I had already known Leonard and Mona Alexcee for decades, before I sat down to speak with them for the podcast.
I’ve always liked them and grew closer to them over the years as I would run into them at events, like the All Native Basketball Tournament, other cultural/tribal gatherings, and in Lax Kw’alaams.
Then, the podcast came along and, during the 2022 All Native tournament, I learned that they were celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary. 70th! The Second World War was still a fresh memory then. I had to interview them.
I missed them at the tourney but went over to Lax Kw’alaams, where they were now living with their son, Peter, whom they had stayed with in Richmond for a couple of years. The three of them jumped at the chance to return home when supportive housing became available in the village.
As the Alexcees got comfortable for the interview, I looked around the small abode. One of the old photos below the TV caught my eye: their wedding photo. Noticing that it had caught my attention, Mona said, “That’s your mom beside me, sitting down.”
I zoomed in on the picture. I have seen so few photos of my mom, virtually none of her as a child and only a handful as a young woman. She was beautiful. And, she looked so happy.
I was the ninth of ten kids she had. I only really knew the eight of us, that had grown up together. The oldest sister died in infancy, and an older brother was given up for adoption.
I didn’t know that young woman in the wedding photo. The only mom I knew was the one who worked her ass off, in the fish plant and at home and got little appreciation for it.
I turned and looked at Mona and Leonard who, along with their son, Peter, had gotten their regalia on because I told them I would take photos too. They were ready. I went and sat between them, not knowing I was about to record the most incredible story I have ever heard.
I will not recount the whole story because it’s best heard on the podcast, in their own words. Leonard, due to his health issues, didn’t say much but Peter filled in the gaps for him. Mona though, recalled a lot.
As their disturbing stories – Mona’s cruel treatment at an Indian hospital near Port Ed and Leonard’s difficult time at a residential school on Vancouver Island – poured out, I fought to contain my emotions, pulling on the journalism hat that I had not worn for so long, a little tighter.
So remarkable is their story that I did a follow-up interview with them for the podcast, and a third one for another project. You would have thought being asked to re-live their experiences three times would be too much but they were gracious hosts, always.
Mona’s story is not only special because of her recollections of the Indian hospital and how she and Leonard became married, but also because she tells us that she was living off the land, the river, before having to move into the industrial world of the fish plants. So, when someone says “That was a long time ago” and to “get over it,” I have to say “Excuse me?” and mention people like Mona.
Whenever I am in the company of elders, I always make a point to say hello, to give them a hand if needed. To talk to them and really listen.
It’s the least I can do, we all can do; to thank them, and acknowledge their strength and courage in being in front of us when the destructive waves of colonization rolled in.
Tomorrow, Len turns 90! Happy birthday, old friend.