An Interpretation

The Argentine writer and philosopher Jorge Luis Borges has said, "When writers die, they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation." According to this logic, historians are guaranteed a place in history. Many of the loyal and prolific contributors to the Strathcona Plaindealer , a historical magazine produced by the Old Strathcona Foundation, deserve such consideration, but three come to mind immediately.

Charles D. Denney, Les Faulkner and Percy Brown were the pillars of the magazine for about a decade, committed to serving the community by preserving the stories of the past - particularly those of the people, events and institutions of South Edmonton. Now, they are gone, but their task remains and their own life stories are worth repeating.

Incorporated in 1974 and charged with "the administration of a heritage conservation area within the City of Edmonton," the Old Strathcona Foundation also built on earlier initiatives. What originally galvanized the community was a proposed freeway through the South Edmonton's heritage core. My story, however, is not about the magazine or the foundation that publishes it, but about these particular writers.

I soon realized this trio of prolific writer-historians represented an endless source of articles and ideas. Unfortunately, the Strathcona Plaindealer weighed in at 12 pages and only two issues a year, while I remember story meetings where I did little but listen for three solid hours straight, yet went home with a list of 100 ideas.

When I took over as editor of the Strathcona Plaindealer , in January of 1992, several writers had been regular contributors for years. The magazine itself, printed by Pioneer Press Ltd for the foundation, was ten years into its newest incarnation, though the name dated back to January 1900. Previously, it had been the Alberta Plaindealer and before that the South Edmonton News.

It was odd to have editorial authority over those whose life experience, knowledge of history in general and familiarity with the community in question was much greater than mine. However, the writers accepted me, and we became a team. When I resigned as editor, in October of 1998, I assumed I could always go back. I did not anticipate that within a few years my three most committed storytellers would have died.

I wasn't alone in appreciating them. Judy Berghofer, former president of the Old Strathcona Foundation, and Diana Ellis, present Communications Chair, are enthusiastic when they mention any one of the three. Liz Iggulden, office administrator for the foundation, took a special interest in all the writers. Meanwhile, the staff at the City of Edmonton Archives considered Charles, Les and Percy almost part of the furniture

Charles Denney

Until September of 1998, when Charles Denney moved to Churchill Manor in Mill Woods, Liz Iggulden would often greet me with a familiar phrase when I stopped by the Old Strathcona Foundation office on Plaindealer business: "I saw Mr. Denney today."

We were both impressed by his stamina. After all, he was born on Robbie Burn's Day, January 25, 1901, just three days after Queen Victoria died. "She could have waited," he used to say. He had "seen kings and queens and [lots of] prime ministers come and go."

In spite of his longevity, Denney said he had become a schoolmaster because he wasn't "hardy" enough for farm labour. It was while he was teaching that Charles met his first wife, Mildred (nee Sherlock). He saw "the most beautiful woman in the world," on the railway platform at Tofield and was dismayed that she wasn't boarding his train. When he arrived at Waskateneau and a new teaching position, however, she was already on staff.

Mildred was a direct descendant of the 1815 Selkirk settlers, counting kin with such famous names as Fraser and Samuel Pritchard Matheson, former Primate of the Church of England in Canada.

So began Charles's interest in family trees. Then he went to a history conference in Banff in 1967 and "really caught the genealogy bug." Not long after, the charter for the Alberta Genealogical Society was signed on his kitchen table, and he was its first president.

Unfortunately, Mildred had developed Parkinson's Disease by the 1960s, so Charles took most of his research trips alone. By studying official archives, gravestones, and church and cemetery records, he was able to trace over 1200 inter-related families, all descendants of the Red River settlers. This body of research is one of the most popular collections at Calgary's Glenbow Museum.

Charles Denney's own family had moved west in stages while his parents, George and Margaret Denney, tested several opportunities-ran a grocery store, invested in real estate, a restaurant and farming.

Charles was also game to try anything and frequently found himself a man ahead of his time. He had a passion for politics and frequently spoke on behalf of the Social Credit Party in 1935.

In 1939, Charles got a job with the provincial government, then with the federal income tax department. Eventually, he formed his own accounting business. Many of his clients were summer villages, and he helped form the Association of Summer Villages to give them some political clout. Later, he said he helped "coerce" the University Women's Association into coming up with a viable plan for Rutherford House, when it was slated for demolition.

