Episode 5 - Ernie Bernhardt

Photo: Ernie Bernhardt (right) and his wife, Beatrice Bernhardt. Credit: CBC North.

In 1944, Ernie was taken to Immaculate Conception, a Catholic residential school in Akłarvik (Aklavik). His mother had tuberculosis and her lungs were slowly failing. Ernie’s father, a hunter and trapper, had no other choice but to send Ernie to residential school. 

Immaculate Conception was the first of three residential schools where Ernie was institutionalized. The others were Akaitcho Hall in Sǫǫ̀mbak'è (Yellowknife) and Grandin College in Tthebacha (Fort Smith). 

Left photo: Immaculate Conception Indian Residential School in Akłarvik, c. 1941-42. Credit: NWT Archives/Mac Smee fonds/N-1988-028: 0139. Middle photo: Akaitcho Hall in Sǫǫ̀mbak'è, 1961. Credit: NWT Archives/Henry Busse fonds/N-1979-052: 7780. Right photo: Grandin College in Tthebacha, no date. Credit: Deschâtelets Archives.

Getting to Residential School

Before air travel was common, most children arrived at residential school by boat. 

Along the Arctic Coast, schooners like The Our Lady of Lourdes and The Immaculate transported Indigenous children to residential schools. They also brought supplies to the missions. The Catholic Church owned these boats. 

Photo: The Our Lady of Lourdes was donated on behalf of Pope Pius XI in the 1930s. The schooner sailed the Beaufort Sea for decades, delivering supplies to Catholic missions and taking Inuvialuit children to Catholic residential schools. Credit: NWT Archives/Northwest Territories. Department of Economic Development and Tourism fonds/G-1999-085: 0140.

The church also hired steamboats, like the SS Mackenzie and SS Distributor, to pick up children along their supply routes. These boats are infamous for spreading sickness, like influenza and TB, among communities and residential school populations.

Left photo: SS Distributor, no date. Credit: NWT Archives/Hal Evarts fonds/N-1979-031: 0020. Right photo: Dene children on SS Distributor, being taken to the residential school at Zhatıe Kųę (Fort Providence), 1920. Credit: Alf Erling Porsild / Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development fonds / Library and Archives Canada / a101061-v8.

The journeys that children made by boat were often long and slow. Sometimes children were made to stay below deck for the entire trip. They could travel for days, and hundreds or thousands of kilometers, before arriving at residential school.

Food at Residential School

Northern residential schools relied on local hunters to provide country foods for the children, like fish and caribou. Families also pressured schools to make sure their children ate these foods from the Land. 

The cost of shipping food from the South was very expensive. Still, school staff regularly ate jam, bacon, and butter with their meals. These costs were justified for staff, but not students. 

Photos: Left: Boys and girls eating a meal at Immaculate Conception Indian Residential School in Akłarvik, 1956. Credit: ©NWT Archives/Bern Will Brown fonds/N-2001-002: 03675. Right: School staff eating a meal at Immaculate Conception Indian Residential School in Akłarvik, 1956. Credit: ©NWT Archives/Bern Will Brown fonds/N-2001-002: 03653.

Country foods were not prepared the way children were used to. Meat and fish were served overcooked, boiled, and sometimes rotten. Children ate the same small meals and often went hungry. Children could also be starved as punishment by school staff. 

Residential school children used their knowledge of the Land to feed themselves. They snared animals and harvested plants nearby. They also broke the rules and took food from school kitchens and gardens.

Photo: Two school children in Akłarvik or Inuuvik picking berries, c. 1956-70. Credit: NWT Archives/Maxine Colbourne collection/N-2021-006: 0194.

Ernie's Introduction to Arctic Sports

Ernie Bernhardt spent almost his entire childhood at residential school. During his conversation with Paul, Ernie talked about the pain of growing up without his parents, of growing up without love. 

One of the bright spots in Ernie’s story is when he was introduced to Arctic sports as an adult. 

