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| Christopher Joseph Charlie |
I met Chris Charlie nearly a decade ago on a trip through Burns Lake, B.C.. I was sitting in a restaurant on main street and I politely asked him in an adjoining booth if he knew where the action was in this town. "You asked the one and only person in this town who has the answer to that question," he smiled. We headed off to the nearby theatre and watched a movie. I was invited to stay at his house on the Burns Lake Indian Band reserve in the town, and met his close friend, Chad. I spent a few days and nights in the company of a few different people, his many friends, but the other name I had not forgotten was Jimmy Dean. It was Jimmy Dean who gave me an Indian name, Walking Eagle, and handed me an eagle feather. "Next time you come to Burns Lake," Jimmy told me, "I will give you the meaning of your name." Stan Dixon, publisher of Kahtou, beat him to the punch when I was in Sechelt six weeks later, talking about stories, and Stan said, "Do you have an Indian name?" I replied, "How nice of you to ask; I was recently called the Walking Eagle." "Oh really," Stan replied, "Too full of shit to fly." I always intended to return to Burns Lake (on foot, as usual) and did so this fall 2008. I met Chris Charlie serendipitously in a restaurant across the street from our previous rencontre. Okay, it's not a big town and I had been in it for more than an hour. We looked at each other, "Sam," he said, "Malcolm," I replied. He recalled a passion I hold for solving mysteries, and I recalled "the one guy I remember from those days at the house is Jimmy Dean, the world's greatest carver who is so great because he does it with one finger." Jimmy would hide all his fingers, but one index finger; while his buddy (probably a cousin) would explain how he was so great, because "He is very dedicated. He carved off the other nine fingers learning how to carve." Chris laughed irresistibly at this man's tomfoolery, but only briefly. "He's gone," Chris replied, "Jimmy Dean died of AIDS last year." When Chris went down a long list of deceased friends, many of them recently deceased; it was a sombre introductory conversation that I had brought up in my way. We had dinner and Chris regaled me with fantastic stories, for he had experienced life to the fullest. He had mystical experiences to recount, and he was seeking answers to mysteries. He put me up for the night once again, an incredibly gracious host. We went down to Main Street next morning for breakfast and he discussed a cultural village project of the Burns Lake Indian Band. He said I should call him next a week to arrange witness to a certain event at a rapidly approaching date. Chris's brother Robert Charlie is the Chief of the Burns Lake Indian Band. Chris talked about a cultural village being established in traditional territory. Chris was very well known in the community and he cared about tradition. He was unforgettably generous and forthcoming. I took a picture, probably the last one taken of Chris, and sauntered out of town toward Prince George and made the follow-up phone call a scant five days later. The receptionist at the Band Office informed me that Chris had been found dead that morning behind the Royal Bank on Main Street in Burns Lake. I knew this location to be around the corner from the little restaurant quad, which was several blocks from his abode at the Rainbow. My friend Henry Michell, also from Burns Lake and friend of Chris (they went to elementary school together), said it appears from the autopsy that he froze to death and foul play was ruled out. I want to share a few remarks from his family that Henry gave me, informing me that these composed the eulogy to this remarkable man: "You were very outspoken. You said it like it was. I know that God knows all the kind things that you did for people and will put that on the scale when you meet him," said Doris Johnson, his sister. "When Chris and I would go out hunting, we never spoke; we used sign language because we know that we had to be silent so the animals wouldn't hear us. But when Chris spoke up he meant what he said. In our travel through this earth Chris was always giving a helping hand to whoever came his way," said Pius Charlie, his brother. "You shared what you knew, and you did it in a quiet way that made people eager to be with you and learn from you," said Shannon Cameron, his niece. "He taught me to stay positive and pray to the creator when I was going through hard times. And to treat people with respect despite how they treated me," said Alita Johnson, his niece. "Remembering you as always helping people making Elders traditional medicines, collecting money for total strangers, opening doors for people at Rainbow when they had no place to sleep," said Helen, Delilah, and Destiny. You made the world a better place for me while you were in it. Rest in peace, Christopher Joseph Charlie: Born, January 27, 1960, Burns Lake; Passed away, October 6, 2008, Burns Lake. |
