Fort Chipewyan Public School

I was ten years old in July 1958 when our family flew into Fort Chipewyan on the MASL Norseman. A man with a truck, probably Sonny Flett, took our luggage from the dock to our home at what is now the northwest corner of Lucas Ave and Anderson St. We walked along the beach, in awe of the beauty of Lake Athabasca, and very excited to be moving to this amazing town. 

When we got to the house my sister and I immediately noticed how close the school was to our house – less than 200 feet from our back door. The recess area in front of the school had a large steel swing and a merry-go-round with chains on a pole – right by our yard! Within a week I was getting checked out by the kids in town. Hilda and Dot were first. I was playing on the swings when they politely introduced themselves, then we competed for who could pump the highest before jumping onto the sand. I was hooked, this was a good place to live.

New to us was a “public” school. We had only been to church schools – my first year was at a one-room school in Arctic Red River (Tsiigehtchic) run by a nun named Maggie, then four years as a day scholar in Sacred Heart Residential School in Fort Providence (Zhahti Kųę), plus a few weeks in the school in Fort Rae (Behchokǫ̀). These were all mission schools, with plenty of focus on catechism and religious services. Instead, now we were to be indoctrinated as loyal subjects/citizens starting the school day singing God Save The Queen and ending it with Oh Canada - the old version. The new version still doesn’t feel quite right...

Of course Chip had a mission school as well, since 1874. Holy Angels Residential School was two miles west of the public school, across the bay from the town centre. Mostly treaty-status members of the Cree and Chipewyan bands, plus Métis with French names or outsiders who were Roman Catholic attended this much larger school. Protestant outsiders like myself, and local kids from families with English Métis heritage attended the public school. These were names like Fraser, Stewart, Loutit, McKay, Flett, Nicholson, MacDonald, and Wylie - families whose ancestries included HBCo fur-trade employees from the British Isles. Having two schools in such a small town wasn’t only due to religion or language – the primary reason was resources. By the late 1950’s funding for education was coming from the federal Indian Affairs, the Alberta Department of Education and the Roman Catholic School Board, each with their own funding constraints, politics, and turfs to protect. There was never enough.

My first surprise at my new school was correspondence. Weekly lessons were mailed to Edmonton, with comments returned a few weeks later. I had no real teacher for grades 6, 7 and 8 – instead staff with no teaching certificate or experience supervised the classroom. Order was maintained with the threat, and occasional use, of the strap. Although I got decent marks, in retrospect it was a pretty substandard education. In grade 9 I was fortunate to have a real teacher, then back to correspondence for grade 10. I can attest that learning French by correspondence does not work. “Fermez la porte s’il vous plait” is about all I remember, and I'm not confident how to say it….. I took touch typing by correspondence, which became a pretty useful lifelong skill; Gregg shorthand not so much.

The captions in the photos include names of people I can remember. If you recognize someone or see an error I've made please let me know and I'll make a change.     brault at netidea.com

Fort Chipewyan public school from our doorstep, 1961. The building was constructed in the mid-1940's with funds provided by Indian Affairs, and administered by local school district trustees until 1961 when Northland School Division took responsibility. In the early 1970’s the building was bought by the Junior Forest Wardens and moved to north of Loutit’s house. It was torn down about 2013. There were two classrooms: Grades 1-4 had about 20 students, and 5-9 about 15. The large south-facing windows on either side of the emergency doors provided as much light as possible as there was no electrical power in the town until 1959. During our first year in Chip our school day shortened during the autumn, and lengthened with the returning light after Christmas. Notice the long retractable blinds on the windows. Raising them at sunset required caution - they could fly up and whap around the spindle causing gasps and giggles in both rooms. The two adults on the left carrying the water container may be the teachers - Miss (Sarah) DeVloo and Miss (Alice) Sorochan. 

A cold morning in 1964, with Courier Air's Helio Courier leaving from the Alberta Forestry airstrip. We tied up the merry-go-round chains and swings to stop the unending clanging during blizzards. 

Late winter in 1963. I was hired by Mr. (Dave) McMaster, the teacher's husband, to do janitorial services - cleaning floors, maintaining blackboards and brushes, fixing blinds, servicing the toilets, clearing the steps of snow and ice, and keeping the oil heaters running. The fuel oil wasn't always treated sufficiently to keep it from gelling in -40° weather; if it couldn't be pumped into or drained out of the outside storage tank we needed to move a 45 gallon drum up the steps into the school to warm it. A full drum is HEAVY - nearly 400 pounds (180 kg). The building above the left (girls') toilet in the photo is the HBCo staff house. 

Sunrise from the steps of the HBCo staff house, January or February 1960. The main doors opened into an unheated foyer used for coats and boots, with inside doors to the two classrooms. The school building had a foundation made of wood. Lester and I would squeeze under the front door steps and then wriggle under the footings, for no particular reason that I can remember. It was scary though, as it was very tight, especially for me. I can still recall that feeling of claustrophobia. But it had to be done! 
Above the toilets, on Monument Hill, are the last two buildings from the HBCo fort site - a storehouse on the left and the vacant chief factor's house on the right. 

