HIS FAITH

“Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.”

This is the way my Dad was—a fervent believer who wanted his whole family to follow Christ. Our testimony today is that we do indeed follow the Way.

**My memory goes back to the railway station platform as it used to be here in Beaverlodge. In 1953 Dad was seeing me off to Bible School—I was taking the first steps toward the Christian ministry and he knew then I would not be in the business. We shook hands—but it was more than that—I think we both knew that we had come to a fork in the road, and he was offering me up as the eldest son to enter the ministry.

**I will not ever forget Dad’s conversion. The pastor must have preached a powerful service that day—but I remember only that Dad responded—indeed he and the pastor went into the parsonage, and when he came out he was a new man!

**I remember too that probably that day up on the Old Town Hill he gathered us children around the old living room stove—took out a New Testament and for the first time used the words I had never heard from his lips—“The Lord willing.”

**He and Mom were faithful in their prayers. Our extended family was prayed for, name by name, every day! THOSE PRAYERS WILL BE ANSWERED STILL.

**He was a preacher of sorts—exhorting his children to “keep the Sabbath Day,” reminding us of the peril of worshipping sports, when there was an issue to be addressed, he did it, forthrightly.

HIS FOIBLES

**One time he took a pickup and visited Norman combining in the field—but when the harvest conversation was over there, incredibly, was no pickup to be seen anywhere. It had just disappeared. They finally tracked it down. Unobserved entirely, and still in gear, it had taken off across the field and disappeared over a bank.

**Another time, Dad was riding a drill in the spring—as he should not have done. When Cecil looked around, there was Dad in a heap, back down the field—he had fallen off.

**This may be apocryphal—but it sounds true—one day Dad came home and informed mom, “we are going to Ireland, tomorrow!”

**And there was the dreaded final day when he lost his licence to drive. He drove down the government office—turned in his driver’s licence and then drove back home.

** A few years after Mom died, he obviously struck up friendships with several women—his interests were so wide that when he announced he was getting married, our response was, “To which one.” But he found an angel—Edna, who loved him too.

HIS HEART

**He was an energetic businessman—he saw opportunities and seized them

**Often he changed his mind—even in business matters. The cheque for the feed mill in Grande Prairie went back and forth, physically, several times as Dad and the owner argued over terms. We never bought the feed mill.

**When swathing first came in, Dad couldn’t quite believe the new system would work. I remember him flipping over swaths and relentlessly checking for dampness.

**He always was a giver of cars and trailers. I am sure he literally never knew how many cars he had given away. One friend went with us to Two Lakes to fish. When he came home, he had new vehicle, courtesy our dad. Another minister from the Bible School in Sexsmith to this day says, “Without Johnny I would not ever have had this trailer.”

HIS LORD

**Dad was a lover of God—He wanted to serve Him.

**Recently when I visited him, I started to read the 23rd Psalm. When I was a few words in, he picked up and recited the rest of it from memory.

**In later days, Dad was at Hythe where he was cared for so very well. The last day we visited him was September 18th. As was our custom, we had prayer together. When my Sunday preaching in Edmonton was mentioned in the prayer, Dad suddenly affirmed that ministry with a hearty “Amen.”

**In 1952 we had taken divergent paths in life. Dad gave me to the ministry of Christ and he did it again this September 18th.

Farewell my Dad
You are with the Lord
Farewell my Dad
We will meet again
Farewell my Dad
Your prayers continue on
Farewell my Dad
We want to finish our journeys well
Farewell my Dad
We are coming too!
Farewell my Dad, Farewell
Farewell my Dad, Farewell!

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Johnny Foster Eulogy
October 30, 2004

With the passing of Johnny Foster we have lost the last of the pillars that supported this church through the difficult early years. There were five of them; Walter Dyrkach, Corney Toews, Jack Collins, Chris Sylvester and Johnny Foster.

So its right that we should be here, in the Beaverlodge Alliance Church, to celebrate the life of the last of these pillars, and the passing of Johnny to his eternal reward.

It’s just a coincidence that Johnny arrived in Beaverlodge the same year as my parents, in 1927, but it probably isn’t coincidence that Neill and I became boyhood friends and that the Fosters began attending this church and came to know the Lord here.

Our family and the Fosters became closer as the years passed, and Johnny Foster played a significant role in our lives, as he did in the lives of a great many people in this community.

In the few moments we have here, it isn’t possible to tell the whole story, or explore all the meaning of a life of 98 years. But I think that brief sentence in the obituary provides the outline we should follow. Johnny Foster, astute business man, wonderful family man, devoted to God and his church.

Johnny, I think, would prefer if we reversed the order, however. I think he did his best to put the Lord first. As he looked back over his own life I’m sure he felt his greatest achievement was not his success in business, it was rearing a family that continues to serve the Lord.

His greatest satisfaction was not the wealth he could accumulate, but the privilege of supporting the Lord’s work here in this church and in many other ways.

