Ian Ferguson - Village of the Small Houses: A Memoir of Sorts

VILLAGE OF THE SMALL HOUSES

A MEMOIR of Sorts

IAN FERGUSON

Village of the Small Houses is a memoir of sorts, or sort of a memoir. Take your pick. I was born and raised in Fort Vermilion, which is famous for two things. It set a record in 1911 for the lowest recorded temperature in Canada at sixty-one below, a record that wasnt beaten until 1947 by Snag, Yukon. And it was, at the time, the third-poorest community in Canada. Things have improved. Fort Vermilion is now the fifth-poorest community in the country.

This book is as honest as I could make it, but I havent let the facts get in the way of the story I was trying to tell. Nothing that follows is true, except for the parts that really happened.

VILLAGE OF THE SMALL HOUSES

I did see Lloyd Loonskin one more time. It was a big year for me. I was turning thirty. My first play had been produced, and my second one was in rehearsals. I had, surprisingly, fallen in love for the first time in my life. I had partnered up with a friend to run a new comedy club, and I was starting to become world-famous all over Edmonton. Best of all, I hadnt had a drink in almost a year.

The comedy club would fail. The friendship would crash and burn along with it. That would give me permission to fall off the wagon, and I would fall so hard Id end up in the hospital. Of course, I didnt know any of this at the time.

I was inside the club, getting ready for the first performance of a new improv show, when I heard a ruckus in the lobby. The box office girl came rushing in to find me. She was, as always, dressed in black from head to toe. Her hair was dyed black, her fingernails were painted black, and all this blackness must have affected her disposition, because she had a gloomy personality.

Sunny, I said, because that was her name, whats going on?

Theres a drunk Indian in the lobby, and he wants to come inside.

Oh, well, I said. Nobody loves a drunken Indian.

She didnt get it. She stared at me vacantly until I sighed and went out into the lobby.

Hey, partner, long time no see.

Christ on a Popsicle stick. There he was, live and in person. Lloyd Loonskin. He didnt look that drunk, but man, did he look old. He could have passed for fifty, even though we were the exact same age, give or take a day.

Lloyd, I said, is that you?

Dont you recognize me?

Yeah, of course. What are you doing here?

Came to see you, he said. He made a sweeping arm gesture to include the lobby. Came to see your show.

Great, I said. Lets talk outside.

We went and stood on the sidewalk. It was cold out there. Lloyd was telling me that he had hitchhiked down from Jean DOr Prairie, where he was living, and decided to look me up. I could see his breath while he talked.

Howd you find me? I said.

He gave me a grin and pulled a small book out of his jacket. It was a childs diary, but there wasnt any writing in it. Just some newspaper articles glued to the page.

See, partner, Lloyd Loonskin said as we paged through the book, this is a review of that show you did in Calgary, and this is from that theatre magazine

Whered you get these?

Your mom, she sent them to me, he said. I asked her.

The most recent article had been in the newspaper the day before. He had already glued it into his scrapbook.

Thats how I knew where to find you, he said.

We talked a little longer, and then I said I had to get back to work. I lied and told him the show was sold out. It was opening night, and I had enough things to worry about.

Some other time, I said.

Sure, he said. Next time.

I gave him some money, forced him to take it. We shook hands. Lloyd Loonskin was halfway down the block when he turned around and came running back, holding up the handful of bills I had given him.

Hey, partner

You keep it, Lloyd. You keep that money.

No, I wanted to say something.

What?

I dont blame you.

I didnt bother asking him what he meant. There were so many choices.

I forgot about Lloyd Loonskin for a couple of days. I was reading the Saturday paper, hoping to find a review of my new show, when I spotted the story about him. There werent many details provided. Aboriginal, blah, blah, blah, intoxicated, blah, blah, blah, exposure. The newspaper didnt say Lloyd Loonskin was once a boy whod had a whole town looking for him and celebrating his return. They spelled his name wrong. They got his age wrong, too. He was only twenty-nine.

Whoever wrote that story about Lloyd Loonskin missed the most important part.

Sometimes it just runs in the family.

Lloyd Loonskin was lucky to be born.

I was born lucky.

Copyright 2003 by Ian Ferguson

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For a copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

Douglas & McIntyre Ltd.
2323 Quebec Street, Suite 201
Vancouver, British Columbia
Canada V5T 4S7
www.douglas-mcintyre.com

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Ferguson, Ian, 1959
Village of the small houses: a memoir of sorts / Ian Ferguson.
ISBN 1-55365-021-2
1. Ferguson, Ian, 1959 Childhood and youth.
2. Fort Vermilion (Alta.)Biography. I. Title.
FC4199.F69Z49 2003 971.23'1 C2003-905382-2

Editing by Barbara Pulling Jacket and text design by Jessica Sullivan Front jacket photograph courtesy of Ian Ferguson Printed and bound in Canada by Friesens Printed on acid-free paper

We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the British Columbia Arts Council, and the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for our publishing activities.

Permission to reprint excerpts from the song lyrics of Im Moving On by Hank Snow and Ive Been Everywhere by Geoff Mack and John Grenell granted by Warner/Chappell Music. All rights reserved.

For Lorna Bell

Most of the characters in this book are based on real people. Some names have been changed for artistic reasons. Other name changes were made for reasons of confidentiality. Some characters have also been combined. For example, the Hudsons Bay Company sent a new store manager up to Fort Vermilion every couple of years. I can barely keep their names straight myself, and I see no reason why the reader should make the effort. Some events have been compressed, and dialogue has been invented.

It is important to point out that Gene Rogers is a fictitious character and not a depiction of any real person. More abuse was perpetrated than can be ascribed to any one person. Because of his attitude and behaviour towards Indians, the characters name was created by combining the names of two famous big-screen cowboys, Gene Autry and Roy Rogers.

Ihave many people to thank, beginning with Joanna Kotsopoulos, Kelly Mitchell and the other fine folks at Douglas & McIntyre, especially tiny perfect publisher Scott McIntyre, who believed in this book when it was just a conversation. Barbara Pulling is the finest editor in the world. I was lucky to get her, and her contribution to this manuscript was invaluable. I appreciate the advice I have received from the redoubtable Carolyn Swayze, who is a most excellent literary agent. Thanks also to Carl David at the Royal Equestrian in Los Angeles for providing me with a place to write, and to Max Fett at Hi-Tech computers in Burbank for the laptop.