Photo: Ernie Bernhardt doing a one-handed leg-kick at the Montreal Olympics, August 1976. Credit: NWT Archives/Northwest Territories. Department of Economic Development and Tourism fonds/G-1979-020: 0016.

Another bright spot is the coaching and mentorship that Ernie received, especially from Edward Lennie. With Edward’s guidance, Ernie excelled as an athlete. Importantly, Ernie reconnected with his Inuvialuit heritage through Arctic sports. 

Edward Lennie and Northern Games

Edward Lennie is often called the father of Northern games. Edward was born in 1934 near Husky Lakes, south of Tuktuyaaqtuuq (Tuktoyaktuk). He was raised in Inuvialuit culture on the Land. 

As a child, Edward learned traditional games like high kick and arm pull that tested strength, agility, and endurance. In the early 1960s, he began hosting traditional game competitions in Inuuvik. Later, Edward ensured traditional games were at the first Arctic Winter Games in 1970. 

Photo: Northern Games co-founder Edward Lennie speaks at a Northern Games event at Samuel Hearne Secondary School in Inuuvik, 1979. Credit: NWT Archives/James Jerome fonds/N-1987-017: 2774.

Edward Lennie passed away in 2020 at the age of 86. His legacy continues to inspire new generations of Indigenous athletes across the North. In 2022, Edward was awarded the Order of Sport and inducted into the Canadian Sport Hall of Fame. 

Photo: Coach Ernie Bernhardt with the NWT Arctic Sports team in 1980. Photo: NWT Archives/Native Communications Society fonds - Native Press photograph collection/N-2018-010: 06887.

If you are a Survivor or intergenerational Survivor of residential school or day school and need help, there's a free 24-hour support line. Call 1-800-695-4419. 

 

Episode Credits

Host: Crystal Gail Fraser

Interviewer: Paul Andrew

Guest: Ernie Bernhardt

Producers: Amos Scott, Jess Dunkin

Editor: Jess Dunkin

Audio Engineer: Brandon Larocque

Theme Song: Stephen Kakfwi

 

Episode Transcript

 

Final Transcript

Crystal Gail Fraser

My name is Crystal Gail Fraser. With Paul Andrew, I am the co-host of How I Survived. This is a podcast about recreation at residential and day schools in northern Canada. 

In this episode, you will hear about abuse and trauma. Please look after yourself as you listen.

If you are a Survivor or intergenerational Survivor and need help, there's a free 24-hour support line. Call 1-800-695-4419.

Ernie Bernhardt 

My name is Ernie Bernhardt. I don't have any community to call home. There's a reason for that. I was placed in RC Mission School at ten months old. That became my home for the first fifteen years of my life.

Crystal

In 1944, Ernie was taken to Immaculate Conception, a Catholic residential school in Aklavik. His mother had tuberculosis and her lungs were slowly failing. Ernie’s father, a hunter and trapper, had no other choice but to send Ernie to residential school. 

Immaculate Conception was the first of three residential schools where Ernie was institutionalized. The others were Akaitcho Hall in Yellowknife and Grandin College in Fort Smith. 

Paul Andrew spoke to Ernie at his home in Yellowknife in May 2022. Yellowknife is in Treaty 8, on the homeland of the Yellowknives Dene and the North Slave Métis. 

Paul and Ernie started their conversation by talking about Ernie’s early years at Immaculate Conception.

Ernie 

I went there August the 17th, 1944. Who met me at the door became my mum, my adopted mum. She was a nun. I called her mother because I thought she was my mother. But she grew me up. My dad told Sister Christophe or Mother Christophe to look after my boy because he's just a little baby.

That was the hardest part, Paul. I cannot tell you how I was missing my mom and my dad. Never see them, I never ever saw my mother in my life. I just have a picture of her holding my older sister Wilma.

If you want to know a little bit more. Our RC school, we took students from Fort Norman, Fort Franklin, Fort Good Hope, Arctic Red River. All those communities from Fort Norman going down to the ocean. We took the Dene people, and they brought them to Aklavik.

