Arthur "Art" Eugene Crowell

By Daniel Crowell

Dad was born April 25, 1942 to Daniel and Gladys Crowell. He was the baby of five children. He has three sisters – Mary, Helen and Gertie – and one brother Ted.

When dad was five years old his father died after coming home from a day of fishing with his buddies. Grampy was sitting on the tail gate of a pickup truck when it went off the road and he was thrown off, broke his neck and died.

When dad was sixteen he went up North to Labrador to work on installing towers. He was there almost six years. When he came home he went to a hockey game in Windsor with some friends and there he met a pretty brunette named Pat Young. They were married September 28, 1963 and the following April 10 I was born. Twenty two months later my brother Bob came along.

Dad worked for Sur Gain feed mill for eight years then he went to work at Agriculture Canada Kentville Research Station Poultry Division. He retired from there after twenty four years. When I was about four years old we moved to a farm we bought in Hortonville. It was ten acres and a few barns with a two storey home on it.

My dad had a split personality per say – he was an alcoholic, a mean one at that. Mom, Bob, and I endured grief that no person or family should endure.

I hated the yelling, name calling, be-little ling. What hurt the most was getting woken up in the middle of the night (1:30 – 2:30 a.m.), dressed and mom taking us to a neighbors, Avery and Josephine Leslie, to use their phone to call our grandparents in Windsor to have Buck drive thirty minutes to pick us up just to be safe. Then some mornings drive us to school and back. I never had the chance to thank them or my grandfather for doing this. It was the love of them that kept us safe.

When I turned 15 I told dad to quit drinking by the end of the school year or I was moving out. The last day of school came, dad was on a binge. I asked him again if he was going to quit or I was moving out, he laughed at me saying I would never do it. One hour later I called my grandfather and I was living in Windsor. A week later my brother joined me. Unfortunately it was dad’s drinking that caused mom and dad to split up after thirty seven years of marriage.

At home dad taught Bob and me a lot about sports. I remember the time dad, Bobby and I were at Aunt Etta’s Pond by her store when dad was teaching Bobby and I how to skate. After a couple of hours Bob and I thought we were pros and decided to get our pictures taken. There was dad with a scowl on his face and us with a big grin. Dad was a little frustrated on how our attitudes of cockiness came to the fore front.

Dad taught us how to play baseball and we quickly adapted to his faster and easier than hockey. One day our cousins were over and we had a game in our yard. Dad was surprised how I was playing in outfield by our big barn. A ball was hit out to me the ground and I picked it up and threw it towards home as hard as I could. Well the ball sailed by home plate bounced then rolled right up a shovel leaning against the side of the house and smashed out the upstairs window. I was scared. Dad looked at me then the window shook his head and all he said was I guess we need a bigger field to play on.

On our farm one summer we had over three thousand chickens, fifty three cats, forty eight dogs, three cows and one rabbit. We had our own little country zoo. I had never experienced what a dog or cat in heat meant until that year.

On another occasion on the farm, dad’s coworker had arrived to our home while we were away and placed one thousand baby chicks on our sun porch. Well I thought mom was going to have a stroke. She had a few choice words for dad, which I cannot repeat in church. All dad did was giggle but by nightfall the chicks were gone and it took dad four days to clean the porch.

We had a life learning experience on the farm which has always stayed with me growing up. We had a bunch of chicks that had fallen in their water trough and seemed to have drowned. My brother and I wanted to just toss the chicks into the garbage but dad gathered up the babies, placed then in a large bath towel, took them to the kitchen, opened the oven door and placed them on the open door after turning on the heat. Several hours later all but two of the chicks were alive. I was amazed. Dad told me that no matter what don’t give up until you have tried everything.

We ran a small chicken and egg business on the farm for several years. In the fall we would butcher chickens with the help of family and friends the sell them off. Whenever it came time to do the butchering, I always went into the house and cleaned the house. I did not like the blood from the chickens. The last year we did this my brother took a baseball bat and with his cousins went to the barns to practice batting. After they were done over two hundred chickens were dead so I had no choice but to help butcher. To my surprise I really enjoyed the blood and guts.

We had to share our home one winter with dad’s sister Gertie and her children who had moved from the city. They bought a mobile home but there was a problem with the foundation. So our family expanded from four to ten. It was crowded but the family bonding was incredible.

Dad always loved to work in the vegetable garden. He had two large gardens in front of the house. He spent long hours in them and we reaped the benefits as well as the community. When we moved to Wolfville, dad and Andrea (his third grandchild) started a garden out there. This was almost twenty years after we had you could tell dad was back in his element.

Dad was one of the “Founding Fathers” of getting the Boy Scouts into the community. He never was scout master but he worked tirelessly making sure that there was a scout for the boys of the community.