The same view as above, on full moon on April 30, 1961. This unremarkable photo is a 13-year-old's experiment with night-time film exposure, with not enough light for a meter. At this time Pete's family had moved into the chief factor's house, and installed electricity. You can see the glow in the window, and laundry flapping in the wind. Pete attended the mission school, but we played together quite a bit. Pete has published a Kindle book of his childhood memories, "Outrunning the Wind; Stories of a Métis Boy's Childhood". 

Dominion Day, 1961 had kids of all ages competing for prizes, followed by softball games at the ball field below the school. The brown box beside the fence is the cover for our well. The building behind the crowd is Mr. Moore's house. I don't know why there is no union jack flying on the Park's flagpole - that's a fail! 

The schoolyard from Monument Hill, with the rear of the chief factor's house. July, 1963. 

This late July 1963 view shows the layout of the public school property. The 60 or so 45-gallon fuel oil drums for the next winter are visible directly below the school. The treed lot behind the church was a favourite place to play. There were large trees to climb, a gravel pit, and lots of hiding places for games, like cowboys and Indians. We had rules. If you were killed you had to lie perfectly still for a slow count to 100. If you were a cowboy that got captured you got scalped - held down while a sharp finger-nail was run across your forehead. And when it got dark there was the cemetery for scary stuff. 

Looking west, late summer 1959, showing the teacherage, our house, the Indian Agent Mr. (Jack) Stewart's house, and the only photo I have of the old Indian Agent's house which was torn down in 1960. I had to replace a pane of glass on Mr. Stewart's porch window after breaking it throwing a snowball at Johnny, while he laughed at me...

Johnny, me and my sister Tania, Hallowe'en 1962.

Christmas play in the school, 1959.

Christmas concert, 1959. Can anyone identify these kids?

Playing tag football - town kids against the mission kids on the field by the school, 1960. From the left, Lloyd, Eugene, Alan and Lester. Roland Harpe is coaching.

RCMP Corporal Bill Cutts organized the games. He was very active in promoting sports activities for youth - basketball, boxing, curling, football. Lester looks intent on getting a down. Not sure why I'm not in these pictures. I may have been sitting out the play after one of the mission kids knee'd me real good in the groin....

Mr. (Bill) Moore refereeing a boxing match in the school, May 1961. Mr. Moore, a trapper and Justice of the Peace, learned boxing in the Irish army. He was particular about us learning proper technique and sportsmanship. I chipped a few front teeth before getting a mouth guard, and years later had a dentist friend grind off the sharp edges. Mr. (Jack) Stewart, Indian Affairs Agent, stands behind the boxers. The building through the window is the HBC factor's house from the old fort, which was torn down in 1964. 

A solid hit!
The bookcase behind my mother contained very old books, some published in the 1800's, which we never used. I expect they were originally used in the Anglican parish hall school, which was built in 1874. The desks had a hole in the upper right corner for the inkwell. Teachers insisted that good penmanship could only develop by writing with a straight nib, and as no-one had fountain pens we had to dip the nib into the ink every few words. 

    The furnace in each schoolroom was a mid-1940's Duo-therm fuel oil furnace with a five-gallon tank that needed daily filling on cold days. The wavering yellow glow of burning oil was visible through the glass-covered portal in the front of the stove. That might be Johnny and Lloyd leaning against the wall.
One winter we used this room for square dances, which was a lot of fun.

 

In the 1961-62 school year we were given four young rats for demonstrating the effects of nutrition on growth and health. We fed two of them a well-balanced diet, and the other two only sweet stuff. Of course one pair thrived and the other grew slowly and sickly. Poor little things....

By Christmas the experiment was over, and I took the rats home. Here is Mom with Susie and the rats. Susie had a beagle baying bark, on and on. When Pete's grandfather walked by the yard to visit his family she made her beagle awroo-awroo-awroo-awroo until he was out of sight. It must have really annoyed him.

Miss (Sonia) Popowich was principal for the 1958-59 and 1959-60 school years, and Mr. (Mel) Magnusson, who resigned from the HBCo, became her uncertified assistant for part of that time. Both Miss Popowich and Mel maintained discipline by using the strap on the palms of miscreants. Each room had a 15-inch long, 1-1/2" wide regulation strap made of rubber belting, then available from the Moyers school supply catalogue. One winter day someone wrote on the frost on the coat-room window "Brault + Hilda". Miss Popowich insisted on knowing who did it, and of course no one would admit or tattle. So she said the whole senior room had to stay after school and write 500 lines, "I will not deface public property", and left Mr. Magnusson to supervise. Out of obstinacy I asked him if I could get the strap instead, anticipating that the experience would be worth seeing Miss Popowich furious at him for messing with her decision. He replied sure. How many? Ten straps, five on each hand. How hard? Hold out your hand. He whacked me so hard I gave up and wrote the lines. 