And then on the Eskimo side, we had one big boat called the Our Lady of Lourdes. The captain of that boat is a well-respected Elder, Inuvialuk from the Delta. His name is Billy Thrasher. And he knew all the Arctic Ocean in his mind and kept where the shallow parts are, where the deep parts are, where to sail.

Crystal

Along the Arctic Coast, schooners like The Our Lady of Lourdes and The Immaculate transported Indigenous children to residential schools. They also brought supplies to the missions. The Catholic Church owned these boats. 

The church also hired steamboats, like the SS Mackenzie and SS Distributor, to pick up children along their supply routes. These boats are infamous for spreading sickness, like influenza and TB.

The journeys that children made by boat were often long and slow. Sometimes children were made to stay below deck for the entire trip. They could travel for days and hundreds or thousands of kilometres before arriving at residential school. 

Ernie 

I had no one to look after me except the boys. When I say the boys, I mean older boys. Like 15, 16, 17 years old. They looked after me. They'd change my pampers, dress me up, tie my shoes, did the things that a mother usually does. But they became my mother. 

In all my 15 years in Aklavik, it's very painful to say I never had the experience of being hugged by anyone, not even by my sister 'cause she was on the girl's side. I was on the boy's side. There’s no connection, no meeting. Once you're placed in there, you're placed in there, that's your home. There's no visits, no letters from your parents, if they wrote. We never see anything, anything from our parents.

One day, in June, the Father came to our boy's residence. He was telling all the boys, “You're going to go on this date. We're going to bring you home.” And then I stood beside him. And I looked up to him and I said, “Father, what about me? I want to go home too. I've been here maybe 13 years without leaving the yard.” I said, “All these boys are going to their mom and dad.” I said, “I want to do the same thing.” He said, “No, Ernie, you can't.” I said, “What do you mean, I can't?” He said, “You belong to the church.” I said, “No, Father.” “No,” I said. I was crying, and I was begging for him to take me home. He wouldn't take me. He didn't know where my daddy was. He was a hunter trapper, and he'd go with the seasons. That's one of the days I'll never forget in my life is when I cried. That night I went to bed crying again, knowing that I'm going to get stuck here for another year without going anywhere. That feeling hurts me, still hurts me to this day because I'll be 79, and I don't know my dad.

We were supposed to all be custom adopted. Wilma was supposed to go to Alaska, to our aunt. Albert was supposed to go to Alaska to Uncle Tony. My sister Augusta and myself, they didn't know what to do with us. We became part of the church system. So I stayed there, and I cried a lot, Paul. I got beat up quite a bit. 

The most scariest part is when a person gets sexually abused. You have to live with it. You can't run away from it. You can't hide it. Who gave the right to people to sexually abuse a young person? And where were we supposed to go? We didn't have anybody to turn to, Paul. We didn't have anybody to turn to. You just got to bear it and hide it. Hide it best you can. That's the only way we survived. 

All those years, Paul, I know for a fact, none of our boys, including myself, none of us had any kind of hugs from our sisters or relatives. Nothing. It's painful what we went through. Really painful. There's no bonding. How we bonded, my best friends were Indian boys. I'm sorry I have to use that word because that's what we're taught in Aklavik. That's how I bonded. Some of my best friends were Indian boys from Arctic Red River and from Fort Norman and some people that used to look after me, like from Cambridge Bay. They're all gone now. They all passed away. They were my parents.

But the person that gave me the most hope was Mother Christophe. She's the superior for Aklavik school. And she lived to be 99 years old. She became my mother.

My other mother would be my sister Wilma, the oldest. Because my dad told her to look after Ernie, because he's just a little baby. He needs someone to look after him. She did the best she could. But at age 15, she left. She didn't want to go because no one was going to look after me. No one. When my brother left, same thing. No one would look after me. No one would be my protector.

What's missing from many of us that went to residential school. We had no love, Paul. Absolutely no love. It's the hardest thing in the world to grow up without love. 

