By Kali Skalan, September 7, 2009
Mel sat under the fire escape ladder outside the back entrance to the boy’s common room. Pocket knife in hand, he whittled a crutch to perfection for his new sling-shot. Mr. Strapp, the principal and the Mr. Weatherbee look-alike in the Archie comics, was doing his usual unannounced walk-about. Noticing Mel, he approached him, “What’s this?” glowering at him. Angrily frustrated, “You know this isn’t allowed? When are you people going to learn?” Pause. “Speak up! I can’t hear you!” The unwritten code was to admit nothing and to meet eye to eye, not out of respect but in contempt. Mel did that. “This will not do. Give me those!” Mel, crackling with suppressed defiance, hesitated. Finally Mel feigned obedience, reluctantly surrendered his pocket knife and half-finished crutch to Mr. Strapp. Very annoyed with himself for getting caught, he was more pissed that his knife and new works were confiscated. Now he will be without a new sling-shot, more important, without his most valuable knife. He never paid attention to the accompanying lecture about breaking res-rules “You should be studying instead of crafting these primitive weapons? What will you use them for? Are you the one that breaks the power line insulators with this?” No answer. “You will never amount to anything if you’re going to dilly dally. You’ll just become a criminal. Put your efforts to something useful.” Mel suppresses a smile, Dumb! They never know what we’re up to behind their backs. Mr. Strapp departs, Mel brushes the wood shavings from his residential school-issue pants and meanders away, already scheming act of resistance against the system.
Mel’s action was in character with the spirit of covert resistance personified by the Skeena Boys on how to cope with the oppressive and highly toxic regime that is the Edmonton Indian Residential School.
Many acquiesced. Others withdrew. Like others, the Skeena Boys made the best effort to cope and survive the Edmonton Indian Residential School experience, not of their own making. Although they quickly learned compliance, avoiding punishment and penalty, many times it was not enough; they’d get it anyway. In those difficult times, how did students cope? This is a glimpse of how the Skeena Boys fared.
Little did the res-bosses know, they erred in allowing the students the freedom to wander the surrounding bush area. The freedom to roam was the crucible from which shackled minds began framing inklings of resistance. Or, at the very least, to engage activities out-of-sight and outside the res-proper, and more important, against the res-rules. The Skeena Boys took full advantage. They wandered up and down the Sturgeon River, the ravine, the little bush, the big bush, miles up the railway track, to St. Albert, foraged in the neighbouring farms and fields, fashioned the sling-shot, their weapon-of-choice, and hunted rabbits prior to the big bell .
Kel’s Weasel Trapline
Kel never mentioned where he learned how to trap weasels, snare rabbits, and to hunt them, but he became proficient at it. I think it was from his Cree friends. Mel picked up the same. The rest of us tagged along and copied them. They were the alpha hunters; we were the gophers. Usually, Kel would check his trap-line by himself. He come back stink of strong weasel-smell, thawed the frozen carcass, skinned them, and stretch them on drying boards, also stink. Sometimes he’d have 10 skins. He had an arrangement with the res-deliveryman who frequented the town. The deliveryman would sell the skins to a buyer. Each skin was worth about 50 cents each. On payday, he would have jingle in his pocket to buy food. We were always hungry and he’d always share what he got. The same with Mel.
The Rabbit Hunt
The rabbit-hunt was very well coordinated. Say, about 10 of us would line up to form a line starting at the narrow end of the bush. Then we’d start walking in the direction determined by the alpha hunter. Sometimes we’d make a racket to flush the rabbit out. Once spotted, an alarm would go out hollering which direction the rabbit was high-tailing. A rabbit would lie in cover; if it is discovered, we’d surround it. The alpha hunter’s would get first shot if they have a clean line of sight. Because of the circle, the boys would have to be on high alert because sometimes a stone-bullet might ricochet off a branch and head your way. If you were in line of sight, you quickly learned to step out of sight else you might get a shot in the leg or worse. When Ray called for a shot, the boys would give him a wide berth. Many had to move quickly; some weren’t quick enough. Once a rabbit is down, someone will rush in for a quick kill. Some little guy would be the designated rabbit carrier; sometimes another is needed for as many as 12 rabbits. After the hunt, we’d retire to the fort, rabbits skinned, gutted, and quartered ready for the frying pan. The alpha-hunter always got the choicest pieces. That was their prerogative. Fried rabbit, roast potatoes, toast, roasted wheat, raw carrots, raw or roasted turnips was the menu. The big bell from the res would toll summoning us to supper. Then, we’d eat again.