Sonia and my mother at a dance on the government wharf, early summer 1959. Can anyone identify the musicians?

For the 1960-61 year the public school board hired Miss DeVloo, from Bow Island, and Miss Sorochan. My father Mike was the trustee charged with their hiring, and gave me the job of typing the letters of offer on our old Underwood typewriter. They were vivacious, outgoing, fun-loving young women, fresh out of school. At Hallowe'en that year a few young bucks in town decided to prowl around the teacherage making noises to frighten them. Mike went out in the dark to chase them off, taking his 12-gauge Fox. Shouting at the boys to get out of there, he raised the gun to his shoulder and fired both barrels into the night sky. I can still hear their nervous laughing as they scampered to safety up Monument Hill. Miss DeVloo and Miss Sorochan saved their salaries for a Japan trip, and spent the spring learning Japanese phrases, with lots of laughter. The last I heard of them they were partying in Ceylon (Sri Lanka).

Mrs. (Katherine) McMaster, a very experienced teacher, was principal for the 1961-62 and 1962-63 school years. She challenged me to work harder, and influenced my parents to send me to Edmonton for my last two years of high school, which set me up well for attending university. Here she is with her husband Dave on the government wharf in 1961. 

Mrs. McMaster beside the RCMP jeep in June, 1962. I last saw her in a care home in Kelowna in 1989. She gave me her copy of Jim Parker's book Emporium of the North; Fort Chipewyan and the Fur Trade to 1835. 

Mr. McMaster relaxing in our kitchen, early winter 1962. He did some construction work on the new nursing station. A small fibreglass boat got its bow crunched by a backhoe on the job, and Mr. McMaster saved it for me. I patched it up, first with Ambroid glue, which was a leaky failure, then with fibreglass cloth and resin. It served me well for the rest of my time in Chip. 

My blue boat, with a 5-1/2 hp Johnson, after I added the deck for stability. I travelled everywhere with this rig, sometimes camping out alone for days. Once Emil and I went down the Rochers River about 3 miles to a lake on the east shore, looking for ducks. It was perfectly calm. We had .22 with us, fired it straight up in the air and waited for the "plop" as the bullet hit the water. It was such a relief every time, we would laugh, and do it again. 

The teacherage at sunrise from my bedroom window, 1962. 

In the fall of 1962 Northland School Division upgraded the teacherage with indoor plumbing, including a well and septic system. The red wheelbarrow reminds me of rock-wars at the gravel pit north of the school. Roughly based on WW2 films at the community hall, we would fight for who would take over the gravel separating tower. Lester and I wore US Army helmets that my Uncle Bud sent me from Fort Leavenworth, and launched rocks at the "enemy" with an inner tube attached to the handles of the wheelbarrow, tipping it upright and hiding behind the bucket. Amazingly no-one got hurt, too badly.

Lloyd and Donna Chorney, teachers for the 1963-64 school year, relaxing with their new puppy Paulina. I boarded with Lloyd and Donna during my last half-year of high school at Alberta College. In my first years away from home I often addressed mail to my parents as "Kin, Chip". It always got there!

 This photo of the season's HBCo fur shipment includes the Chorney's personal effects addressed to Edmonton. Donna tells me that blue trunk is now used for their grandchildren's toys. 

Jim and June Parker were teachers for the 1964-65 school year. Jim's Masters of Arts thesis on Fort Chipewyan, which includes on-site research, represented a move by Canadian historians to study "individual fur trade posts with an emphasis upon the life of their people. This would move the history of the fur trade into the stream of Canadian social history and away from the view that it was simply an aspect of British Empire business history." In his book, Emporium of the North, published 22 years later, he says "My thanks go to the people of Fort Chipewyan, especially Messrs. Roderick Fraser, Paul Kelpin, Frank Ladouceur, Horace Wylie, and Lawrence Yanik, and Noel MacKay and Victor Mercredi, now deceased, whose friendships and assistance during my year at Fort Chipewyan led to a better understanding of my subject." How pleased Jim and my father would have been if they had known that Peter Fidler, who built Nottingham House on English Island, was an ancestor of our family. Jim's life tragically ended in a car crash in 1990 while escorting a reporter through the Bitumont oil sands historic site north of Fort MacKay. See his biography here. 

Erna and Bob Luger were teachers for the 1965-66 school year.  

Bob's costume from our costume box - I used those scary gloves with my family for another twenty years, until the rubber disintegrated. They were good for handing Hallowe'en candy to little kids, hee-hee.

An annual event was saying good-byes to the teachers leaving at the end of the school year. I believe this is the E. Alberts family leaving in June 1963. They were teachers at Bishop Piche school. The MASL Norseman aircraft (CF-CRU) has an interesting history. It was built in 1936, and after three years as a bush plane was impressed into the RCAF for wartime service on the BC coast. After the war it was back in bush service in Northern Alberta and Saskatchewan with several owners, the last being MASL. In 1968 it crashed in the bush near Dryden, Ontario when freezing rain caused engine failure due to carburetor icing. Some parts were salvaged, but later the wreckage was completely destroyed by a forest fire. 