Crystal

As we learned in Dave Poitras’s episode, children at residential school didn’t just go to classes. They worked. This was also true at Immaculate Conception in Aklavik, where children hauled water, cut wood, worked in the kitchen, and cleaned. But there was some free time. In the next part of the interview, Paul asks Ernie what he and the other children did during their spare time.

Ernie 

In our school in Aklavik, we had what you would call Troop Number Two. Boy Scouts. They gave us discipline. It's small little groups like that, but we had to follow orders. We listened to our patrol leaders. They tell us what to do, and we follow it for one week. If we did well, we'd get some badges. 

They taught us how to trap muskrats. The Indian boys would show us how to set trap, how to trap muskrats, how to skin them. They were very good to us in that way. 

We became very good at it. We make thousands and thousands of dollars for our school. The thing is all the muskrats that we trapped went straight to the church. We didn't even get one chocolate bar out of those thousands and thousands of muskrats. It went all to the church to pay for the food, paid for our Christmas gifts, paid for our new sheets, blankets. Everything went to the church.

But the hardest one to adjust to is supper time. We always had whitefish. To this day, Paul, my last meal in Aklavik, I took my time eating my last piece of whitefish and I made a promise. Ernie, you're never going to eat whitefish again. I kept that promise. Since 1959, I never ate a piece of whitefish. I could eat char, but not whitefish. No. I got no taste for it. 

Because if you didn't finish your piece of meat, piece of fish, and the nuns see you throwing it away, that's wasting food. So she would say, “Come here.” She'd give you another piece of fish, and you got to stand on the table and eat in front of everybody. Those are the things that I'll never forget.

Crystal

Northern residential schools relied on local hunters to provide country foods for the children, like fish and caribou. Families also pressured schools to make sure their children ate these foods from the Land. 

It was very expensive to ship food from the South. Even so, school staff regularly ate jam, bacon, and butter with their meals. These costs were justified for staff, but not students. 

Country foods were not prepared the way children were used to. Meat and fish were served overcooked, boiled, and sometimes rotten. Students ate the same small meals and often went hungry. They could also be starved as punishment by school staff. 

Residential school children used their knowledge of the Land to feed themselves. They snared animals and harvested plants nearby. They also broke the rules and took food from school kitchens and gardens.

Ernie 

Going back to the scout system, if the nuns knew you had some kind of a talent, like artists. If you were a good artist, they would provide you with oil painting, they'd provide you with canvas. And then we had one father, his name was Father Brown. He taught us how to oil paint. Out of that bunch of artists, my uncle Johnny Banksland, Andrew Steen, my other uncle George Banksland, and two more boys, we painted the stations of the cross in Our Lady of Good Hope Church in Good Hope. We spent two summers there doing all the way of the cross and painting the stations of the cross. That was our contribution to our school. 

Another one would be we had our own boxing club. An RCMP member came to our school and said he's going to teach kids how to box. So he taught us how to box. And we had a competition: our school versus the Anglican school. They had their own club, we had our own club. And July 1st we had a big boxing tournament and the whole Delta came. We had different divisions. We had twelve fighters, they had twelve fighters, and we won all twelve fights. That was something, you know, our, our, our people can never forget because they gave us some things that were very useful. 

Our last day in Aklavik, we all went down to the federal government office. I was one of them. We lined up, and the guy's name was Gene Rhéaume. He'll take one look at you and he'll say, “Okay, you go to Grollier Hall, Inuvik.” Because Inuvik was opening and Aklavik was closing. 

And then he put me to come here to Yellowknife. They offered carpentry work, mechanics, and heavy duty operators. And I said, “What am I going to do down there? I want to stay in school.” He said, “No, Ernie. We're going to train you to be a carpenter.” I said, “I don't know what a hammer looks like.” I said, “Why you want to teach me something I don't want to be?” 

I came here and I told the principal, Mr. Black, I said, “I'm getting out of here in June. You're never going to see me again.” I said, “I don't like what you're doing to me, because it's not my choice. You're forcing things on me, and I don't want to be that. I want to stay in academics.” After that, I never came back here to Sir John because I hated the place. 

