Obituary of Warner Ronald Steinke

September 24, 1938 – Pincher Creek, Alberta

September 6, 2024 – Calgary, Alberta

 

Warner Ronald Steinke passed away peacefully at the South Calgary Health Campus on Friday, September 6, 2024, at the age of 85 years. He was a loving father to Alexandra and Claudia Steinke, and a proud grandpa of Ryker Steinke. He was predeceased by his wife Joy Steinke in September 2009, and his son Warner Steinke Jr. in November 2020.

 

Our dad was born in Pincher Creek, the youngest of the three sons of Albert and Anna (Hoffman) Steinke. His father, Albert and grandfather, Emil died about a month apart in 1940 because of a farming mishap, just before he turned two years old. His widowed mother was left with three little boys and a farm to run. Old cowboys, ranch hands and hired men (many of whom were his uncles) became his companions, caretakers and teachers. The birds, dogs, horses and cows were his faithful friends.

 

His love of the land, cattle and horses was cemented in those years; Albert had made it clear that the land was to pass to his boys. To her credit, Anna did everything she could to make sure his wish was honoured.

 

With his mother’s remarriage, they moved to Claresholm, and life changed drastically. Dad made a point of not talking much about this period, but life was not kind to him in those years. After graduation, he headed off to the University of British Columbia, in his words ‘driving ‘til I got to the ocean’ and completed a degree in Animal Husbandry. 

 

In 1960 our parents met at a dance hall in Vancouver. He walked by her several times before finally deciding to ask her to dance. She said she could still see him in her mind’s eye, strolling across the dance floor in her words “so cocky and sure of himself.” He was a good dancer, and when the night was over, he asked if he could drive her home. She said no, she had her own car. But he was not deterred.

 

She remembered glancing in her rearview mirror, thinking this guy must be crazy because he told her he lived in Kitsilano, so what in the world was he doing following her all the way over to East Hastings? In the end, he pulled up behind her in her parent’s driveway and asked for her phone number.

 

They didn’t realize it until later, but they had almost met sometime before through her friend Maureen, whose mother owned a boarding house. Maureen happened to mention one day that they had a new boarder from Alberta staying with them — he was lots of fun and the phone was ringing off the hook for him. “You should meet him, Joy, he’s really cute.” Mom thought about it for a minute, until Maureen added that he also wore cowboy boots. “Oh, no thanks.” she said, “There’s no way I would ever go out with a guy who wears cowboy boots.” They wed in June 1963 and were married for 46 years.

 

Some of our happiest childhood memories come from that old pink and white bungalow in Lethbridge near Henderson Lake. It’s Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass playing on the old record player in the living room, wintergreen lifesavers in his pocket and waking up to hear him in the kitchen sneaking ice cream in the middle of the night. It’s waiting for him to come home, and climbing all over him after supper as he lay stretched out on the floor, resting on his elbows and watching the Waltons or Carol Burnett.

 

Even now I can still hear the sound of his voice when he would sing the three birdie songs just for us. Steady and deep and clear, he would sing the story of the lonely little robin, the sparrow in the treetop and the bluebird on the windowsill. Once in a while he would change animals and relay the familiar tune about the doggie in the window or the horses that won’t eat their hay.

And the last one, he would remind me always, was the first song he ever learned.

 

We moved to an acreage outside of Fort Macleod in 1976. At the time, we were one of the first families to live at the Oldman River bottom. Mom and Dad worked hard to make it lovely and make it home. The River Valley Wilderness Park which people in the area now enjoy year-round, was once part of our dad’s land.

 

For over twenty years, Dad was a cattle buyer for Canada Packers. It was the only thing he ever wanted to do. He was an astute cattle buyer known for being shrewd, fair and trustworthy in his business dealings. He was hired by Canada Packers right out of school to work in the accounting office. But it didn’t take long for all of them to realize accounting was not his thing. He often disappeared and couldn’t be found until somebody thought to look outside with the cows. There he was, hanging out in the pens. His boss, Slim Dorin, noticed he had an eye for cattle and decided to give him a chance. Slim handed him $1000 and told him to go see if he could make some money, and that was the last they ever saw of Dad in the accounting office. His territory covered Vancouver to Calgary until he was transferred to Calgary, and then Lethbridge.

 

As kids, we witnessed the days when he couldn’t wait to get going in the morning and couldn’t wait to come home at night. He was never one to sit at a desk but give him a job to do, a place to be and a car to drive and that was all he needed. He was in his element travelling the back roads, bullshitting with the farmers and happiest with the wind at his back, dust in his hair and overshoes covered with manure.