The first non-Catholic school in Fort Chipewyan was built by the Church of England in 1974, six years before St Paul's Church was built. It is now the parish hall at the right in this 1965 photo. Mr. (Malcolm) Herman organized and did most of the painting and roofing of the church, including repairing the steeple (!). That's faith! Notice the four new Canadian flags - 1965 was the year the maple leaf replaced the union jack. The sandy beach always had enough water in the early 1960's. We would spend endless hours making rafts, playing frogmen divers, being boys. We made a huge raft with a structure on it, and then played war. Alan's dad thought it was dangerous and let it go one night. One cool August day we made a fire in a washtub to keep warm, and someone moved it to be closer to a log to sit on. I came out of the lake and stepped on the hot sand where the tub was. Blistered both feet, and limped home in the water, miserable. Mike came down to the lake and carried me up to the house.
😢

This Routledge photo from about 1951 shows the first public school built in 1921 and used by mostly non-Catholic families. It was dismantled and replaced by the teacherage when the new school was built in the early 1950's. The building behind the helicopter (an RCAF Sikorsky S-51 H-5 Dragonfly) is the new HBCo manager's house. 

This is the 1963 expansion of the Bishop Piche school, adding a vocational wing with classrooms, gym, shop, science room and offices. The entire building was destroyed by fire in 1981, the result of mischief by three boys. 

This last picture of the public school is my favourite - a 1963 view from my boat on beautiful Lake Athabasca. The willows on the lakeshore weren't always submerged in water, only when conditions were right. Once about this time Pete hid in these bushes and ambushed me with his BB gun - shot me in the middle of the chest. I was furious at him, he just laughed. Bugger. 

The following is from On the Edge of the Shield: Fort Chipewyan and its Hinterland, UofA Press, John W. Chalmers, editor, page 41.  On Mr. Gue's first inspection of the public school, while Mrs. McMaster was principal, he slept in my bedroom. I had to sleep in the storage room.

A 

Town 

         In 

     Transition

Leslie R. Gue

“I think we can go into Fort Chip now. They’ve stopped going through the ice.”

The voice on the telephone was that of Johnny Mallandaine*, the bush pilot whom I had come to know well since June, 1961, when I began my duties as Superintendent of Northland School Division in the Province of Alberta.

Fort Chipewyan was the most distant, and, seemingly, therefore, the most exotic of the score of schools which it was my responsibility to supervise in the forested areas of northern Alberta. In those days, the only quick way to get to Fort Chip, about 400 miles north-east of Edmonton, was by charter aircraft. There was no scheduled air service, and no road other than a winter one from Fort Smith, about ninety miles farther north. I had therefore arranged with Johnny to go in, as soon as it was safe, after freeze-up in the fall of 1961. A few days after his telephone call, we touched down one frosty December morning on the packed snow of the bay, and taxied across to a spot near the center of the settlement. 

Subtle but powerful first impressions crowded in on one another. The long, curved bay, the rounded rock of the low hills, the muted green of the dark spruce trees, silent against the snow all combined to produce a feeling of ancient serenity, modified a trifle by the town immediately ahead of us. The cheery greeting of the grizzled citizen who met us in a battered half-ton truck fulfilled the stereotype of the northern pioneer. The Chinese restaurant to which he took us was typical, however, of a thousand other small-town restaurants in Western Canada, and made me realize I was not entirely divorced from past experience. 

After lunch, I left my sleeping bag at the restaurant, as I had thought I was to sleep in the primitive attic above the main floor. As it turned out, I board in urban comfort with the manager of the Hudson’s Bay store for two days, another reminder of the mix of developed and underdeveloped parts of the milieu. The driver took me towards the two-roomed public school near “the Point,” drawing my attention to the Historic Sites and Monument Cairn high on the rock, and a log house not far away, which he stated was over one hundred years old. My first impression of being in an exotic place deepened. 

As I walked across the drifts to the two-roomed school, a half-buried path was seen here and there. Later, with chuckles, the lady Principal told me of her husband’s vain battle against the ceaseless wind and the drifting snow. He had learned why the people of Fort Chip don’t shovel snow very much. Why bother when the wind provides snow pavement, even if a little wavy?

After school I went over to the point, camera in hand, and gazed eastward at the emptiness of Lake Athabasca, and southward to Old Fort Point. The inscription on the cairn mentioned the establishment of fort Chipewyan in 1788, and the names of Roderick McKenzie, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, and Sir John Franklin. A chill, not from the wind, ran down my spine as I realized for the first time that those names I had memorized in school so long ago had been real, living men, who might have stood where I was now standing. With awe, I walked over to the hundred-year-old cabin, reminding myself that there were few if any buildings that old in the City of Edmonton.

