James Leon Sheldon
Lower Post Residential School
THE INTERVIEWER: Okay, Jim.
JAMES LEON SHELDON: Okay.
Q. Do you know what years you were in Residential School?
A. Yeah. I found out later when I had to make a statement to the RCMP in ’95. I found out then I went to school in 1956 at the age of 8. I didn’t even know that until then either. It was cool, to find out later, I mean.
Q. Yeah. How long did you stay in Residential School?
A. I stayed there for 4 years in Lower Post, and 4 years at Codert and part-time at Yukon Hall.
Q. So you went to school when you were 8. Do you remember anything about leaving home to go to Residential School?
A. Oh yeah, for sure. For the first bit I thought I was the oldest guy there, until the older kids came home and I found out I wasn’t the oldest one after all. So boom!
But to go to school I thought it was exciting because my mother made a nice leather jacket for me, and a lunch bucket and everything, and she said I was going to school and not to worry because my older brother and my older sister were going to be there. I went to the bus and went. I’ve still got the picture of them and everything like that.
That was a long time ago.
— Speaker overcome with emotion
I didn’t realize —
As the bus went further and it was beginning to get dark and it went down the road I was remembering places I went with them. I always thought the bus was going to turn around because I thought I wasn’t going to make it to the school, to the school. But when I got there it was a whole strange world to me. The big building and I was looking for my brother or my sister, but I was separated from them there. That’s what I can remember best.
It was a tough time for me there, for sure, because I was completely lost. I didn’t speak English that well and mostly Tlingit I understood for the 8 years of my life, you know. So I had a very hard time understanding what was told to me. A lot of time I got tripped, you know. I would ask someone, “What does that mean?” And they would tell me the opposite. I used to get in trouble —
Well, then it was trouble, I guess. I didn’t know the difference. So I would go to places we weren’t supposed to go at different times. I used to get caught and get punished for that. I didn’t even know what punishment was. So I had a hard time.
Q. You didn’t have anything like punishment back home?
A. No, no. The vocabulary to me was quite something. For the first year all I did was —
Well, I was caught, pretty well. But I went to school with 2 of my cousins on the bus. We sat together. One is deceased now and the other one is still afraid to come to these places. The older guy sat and cried for the 3 days he was there. He didn’t go to school. He didn’t go nowhere. He stayed in the dormitory and cried and looked out the window. So they sent him home.
So I thought, wow, that should work for me, but it didn’t! (Laughter) It didn’t work.
And then the other one, who is deceased now, he got to go home, but he came back later. So I had a hard time there for sure. And he was the one I had to look after because one of my aunts asked me to look after him. It was quite different. All you had to do was protect yourself, that’s all you did. That’s all I did for the first year, the first 2 years.
Q. What were you protecting yourself from?
A. From being bullied on, you know, a lot of things because I’m new and didn’t understand anything. I was always being called stupid because I didn’t know nothing. C’mon, c’mon. I just didn’t know. I had to ask a lot of questions and like I say, a lot of times I got fooled. But slowly, slowly the surviving thinking began to happen after about 6 or 7. But I could never sleep. I could never sleep, ever.
I used to always fall asleep in class and get my hands rapped on, or my head bumped for falling asleep. But I could never sit in class. Always I was looking out the window hoping to go home, but it never happened.
And letters. I used to write thousands of letters. They said I could write a letter every Friday. But even then I didn’t know how to write and I didn’t know how to spell, but I did whatever with pictures, or whatever, just wanting them to come to get me out of that place.
Then again, my heart was still there, too, because my brother and sister were there, so I couldn’t leave them. But I didn’t get to see them. My brother the odd time would warn me, begin to help me, by just in passing he would tell me things. He can’t stop and talk to me and converse with me, otherwise he would be in trouble. So just in passing he would tell me not to do this, watch out for this guy, do that. At this time don’t go there again. “This” means “this”. He used to coach me all along the odd time, and then some of his friends began to help me. It got a little better in the second year, but like I said, the first 2 to 3 years that’s all I did was fight. A lot of times I had to fight guys that were bigger than me if I refused to fight. So if I refused to fight then there would be somebody bigger and I had to fight.