 

We’ve seen him, bidding at the sales with nothing more than a virtually imperceptible nod of his head. We’ve seen him, stock whip in one hand, climbing into a pen of cattle like he owns the place.

 

The cattle know it too. They gaze at him warily, bat their eyelashes and clear a path for him as he makes his way from one end to the other, side to side, counting, inspecting, and noticing things the untrained eye would inevitably miss. He liked that it was a calculated risk, that if you know what you are doing you can make a lot of money, but you can lose it just as fast, and that’s what kept him in the game.

 

One of his favourite things to do was take his kids to work with him. From the time young Warner was walking, he was with Dad, getting up before dawn to sort cattle, going to the auction market in Pincher Creek and Fort Macleod, and visiting with the farmers and ranchers. If he came home to discover that one of us had a day off from school his first question was “Are you coming with me tomorrow?” And off we went.

 

One day, in the 1980s at the Pincher Creek auction with the sale packed with buyers, ranchers and spectators alike, the auctioneer announced:

“Warner, there’s a call for you.”

As Dad went out to the phone booth, in the lobby the auctioneer paused and said, “We’ll just wait till Warner gets back to continue.” You could have heard a pin drop. He might have only been gone for five minutes, but it seemed much longer. When he finally returned, I was so relieved, staring wide-eyed at him from the side of the bleachers. Walking back to his seat, he caught my eye, chuckled and gave me a wink. Nothing more was said until we got home that night. “Mom, they stopped the whole sale to wait for Dad to finish his phone call.”  

My mom laughed but didn’t look too surprised.

 

Long after his cattle-buying days were over, it wasn't uncommon for us to encounter some random person in a restaurant, in a bar, at a corner store who would hear our last name, and ask, “Is your dad Warner Steinke?" 

When we said yes, their whole demeanour would change because somebody always had a horse story or a tale about a cattle deal that somehow involved themselves, or their dad, their grandfather, their uncle…stories that had been told to them time and time again.

 

In 1986, our parents became proprietors of the Ranchland Inn Motel in Nanton. Mom was the “ram rodder” as Dad would say and loved the people aspect of the business. Dealing with people was not Dad’s favourite part, but they understood each other and were a good team, building a solid business with visitors returning year after year. They sold the motel in 2006, moving to Lethbridge where mom found her dream home in Paradise Canyon. 

 

Our dad could say more with a nod, a glance, or an ever-so-slightly raised eyebrow than he ever did with words. His strong sense of right and wrong never wavered.  It is against everything he is, to not pay what you owe. If you need it, take it, but always return it. If you’re mad, have your say, but then be done with it. Don’t hold grudges. Pay your way, no matter what, and always try, even if you don’t feel like it, to be decent and kind.

 

He taught us to fight for what we believed in and to say what we felt, no matter whether our intended audience liked it or not. He always reminded us to “Use your brains”…“If you don’t ask, you don’t get”, and “Remember who you are.”

 

Sometimes we would catch him purposely fighting with us, testing us, as if he needed to be sure when he left this earth, we would be strong for him, would not be beaten down by life, and would not be taken advantage of. That was one of the worst things, in his mind, letting other people push you around, and he was delighted when we didn’t let him do it to us either. He liked backbone, and our dad liked to see it. His green eyes twinkled and he never failed to laugh quietly to himself when he saw it in his children.

 

He was always watching whether we realized it or not. Dad was our best driving companion because he never took his eyes off the road. He could sit silently for ages seemingly enjoying the ride when suddenly, he would calmly remark “Watch this guy…” or “There WAS a stop sign there…” or “Keep your eyes on the road…” and my favourite, “What the hell are you waiting for?"

 

There has never been a winter when he didn’t ask me if I had good boots and mitts, and if my coat was warm enough. In university, instead of waiting to hear about our day from Mom, he started calling us at night on his own. It became his ritual, and we looked forward to it, as he was always good for a laugh. He often imparted words of wisdom or a quote he found, like, “Don’t eat chips while trying to listen to the ocean.” Or, if tomato soup was on sale at IGA, he had to call and ask if I wanted some.

 

He was forward-thinking and frugal. He never owned a credit card and always paid cash. Out of the blue, he would remind me to get the oil checked, change the furnace filter, or just start talking about that terrible front step at my house that needed fixing. Even last week, he reminded me to be careful about that sharp corner on Kerr Road because he didn’t want me to end up in the ditch. 