Returning to the teacherage, I was invited to go to the store on the daily after-school pilgrimage. As we walked along, I noticed a surprising number of modern frame buildings, housing federal or provincial government agencies, or private businesses, in sharp contrast to the ghosts of the past haunting the cairn and log house I had just left.

In the store, a number of Indian people looked with passing curiosity at the new white man with the teachers. After all, white men come and go, but the Indian is there always. Paradoxically enough, it seems that one often gets the feeling of the essential Indian-ness of a place in the white man’s store. The deliberate and seemingly aimless shopping style of the Indian people brings home vividly the reality of different “world views” of white man and Indian.

Moving from biculturalism to multiculturalism was a natural next step in the later visit to the Roman Catholic – Indian Affairs school. In the old building, erected in the thirties, were engraved the words, “Ecole des Saints Anges”. My guide informed me cryptically, “None of the Indian kids speak French.”

The building was now used as a residence only. Close by was the more recent school built by Indian Affairs Branch a few years before. The Bishop of the diocese had once reminded people at a meeting that although the school had been built by Indian Affairs, it was really his, since, in law, the building belongs to the person who owns the land upon which it rests. Behind the school, on the log, rounded hills of the most westward part of the Laurentian shield, one could see the steps leading to a small shrine, high on the rock, its silver cross gleaming on sunny days. Once, in early fall, I visited the shrine, and saw, amid late-blooming flowers, a hug outcropping of typical Fort Chipewyan red granite, with scars of the glaciers ridging its face in parallel grooves.

Not far away were the graves in the cemetery. Many of the graves were marked out by neat, painted picket fences. In one, the rough box sat on the top of the ground. My guide pointed out, with reverence, a new, tiny fence around a little grave. “It is the grave of a baby who died two months ago.” The combination of the ancient history of the glaciers and the deep reverence of the cemetery left an impression which will not quickly be forgotten. 

And so, Fort Chipewyan, as I saw it between 1961 and 1964, lay in a setting that poured out impressions of antiquity, differing cultural ways, and the steady press of modern society. A mile from the glacier-scarred rock lay the oil tanks which fed the tugs of the Northern Transportation Company, one symbol of the transition of the town.

Another symbol of transition was the telephone. Somewhere, in the mysterious decision-making machinery of the federal and provincial governments, it had been decided that Fort Chipewyan was to have dial telephones in 1961. And so, the most distant school in Northland School Division was the only one to have dial telephones. One time, in attempting to ’phone the Principal of the Indian school from Fort Smith, during the noon hour, as agreed, a merry voice of an Indian child answered, “Hallo, hallo!” The long-distance operator asked for the principal, by name. There was no response, other than that of a receiver being laid down noisily on a hard surface. We waited and waited. The voices of children playing could be heard, as well as footsteps of people walking by, but no Principal came. Finally the operator said sourly, “I think they got their phones too seen down there.” Later, we were successful.

In the matter of air transportation, resistance had been felt for many years towards the building of an airstrip by the Department of Transport. Rumour had it that the charter aircraft owners were not anxious to make it possible for scheduled airlines to start calling at Fort chip. Finally, however, about 1963, the Alberta Forestry Service hacked out a short and treacherous airstrip in a hilly place close to their buildings. When the wind blew strongly across the runway, it was a hazardous business to land or take off from the strip. On one occasion, I had the unique experience of being “weathered in” on a clear, bright, but windy spring day in Fort Chipewyan. I whiled away my time reading in detail a copy of the original treaty signed at Fort Chip on July 13, 1899 by Commissioners J. W. Ross and J. A. J. McKenna, and many Indian people whose descendants still live in Fort Chipewyan, bearing names like Mercredi, Ratfat, Tuccaro, Gibbot, and Fraser.

However great the transitions were and are in transportation, the one which most deeply concerned the Superintendent of Northland School Division was the possibility of bringing some order out of the administrative nightmare surrounding the ownership, maintenance, and operation of the public and separate schools two miles apart in the small town The three authorities involved – Northland School Division, Indian Affairs Branch, and the Roman Catholic Separate School Board – all wanted to have industrial arts and vocational education facilities in Fort Chip. Eventually, after lengthy negotiations, agreements were signed making it possible, but the illogical two-roomed school remained open for reasons of local politics. Because of this, Northland decided to modernize the little teacherage housing the two teachers at “the Point.” Little did the Division realize how much this would cost.

Late in the fall of 1962 the Official Trustee and the Superintendent visited Fort Chip, to find, to their dismay, the teacherage sitting high in the air on its half-finished foundation. Two men could be seen, casually throwing sand, shovelful by shovelful, from the bottom of a huge excavation about eight feet wide and ten feet deep – the trench for the little plastic pipe that would lead to the septic tank. Eventually the job was completed, but the improvements were worth more than the house. However, it certainly made it easier to hire teachers when they could be promised a house with sewer and water. 