Pennies for Golf Balls
Mel and the boys wandered maybe five miles up the railway tracks to the golf course. The golf pro saw them, summoned them, and hired them to find golf balls for pay: a dime a ball. Another adventure that the res-bosses never knew about. Now, the boys had some jingle in their pockets for more food.
The Camp
Mel was the mastermind; the rest of us were whimps who just followed along. We watched Walt Disney’s Davy Crocket and were inspired by the Mountain Men. I don’t know where he got a hatchet from but he started falling poplar trees in the big bush, well away from the residential school building, across the tracks. He scrounged up nails and rope from what is known as Sauce Lake, the res sewer pond and dump. We were the slaves and his gophers. Over a couple of weekends, we had a fort about 20 x 20. With us in tow, he rummaged through the dump and found a wood-stove and a complete roof. With the help of about 6 of us little guys and in two half-mile trips, we dragged, pulled, pushed, hauled them to the fort. Another trip, Mel hauled a bed and mattress over. We didn’t find a ice box but Mel found a 1 x 1 wooden box. He dug a hole in the ground and put it in the ground with a cover to keep food stuff like margarine nice and cool. We had a retreat, a quantum leap from the residential school and its oppressive regime.
The fort was our headquarters. After chores, especially on the weekends, we’d make a bee-line for the fort. Sometimes, we’d be empty handed. Other times we’d be loaded down with loafs of bread, margarine, potatoes, turnips, carrots. For meat, them Mel would organize a rabbit hunting party. The first task was to secure round stone-bullets from the train-tracks. To be designated a stone-donkey was an honor; you’re pockets would be full of ammunition. One time, the little guys were carrying 12 rabbits. Later, we found that not all of them were good to eat. Otherwise, dress, cut up, and fry the rabbits, just like chicken.
At times, we’d sneak into the adjacent wheat fields, undetected. If we didn’t have bags, we’d fill our pockets with wheat from the granaries. Gallon cans over an open fire with margarine, Mel and Wayne Jarvis the white guy would start roasting wheat. The potatoes would be just thrown into the fire to cook. If available, we’d to do the same with turnips otherwise they’d be devoured raw. To savour the turnip, the turnips would be split in half. We’d each find a shard of glass and begin scrapping, scrapping, scrapping the raw turnips to slurp up nice juicy meat.
Sling-Shots
Homer, Kel, George, Ham, and Mel were masters in the art of sling-shots and shooting. Mel was the grand-master. The little and big bush was abundant with crutch material. Mel always found the best y-shaped crutch to fashion a new sling-shot. Where he got the leather to fashion the seat for the stone-bullets is a mystery, perhaps from one of the barns or the res-shop. The rubber was secured from tire tubes. One time, enroute to school in Jasper Place, the school bus got a flat tire. The driver pulled the inner tube out of the flat in frustration. After the drive departed to find a telephone, Mel tested the inner tube for elasticity. He liked it so he pulled the tube out as far as he can and cut a chunk off enough for a few sling-shots. When the driver returned, he never knew the difference. When the new sling-shot was finished, Mel would test it. If it was a keeper, he give his old one away. The rest of us manoeuvred and positioned ourselves to be the chosen one to get Mel’s discard. Manoevering and positioning is polite for what is known as “suck-holing” or “brown-nosing”. The little boys became very accomplished at it.
For target practise, we would all pilgrimage to the dump. Mel instruct us to find bottles and cans and line them up at a distance. Mel would plink them off. As a challenge, he would instruct Earl to throw a bottle up in the air and and get the hell out of the way. After a few tries, he would be on target, no problem. One time he throw it up and ran but the can landed right back on him; good thing Mel didn’t shoot.
