg was at his finest. When I talked to the councilor about building up an existing road out to Highway #36, we agreed that was a good idea. However, when the councilor talked to Reg about it, Reg told him he was crazy to build up that road, as nobody would want to drive their tractor long distances on the highway to plough me out when the road was blocked. Reg could be very convincing, as the councilor changed his mind, and decided to build the road between Reg and me. As the winter of 1981-82 played out, with Reg ploughing me out more conveniently, on a regular basis, it proved that Reg was a genius.
Before that nasty winter, when my winter road was being built up, Reg got the contract to rebuild the pasture fence that had to be removed for back sloping the hills along the road. I remember helping Reg while he was building the new fence. I think he must have been about 57 years old then, but he was behaving more like a twenty something. He was literally running up and down and over those side hills, stretching wire, pounding posts and hammering staples. Man, it wore me out just watching him work. And he was just loving it.
Years later I moved to the city with my family, and I didn’t have much contact with Reg for a long time. However, many years later, there was a McKechnie reunion in Moose Jaw. I had previously been in touch with a cousin from out of province who was going to be at the reunion, so I drove down from Saskatoon to see him in Moose Jaw. When I got to the reunion, the cousin from out of province was not there, but there was Reg to greet me.
I wasn’t registered for the reunion, but Reg took me under his wing and treated me royally. He got me some food on his tab and made sure I was looked after. He even made sure I was put in contact with some other Luther relatives at the reunion. Although I didn’t get to see the cousin, it was just wonderful to hook up again with Reg, who never stopped smiling at me all day.
Over the next few years I went to see Reg at his home in Moose Jaw several times, staying overnight once, and getting Reg to deliver me to the bus depot on another occasion. Each time he treated me like a king, just like when I was a little boy in his house on the farm so many years ago. I also got to meet up with Reg a few times at a Moose Jaw restaurant when I was passing through town. He was always so glad to see me, and I enjoyed our time together.
It was fun talking to Reg. You could talk farming, world issues, movies, family and the good old days. You didn’t really have to be careful what you said, as Reg was just happy to be talking to you. As a Calgarian, I was looking forward so much to visiting Reg in his new home in Red Deer, and I am crushed that that won’t happen. I treasure the times I got to spend with Reg, just being with him. He always made me feel good about myself.
Reg was like my own father to me and, as I grew older, Reg was also my friend. He was a loving, caring person to me. I admire you, Reg, for being a good person and for always being so good to me. Thank you for your unconditional love and friendship. I love you and I will miss you a whole lot.