One year I got measles. I think it was German measles or measles anyway. I healed from that. I got better. But then somehow, I ended up getting meningitis. I thought I was going to die. They put me in the hospital in Aklavik. I was in a coma, maybe three, four months. I didn't know about it. I had my sacraments given to me three times. They thought I was going to pass away. But each time I beat it. 

I think how that helped me is that we have our own radio station in Aklavik, and they broadcast to the trappers in the Delta. And I would hear voices praying, you know, praying the rosary, and they were going to pray for Ernie now, and the Father would lead. I made it through that, Paul. 

I had missed one year of school already because I was so sick. Right after that, I contacted TB in my lungs. I had to stay in bed again for one more year. That was tough. And I told my doctor, I said, “Doctor, I'm missing too much school now. I'm way behind in my second year. I'm not going to school. What could I do? I don't want to stay in here all my life.” 

But I went back to school. It affected my brain somewhere up here. I became very slow in math, but I became very good in social studies and other subjects. I managed to pass to the next grade. I tried to find out. I have to do something with my head, my heart. I have to do something. 

I went back to Inuvik. By that time, Paul, I was 18 years old. I was at school for two years, just staying with my sister because she's the only one that looked after me, not my dad, because I never saw my dad by then. She kept me under her guidance. And then one Sunday, I went to church, me and Fred Bennett. And Bishop Piche came and said high mass. And on our way out the door, he shook my hand and said, “Ernie, Ernie, I want to talk to you.” I said, “Yeah, Bishop, you could. I'll walk with you.” I was walking with him from the utilidor, under the utilidor, and to Grollier Hall, where he was eating his meals. He said, “Ernie, you have to go back to school.” “At my age, Bishop, they're gonna laugh at me. I should have graduated by now.” But at 18, the place I end up going to: Grandin College.

I managed to stay in Fort Smith and I ended up at the juvenile training center, as a supervisor, helping young people. That's my first experience as a social worker. Helping young people. Keeping them out of trouble. And I applied what I learned in Aklavik, like the sports, I applied my teaching to those kids. How to play basketball, volleyball, boxing. I was just like their coach. And I helped them along that way. It was good. 

And then I told the administrator, I said, “Frank, I haven't seen my dad in my life.” I said, “I want to go see him. I want to know how he looks like. I want to see him. I'm getting up there. I should have known my dad growing up.” He said,” Ernie, I'll see what I could do.” And I got called to his office one day. He said, “Ernie, we're sending you to Coppermine.” I said, “Oh, and that's where my dad is.” I said, “I'll finally go see my dad.” 

So I took it. And I applied my studies from playing sports. I applied that to the community. And that really helped many of us. You just can't expect to be good at it. Somebody has to push you. Somebody has to tell you about the rules, what to do, how to get stronger, especially your diet. That really helped me. 

Paul

Everything you learned as a child was in residential school?

Ernie 

That's all I know, Paul, and I'm not proud of it. Without the help of the churches, I don't know where I'd be today. I can honestly tell you, because they did a good job of whatever trade they had, but they treated us with respect already. But some of them were, you know, not acceptable, like sexual abuse, physical abuse. We had lots of that in school. But it just dropped off. You forget about it until the claim went through. And a lot of us went through it. We cry a lot. 

I think we suffered the most because, how can you become a part of society if you're locked in? Without going out? Without leaving the yard? How could you be possibly adjusting to the community? We weren't allowed to go anywhere. We just had our own group and that's it. You know, that's not right. And we had no coaching or any kind of teaching from the teachers on how to mix with other people. That was a no no. 

Paul 

Ernie, I want to ask you about, you know, you spend all this time in residential schools. How did sports and recreation help you?

Ernie 

I think it's something that nobody could take away from me. No one could try, but they'll never take away sports, what sports did for me. No. I could hold my own. Like Arctic sports. 

Gee, Paul, I learned those games at past age 25. Edward Lennie took me under his wing and he taught me how to play the games. But it was at a cost to me. I was very stubborn. He said, “Ernie, you're stubborn.” I said, “Yeah, I'm stubborn.” He said, “Well, I'm stubborn too. Go stand in the corner now. Let me know when you want to come out and be part of the group.”