There are many words that come to mind to describe Johnny Foster. One of the first is courageous. It took a lot of courage for a 19 year old teenager to leave his family and his homeland and embark on a journey to a remote little place in far off Canada.

It took a lot of courage and determination to find a way to buy a piece of land; to refuse to deliver his grain to the elevator, instead loading his own rail cars and finding his own markets; then to approach other farmers, buy their grain, load, ship and sell it.

Sometimes this young Irishman’s boldness wasn’t appreciated by his elders. Johnny got a great chuckle out of telling how he had once approached the local bank manager, Scotty Andrews, asking for a sizable loan to finance his grain buying venture.

“Scotty looked at me and said, ‘Who do ye think ye are, Alberta Pacific’ “ The chuckle came because when Johnny told the story the name on the Alberta Pacific elevator had been changed to Foster’s Seeds.

As the business grew, Johnny made one bold move after another, being among the first to grow creeping red fescue, then building a cleaning plant so he could buy, clean and export it and other seed crops, buying more farmland, and expanding into other businesses.

But his boldness was always carefully measured and he seldom overreached. Perhaps he applied the lessons he learned as a youthful boxer. I asked him once about his boxing days and although I don’t recall his exact words, the gist of what he told me was that it was more important to know when to duck than to know when to punch.

In business, Johnny Foster didn’t often duck. He was tenacious, chewing every deal down to the last morsel of meat he could get off that bone. One of the old stories here in Beaverlodge is that the reason there is only one of three auto dealerships left, is that the other two sold too many vehicles to Johnny Foster.

It wasn’t greed that made Johnny drive a hard bargain, it was just good business and he was a businessman to his dying day. When he moved into the nursing home he wanted to negotiate a better deal, and on the day he died he had gotten up in the middle of the night to pay his rent.

Thrifty would be another good word for Johnny Foster, but so would generous. His family remembers that when they were kids asking for some spending money they would often get a lecture on hard work and thriftiness, then he would give them more than they had asked for.

Johnny also had a great sense of humor and he knew how to use that to get a better deal as well. I don’t think he ever got a haircut without telling the barber it should only be half price. He could also laugh at himself, even when a sneeze put his false teeth into the fescue.

Industrious would be another good word for Johnny Foster. He put in long days and seldom took time off. But occasionally he could be persuaded to go fishing. His favorite spot was Two Lakes, even before there was a campsite or much of a road. His companions at first were surprised to find that he could brew a terrific pot of campfire coffee.

He was also a sports fan, especially enjoying the Calgary Flames success. He loved to travel, often to visit his family in Ireland, to see Joan in Africa, and just to enjoy driving, which he did until he was 96.

Johnny kept in close touch with his family in Ireland and encouraged his nephews Hugh Foster and Ivor McKay to emigrate to Canada, then took them into his home and treated them like his own sons. Others of his family were able to come to visit and often he helped financially to bring them.

Of all that Johnny Foster leaves us, perhaps his greatest legacy outside of his own family is the boost he gave to many young people in this community, myself included. The first paying job I ever had was picking rocks on Foster’s farm. I believe Johnny paid me $3.00 a day, which back then was a generous wage.

Don worked at Foster’s Seed & Feed during the summers and evenings while he was in high school. “Johnny didn’t just give me an opportunity” he recalls, “he gave me responsibility. And when I nearly burned the mill down he didn’t fire me, he gave me a lecture and then gave me back the responsibility, knowing I had learned a valuable lesson.

Among other young men he hired, two in particular played an important role in the early days at the business. William Jones and Frank Collins, both began working for Johnny when they were still teenagers and Johnny soon gave them both major responsibilities – William moved on to become a successful farmer and logger, while Frank became the mill manager and kept it running smoothly until he retired. With them, as with others and especially his youngest son Norm, who now runs the business, Johnny proved to have a remarkable ability to see their potential and to give them opportunity and responsibility.

There is so much more we could say, but perhaps we can best sum up Johnny Foster’s life by looking at the parable Jesus used. He spoke of a servant who was given more than the others, then went into business and prospered. When he returned with his earnings his Lord said to him; “Well done thou good and faithful servant….enter into the joy of the Lord.”

I think Johnny Foster heard those words last Saturday.

Johnny Foster Eulogy by Melvin Sylvester

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Tribute by David Gowdy

Good afternoon, everyone. My Name is David Gowdy. I'm from Belfast, N. Ireland. To Janet and Roger, Normie and Cec, Joan, Norman and Gladys, Neill and Marilynne--to their children and to their children's children, our deepest sympathy comes from Northern Ireland.

This is my first time in Canada and it is truly an honor to be involved with your service here today. I brought my Mum with me, or that's not quite true, actually she brought me. This is her sixth time here and we are both genuinely pleased to be here. She's the last of a long list of brothers and sisters from that generation. We are so pleased to be here. Because I haven't been here I can only relate to you how I knew Uncle John through his visits to Ireland. And whilst I wasn't around in the fifties I heard it was quite a spectacle. I believe after he'd gone home with his family the Roads Division of Ireland, they said lit that guy ever comes back with that Dodge. we're going to be ready for him!' Ever since then we've been building motor ways. He didn't bring it back.

