Reminiscing with Residents: Spruce View Lodge edition featuring Phillip Bell

By Serena Lapointe

Phillip ‘Flipper’ Bell is a resident at Spruce View Lodge, and he turned 84 years old on August

20. He’s lived at the lodge for the last seven years and has lived in Whitecourt much of his life.

An old farm truck is how he landed in Whitecourt back in June 1958. A 1950 International, to be

specific. He was nineteen years old and eager to forge his path. He spent his early years on a

farm twelve miles or so from Athabasca, just outside the Hamlet of Meanook. There were five

kids: Fredrick, Patrick, Phillip, his twin sister, Daisy, and Violet Marie. “She wacked me good to

get out first, buggering up my eye,” laughed Bell, sharing his favourite version of why he was

born with his damaged eye.

His family worked the land, including selling cream from their cows to the Co-op creameries,

making three trips a week by horse to get their cream to Meanook and onto the train. “All we

had was the team of horses, and it took you over a day to get to Athabasca. You would start

early in the morning and go to town. If you were lucky and started early enough, you might

arrive before suppertime. By the time you did what you had to do and got out of town, you

wouldn’t get home until late. That was a long way to go for a team of horses,” explained Bell.

So much so that they only went to Athabasca once or twice a year, preferring to go to Meanook

instead, which was smaller but closer. The road they took was gravel, which was tough on the

horses. “They would always get a little stone in their feet, and you would have to stop because

they would start to limp. You would lift their foot and take a little screwdriver to pry the rock out.

The only time they ran was if it was cold, and they would only do it for a little way to get warmed

up,” chuckled Bell.

His dad, a veteran of the First World War, who was born in Kildare, Ireland, preferred horses

and later their tractor but didn’t like the old truck he bought for the farm. Bell and his siblings

drove it, and he remembered why his dad wasn’t a fan. “One time, coming back from town, I told

my dad to drive. He did alright on the road, but as soon as we got to the farm, there was a gate

across the driveway to make sure nothing got out, horses or cattle,” said Bell, already giggling.

“Dad pulled up towards the gate and he’s holding on to the steering wheel and starts saying

whoa, whoa, whoa, thinking he was driving a team of horses, but it didn’t stop him, and he went

right through the gate,” said Bell, now belly-laughing. “I tried to get him to drive after that, but no,

sir. He said he wasn’t touching that thing again,” laughed Bell. And that explains why he was

able to take the truck with him to Whitecourt.

His first job in town was swamping for Curly’s Transport. “I did that for a few months. Then, I got

a job at Atlas Lumber, which later changed to Revelstoke Lumber. I worked there until they

folded up in 1967, and I went to work for Millar Western.” He also did some odd jobs in the

evenings to help bring in more money, including laying the first sidewalks on Blueberry Drive. “I

would take two weeks off in the spring, usually April, to go home and help my dad plow and

work the field and get everything in,” he explained. “We had early springs then. We always get

our wheat and stuff planted before the end of April. Now you’re lucky if you get on the land by

the end of April,” he added.

When he worked at Atlas Lumber, he shared a bunkhouse with seven other men, and Bell was

the cook. He didn’t have a kitchen, but he did have an electric frying pan and a hot plate. And

boy, did he have a hilarious story to tell. “I couldn’t buy a pot big enough to cook potatoes for

eight men. On a hot plate, you only have room for one pot. I went to the Western Store, and

they had pots and pans there. But they didn’t have a big enough pot either. I took another look

around and I found a big enamel pot. I didn’t look at the name on the sticker, though. I told her

(the saleswoman) I found one, and I took her down to where it was in the store. She leaned over

and whispered in my ear; You don’t want that. I said Why not?”

At this point, Bell was laughing pretty hard. “She said, That’s a chamber pot. I said, So what? It’s

brand new, or have you used it? She said no, I wouldn’t do a thing like that here,” laughed Bell.

“So, I bought the pot.” Eventually, someone noticed what it was because Bell didn’t remove the

sticker. “We had this Englishman with us, Kenneth Jackson. I made a stew in the pot, and

everyone was saying how good it was. He went to get a second helping,” detailed Bell.

“He came out and in his English accent he said, No wonder that stew tastes good. He’s cooking

it in the pee pot. He had everybody roaring in there when he said it. I didn’t even notice that the

paper was still on it,” laughed Bell. But by that point, the pee pot had proved worthy of a spot in

the kitchen, and Bell kept using it for years, even once he was married. “Everyone knew I was

having a hard time finding a pot to cook enough potatoes for everyone,” laughed Bell. “It was a

great pot!”

In 1967, Bell began his employment at Millar Western, staying until his retirement in 2001. He

was married to his first wife, Linda, in 1963, and had five children: Leonard, Thomas, Harold,

Fredrick and Laura. His son Harold tragically drowned in the summer of 1975, during a picnic

near the cutbanks on the McLeod River. Over the years, Bell continued to return to his family’s

farm in Meanook to help in the spring and fall. In fact, his second son, Thomas, was born in

Athabasca since they were there in April.

His second wife, Ethel, who lived with him at Spruce View Lodge until her passing in December

2021, is also part of Bell’s story. Their home, 5404 45 Street, is currently for sale and features

the ramp Bell lovingly built for her after she broke her leg on, of all days, February 14 in 2014.

The last chuckle Bell shared was from when he retired from Millar Western. His coworkers

played a trick on him, resulting in a meaningful gift that Bell cherishes to this day. Just before he

retired, in April of 2001, his favourite chair disappeared from the office. “They told me they threw

it out. A few months later, they called me up for a retirement get-together. “We had pizza for

dinner, and then two guys took off and came back with my chair. It was my going-away present.

They reupholstered it and put my nickname, Flipper, on one side and the year I started, 1967,

and the year I retired, 2001, on the back. So, at least I got it back,” laughed Bell.

Those who’ve had the pleasure of seeing Bell’s big, inviting smile and hearing his infectious

giggles will understand why it was an absolute joy to interview him. The Press is grateful he was

willing to sit down and share some of his favourite stories with our readers. Thank you, Phillip.

You’re a gem. Happy birthday to you!