We had a real good team. Mickey Gordon, Charles Komiak, Steve Cockney, all those boys that became famous, like Abel Tingmiak. That was our group. I had to learn from them and they're all younger than me.

But then Edward came to me, it was going kind of late at night, and he said, “Ernie, are you still stubborn?” I said, “Yeah.” “Well, stay there some more. Let me know when you want to learn about your own culture.” I said, “What you're talking about now, Edward?” He said, “Your own culture is those games.” I said, “Nobody came to my school and taught us. No one. And you're telling me that's my games?” “Well,” he said, “you gotta learn.” He said, “I know your dad, I know your relatives. They're all good athletes. And you could be too if you want to.”

Crystal 

Edward Lennie is often called the father of northern games. He was born in 1934 near Husky Lakes, south of Tuktoyaktuk. He was raised in Inuvialuit culture on the Land. 

As a child, Edward learned traditional games like high kick and arm pull that tested strength, agility, and endurance. In the early 1960s, he began hosting traditional game competitions in Inuvik. Later, Edward ensured traditional games were at the first Arctic Winter Games in 1970. 

Edward Lennie passed away in 2020 at the age of 86. His legacy continues to inspire new generations of Indigenous athletes across the North.

Ernie 

Nellie gave me a chance to be even better. Edward gave me a chance to be even better. They gave me a job as coordinator for Arctic sports, or for northern games, they call them in our time. And I went all over the North. Recreation gave me the most benefit because I went from coast to coast to coast, demonstrating our game for the public, teaching our young kids how to play the game, having fun about it.

But the thing I couldn't do is I couldn't speak in their own language. That's the killer part on me. It's a good thing Beatrice, I take her once in a while when I'm travelling and she explains things. 

That recreation, Paul, that's what we need. We got to tear up whatever they're doing in the recreation department and start all over again. Because I really know our Aboriginal people are better than what they are. You have to start all over again. Why must we have Arctic Winter Games? All our Aboriginal people are damn good hockey players. They're not given the chance. Because they're natives. The coaches are going to take a white person ahead of our native who is ten times better a hockey player than the other guy. They don't make the team. And for me, that's not right. 

The people I have most respect for are the Firth Sisters, those cross-country ski girls. Those are my heroes because they're right from the land. They became world famous. It don't make sense transferring that TEST program from Inuvik to Yellowknife. But the government took it away and brought it to Yellowknife at our expense. That means you ditch everybody with the good talent to develop and you move everything here to Yellowknife. That's not right. That's not right. 

Crystal 

One of the goals of the How I Survived project is to help recreation leaders better understand the history and impacts of residential school, especially with respect to recreation, but also to ensure that recreation, now and in the future, does not reproduce the harms of residential school.

Paul invited Ernie to speak directly to recreation leaders. 

Ernie 

Recreation is good, Paul. It's really good. All our communities in Nunavut and NWT have gymnasiums. There's no reason why we can't develop volleyball players, basketball players, wrestling. Wrestling is another good sport. Nothing, nothing like that happening. I think recreation is the best that the government could offer, but they're doing it the wrong way. Really doing it the wrong way. 

I, myself, I toured all of Saskatchewan. I went to the Montreal Olympics. I went to the World University Games in Edmonton. I went to the Commonwealth Games. It brought me all over Canada. And I go to Alaska to compete against their best. And we always beat them. Because Edward told us, “I could tell who's a Canadian and I could tell who's an American.” “Oh, how do you know? What's your secret?” He took me by my arm and said, “Ernie, the Alaskans are only good on one foot and two foot, but they don't have the talent that the Canadians have. I'm teaching all our athletes to play all the games. You become better like that.” They're still trying to catch us, and they pass us now. But we have a chance to make it grow again, if we want to. But it's just not there, you know. 

It's something that would be money well-invested in our people, if we have good recreation programs. But, I don't know, I'm a little bit grey in the hair now, and I don't know how I could do it. 