In 1943, the Denneys-Charles, Mildred, daughter June and Ada, the English girl who lived with them during the war-moved to Edmonton's south side.

There they put muscle and ingenuity to use, and conquered the unruly elements in a neglected garden. Denney's "A Strathcona Gardener's Story" was serialized in 1994 and 1995 issues of the Plaindealer . In it Charles reveals the creative spirit that found him still starting new projects at 100 years of age.

Charles Denney also had his share of grief. Mildred died in 1973. In November of 1974, he married Elsie Wilson Colby, another writer inspired by history, and both were active in the Alberta branch of the Canadian Authors' Association. They became a feature of Old Strathcona. Once when they were admiring a window display, a Strathcona youth interrupted them to say, "I hope you two are going straight home. It's getting pretty late, you know." In 1996, Elsie also died, but Charles persevered. "You have to keep right on to the end of the road, like in the old Scots song," he would say.

In his nineties, Denney followed the genealogy of Old Strathcona as once he had pursued the stories of Selkirk settlers. He also had some favourite causes. I have a copy of a letter in which he tells Premier Klein in no uncertain terms that the Provincial Archives of Alberta should be housed next door to the City of Edmonton Archives. I also remember his indignation when someone in his building tossed out a copy of the Plaindealer . Because we delivered it free of charge, he said, people didn't value it.

Later, Charles and I tried to find grant money to edit and publish his collected writings. He had over 100 articles, not all of which pertained to Old Strathcona. Eventually, he donated some to the provincial archives and to the genealogical society. When he moved to Churchill Manor, I remember admiring the rows of carefully catalogued binders on his office shelves.

Denney's interest in politics also persisted throughout his life. During a recent election, Judy Berghofer was working at a polling station in the lobby of Churchill Manor, where he lived. Charles was a volunteer scrutineer when the polls closed. Berghofer describes him as "quietly observant and not interfering," as he rotated among the five stations. A few days later, he had his pen out and was analyzing the election results riding by riding.

Denny didn't think of politics or history in isolation, however. He planned to write an overview of government, a large canvas that went back to Palestine and drew parallels with fiefdoms in Scotland and different Aboriginal tribes.

It's hard to say whether Charles Denney ever actually retired. At nearly 100, he admitted he had slowed down. "It must have been 1973," he said, "when I was president of the Edmonton branch of the Historical Society, historian for the Old Timers [the Northern Alberta Pioneers and Descendants Association]-I did that for eleven years-and president of the Alberta Genealogical Society. And the next year I was on the Edmonton Historical Board."

I was one of many friends invited to his hundredth birthday party, on January 25, 2001. When he had asked me to speak, I felt as though I were playing Cordelia to his King Lear. I liked and admired him greatly, but I hardly knew what I could add. I thought how many people's lives he had affected, not only in his varied careers, but also because of his enthusiasm for life, his interest in the stories of others.

On that occasion, Charles seemed frailer than when I'd first known him, but he was still handsome and courtly. As he beamed around the room, he began, "I hope I can live up to all the nice things you've said about me." When he had thanked everyone and acknowledged those, such as his daughter, June, who had come some distance, he added mischievously, "It's wonderful to have you say you love me when I'm alive and not wait until I'm dead."

There were so many tributes that the Master of Ceremonies had to call off the speeches after the first hour. The salads, not to mention some of the guests, were wilting. Daunted as I had been by the challenge, I was sorry to miss the opportunity, especially as my next invitation to speak of him was at his memorial service. Charles Denney died a short time after his 101st birthday, on Valentine's Day, 2002.

Les Faulkner.

I once asked Les Faulkner to give a talk on research techniques, and he came up with a wonderful presentation, offering contact names and strategies for city, provincial and other archives, as well as information on handling photographs. Through him I learned the names of city archivists June Honey and Bruce Ibsen, and researcher Kathryn Ivany. It is no wonder the experts still remember Les. Yet research and writing were talents he discovered later in life.