 

The name Warner means ‘protective soldier.’ He was definitely that and more. He loved us fiercely, and deeply and we knew it. In good times and bad, he was our compass, and we adored him.

 

In many ways, while our mom focused on showing us how to live, our dad taught us how to survive. Mom’s sudden passing in 2009 and Warner’s tragic death in November 2020 were devastating for all of us, but Dad’s sometimes quiet, often thundering strength never left him. He was stoic when the doctors informed us that Mom wasn’t likely to survive her stroke, and when they wanted to talk about the next steps, all three of us froze…and looked straight at Dad, who made the call.

 

After our mom passed away, we wanted to do something special for dad, so we decided to restore the original Steinke homestead, which was built about 1890 and was still standing strong on family land southwest of Pincher Creek. We hired an architect from Big Fork, Montana, who specialized in custom log homes and homestead restoration. The result was the creation of the 'Steinke Family Cabin'.

 

The cabin was designed for aging in place and many of the materials from the original home were repurposed and incorporated into the new design so that anyone who walks in can quickly become aware of our family legacy and traditions. We used materials such as timbers, logs and stone from the original home, carefully considering the views, access, sun, wind, and privacy, and arranging each room in relation to the landscape. Dad always seemed most at peace at the cabin, and it has given us all a place to come back to, a place to stop and get our bearings in a world that moves too fast. 

 

Dad often had a remarkable way of reminding us to deal with what was in front of us. In 2014, when I told him he was going to be a grandpa, his first instinct was to make sure I had the number for the cab company in case I had to get to the hospital fast.

 

When Ryker Manuel Warner Steinke came into the world, Dad was ready and waiting. He was one proud grandpa, in awe of this little being who looked so much like him. Ryker spent most of the first six months of his life living in his grandpa’s house and has probably spent more time with his grandpa in his nine short years than most little boys his age. When Grandpa speaks, Ryker listens, and he becomes Grandpa’s little helper. Where once Dad would call out to Warner for help, in recent months he started calling out for Ryker which made Ryker feel pretty special.

 

Dad was tougher than tough and blessed with a strong constitution. Perhaps because he had no concrete memories of his dad, he understood better than most what it was like to go through this world without one. For years now, if I asked him if he was okay, his response was always the same, “As long as you are okay, I am okay.” 

 

In the last year or so, every time the doctors figured he wasn’t going to pull through, he did. He had long ago decided that he had to make it long enough to be damn sure in his own heart that his kids would be okay without him. And nobody was going to tell him otherwise.

 

Claudia was the most devoted caregiver and looked after him better than anyone else ever could.  She nursed him, fought for him, fought with him, advocated for him, and more than once practically moved mountains trying to get him the care he needed while also ensuring that it was high-quality care. He was blessed to have her by his side every day.

 

When things took a turn, we were sent a most serendipitous blessing - Lloyd Sproule and Dad were good friends during his cattle-buying days, both from Pincher Creek. Both men ended up in the same situation, time, and place. Both were at South Health Campus Hospital in Calgary, on two different floors. Lloyd's daughter Vanessa would come up to see Dad and support us, and we would go down to see Lloyd and support Vanessa. Both families had to decide on their dad's care at the same time on the same Thursday morning. The men died 24 hours apart. Having Vanessa and her dad there, going through the same exact thing, at the same time made the whole experience much easier to bear.

 

Ryker once posed a question to his grandpa at the supper table.

"Grandpa, if you could have any wish, what would you wish for?

My dad looked straight at me, almost as if wondering why anybody would ask him that, so I rephrased the question for him. "Ryker wants to know, if you could have anything in the world what would you wish for?" My dad, ever practical and as honest as the day is long, looked at me with clear eyes and then looked over at his grandson again. "I have everything I need," he said.

 

Last year, when asked what he thought we need to remember most about life, his response was simple:

“Believe in mysteries … hang on to your ass.”

Each and every one of us would do well to remember the same.

 

Our dad and our brother will be buried together on a hill looking over the family cabin later in September.

 

Condolences, memories, and photos may be shared and viewed with Warner’s family here.

 

In living memory of Warner Steinke, a tree will be planted in the Ann & Sandy Cross Conservation Area by McInnis & Holloway Funeral Homes, Fish Creek, 14441 Bannister Road SE, Calgary, Ab t2x 3j3, Telephone: 403-256-9575.