I can certainly remember the early sixties and when we got the news that the Canadians were coming. In my young day, my very young day, there were only two Canadians in the whole world--Uncle John and Auntie Flora. When we heard they were coming a real buzz went round the family back home and that stayed with us the whole time they were there and long, long after they left. He had many trips to Ireland but while he was there--he was here. I had many breakfasts with him and we looked out our front window and we saw 40 shades of Irish green and lovely trees--in a short distance, not what you've got here. He had his coffee in one hand and his toast in the other and I thought that would have distracted him but he turned and said 'David, I wonder what the dollar's at today!'

We tried to impress him with our ancient history. our Giant's Causeway, our rugged coastlines and our sandy beaches but no, he just wanted to sit and talk with his brothers and sisters and their families and their friends and share fellowship. He wasn't interested in what he could see. He was only interested in touching the hearts back home and he touched as many as he could when he was there.

And I think that's how I measure him. That's how I measure the man. He was a successful businessman from Canada visiting our shores and he had many, many stories to tell but all he was interested in was the people and touching as many hearts as possible.

Unfortunately as passing years have gone, the family back home and their families bock home are not too many to mention and each of them sends their sympathies. From William Foster and his family in Stranocum where it all started (nephew William Foster), niece Irene and her family, niece Pat and her family, cousin Anne Smiley, my brother Maurice and his family, my other brother Foster and his family---they all send their sympathies.

A life well lived, Thank you. (Transcribed from video)

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John was an Irish entrepreneur

BUSINESS WATCH, Red Deer Express
DON SYLVESTER
11/04/04

I had the privilege last Saturday of being an honorary pallbearer at the funeral of one of our oldest family friends.

His name was John Neill Foster, known to everyone as Johnny, and given that he lived to be 98 it’s probably safe to say he was our oldest friend.

He was also my first employer, if I don’t count the summer I spent mostly under orders to “stay out of sight” at the Canada Research Station when I was 15.

I was 16 when I went to work at Foster’s Seed & Feed in my home town of Beaverlodge.

I worked there each summer through my high school years and on a 6 p.m. to midnight shift for several months one spring as well. I learned a lot working for Johnny.

Later, when I was a reporter for the Edmonton Journal I interviewed him and learned his whole story. It’s a classic.

Johnny Foster was 19 when he decided to leave his home and family in Northern Ireland and emigrate to Canada.

That was in 1925, and after a couple of years he ended up in Beaverlodge where he had some relatives and where he got a job at that same Research Station I worked at many years later.

The young Johnny Foster was far too ambitious to be satisfied with a government job, so long before he had saved enough money to buy his own farm he was determined to find a way to make it happen.

He learned that the owner of some land just outside of town might be willing to sell, however, he lived on the other side of the Wapiti River.

But, as he would prove throughout his business career, all Johnny Foster needed was the slight scent of a possible deal and he would find a way to get it done.

He got directions to the landowner’s remote cabin, but was warned forcefully that the ice was going out and there was no way to cross the river.

He was a small, nimble, former amateur boxer with a terrier’s determination, so the only advice he accepted was to cut a long pole and carry it to help balance on the treacherous ice and to catch himself in case he broke through.

He made it across and no doubt his determination and daring helped convince the owner that he should go ahead and let this young Irishman have the land with virtually no down payment.

Today, most of the town of Beaverlodge is built on that land.

Johnny Foster’s first deal was done, but there would be many more. He quickly proved to be a capable farmer, and was always looking for a better way, a better deal.

He figured that the grain companies must be making money buying grain locally and selling it somewhere, so he decided to find out if he could sell his grain “somewhere” without the grain company taking a cut.

He found that he could. He found that he could get the railway to park a boxcar on a siding and he could load his grain, ship it to the buyer he’d found and make significantly more money than by selling to the grain company. Soon he was buying grain from other farmers.

Sometimes the young Irishman’s boldness wasn’t appreciated by his elders.

As his grain buying business grew he approached the local banker for a loan and when he told him how much he wanted the old Scottish banker looked down his nose and said: “Who do ye think ye are, Alberta Pacific!”

When Johnny told me that story he had a good laugh. The name on the Alberta Pacific elevator at Beaverlodge had just been changed to Foster’s Seeds.

Johnny Foster launched a business group, now run by his son Norm, that marked its 50th anniversary last year.

Foster’s Seed & Feed is now Canada’s largest privately owned exporter of creeping red fescue. The farm extends over 2,000 acres.

The business includes three seed cleaning plants, three trailer sales and farm supply outlets, and numerous other holdings.

However, Johnny Foster would have been most pleased that the tributes at his funeral focused on his faith, his family and his friendships rather than on his business success.

Don Sylvester is the publisher of BUSINESS CENTRAL and WESTERN FOREST REPORT magazines and has been reporting on Alberta business since 1965.

Reprinted with permission.

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