Paul

But you're right about Indigenous people, eh? They're good athletes. They're naturally gifted athletes. 

Ernie 

Yeah, very, very gifted, Paul, very, very gifted. They could more than hold their own. Honestly, I promise you that. They could more than hold their own. And they got straight backs when they played good sports. You could tell right away who was well coached, who was well trained. They carried themselves, not the proud way, but the good way, so that other young people could follow in their shoes. That's what we're missing.

I'll give you a perfect example, Paul. Our club in Fort Smith, it was coached by Tony Piwar (sp?), Dave Dragon. There's two boys, Mercredi boys, Matthew and David, I think. They made Team NWT, went to Anchorage for Arctic Winter Games. They wiped out everybody in their division. That's how good they were. But nobody grabbed them and brought them to further their talents. They just gave up. Because nothing was set aside for people like that that have a good talent. And it's not right, it's not right on the government, on our people. They're not given the chance. 

With the amount of money the government gives First Nations, or even your organization, the Dene First Nations. It's not enough. There's something missing from their side, not our side. We're ready to learn, but there's something missing. Our youth will have a chance through sports and recreation. If they want to get academics, all the better. Sound mind and body, that's what we need. You know, meet the challenges of the next day. That's what we have to have.

Paul 

Ernie, listening to your story, especially, you know, I thought I had a rough time sometimes but nothing compared to what you're talking about. How did sports and recreation help you survive? Because you're still here. You're doing well. I've seen you in basketball. I've seen you in Arctic sports. You talk about boxing. How did all these things help you get through the tough times?

Ernie 

Paul, I always wonder myself. But I think a lot of it has to do with the coaching that you receive. They're the ones that put the seed in your head and in your heart. Like Dave Dragon, Tony Puwar, and Derek Clarkson in basketball.

What makes us good is that you gotta want it to get better. From whatever level you are, take it one step higher. If you could skip one and then jump two, even better. But it's best if you have good coaching. And your coaching have to know what they're talking about. Don't make our people fail. Encourage them. Say, “Try it this way. It's gonna be easier and better like that.” Tell 'em like that. That's what we should be doing.

My person that had the biggest influence on me would be Edward. Edward Lennie. He's a good man to me. He's a good man that know about our games. He's a good man bringing the best out of a person. He'll read you. You just gotta pay attention to what he's telling you. And if you grab it, he'll keep offering you tricks on how to do it, how to do it better.

Crystal 

Ernie Bernhardt spent almost his entire childhood at residential school. During his conversation with Paul, Ernie talked about the pain of growing up without his parents, of growing up without love. 

One of the bright spots in Ernie’s story is when he was introduced to Arctic sports as an adult. Another bright spot is the coaching and mentorship that Ernie received, especially from Edward Lennie. With Edward’s guidance, Ernie excelled as an athlete. Importantly, Ernie reconnected with his Inuvialuit heritage through Arctic sports. 

I want to thank Ernie for sharing his story with us today. You can see pictures of Ernie doing the one foot high kick on our website, www.howisurvived.ca. There are other photos and materials related to this episode there, as well. 

Crystal 

If you are a Survivor or intergenerational Survivor of residential or day school and you need help, there's a free 24-hour support line. Call 1-800-695-4419.

How I Survived is a collaboration between the NWT Recreation and Parks Association and the University of Alberta. The podcast is co-hosted by me, Crystal Gail Fraser, and Paul Andrew. I also provide historical direction. 

How I Survived is co-produced by Amos Scott and Jess Dunkin. Advisory support is provided by Dr. Sharon Firth, Lorna Storr, and Paul Andrew. Our research assistant is Rebecca Gray. Haii’ to EntrepreNorth for sharing your recording booth with us.

Our theme song is “Love the Light” by Stephen Kakfwi. The cover art for this podcast was designed by pipikwan pêhtâkwan based on a wall hanging made for the project by Agnes Kuptana. 

This podcast is produced with support from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and NWT and Nunavut Lotteries.