Oyen man may be the oldest person in Canada
Bert Tressider has “Recipe” of “Self Abuse” for longevity
(John Kuchle of Cereal was sorting through a box of memorabilia belonging to his deceased grandparents John and Alice McGillis of Mossleigh, Alberta when he noticed this newspaper clipping. He thought Oyen Echo readers might find it interesting. It appeared in the Hanna Herald September 28, 1962.)
Editor’s Note: “Abuse yourself, it’s later than you think”, may be the sum and substance of how Bert Tressider of Oyen has reached the age of 107 years. Early this summer Terry Bourke, staff writer for the Calgary Herald interviewed Bert when he was in the city. A reader of the Hanna Herald submitted the following clipping for information of readers. Bert has quite a story to tell, and for those who wish to reach at least the century mark in this life, his “recipe” is interesting, if not astounding:
Herbert L Tressider
Photo attribution: "Herbert L. Tressider, Calgary, Alberta.", [ca. 1962-07-16], (CU1211603) by Calgary Albertan. Courtesy of Glenbow Library and Archives Collection, Libraries and Cultural Resources Digital Collections, University of Calgary. This photo is preserved, as indicated, in the Glenbow Archives (PA-2807-3858). Its collection was transferred to the University of Calgary in 2019.
He’s quite a guy. The leather and rock type.
Bert has been around a long time. A long, long time. Since 1855.
Sunday, July 15, Bert turned 107. He looks 70.
He may be the oldest living person in Canada, and one of the oldest humans in the world.
Bert’s philosophy of life is simple and straight. “The more you abuse yourself, the better off you are.”
And for 107 years —well almost, Bert has spent most of his life farming at Oyen 200 miles east of Calgary, has lived that philosophy to the inch.
In fact, he’s still living it. And he has no intention of stopping.
As for instance: Last Wednesday Bert was gulping beer at the Carelton Hotel, his favorite pub when he gets to town. (Owners there gave him a beer party two years ago when he celebrated his 105th birthday.)
He ended up dancing with a couple of women (“I don’t remember their names.”) Eventually he and one of the gals took off for the Stampede midway where Bert twisted and twirled on all the rides.
“My doctor told me once, “Bert, if you’re going to horse around with women, pick the young ones. The old ones ‘ll wear ya out”, he laughed.
Bert, who claims he’s attended all Calgary Stampedes, looks like a thin Mark Twain with grey hair and glasses.
He puffs his way through five giant cigars a day (“Used to be a box but I cut down.”) guzzles pint after pint of beer.
Said friend Charlie Dunkley, 106, 18 Ave. N.W., where Bert stays when he comes to the city.
”This fellow can drink anyone under the table. I’ve seen him in action. I’ve also seen him flatten out a few 22-year olds after getting into a bar-room argument. Knocked them out flat-cold.
Bert can’t remember when he arrived in Calgary, “But it must have been sometime in the late sixties or early seventies.”
He blew out a long stream of cigar smoke into the air.
“I remember when you could buy a glass—and no little glass either of whiskey for less than two bits. That was at the Yale Hotel on 9 Ave. A lot’s changed since then. Yes a lot’s changed.”
The centurion-plus-seven was born in Cornwall, England. He arrived in Canada with a “guardian.” He doesn’t remember his parents.
Later Bert worked in several Alberta lumber camps, on cattle ranches, and with the CPR before starting a 50-year farming stint at Oyen.
“I helped build the number one and number two spiral tunnels through the Rockies for the CPR back at the turn of the century.”
But not for long. Bert got hit by a dynamite explosion in one of the tunnels. “They took a palm full of splintered rock out of my eyes. I was in the hospital for eight month.”
Mr. Tressider also got kicked twice in the face by cantankerous horses while working on farms, his arms broken a number of times in accidents (“I once crawled a mile-and-a-half with a broken arm along a farm road to get help at a neighbor’s.”), a knife pushed through his nose during a fight in a train travelling to Moose Jaw, Sask.
And he has numerous other scars from fights and accidents.
He knew well Bob Edwards, Calgary’s famous “Eye Opener” editor. He saw Sir Wilfred Laurier in a procession and he clearly remembers Sir John A. MacDonald. “I remember when Forest Lawn was a pasture.”
He even remembers the American Civil War.
Bert was married to Rita Baker of Calgary in 1914. They had one son, Harold, who farms at Blackie, Alta. “I can’t really recall when Rita died.”
Many of the Glenbow Foundation exhibits in the Stampede were familiar to Bert. “I used most of them at one time or another—even that old steam thresher.”
Mr. Tressider—a one-time champion runner and amateur boxer—still rides a bicycle.
Bert sat in the Dunkley’s kitchen sipping beer. He was surrounded with inventions that had been nothing more than dreams when he came into the world.”
What do you think is the greatest invention in your time?”
“In my time—I think the car and the gasoline motor. It seems to have paved the way for everything else. It was sort of a foundation.”
Bert drove one of the first cars in Alberta—a 1912 model T Ford. He still drives, has never had any trouble getting a license.
Mr. Tressider returned to England in 1910, stayed there for 18 years, returned to Canada in October 1928.
“I lost my 1910 passport and couldn’t remember how old I was. So I got a new one in 1928. The government checked the files and said I was born in 1855, July 15.”
There’s a double “S” in Tressider on the passport. But I find it easier to spell with one “s”. His son uses two s’s.
Bert who talks clearly and slowly will be going back to Oyen on Tuesday. He lives in the Oyen Hotel—“sometimes, other places other times.” He likes to drink beer in Oyen.
Everyone in Oyen knows Bert Tressider. Especially the mothers.
Said one: “He’s the greatest baby sitter in the district.”
More than that.
Herbert L. Tressider is the greatest.
Diana’s Note: The Blackie, Alberta history book, “Fencelines and Furrows,” may make reference to Rita Baker, Bert’s wife, and his son Harold.