The vocational wing on the Indian Affairs school fared better, with no major delays in its construction. It was a proud day in March, 1963, when a group of officials in a chartered Beaver aircraft pounded their way north from Edmonton to Fort Chip for the official opening of the new wing of the school, and its re-naming as the Bishop Piché School. I doubt if ever before, a Roman Catholic Bishop, and Anglican Bishop, government officials, university professors, and the Chairman of the Northern Alberta Development Council sat on the same platform in Fort Chipewyan to celebrate the same event. That September, the vocational program, along with the regular academic program, commenced in one of the most extensive educational plants in Northern Alberta. But the administrative nightmares were still there, bigger than ever. 

One of these was the enforcement of compulsory attendance, possible only in formally-established school districts. In 1963, then, was seen a flurry of establishing districts bearing interesting names such as Quatre Fourches, Old Fort Point, and by an arrangement other than coincidence, Solar Eclipse School District. The latter was established by an Order-in-Council passed on the day of the total eclipse of the sun in July, 1963.

Fort Chipewyan – a town in transition. It was been in transition since Roderick McKenzie established the first fort on Old Fort Point, across from the present town. Perhaps all that is different now about the transition is the pace . . . but I am sure that for a long time to come the granite-scarred rock will still be there, and families with names like Tuccaro, Gibbott, Fraser, Mercredi, and Trippe De Roche. 

* During the last years of WW2 John Mallandaine flew a P-51K Mustang interceptor for the RCAF, doing daring daylight missions to Germany to protect Lancaster bombers from the Luftwaffe's fighters. See Edmonton Special.

References

Proceedings of the Fort Chipewyan and Fort Vermilion Bicentennial Conference, September 23-25, 1988, Provincial Museum of Alberta:

The Triumph of Trust: Native Self-Government of Educational Services in Northland School Division No. 61, p.161
The History of Education in Fort Chipewyan, Maureen Clarke, p.234
Making Education Work for Fort Chipewyan Natives, Roy Vermillion, p.259

Navigating Neoliberalism: Self-Determination and the Mikisew Cree First Nation, Gabrielle Slowey, UBC Press, page 30-31 

A History of Fort Chipewyan, Sister Archange J. Brady

Teaching in Northern Alberta Communities: The Importance of Place, Past and Present, Campbell A. Ross

An Ethnohistory of the Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation, Patricia A. McCormack, UofA

Phone talks and FaceBook chats with residents of Fort Chipewyan

My mother's 1929 Personal Diary, which she used all her life for names, addresses and other information, such as her talk with Victor Mercredi in 1964

Father Patrice Mercredi, OMI

 

Students of Bishop Piche School in Fort Chipewyan will recognize this painting right away. It is a mural (~7x15 feet?) painted by Father Patrice Mercredi, O.M.I. It hung over the stage in the auditorium. It shows Fort Chip before the old HBC buildings were dismantled in 1939, but after the Holy Angels Residential School building was built in 1942-44. I took this photo during Christmas vacation in 1965, with Sister Brady's permission. Bishop Piche School was destroyed by fire in 1981, but by then the mural was safely hanging in the Mission Parish Hall. It now belongs to Fort Chipewyan Bicentennial Museum. 

The two figures on Monument Hill seem to be waving at the artist.

The airplane is a pretty accurate depiction of a Barkley-Grow T8P-1. Only eleven of these were made, with seven of them coming to Canada as they made good bush planes. I've researched all seven of them, and am pretty sure he painted CF-BTX as it was being used by CPA in the north at that time. It crashed beyond repair in 1945.

My sister Tania receiving her Grade 9 graduation certificate from Sister Brady in 1966. Father Mercredi's painting is on the wall behind Tania. 

Sister Archange Jeanne Brady used the mural for the dust jacket on her excellent book A History of Fort Chipewyan. She gave me a copy in 1983, just five months before she died. She had very strong relationships with young people in Fort Chipewyan, which is evident in her book - every photograph has students' names lovingly recorded. She started teaching at Holy Angels school in 1950, and was principal for Bishop Piche School from its opening in 1961 until her retirement in 1976. At that time she was made Honorary Chief by the Cree and Chipewyan Band Councils, and given the Cree name Anah ka sakihat awassissa, The one who loves children. Her book is still for sale at the Fort Chipewyan Bicentennial Museum.

So who was Father Mercredi? I was surprised to find very little recognition for this man. He was born in 1904 in Fort Chipewyan to Vital and Sara (McDonald) Mercredi, a mix of French, Cree, Irish and Scot. From the age of seven until 17 he lived in the Holy Angels Residential School. He trapped with his father for a few years before returning to school, then in 1928 moved to Manitoba as a noviciate for the Oblates of Mary Immaculate. He spent time in France to "become cultured" (his words), and returned to Fort Chipewyan to be ordained as a priest in 1934. He then worked in several Cree communities in northern Saskatchewan and Alberta, mostly serving in settlements along the railway between Lac La Biche and Fort McMurray until he retired in 1970. His paintings of the stations of the cross are in the mission churches of St. Gabriel in Janvier and St. Vincent in Conklin. A high school in Fort McMurray is named in his memory. 

