Irwin Clifford Fuglem

Our dad, Irwin “Bud” Fuglem passed away January 24, 2022, in Kamloops, at the age of 96. He lived a good, long life, but it is still painful to say that, let alone believe it.

Born in Loos, BC (“a born Loos-er” his longtime joke), he was the fourth of 12 kids, 10 of whom survived to adulthood. When he was a toddler, the family moved to Alberta where his father worked several farms before landing what turned out to be an untenable homestead near Cold Lake. The family barely survived, but those few years before they returned to Loos were a rich experience Bud long remembered -- the creativity of making do, the kindness of neighbours, the sheer beauty of the north.

His ability to revel in life’s wonders under difficult circumstances served him all his life. He moved nimbly between jobs for many years, starting at his Leboe uncles’ sawmill, from falling trees to constructing outbuildings. For two years in Edmonton he was a dairy taster and a parts man. Back in BC he worked for his brother-in-law’s pole operation, until he injured his back. It was while in Prince George for treatment that he met our mom, Edna, then working at his Uncles’ Alliance Lumber office.

When he and Edna (aka Binky, his playful nickname for her) married in 1953 he was working for the CNR as a brakeman, a job that took him out of town too often for the newlyweds, so he found 9-5 work at Finning Tractor until he was laid off. Years later he would thank his (surprised) former boss for starting him on the path of self-employment, which suited one well-educated by job and life experience. Of his ventures at that time, he especially liked the creative and practical demands of building, first his own house, then as contractor under his company, Woodland Homes. An apartment block he built for his mother-in-law, Pillar Place, still looks great, 55 years later.

In 1968, Bud and Binky moved our family to Kamloops. By then, he had qualified as a realtor, and brought his knowledge of construction and friendly optimism to the task of matching houses with people. He had been drawn by the independence of the job, yet thrived in the camaraderie of his fellow salespeople, especially proud of their retirement tribute in 1983 as “most honest salesman.”

Music was always the background of his life. He had picked up guitar as a teen and, like his siblings, was a born singer. At family events he’d grab his guitar and get everyone to join in, and while a member of St Andrews Lutheran, his bass fit right in with the church choir. As a retiree he began performing his first “gigs” with “One Plus Four,” then his own “VIP Country Club,” and finally, the BC Oldtime Fiddlers, the musical home where he made dear friends. He was happy to still be asked to sing “Five Foot Two” at dances just last fall, fingers then too stiff to play guitar. He even recorded a CD, Uncle Bud’s Country, including two of his own songs, the recording session an 81st birthday gift from his nephew Nolan.

The photographs he took all his life are a testament to his love of people and landscapes, not only at home but in his travels. His photos of childhood trips by horseback into the mountains near Loos are magical, of a place he was delighted to revisit with family a few times in adulthood. Post-retirement, he and Binky criss-crossed the continent with truck and trailer from Kamloops east to Newfoundland, south to Mexico and north to the Yukon, and in his eighties he even got to Norway, meeting cousins he hadn’t known existed. And as long as he could, he’d take time to visit family around BC, Alberta and even out in Montreal.

It seemed he could do anything: whistle through his teeth, fix a car, fly a plane. He was always “rigging things up” from found parts, or building to measure. Even his walker was improved with a cane holder made of strategically cut and taped Boost bottles. His inventiveness extended to the way anything could be joke material — no pun opportunity left unuttered, always with that look, pausing for a reaction. It was impossible to feel down around someone so unafraid to be foolish when necessary. Even in his last weeks, in pain, he would joke with the nurses caring for him, trying to raise their spirits.

When he lost his driver’s license at 94, (after 80 years of driving!) all that positive energy was focused on one place, his house and the birds at his feeders now his world, along with the home care aides and dear friends and neighbours who checked in, phone calls to and from the rest of us. As his daughters living at either end of this big country, we were — and still are — inexpressibly grateful for the care and kindness shown him when we could not be with him. To these dear friends, to his “helpers,” as he called them (their many names on post-it notes) and the nurses and staff at RIH 7 North (Oct-Dec 2021), and Overlander “A” (Jan 2022), our deepest, most sincere, thanks.

It’s hard to imagine a world without his ready laugh, easy stream of stories and jokes, sudden bursts of song. He was Dad to us, Granddad to his three grandkids, and Uncle Bud not only to his many nieces and nephews, but many friends, his impulse being to fold everyone into his already extensive family network, with pride. He remembered everyone he’d ever known, it seemed, right til the last few months. And we remember him. And miss him terribly.

Bud is survived by us, his two daughters, Lori Fuglem and Karilee Fuglem (Louis Barrette) and his three grandchildren, Stacey Sugden (Brendan O’Byrne), Lucas Fuglem and Adèle Fuglem. He is also survived by brother Gerry Fuglem (Hilda), sister Edna Schellenberg (Otto) and many more of his extended family, and dear friends he considered family. He is predeceased by his wife, Edna “Binky” Fuglem, brothers Merlin and Lloyd Fuglem, and sisters Mildred Alderson, Amy Alderson, Mary Pledge, Kay Johnson and Ila Callaghan.

In recent years he also mourned the loss of far too many nieces, nephews, cousins and dear friends. In his memory, he would have loved it if you were to raise a glass, donate to a local charity, visit someone dear to you, sing your favourite song fearlessly... or all of the above.