Dad always loved playing the guitar for family and friends. He was very good. I remember asking him why he didn’t play professionally. He would say that he didn’t want to be away from family. He did love his family. So he played not only for us but at any variety shows or fundraiser that was going on.

Another life lesson dad taught me was never put aerosol cans into a bon fire. I had to learn the hard way. We were burning brush and trash. When I was going to throw an aerosol can into the fire. Dad yelled at me not to do it as it would kill us. He grabbed the can and walked away. Curiosity got the best of me so I went into the house and grabbed a half full can of Raid and went to the fire. I threw it in and in a few minutes the can exploded. I went flying through the air from the force of the blast. I landed on my back beside dad. I was hurled about twenty feet. Dad look at me saw the shocked look on my face and questioned “Did you have fun? Now are you going to listen?” I listened from then on.

Dad always loved fishing and taking us fishing. We had a creek (to us, to you out went, a river) that the tide from the Minas Basin (which is part of the Atlantic Ocean) flowed in and out of. So when the tide was coming in, we would head to the creek to fish for eels (or water snakes). My mom and dad just loved them. In the spring we would climb into the car, drive to Melanson and go smelt fishing (sardines). We would spend a few hours there on the banks and dad in the river with his net. When we were finished we had three old metal wash tubs full and four or five gallon buckets full of smelts. When we got home mom, dad and aunt Mary and uncle Ralph would start cleaning them. Dad always shared with them. Bob and I enjoyed eating them.

In November 1977 we sold our farm to dad’s cousin and moved to Wolfville. It was a change that we needed as our home was falling down around us. In Wolfville the fellowship continued in our home with Rumoli games and card playing. Every weekend family/friends would come over right after supper and stay until the wee hours of the morning. Lots of laughter would always be there. Part way through the games they would take a break and mom or dad would make eggs sandwiches and coffee or tea. A dozen eggs and two loaves of bread would make sandwiches for all.

Dad continued with the variety shows and guitar playing with in Wolfville. Lots of time in our backyard in the summer, there would be jam session going on. Not once did the neighbors complain about the noise. At times the town police would drop by for a visit of good music.

When I was in grade nine, I was taking a first aid course in Health class when Dad suffered a TIA (small stroke). I attended to dad as mom called an ambulance. I said a prayer that if God healed Dad and mad him better I would do this as my career. Eighteen months later I started my career as a paramedic. I loved it very much and even though Dad would never say it, I know he was very proud of what I was doing. Mom would always call and tell me and if I was in Kentville I would stop by and see him at work. Dad would always be very happy to see me. After I was married and moved back to Wolfville, I would stop by for chats at Dad’s work and I would hear later his co-workers staying that dad was a proud of the man I was becoming.

When Lucinda was born on December 25, 1986, she was the first grandchild born into our family. When my ex-wife went into labor I was on call with the ambulance. I went to the ambulance and got the stretcher in excitement. Dad saw this as well so before I could get the stretcher out dad was beside me saying that I would need help up the steps. So he and I helped my ex-wife onto the stretcher and carried her to the ambulance. After I loaded her into the ambulance, dad said to me to drive safely. I called home three hours later to tell them he was a grandfather and we had a daughter. You could tell he was excited. At the hospital, he sat holding Lucinda and chatted up a storm with her. When Adam was born, Bob and Tina also had Andrea; dad was beaming each and every time.

He was an awesome grandfather. He was the grandfather that a grandfather was suppose to be. He would tease the kids, play with them and was fair with them when it came to discipline. The grandkids just loved him. When my daughter attended dad’s memorial service in Kentville, she approached the lodge on her own, telling them that Art Crowell was her grandfather and she wanted to attended the private service. They agreed she could come. I am very proud of her.

Two of dad’s quirks I will say that he had was that there had to be a pot of tea on the stove 24/7 with six bags of tea in it. When Gram moved in with mom and dad, she always raved about how great a cup of tea dad made. The other quirk was a few nights a week dad would sit down to watch TV between 8:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. with a cup of tea, a 2 – 3 inch thick slab of bologna off a stick he would buy, four raw wieners from Larsens meat and he would slab of cheese on top of the bologna with the same thickness. Bobby tried to irritate dad one night and dad has no sense of ha ha with it. You just did not mess with his concoctions. Mom and I just laughed.

1991 was a bad year for dad. I got divorced and then later in the year Buck (my grandfather) passed away. This was hard on dad. When we drove to Windsor to tell Gram that Buck had died, he told Gram that he wanted her to move in with mom and him. He wanted to take care of her. For the next eight and half years she lived with mom and dad.

Dad joined the I00F Lodge in 1992 and he held every position in the lodge. At the time of his death, dad was the Grand Noble (President).