Father Patrice Mercredi with the Mazur brothers in Fort McMurray, about 1946.

The NWT Archives has Ray Price's notes from time he spent with Father Mercredi in 1977. In his interview Father Mercredi was very forthcoming regarding frustrations with his career, in particular having to struggle against racism all his life:  

"... discriminated against by fellow priest, discriminated against by the Brothers in the service of the priesthood, discriminated against in college, and in seminary. And it was explicitly at one time that he was sent to France for 4 years in order to 'Frenchify' him, to make him a cultured man and to turn him into a Frenchman. They haven't been able to succeed and the older he gets the more he goes back to his roots, and he feels it is in Fort Chipewyan and in the North American Indian culture, a cul­ture that was dependent directly upon the land...". 

One of his strongest criticisms is that the church went into the north not to evangelize, but rather to civilize.

Father Mercredi died on October 31, 1982, and is buried in St Albert Roman Catholic Cemetery.

Fort Chipewyan Aerial Views 1958 1962 1963 1965

This post is of aerial views of Fort Chipewyan and surrounding area that may be if interest to historians, in particular the water levels and location of buildings that no longer exist. 

The HBCo store when we arrived in July 1958, with the CUL fuel tanks on the beach. Construction has started on the generator building, but the power poles haven't yet been erected. The rubble on the lot east of Mah's cafe may be from Walter Skinner's store which burnt, not sure when.

The next six photos below were taken from the MASL Norseman returning from a trip to Edmonton. They clearly show the layout of the town, with the best views I've found of the houses north and west of Mah's Cafe. They were taken with my 35mm Sears Tower rangefinder camera purchased this from the catalogue in the Spring of 1961. The camera I ordered was out of stock, so Simpson's Sears substituted the next model instead, which pleased me greatly! 

Looking north-east, two islands south of Potato Island, August 1962. The direction of water flow in the channel, one of many connecting Lake Athabasca to the Quatre Fourches River, depends on relative water levels of Lake Athabasca, the delta lakes, the Athabasca River, and the Peace River.

Potato Island from the south-west, August 1962.

Approaching Fort Chipewyan from the south-west, August 1962. 

Fort Chipewyan looking north-east, August 1962. 

Fort Chipewyan looking east, August 1962. Note the evidence of the July flooding - water by the road across from Flett's, standing water by the beach, and the washout in front of Mah's. Also, this is the only photo I can find of Mah's house, with their substantial garden. The lake level is unusually high.

Fort Chipewyan looking south-east, August 1962. 

The next seven photos were taken by me from Courier Air Services' Helio Courier leaving from the airport behind the RCMP property and making a pass along the waterfront.

Fort Chipewyan looking west, July 1963.

Fort Chipewyan looking north-west, July 1963.

Fort Chipewyan looking north-west, July 1963.

Fort Chipewyan looking north, July 1963.

Downtown Fort Chipewyan looking north, July 1963.

Roman Catholic Mission, Fort Chipewyan, July 1963.

Fort Chipewyan looking northwest, July 1963. 

The next four views of Fort Chipewyan were taken by Mike on his Pentax. The pilot made an intentional flyby of the town for these photographs. 

The Roman Catholic Mission, Fort Chipewyan, September 1963.

Downtown Fort Chipewyan, September 1963.

Fort Chipewyan, with properties belonging to Walter Wylie, the Anglican Mission, Indian Affairs, HBCo, and the Public School along the lake frontage, September 1963.

Fort Chipewyan, RCMP and Alberta Forestry properties, September 1963.

Fort Chipewyan and Mission Creek from the northwest, July 1965.

1966 Airport Opening Celebration

This history of Fort Chipewyan was included in the program for the day. Peter Fidler, who built Nottingham House on English Island in 1802 for the HBCo, was my great-great-great-great grandfather. He abandoned Nottingham House in 1806 after sustained aggression by the Northwest Company strong-man and thug Simon Black. Nottingham House was the focus of an archeological survey lasting from 1972 to 1977. 

The photos below were taken by Mike on that day. Unfortunately there are none of the buffalo meat barbecue feast or the entertainment. 

The Right Honourable J. Grant MacEwan, Lieutenant Governor of Alberta

Constable beside public school

Mike Weld

Ball game after the festivities

Talking Indian

We were to speak only English or French at the Sacred Heart Residential School in Fort Providence, which I attended as a day student from 1954 until 1958. It was forbidden for any of us to speak Indian. I didn’t have a problem with this, as we only spoke English at home and, frankly, never gave it much thought. I only knew that the kids that were caught talking in Slavey, Loucheaux or Dogrib were being "bad", and would be punished by one of the Sisters or Brothers. One warm June afternoon in 1955 my sister and I were playing in the icehouse, and started babbling incoherently to each other, laughing and shouting while acting out imaginary scenes. She was four years younger, and still had a limited vocabulary, so it was fun making up words and sounds, pretending to communicate. The game regressed into her chasing me around the yard, onto the sidewalk and around the corner of the house, right into Mike, my dad, who was painting the red screen door. “What are you doing, talking like a goddamn Indian? Smarten up,” he blustered, “And watch out for the wet paint.” The tone of his voice, the reminder of the school rule, and the underlying fear of him stung like being slapped. We quietly went into the house and Mom gave us a glass of water. The next week my grade one classmates shared their excitement at going home for the summer, being with their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and talking Indian.