Les grew up and went to school near the hub of Old Strathcona, and his memories of those years enriched his articles. In the Winter 1994 issue of the Plaindealer , he mentions spending his allowance at the Princess Theatre every week. "Gazing up from the red plush seats at this tableau of nymphs and ships was alone almost worth the price of admission," he said.

He also recalled working for W. C. "Tubby" Bateman. "I can testify to Tubby's energetic lifestyle . . . when he left for lunch, he would take off his butcher's apron, run the half block home . . . and be back to work before I could finish sweeping out the stock room in the back of the store . . ." (Summer 1992)

Les was particularly good at putting his stories in context, which was helpful to other writers and researchers. On Boxing Day, 1990, the 91-year-old Sheppard Block was gutted by fire. During the lengthy dispute over its restoration, Les wrote, "It is not just the bricks and mortar we are preserving, but the very spirit and history of the people who created the rich mosaic that has become the heart of Old Strathcona" (Summer 1993).

For the Spring 1989 issue, Les brought another shop in his neighbourhood back to life by relating information not only about the business, but also about the personalities of those who ran it. "As a boy growing up in Strathcona in the 1930s and 1940s," he says, "I have fond memories of passing by the old shop on my way back and forth . . .I think my lifelong love affair with machinery of all kinds began right there at the Jackson Brothers Foundry and Machine Shop."

This love of machinery showed itself when he went to Los Angeles, California, to take a course in aircraft instrumentation after he graduated from high school. Thinking he might stay in the United States, he volunteered for the military draft and was sent to Korea, where he was a crew chief for aircraft maintenance and in charge of his unit's motor pool. Back in Canada by 1947, he worked for various companies as an instrument technician, sometimes with aircraft, sometimes not.

In 1955, he married Jean Morrow. "He had the curliest hair," she says now, as she shows me her treasured photos. The couple had two children, Bill and Joanne, both of whom live in Edmonton.

In 1957, Les joined Imperial Oil, where he worked for 30 years. N ear the end of that time, he was asked to redo some of the company's safety manuals. In order to do a good job, he took a writing course through the University of Alberta Extension Department, and then he caught the writing bug. Soon his articles were appearing regularly in the Plaindealer . Then he found he could combine his new-found love for research and writing with his longstanding love of aircraft, and in 1992 he self-published Wheels, Skis and Floats: A History of the Cooking Lake Seaplane Base . Well-known Edmonton historian Tony Cashman dipped frequently into this book while working on Gateway to the North.

Les Faulkner believed retirement was for doing everything he hadn't previously had time to do. "I couldn't keep up," says Jean. Les was a car collector and had always liked to travel. When the children were younger, that meant Sunday drives that ended up in a different Alberta town each week. Naturally, Les had to check out the sights at each of these destinations. Now, when Bill comes for dinner every weekend, mother and son continue the tradition.

Les's favourite holiday destination was British Columbia, but he also went to Germany and France. His eldest brother had been in the air force during the war and crashed somewhere in the French countryside, so Les went in search of his grave-and found it, though Bill playfully claims his father's French was limited to what he could learn from reading the back of cornflake boxes. Les also took up flying ultra-light aircraft and had his own plane. Though his license barred him from flying alone, he did manage one solo flight across the Montana border.

Les was involved in direct community service as well, driving for Meals on Wheels and patrolling the river valley trails for Parks and Recreation. The family also donated a set of chimes to Avonmore United Church, and Les maintained them until they were irreparably damaged by fire.

The last few years of his life offered a new challenge to Les. Though Jean says he had always been healthy and never missed a day of work, he developed kidney problems. When he stubbed his toe while doing his walk in Mill Creek, it seemed a simple injury, but led eventually to the amputation of one leg below the knee. For someone as active as he had been this was a definite hardship. "He still wanted to do the things he had always done," says Jean. He fitted himself up with an electric scooter and went long distances on it, even managed to get in a round or two of golf. Then, when his health deteriorated further, he checked himself into St. Joseph's Auxiliary Hospital.

Even after he went to St. Joseph's, it seemed that Les might win against this new challenge. According to his son Bill, the hospital "made the family sign a waiver because they couldn't keep tabs on his travelling ways." Les was also still writing-his bedroom piled high with books. However, on June 27, 2000, his travelling days were done.