But it’s the seasons, monthly, every day. A day could seem like a week, and hours.
I’ve never prayed. I didn’t know how to pray. I didn’t know what Confession was. I remember the first Friday we were there lining up to go to what they call Confession. I didn’t know what was Confession. I remember asking one of my friends —
I asked him, I remember. He was a cool guy. He says, “Confession means you have to tell them something you did bad”, he said. Bad? What did I do bad? I said, “Well, I didn’t do anything bad.” He said, “Well, make it up, just make it up!” So I went in there and said whatever. I just made whatever up. But I slowly learned what that was all about. A lot of times he would tell me what to say. “Tell him you stole something”, or something. But I had to make that stuff up. But I slowly learned.
I had to get used to praying every day. I prayed so many times; in the morning before you go to school, when you got to school, before you got lunch or dinner, blah, blah, blah, and breakfast.
I was always hungry, for sure. Lunches. A lot of times we would get sour milk, but you didn’t have much choice to drink it because there was nothing else. But I soon learned. I used to give it away because I didn’t want it. But my buddies taught me a trick. They said you gotta have it, but if you pinch your nose you won’t taste it. So I did pinch my nose. It worked pretty good. I didn’t taste no more sour milk!
A lot of stuff like food was a big thing then, especially going from Indigenous food which I ate a lot of prior to, you know. But a lot of foods for years, the taste the smell, whew. Like even today, I’m fifty-nine, and I still have a lot of problems to eat, a lot, because I thought I did a good job of dissipating a lot of this stuff. And then in ’95, ’96, in the Apology I seen that on TV and I was in Teslin when that happened, and then again like over the years I’m getting better again. But all this stuff came back up and this thing began to grow. So it’s almost like a re-traumatization type of thing.
But I was thankful for strong people from my home town, like all my great uncles. They helped me a lot, my grandmother and grandfather. I could always remember when I first came home and not able to understand, I didn’t want to listen to them because I was told not to speak. So my grandmother used to ask me, “What’s the matter with me”, you know. She knew, my grandmother knew. She didn’t speak good English but she used to say “government” with an incorrect pronunciation. She used to say “gummerment is not good”. She would say it in T’linkat. I know what it meant.
I always thought I would never go back after the first time. But year after year it was always the same thing. Colours. It took me a long time to get over September, October. But in the last 3 or 4 years I’m fascinated by colours. And trees. I love trees. Trees fascinate me. Yeah, colours, a lot of those things are slowly dissipating.
When this came up —
There was a while I thought one day in my mind when I got away from there, from the school, that maybe the government —
I don’t know. I never ever thought this would come to the surface and get corrected. But I remember in Teslin in Grade 5, and then from the reports in ’95, reading at a Grade 5 level I was maybe a Grade 2 level. So the teacher, she was the most inspirational lady in my life. Her name was Louise Geddes (ph.). Her maiden name was Hemp, from Saskatchewan. Today I speak quite well of her because she was my greatest lady educator in my life. She turned my life around a lot, from Grade 5, ever, to keep my boots shiny, as such. She taught me that. She was a great lady and she helped me a lot.
I can remember living at home and having a great discrepancy in languages and culture and everything. I definitely remember sitting in Grade 5 thinking I know I will never speak my language again so I’m going to study English and learn the English as much as I can, and learn to fight people that hurt me, with their English. I’m going to understand their words and understand their world from their language. So a lot, I studied. Still today I read a lot, like everybody else does.
I somehow developed a different kind of accent. A lot of times I would get bugged about my last name because it’s not a First Nations name, so I would get bugged about that. How I retained that name I found out years later again that my father was adopted by a White prospector; hence the Sheldon. Then I became proud of having the name.
