It is with heartfelt sorrow that we announce the passing of Ernie Neubauer, aged 78, who died peacefully on Sunday, January 19, 2025, at St. Paul's Hospital, surrounded by loved ones in palliative care, after a long battle with kidney failure. Born on May 27, 1946, in Humboldt, Saskatchewan, Ernie was a proud resident of the community, where he attended school and started to build a life filled with family, friends, and unforgettable experiences.
Ernie will be lovingly remembered and dearly missed by: his four children, Bonnie (Brian Courtney) Morris, Russell (Shannon Blazeiko) Neubauer, Chrissy (Craig) Frayne, and Kerri (Matt) Price; his six grandchildren, Jessica and Taz Morris, Kayla and Alyxx Frayne, Harlea and Vincent Price; his former wife, Patricia Neubauer; nephews Darren and Calvin Neubauer; and numerous cousins.
Ernie was predeceased by his parents Joe and Sally Neubauer, brother Richard Neubauer, and nephew Johnny Neubauer.
Ernie's professional journey was diverse which led him across British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba. He worked as a grain buyer, an automotive mechanic, a welder at Al's Welding, an insulation salesman, and a fertilizer agent for Wendland Ag. In retirement, he dedicated himself to The Historic Museum of Grain Elevators in Inglis, Manitoba. His passion for teaching the history and sharing knowledge was evident in every interaction.
Ernie's love for life was evident in everything he did. He enjoyed gathering around campfires and barbecuing, and spent many joyful days fishing with friends. He was an avid Saskatchewan Roughrider fan and proudly hung the team's flag in his window and never missed a game. He was proud to attend the Grey Cup in 1989 where the Riders won. One of his fondest memories was staying up late, hiding Easter eggs for his grandchildren around the acreage for them to find in the morning. Ernie had a cherished cocker spaniel, Prince, who was his little companion for many years. Ernie was fond of classic cars, particularly his beloved 1974 Datsun Z260 and his "suicide-shift" Harley Davidson motorcycle. He had a deep appreciation for music from the 1950s, 60s, and 70s-possessing an impressive recall of artists, song history, and years. Roy Orbison, The Eagles and The Beatles were among his favorite artists; and The House of the Rising Sun from The Animals was one of his favorite songs.
He was a competitive spirit, taking part in curling and bowling leagues alongside Neil and Betty Pfefferle and also Cribbage tournaments with Neil. An avid player, Ernie enjoyed long chess matches with his granddaughter Kayla and cribbage games with his eldest granddaughter Jessica. He had a playful competitive streak that earned him the nickname "Dirty Ernie" during his youth playing hockey, baseball, and broomball. Ernie also coached women's baseball and his daughter, Bonnie's baseball team as well. He cherished the time spent with his cousin, Stan Neubauer, who was like an older brother, playing pool and hustling the unbeknownst in a charismatic way, often playing with one arm behind his back.
Ernie will be lovingly remembered for his warm heart, his large personality, and his deep love for his children and his grandchildren.
A Celebration of Life "come-and-go" memorial will be held on Sunday, February 2, 2025, from 2pm-5pm at the RCAF Lynx Wing in Saskatoon, where Ernie was a long-time member. Friends and family are invited to honor and celebrate the life of this extraordinary man and share stories. You will be missed more than words can express.
Ernie's favorite Poem
"The Cremation of Sam McGee"
It is the most famous of Robert W. Service's poems. It was published in 1907 and it is about the cremation of a prospector who freezes to death in the Yukon, as told by the man who cremates him.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead-it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows- O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared-such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm-
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Visits: 501
This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the
Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Service map data © OpenStreetMap contributors