Percy Brown

Historians often start with subjects dear to their hearts, perhaps because of family involvement. This was certainly the case with Percy Brown. In his story "H. P. Brown Gets An Idea," published in the Winter 1988 issue of the Strathcona Plaindealer , he describes his visits to the university radio station, CKUA:

In the early days, my father would sometimes take me over to the CKUA studios on Saturday and Sunday and put me to work. I could operate the peak limiter to control the volume, or change the record on the double turntable or add a voice to a play being broadcast. He even taught me how to simulate a horse galloping by using the front of the piano or the noise of a machine gun by running a comb on the side of a birdcage. I well remember the time when CKUA was broadcasting a story of the relief of Lucknow during the Indian Mutiny and the besieged heroine called out, "Hark, I hear the bagpipes coming." Before the bagpipe record could come in, a train whistled for the High Level Bridge (two longs and three shorts), clearly audible on the air.

Percy was born on November 17, 1912, and inherited his father's versatility and passion for community service. As an adult, he had several jobs. He and his wife, Shirley, owned the Peter Pan Bakery; he also sold life insurance. During World War II, he volunteered for the reserves and one weekend had an unusual adventure at a roadblock:

A car with a civilian and a sailor aboard approached me and backed me right up to the road block, but did not come to a full stop until my leveled bayonet had entered their radiator. On withdrawing my bayonet, I was most embarrassed to see water spurting out of the radiator (Summer 1992).

Later, Percy worked for the Department of Indian Affairs. In fact, Eric, his younger son, was born in Wetaskiwin, while the family lived in agency housing in Hobbema. Eric remembers that his parents curled and regularly went to powwows. Percy's 20 years of living and working in a Cree community inspired him to write about the former Papaschase Reserve.

In an article printed in two separate issues, Percy explained that Edmonton's Cree band and white settlers didn't always live in harmony:

In 1881, the reservation of the land for the band caused a great deal of concern among the white settlers. They went so far as to draw up a petition protesting that the reserve took in all their wood and hay claims and suggesting that it should, therefore, be moved twenty miles away (Summer 1998).

Reflecting on the Papaschase band's eventual loss of the land, Percy wrote the following: "Though the reserve is gone, its situation is remembered through familiar landmarks. White Mud Creek flowed through the west side, and one of the two hills now presides as the Mount Pleasant Cemetery" (Winter 1992).

Like Les, Percy began writing seriously after he retired. He soon made up for lost time, starting with material from his family's long tradition of volunteering. Percy himself gave 40 years to Boy Scouts Canada, including many years as leader of the 122 Scout Troop, which meets at Edmonton's Anglican Church of St. John the Evangelist. When he spent some time in England, he and his Rovers took a tour of Germany in 1937. Like many in more powerful positions, the young men and youths did not see the threat posed by the swastikas plastered on fences, lampposts and buildings.

Percy also did volunteer service for the Strathcona Place Seniors' Centre and the St. George's Society, as well as at Fort Edmonton Park, where he was Honorary Chief Factor. Percy communicated his passion for volunteering to his children. His son Eric lives in Old Strathcona, works for the United Way, has served on the Board of the Walterdale Theatre and is current vice-president of the Old Strathcona Foundation. "Volunteering is a forgotten art," he says ruefully.

The Percy Brown family also had its Sunday outings. "Dad loved to drive," says Eric. "He was a proud man, and it broke his heart when he had to give it up." Eric remembers travelling to Prince Edward Island for a family reunion and trips to the Shuswap Lake, Lake-of-the-Woods and Disneyland, often with only 48 hours notice.

Percy was also a collector. "He was really into history, because of granddad's involvement, had 15 photo albums and at least as many scrapbooks," says Eric. He should know, as many of these passed into his hand when his father died, on July 19, 2001. Following in his father's and his grandfather's footsteps, Eric says, "History is about preserving the past for the future. Without the past, the future looks bleak."

"It was a wonderful opportunity, not only because of the stories, but because of the passionate commitment of the group of writers who wrote for the magazine, in particular Charles D. Denney, Les Faulkner and Percy Brown."

"Within the last two years, all three of these loyal friends and devoted chroniclers have died. Now the historians have become history themselves, and I would like to tell their stories as I came to know them through the work we did together."

Here is her tribute.