Speaking of my father, he was a great guy, a great man in my life. When they took me away from home I was completely lost. I went almost everywhere with him, you know. But he understood a lot. He could say so many words with just his facial expression to understand what happened. My mom is not the same.
I don’t think I was that little guy he had when I came back from school. It took me many years to tell my mother and dad what happened to me, you know. It took me a lot to get there. But I knew if I did, I would rather tell them when they’re here, because it would never leave my mind and soul if I had never told them before they went to heaven.
Even today, the short time of my life I spent with them, they hurt more, they probably hurt more than I did. They did. I know that. I have a child. I know what it is now because I have children of my own and grandchildren. But in a lot of ways when they’re not here, from all the great teachings that they taught me, they helped me a lot, always. And all the great people from my home town that are gone to the spirit land also, they helped me a lot along the way.
Going back, when I was growing up in Grade 5, Grade 6, Grade 7, I had to transfer from Teslin to Whitehorse. When you hit Grade 7 I think there’s a certain test that you have to write. I can’t remember what it was, but I did pass that. Like I said, in ’95 I found out I was 2 to 3 Grades lower than I really was.
How I rectified that was I taught myself. The lady, Louise Geddes (ph.) told me, “Jim, you do not have to go to school to be smart.” “Teach yourself.” “Teach yourself at home.” I do that all the time. I always thank her, thank the Creator for her to come into my life. I think of her all the time. I think of her a lot. And when I read, my People compromise, you know the shiny boot stuff there, she’s automatically in my brain.
Q. When you first sat down the first thing I almost said to you was, “Your boots are gorgeous.” But I thought maybe I should wait until afterwards. (Laughter)
A. These are older, about seventeen years old. I got them resoled twice by a friend. They were a gift from my sister and her boyfriend here quite a while ago. I’m like some of the old timers. When you get a gift you keep it as long as you can.
And a lot of the things, the knowledge I got from old timers is still there. But like I say, I never ever thought this stuff would surface.
When I got out of school I did whatever and then getting in and out of schools and jobs, in 1973 I think I went down to a law office because I know I didn’t feel so cool. I didn’t know what was going on in my life. But the school came back to me. The government came in my head. So I went down to a lawyer’s office and I asked if I could take the government to court. His partner came in and they both sat there and looked at me and said, “Jim, you don’t have a hope in hell.” So I said, “Why not?” And he said, “Well, you’ve got to have some pretty strong grounds to take the government to court.” I said, “Well, let’s try genocide then.” They go, “Oh.” “Cultural genocide.” They go, “Oh, no.”
By then in ’73 my head was like this (indicating) spinning down into alcohol. Poof. Drugs. Poof. Then near Christmas that was enough. I thought, hell, if no lawyer would stand up for me, then I’ll become one myself. So I went to Indian Affairs and applied to go to school. I went to Kamosun but I couldn’t really carry on there. I was there for 2 years but with hardly any support. I couldn’t live down there so I gave that up.
I seen one of my good friends I started school with there and he made it through to law school. I seen him in Vancouver. I was on the bus and heading to BCIT in my third year of Mechanics. I’m now a qualified automotive mechanic. But when I seen him on the bus, hello, boom, boom, boom. He said, “I got my law degree.” “What are you doing now?” He was always after me for not continuing with him, you know.
But I said that I’m an auto mechanic just going to third year of training at BCIT. He said, “Jim, you should have been a lawyer.” I said, “No, no.” The fight by then, I had let go the fight. But again it resurfaced, so that didn’t work out.
But like I say, in ’95 when I seen the lady, the Indian Affairs lady that apologized, it surfaced I felt. Whew.