The Chase
Ron was in first dorm, under the rule of Mr. O’Keefe with a gang of big boys as his strong-arms. While we were around the garage area, the big bell tolled, summoning the first dormers, like Ron. For whatever reason, Kel decided the Ron stay put thus signalling a rebellion against the system. Instead, about the Skeena Boys retreated into the bush. The bell rang again. Ron, surrounded by the Skeena bunch, was now committed to the act of rebellion. Kel and the older boys never pleaded for everyone’s loyalty. Knowing we were now in breech of the rez-rules, we just resigned our safety to Kel and Mel. We discovered that O’Keefe’s henchmen were sent after us. So, we wandered the terrain we knew so well, always ahead of O’Keefe’s supporters; they tracked us but, not surprisingly, when they were on one end of the bush, we emerged on the other end. The cat and mouse game went on until night fall. They gave up and retired back to the rez. We stayed at the fort all night. About breakfast time, the big bell rang. Out of hunger, we all marched to the dining room, ate our mush, and awaited punishment. But, unbeknownst why, the rez-bosses were silent and never punished Ron or the others for their act of disobedience. It was a small victory, never given cadence nor noted in the history of the residential school.
The Rink Rats
Because the Skeena Boys loved ice hockey, Mel formed the Rinks Rats comprised mainly of boys from the Skeena. To get first dibs on its use, the Rink Rats tirelessly made ice, painted lines for hockey, cleared it of snow, and continuously flooded the ice sheet to keep it gleaming like glass just like on TV when we watch Hockey Night In Canada. Mel even created and distributed Rink Rat business cards. He would be sorely pissed when the res-bosses allotted valuable ice time for girls’ only skating or mixed skating; it took away from hockey practise. Now and again, the res hockey team would play the local farmers’ pickup team or from one of the local reserve team like Hobemma or Alexander. The Skeena Boys thought they were accomplished hockey players. A challenge went out to some Jasper Place white boys; they summarily tranched the res-school team; our dreams of playing in the NHL died. But, what a ride to play serious hockey under Kel/Mel et al’s tutelage. The Skeena Boys were proud to wear the worn out hockey equipment donated by the PPCLI.
The Skeena Boys also excelled in baseball, basketball, football, soccer, track and field, and volleyball.
The Riot
During the riot around 1962, the Skeena Boys were inconspicuous but they were there. Stupidly, it started in the main hallway during study time after supper. The boys heard chanting from the girls’ side, “We want O’Keefe; we want O’Keefe.” Mr. O’Keefe was a popular boys’ supervisor. The day prior he was fired. The boys began chanting. Mr. Jarvis, a supervisor, emerged from the staff living room to size up the situation. Next thing, one of the boys pulled out the fire hose and turned on the fire hose. It didn’t work. So, the fire extinguisher tank was snapped up. Mr. Jarvis was sprayed. Like spontaneous combustion, a mob of boys went down stairs, into the dining room; tables were turned over spilling the dishes and cutlery. Chairs were hurled at the windows attempting to break them. They headed for the kitchen. The big can of cookies was snapped up. The feast was on. From the freezer, ice cream was distributed. The karate trainees went to storage room and kicked in the door. Boxes of vanilla were pillaged, mixed with water; the party was on. Boxes and boxes of canned pork were taken out to the main road in front of the school and dumped. Through out, someone found the electrical switch box and turned the lights in the whole building were going off and on. Students retreated to their dorms to feast on ice cream, cookies, bread, and wash it down with vanilla mix. The dorms smelled like fruit-cake. Outside, students were milling around. About four RCMP cruisers with a couple of dogs showed up and quelled the short-lived uprising by the mob. Order was restored. Apparently, the school conducted their in-house investigation. To make an example, Big Bunny of the girls’ side and Cheetah on the boys’ side were fingered as the ring leaders, expelled, and sent home.
Epilogue
Between 1940 and 1980, a span of 40 years, an estimated 2,600 Gitxsan children of school age, as young as five, were apprehended and interned for up to 13 years in one of Canada’s system of Indian Residential Schools. The Edmonton Indian Residential School was one of them.
This account is dedicated to The Skeena Boys who subtlety and overtly resisted the imposing regime of the Edmonton Indian Residential School (“re’gime: any controlling or managing group, or the system of control and management adopted by it”). There were many Skeena boys interned but these few actively and overtly evolved a resistance, at times, just to cope and survive. The Skeena rebels are Mel, Kel, George, Ham, Homer, Arnie, Ron, Herb, Rod, Earl, Frenchie of Kitkatla, Ralph of Saddle Lake, Walter of Aiyansh, Ernie of Aiyansh. They were the regulars; others would straggle along a time or two.