Years later Carol Upton, the only other white kid in town, gave me the following poignant memory. It is copied from http://www.twofrog.com/hodgson.html.

When I Go Home I’m Going To Talk Indian

My best friend, Rose, was the most fun in the world. I looked forward each day to meeting her in the school hallway just before the bell rang. She often wore a barely-suppressed grin, or covered her mouth with her hand. I would spend recess trying to get her tell me what the joke was. Usually, she had managed undetected to plant a stone on Sister's chair or sneak an extra crust of bread from the supper hall. Rose, head bobbing, dark eyes twinkling, would finally share her secret transgression with me, causing us both to burst into uncontrollable giggles, and occasionally drawing the attention of a stony-faced nun who, disturbed by our laughter, would shoo us to move on.

The Catholic Mission loomed at the far end of the only road cutting through Fort Providence, Northwest Territories. In l954, I entered my first year of school there as the only "white kid". My father spent his days predicting weather and tapping it in Morse code, down to a military base in Hay River. My mother cooked, knitted, sewed my clothes and preserved berries. I, being a spirited 5 year old, knew that we lived in an exciting place, accessible only by barge or float plane and snowed under nine months of the year.

The Mission school was the place for me to go to and hang out with other children. I didn't question the locked iron doors, the bars on the windows, the unreasonable rules imposed by the nuns. I didn't find it unusual that my playmates were several hundred native children who lived at the school rather than with their families. It was my only experience of school and I had no need to question.

The day I arrived at school and didn't see Rose, I thought she must be ill. The recess bell finally rang and, in the impish manner I had learned from my friend, I quietly slid down the forbidding corridors that led to the dormitory. The nun who was changing the beds glared at me as though I wasn't meant to exist. I lowered my eyes to my shoes, knowing the necessary rules to avoid having to stand in the corner or get the strap.

"What are you doing here?" she barked.

I heard the squeak of her black boots, the jangle of her crucifix and the angry swish of her robes as she came closer.

"Looking for Rose, Sister. I thought she was sick." "She's not here. Now get back to class!"

I scurried back to the coatroom and pulled on my parka and touque.

She must be outside, I thought, struggling to push open the heavy back door.

Children filled the snowy yard, screaming, laughing, building snow forts and pulling each other around on little pieces of cardboard. It was freezing today and the nuns gathered close to the building, warming their hands over the fire barrel. I stood on the high stone steps, searching everywhere for Rose's red jacket. Finally I spotted her in the farthest corner, standing with her face to the fence, no friends around.

"Rose!"

I shouted as loudly as I could, running down the steps and slogging through the deepest part of the snow where the other children had not gone. When I reached her, I tugged on her sleeve.

"Come on, Rose! Recess is almost over!"

She kept her back to me, warming her hands under her jacket. Impatiently, I tugged again, sure that the bell would ring at any moment and we would have no time to play.

Now she turned, her face drawn with pain and fury. She held up her red, swollen hands and I knew then that she hadn't been warming them, but holding, protecting them as best she could, from the searing pain. I saw the tears, which had frozen on her beautiful cheeks.

"When I go home I'm going to talk Indian!", she whispered fiercely.

The bell rang and neither one of us moved. Cold needled into our faces and I stood, watching Rose breathe rapid frosty puffs into the bleak northern air. I didn't know what to do for my friend. When I looked back, I saw the other children were almost all inside.

"Rose, we have to go."

She nodded, wiping her face in her sleeve. We couldn't hold hands like we usually did. Instead, I touched her shoulder as we walked toward the stone steps, where two nuns stood like sentries, waiting for us.

Rose and I never talked about what had happened to her. We still sat together everyday and traded the ribbons in our hair. We built forts and pulled each other around in the snow on pieces of cardboard. Rose talked longingly of eating her granny's toasted bannock and romping in the woods with her younger sisters, who hadn't yet arrived at the Mission school.

Our family left Fort Providence two years later. In the time I knew her, Rose never did get to go home.

Copyright © Carol M. Hodgson, March 2000 All Rights Reserved

[Note from Sonja Keohane: After reading this, I asked Carol for an explanation of what had been done to Rose's hands. This was her response:

Rose was strapped for speaking her language. This is a common practice in schools all over the place at the time. Her open hands were hit with a large thick leather strap, many times. I received the strap on several occasions, although not as harshly as Rose did in my story. I did see many native children whose hands were strapped so long and hard that they were blistered for days, as though they had been burned with fire.]

Carol and I at my birthday party in March 1955.

Me, my sister Tania and Carol on Hallowe'en, probably 1955, at Carol's house in the Army Signals compound.