I used to go down to the Yukon Inn for coffee and I seen a lady by the name of Jackie McLaren (ph.). I didn’t know her at that time. I seen some guy suddenly from Residential School for some gawd awful reason sitting together at the table. I thought, Wow, that’s very unusual. So I went over there and I said, “What are you guys doing?” “We’re having a Residential School meeting.” I said, “Where?” They said, “Over at CYFN.” “When?” They said, “We’re going back at one o’clock.” So I said, “Well, I’m going with you.” I went there. Boom.
Q. You know, I used to be a tap dancer and all through school I had these taps on my shoes and I would be tapping away.
A. Yeah, from my nervousness, for years it took me —
I don’t do this here for about fifteen years now. I trained my brain not to do that because it was a school thing, eh, sitting in the Library. It took me that long to get away from there.
Where was I?
Q. You were talking about how you were going to a TV Station or a Radio Station?
A. CYFN was the Council for Yukon Indians. They were just starting, I think. They had a preliminary hearing in Lower Post and one of my cousins, like I say who is deceased now, he was there. I definitely got on board there. I thought that was my chance. The boat wasn’t big at that time, but I got there. Right away I noticed a lady there, a White lady sitting, so I said, “Who are you?” “I’m Joan so-and-so, councilor.” What do you do? I was wondering why she would be there. It’s the trained brain again.
But as I slowly worked it out, I got to know her over the years and formed a care society with her and had a tough time working. I volunteered for 2 years there, the care society, from ’95, ’96, ’97. When they were able, they had a few dollars to pay me. But I didn’t mind. I did it from here (indicating his heart) because I knew there was something telling me, “Jimbo, you’ll never become a lawyer to defend the pain, to get back at the government”, and that was my way I saw to work with the People. That was a happy thing for me. And it still is.
I left the Society because I didn’t realize how much I was absorbing, you know. When the Apologies came out I thought for sure I would have as much people today as we had to begin with: doctors, lawyers and Indian chiefs, Chiefs, leaders. I thought that but it didn’t happen. I didn’t realize just how deep a lot of people were and how much turmoil, mental turmoil was happening, especially for me. And I thought for sure I would have great support.
But it took a lot. I absorbed a lot. I guess you might say burn out point, or whatever, but I didn’t think I was because I really wanted to get this going.
I finally went to Tsow Tun Le Lun, like I say, in 2001, and I took the trauma treatment there from a lady from Arizona. It was a tough thing to do, to go back to childhood and all that stuff. But I made it. And I’m quite happy I did it, very happy I did it.
So I can take a drink of water and take a break or whatever.
Q. Yes. As a matter of fact, you’ve answered all of our questions.
A. Good. Are we done?
Q. No. I just wanted to ask you —
Have a drink and we’ll continue.
I just wanted to ask you what made you decide to come and share your story with us today?
A. All this has been in my head like I say, since ’59. It’s been there circling, and all the answers are coming slowly. I’m on that great question: Will the government ever rectify the thing? Is it a good thing? I looked at it in all its negative aspects, you know.
But being fifty-nine, twenty-five or thirty years to go, I’m just beginning to enjoy life and know what it’s all about, sharing feelings, knowing what feelings is and being able to express my feelings. If I feel angry, I’m able to say I don’t feel so cool. But whereas before it would go into my pocket and lock it there and stay there.
So if there’s any topic or questions you want to ask, or whatever, that would be cool because now as before when I get on a subject and talk my mind floats, know what I mean. Because in ’95 when I made the statement to the police at the Station downtown and I heard the tape, I didn’t see the video, I just heard the tape, I didn’t even recognize the voice. I had a lot of pauses and “you knows” in. It didn’t sound like me. But that was one of the reasons I asked if I would be able to see what difference it made from then to here. Because I was there like a skeleton, I guess, and a skeleton and nerves to do that. It took me a long time.
And then after that I stayed cool for maybe 6 months, and then slowly got back into alcohol again, and drugs. And then my mind was gone again. And then back again.