When I was getting ready to move to Calgary in 2002, dad and mom separated three weeks before I was to leave. It was hard. I wanted to have a relationship about six years ago. I am sad that he did not know Brenda and Joshua. He also never met Matthew or his great grandson Jacob. These people would have fulfilled his live more as he would theirs.

Dad I am going to miss you so here now I am saluting you with this cup of tea.

Thank you and I love you.

Letter to Art

by Brenda Crowell

When Dan told me his father had died, I had no feelings. Here was a man that caused such pain for those he was closest to. He no longer acknowledged his children nor made any effort to spend time with them or his grandchildren. I didn’t even exist to him.

But about a week later, I found myself driving down Deerfoot Trail with tears flowing and I felt I needed to say a few things so I wrote them down.

I also wanted to say to Dan, Bob and Tina, mom Pat, Art’s sisters Mary and Helen and especially to the grandchildren who knew him Lucinda, Adam and Andrea but also Matthew, Joshua and Jacob I am sorry for your loss.

Dear Art,

I am married to your older son Dan or as you all called him Danny. We’ve never met. I’ve have often thought that’s your loss but as it turns out I guess it’s mine now too.

Although we never met, I have heard a lot about you and seen pictures and that’s the only way I have gotten to know you.

I’ve met your sister Mary. She’s quite a character as I’ve heard you could be too. I hear you could act really stupid thinking you were funny but you weren’t really – turns out you were quiet annoying. Apparently you passed on some of those traits to Dan as well. But you passed along some good things too – like the way you would give the shirt off your back to help someone in need no matter what the cost. So many times I’ve heard “he’s just like his father” good and bad.

I know you used to hold your newspaper up in front of your face when Pat was reading the Bible to her mother (this was after “Gram” moved in with you folks after her stroke). Pat would come across a difficult word, name or place which she would spell out and you would easily pronounce aloud from behind your paper even though it appeared you were not listening. I also know that you helped care for Gram in her illness.

I know you have two sons that you have not spent time with in many years. I want you to know that was your choice not theirs. But you also need to know that I believe that both of your sons missed you and neither stopped loving you. I know that there were tough times growing up with an alcoholic father but I know there were good times too. I’ve seen pictures with happy people in them – you and your boys included. But even with bad times you managed to help raise two great guys who are both great dads who love their kids and would do anything for them.

I know you have grandchildren that enjoyed spending time with their Nanny and Grampy and I would venture to guess you enjoyed your time with them too. It is unfortunate that you never got to know the younger two boys – Matthew and Joshua and great grandson Jacob. Joshua is named after you and I am sad that he will never get to meet his namesake. I want you to know that ever since he has been old enough to say his own prayers, he has prayed for his Grampy every night along with the grandparents he does know and love.

We wanted to see you when we were in Nova Scotia but were told you were not interested in meeting us or seeing Dan. Even though your lack of interest hurt Dan, you need to know that he loved you and wanted nothing more than to see you and be able to talk to you and tell you he loved you and forgave you for all the pain you caused him. With the changes you had recently made, we had hoped your next trip would allow such a time together. But now we will never know if our hopes would come to life or if you would slam the door in our faces.

For that I am sorry but wherever you are Art, rest in peace.

Brenda Crowell

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CROWELL, Arthur “Art” Eugene

Art passed away in Kentville, Nova Scotia on Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at the age of 68 years. He was born in Wolfville, Nova Scotia and was the son of the late Daniel and Gladys (Parry) Crowell of Hortonville. Art is survived by sons; Daniel (Brenda) of Calgary and Robert (Tina) of Halifax; their mother Pat Crowell; grandchildren; Lucinda, Adam, Andrea, Matthew and Joshua; great-grandson Jacob; sisters; Mary Melvin of Wolfville and Helen Greenwood of Wolfville, several nieces and nephews. Besides his parents Art was predeceased by brother, Edward “Ted” and sister, Gertrude Smith. He retired after 24 years from Agriculture Canada (Kentville Research Station). He enjoyed being the Master of Ceremonies and playing the guitar for variety shows. Art also enjoyed volunteering his time for people in need. He was a former member of the Wolfville fire department and a member of the I00F Kentville Branch. A private I00F Lodge Service was held in Nova Scotia. A Memorial Service will be held at Christian Life Assembly, 3214 – 28th Street S.W., Calgary on Sunday, June 27, 2010 at 3:00p.m. Cremation has taken place in Wolfville, Nova Scotia. Expressions of sympathy may be forwarded to the family via the website www.fostersgardenchapel.ca.

FOSTER'S GARDEN CHAPEL

FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM

Telephone: 403-297-0888

Honoured Provider of Dignity Memorial