George Frederick Becker

In Loving Memory

George Frederick Becker

December 22, 1943 to June 28, 2026

George Frederick Becker, beloved brother and uncle, passed away at the age of 82 on June 28, 2026, in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. George was predeceased by his parents, Aron Becker and Helen Becker (née Neustadter), his sister Helen Cooke, and his brother Helmut Becker. He is survived by his eldest brother, Henry Becker of Kingston, and several nieces, nephews, and grand-nieces and nephews.

George was born in Macklin, Saskatchewan, on December 22, 1943, the youngest of four. George’s parents loved telling the story of the mid-winter sleigh ride to and from the hospital in Macklin. By the time George reached grade school, the family had moved to a farm near Cheviot, Saskatchewan. The age gap between George and his older siblings meant he spent much of his childhood on his own. He made the most of it: tinkering with scrap materials and tools his father let him use, cooking with his mother, and exploring the country lanes on his bike.

George went on to attend school in Saskatoon, graduating from City Park Collegiate. From a young age, he showed artistic and mechanical ability. These interests led him to a year at the University of Saskatchewan's College of Engineering in 1966, followed by a diploma in painting and sculpture from the Alberta College of Art, and later a welding certification from the Kelsey Institute of Technology (which became SIAST).

That same range of interests carried through his working life. Over the years, George built a log cabin, worked as a meat packer, laboured in construction, worked as a machinist, laid brick, painted houses, welded, and worked as an art gallery assistant. He never found a place he could settle into, one that held his interest, or where he felt truly safe.

In early adulthood, George had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and the illness became a constant restless undercurrent. Medicated, his personality was dulled, and he dealt with difficult side effects; unmedicated, he was erratic and, at times, frightening. There was rarely a comfortable middle ground. George spent much of his life weighing this exhausting trade-off: medication made him easier for others to understand and allowed for a more conventional life, but he often felt it cost him the parts of himself he valued most: his sharp intellect, his sense of humour, his creativity.

It was in caring for his father, as Aron's health began to fail, that George found a sense of purpose. For more than ten years, as his father grew increasingly frail, George prepared meals, administered medications, performed physical therapy, and managed his father’s care around the clock. The family owes George an unpayable debt for this generous devotion, which allowed Aron to pass peacefully in his own bed at the age of 97.

George was now in his early 50s. He moved into a modest condo in Lawson Heights and set about living independently; for the most part, he managed well. Anyone who crossed paths with George around Saskatoon in those years might have mistaken him for someone unhoused. He had little interest in personal grooming and detested unnecessary extravagance. For George, if a piece of clothing wasn't in complete tatters, he considered it still perfectly serviceable. He happily gave away his better clothes and his money to less fortunate friends and strangers rather than keep either for himself.

After years of getting around the city by bike and bus, he knew every safe corner of Saskatoon. He made friends with the security guards while wandering the halls at SIAST, his former school. He spent long hours at the Mendel Gallery, where the employees let him linger. A voracious reader who remembered almost everything he read, George passed many afternoons at the Saskatoon Public Library, working through magazines, journals, and books he couldn't otherwise afford. He especially enjoyed history and philosophy, and anything that ran counter to convention, no doubt giving the librarians some lively debates along the way. Once in a while, he treated himself to a meal at one of his favourite restaurants, like Odla, where the staff knew him by name. To each and every one of the many wonderful people who saw past the dirty clothes and the odd behaviour to the gentle, kind man underneath: we may never know who you were, but we thank you. You helped keep George safe in a world that wasn't always kind to him.

George’s daily excursions were also opportunities to gather materials for his art. George was an exceptionally talented artist, especially in drawing and sculpture. As he aged, George seemed driven to collect and create, to take things apart and reassemble them in new and unexpected ways. Nothing George came across was without interest or potential use; he'd bring it all home, sort it meticulously, and turn it into art on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, spread across the floor. George brought the same instinct to writing. He loved language and wordplay, writing about his experiences with a rare poetic honesty. He would take a few quotes that struck him, and muse on them, turning them over the way he turned over scrap materials, until something new emerged. He took refuge in the writer’s groups, art groups, and coffee klatches held by Saskatchewan Mental Health Services, where he made friends.

Over time, his entire condo became one sprawling art installation. To an outsider, it looked like chaos, but spend a little time there, and the order and the wonder became clear. If George trusted you, he could walk you through every piece, when it was made, what it meant, and where each component had come from. Some creations were playful and full of whimsy. Others spoke to a deeper inner torment. This was how he made sense of things: a constant effort to work through his recurring disconnection from reality, as though taking the world apart and putting it back together might answer the riddle of why he was.

In his later years, George resided at the Ilarion, an assisted living facility. As a man who treasured his independence, he found this a tough move. However, in his usual fashion, George resigned himself to his situation, slowly making friends and trying to be as little trouble as possible. He no longer felt the compulsion to create, instead spending long hours reading, watching documentaries, and thinking. He took great joy in small pleasures: hallway cookies outside his door with neighbours, going on a shopping errand with his Mental Health worker, Grace; enjoying a Timmy’s croissant and coffee (medium, one cream) with his good friend, Andrea; taking a phone call from his brother Henry; visiting the Remai with his nieces Jenny and Salina. For each of these things, he was extraordinarily grateful. And afterward, he would often text a cryptic, poetic expression of his gratitude like, “Greetings and well wishes, the harmony of all things. Thanks for yesterday’s encounter- edibles and words made with care and fun. Blessings and rewards. Thanks!”

George faced life with genuine courage and determination. He often felt at odds with the world around him, yet at the end of the day, he moved forward with a resigned pragmatism. Despite his many setbacks and frustrations, George held onto a core of hopefulness. His self-deprecating sense of humour kept him afloat, even in the hardest times. He’d offer his little sideways smile, sigh, and say, "It could be worse." Years of navigating the medical and institutional systems left him a committed cynic about both, but they also gave him a deep well of empathy for others' suffering and an absolute abhorrence of hypocrisy or pretense. As Grace put it: "George was always a kind, and gentle, and gracious soul. He had values and convictions that he lived by." He tried to live a good life, according to the principles his parents and his own experience had taught him: live simply, waste nothing, be generous to those less fortunate, make the best of every day, be grateful for what you have. Not a bad plan for life. George would be thrilled if you wanted to adopt it!

George went into St. Paul’s Hospital fighting an infection. He passed quickly and without suffering- his heart just stopped beating. The family wants to thank the staff of St. Paul's Hospital for the loving care we witnessed there. We are also deeply grateful to the many community workers from the Saskatchewan Health Authority, who are too many to name. In particular, we want to thank Grace, George's mental health worker, whose kindness and steady presence made such a difference in his life. All of you work under too many demands, with too few resources, and still show up with patience and heart. Thank you. We are more grateful to you than words can say.

According to his wishes, George was cremated and will be interred with his parents at the Woodlawn Cemetery in Saskatoon. The details will be made available here once they are known. If you want to do something in George’s memory, you can donate to the Saskatchewan Division of the Canadian Mental Health Association https://sk.cmha.ca/get-involved/donate/.