But now I know for sure I’m on the good side. Like I said, I do a lot of reading. I always go back to this great old saying, “Too soon old, too late smart.” That’s what I say for this guy here! (Laughter)
Q. Jim, the tape is about to run out so I just wanted to let you know that.
A. All right.
Q. Is there anything else you want to share with us today? If there is, we’ll put in another tape, but if you’re good, we’re good.
A. Really? All I have to say is that I’m happy to see the turnout at this Gathering because with the society we tried so hard to get it happening, but not realizing how many hurting people —
It will never go away, I guess. But only you can make it go away. I knew that. You are the best counselor, the best teacher, the best healer. I’m fifty-nine and like I say, in the last 5 or ten years, I’m just beginning to know about me.
When I first came here this piece kept falling apart, you know. And then the lady said, “you’re falling apart.” I said, “I was for years.” So she taped it up! Tape it up and keep on going.
— End of Interview
Are you a Residential School Survivor?
Contact us to share your story
Marie Tashoots
Lower Post Residential School
Roy Dick
Lower Post Residential School
Matilda Mallett
Brandon Residential School
Evelyn Lariviere
Pine Creek Residential School and Assiniboia Residential School
Mabel Grey
St. Bernard’s Mission
Peggy Shannon Abraham
Alert Bay
Francis Bent
St. George’s Residential School
Tim Antoine
Lejac Indian Residential School
Ed Marten
Holy Angels Residential School
Terry Lusty
St. Joseph’s Residential School
Kappo Philomene
St. Francis Xavier
Janet Easter
McKay Residential School
Lucille Mattess
Lejac Indian Residential School
Rev. Mary Battaja
Choutla Residential School
Grant Severight
St. Philips Residential School
Velma Page Kuper Island Indian Residential School
Lorna Rope
St. Paul’s in Lebret, SK
Basil Ambers
St. Michael’s Indian Residential School
Mabel Harry Fontaine
Fort Alexander Indian Residential School
Carole Dawson St. Michael’s Indian Residential School
Walter West
Takla First Nation
Elsie Paul
Sechelt Indian Residential School
Joseph Desjarlais
Lapointe Hall, Breyant Hall
Melvin Jack Lower Point Residential School
Aggie George
Lejac Indian Residential School
Dennis George Green
Ermineskin Residential School
Rita Watcheston
Lebret
Ed Bitternose Gordon Indian Residential School
Eunice Gray
St. Andrew’s Anglican Mission
William McLean
Stone Residential School, Poundmakers Residential School
Beverly Albrecht
Mohawk Institute
Harry McGillivray Prince Albert Indian Residential School
Charles Scribe
Jack River School
Roy Nooski
Lejac Indian Residential School
Robert Tomah
Lejac Indian Residential School
Dillan Stonechild Qu’Appelle Indian Residential School
Suamel Ross
All Saints Indian Residential School
Arthur Fourstar
Birtle Indian Residential School
Richard Kistabish
St. Marc’s Indian Residential School
George Francis Shubenacadie Island Indian Residential School
Verna Miller
St. George’s Indian Residential School
Percy Ballantyne
Birtle Indian Residential School
Blanche Hill-Easton
Mohawk Institute
Brenda Bignell Arnault Mohawk Institute
Riley Burns
Gordons Residential School
Patricia Lewis
Shubenacadie Indian Residential School
Shirley Flowers
Yale School
Nazaire Azarie-Bird St. Michael’s Indian Residential School
Julia Marks
Christ King School
Jennifer Wood
Portage Indian Residential School
David Striped Wolf St. Mary’s Indian Residential School
Johnny Brass
Gordons Residential School
William George Lathlin
All Saints Indian Residential School
Mary Caesar
Lower Point Residential School
Alfred Solonas Lejac Indian Residential School
Darlene Laforme
Mohawk Institute
James Leon Sheldon
Lower Point Residential School
Cecil Ketlo
Lejac Indian Residential School