Frederick Silbernagel

Frederick Jake Silbernagel went to be with his Heavenly Father on February 2, 2021. Fred was born on August 10, 1933 on the family farm in Dent, Minnesota, to George and Alvina, the ninth of ten children. Once described in a childhood medical record as “a very mischievous child,” Fred lived up to this title for all of his 87 ½ years. It started young at age 12 with escaping the boy's ward at the children's hospital by crawling through the window and running to the store to get candy bars for himself and the other boys. He would stash the candy bars in the bushes for safekeeping, only to later find them pilfered by gray squirrels who ran off with the prized loot. Always one to entertain a crowd, Fred got a real kick out of oral book report days throughout his school years. He reveled in the opportunity to read a few pages of the book assigned, add his own “Fred” twist to the story, and spin a report so wild he would have his whole class entranced; many decades later, he would speak with one of his former teachers who still remembered these one-of-a-kind reports. He was absolutely stubborn to the core, a trait shown early by his insistence to try and enlist in every branch of the military, despite getting rejected due to his childhood burn accident, which damaged parts of his head. Fred tried to enlist anyway, knowing that a free bus ticket, a hotel stay, and a hot meal would be part of the recruitment process every time. After his last rejection from the Army, Fred celebrated by buying himself a new suit, the one in which he would later get married. He and Aileen were married on August 31, 1957. He loved Aileen with his whole heart, caring for her deeply. He was proud of his marriage to such a wonderful, faithful, and devoted woman, and he had great pride for the family they created together. They raised their pack of 9 wild wolves, who begat 32 grandkids, who then had a bajillion (26) more great-grandkids. He said a few years back that he decided having all those kids and grandkids was ultimately a good call, looking back on it in hindsight, but not so much at the time. Fred was known for his unfiltered honesty, solicited or not. Early in his adult life, he worked for Continental Oil for 4 years before finally doing what he really wanted to do: start his own business. He started his own business as a tile setter in March of 1962, with about $50 to his name. Fred, known as being a hell of a worker and never one to back down from something he set out to do, forged ahead and worked as his own boss for many decades before finally retiring. Fred was an absolute perfectionist, a true craftsman, and a master builder. He built impeccably gorgeous things, never using a blueprint, only the plans in his head. This made him a skilled, talented, and utterly maddening person to work for. He knew how he wanted things done, how they should be done, and God so help the person who couldn't read his mind. He was confident in his abilities, and he would often remind his boys, “I taught you everything you know, but I didn't teach you everything I know.” Loved by many and forgotten by none, this guy was the epitome of the toughest generation who had time for exactly 0% of anyone's bull, yet dished it out himself in spades. Other things Fred didn't have time for included, but were definitely not limited to: bad coffee, expensive beer, incorrect opinions, complaining about hard work, losing at Cribbage, food that didn't grow out of the ground or once roam on it (with the exception of cream cheese pie with cherry pie filling on top), technological devices, Democrats, people in a hurry to exit a conversation, the gol-dang Internet, and any article of clothing that was purchased already containing a hole. The list could continue for another 87 1/2 years, exactly how long the world got to see him, as he always said when people left his house - “Well, glad you got to see me.” Notice it was not the other way around, and he meant every word. He did have time for busting his ass building and crafting beautiful things, talking up a storm to anyone who was or wasn't listening, telling and re-telling the most masterful tall tales, laughing loud and often, watching the same John Wayne Western films over and over, dancing with his bride, yodeling, cracking a beer with friends and family, and reminding everyone that the world was going to hell in a hand-basket. He loved to garden, grow roses, sit by his cabin campfire, and he even enjoyed winning a ski race or two in his younger years. Describing him to others who hadn't met him was generally a paltry and futile attempt, and he was the type of man the term “character” was created for. Fred was difficult, utterly fickle, stubborn, hilarious, unique, loud, resilient, tough as nails, and absolutely unapologetic for every bit of who he was - good, bad, or ugly. He also had a caring and soft heart deep down, and every so often a lucky person would catch a glimpse. He sometimes would mix up the approximately 734 family members' names and call someone by someone else's name. He would then look at who he was talking to and quip, “well, you know who the hell you are, dammit.” He always knew that as long as you knew yourself that was what mattered most. Fred is surely in paradise now, sitting and laughing with Jesus, old friends, and long-missed family, maybe even enjoying vanilla ice cream, popcorn with too much salt, and some Kokanee brews. Maybe Hank Williams or a Strauss Waltz is playing in the background, and he's rocking in a beautiful chair. He might have even set up a little Christmas tree with twinkly lights and invited some newfound heavenly friends to pull up a chair and shoot the breeze awhile - all of this most certainly his idea of heaven. Happy trails, Fred . . . until we meet again. The Memorial Mass will be livestreamed on Friday, February 5th, 2021 at 10 am. Please refresh your browser if the video does not start right away.