Errol Ranville - Run As One: My Story

RUN AS ONE

Its a smell that never leaves you, the smell of burning flesh. Police officers and firefighters will tell you that. Months after the October 2010 highway accident that took five lives, including my beloved wife, Marcie, I would wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and I could smell it in my nostrils. I could taste the smoke in the bottom of my throat and hear the fire raging in my ears. I would also hear Marcie laughing in the kitchen, talking to someone. Sitting up in bed, I would strain to hear what was going on. I had left the hospital in a wheelchair, but when you wake up from a dead sleep and hear voices in the next room, you forget that you cant walk. So, when I would jump out of bed to go see Marcie, I fell face down on the hard floor. The voices appeared to get louder and I recognized Marcies laugh, so I would crawl as fast as I could to the doorway, poke my head out the bedroom, and peer down the darkened hallway. But she was not there. It was deathly quiet; nobody was there, and the pain from my fall from the bed started to set in. I knew I would struggle a long time to get back up and into bed. I started to cry. Convulsive crying, like I would never be able to stop.

Like a war veteran, I suffered from PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming to save Marcie. I would hear my dog Max, who had also perished in the accident, walking around in the next room, his nails hitting the hardwood floor. Again, I would jump out of bed and hit the deck, this time seriously hurting my elbow trying to break the fall then crawl as fast as I could again out into the hallway, but Max was not there. It was so very quiet and dark in our house.

It compounded my depression over her death. I became a recluse in my house, afraid to venture outside, dwelling over my loss. I am a survivor, but it would take all the inner strength I could muster to put the nightmares behind me.

It had all happened in a matter of seconds. Once Marcie and I spotted the oncoming vehicle with no lights on bearing down on us in our traffic lane, there was no time to react. No sooner had we seen them when they hit us head on, full speed both vehicles. No time to brake. I looked over at Marcie. Its a scene Ill never be able to forget. The engine had been pushed full on into her lifeless body. I tried unsuccessfully to unbuckle her and save her knowing in my heart she was already gone. At least she never suffered.

My own life was saved by two truck drivers passing by who saw the damaged vehicles and the fire. They pulled me out of a watery ditch that I had managed to crawl into after escaping from our burning Jeep. I would have drowned if they hadnt acted quickly. It could have been six deaths out on Provincial Highway #10 in northern Manitoba.

The accident made the newspapers and television news the following day. Four Indigenous youth and one white woman killed instantly in a head-on collision just two miles south of The Pas. Of course, my name was prominent since I was recognizable in the entertainment and recording community and was a two-time Juno Award nominee. I was scheduled to play the Aseneskak Casino with my band, The C-Weed Band. I never made it. Instead, I spent almost a year recovering from a crushed right ankle and broken bones in my left ankle, a damaged lumbar 5 in my back, and respiratory problems as a result of a damaged sternum. Doctors werent sure at first if I would survive the injuries. I was hospitalized for sixty-six days. Im very fortunate and very thankful.

Worse still, a year after the accident the provincial justice system charged me with careless driving. By making it a lower charge of careless driving, I think they hoped I would plead guilty and then they would evade liability for the accident. The whole ploy was to escape liability. I believed that the RCMP, University of the North, and Manitoba highways would all become liable for the accident unless they could determine a cause of the accident that they could assign blame and get themselves off the hook.

The battles with the RCMP, my lawyers, the provincial justice system, and Manitoba Public Insurance (MPI) were frustrating and debilitating. The cornerstone of our legal system is the notion of innocent until proven guilty. You dont have to prove your innocence; the onus is on the Crown or prosecution to prove your guilt. But for Indigenous people its the other way around. Youre guilty, and must try to prove your innocence in a system stacked against you. In the end it cost me well over $50,000 to prove I was not responsible for the accident. Not many Indigenous people can afford to do that. Again, I have been fortunate.

Lying in my hospital bed I was overwhelmed by the number of visitors who came with well-wishes. Musicians who knew first-hand the perils of a life on the road came to give me encouragement for my long recovery ahead. We are all brothers of the road. At one point the lineup of people was all the way down the hall to the elevator. Several leaders in the Indigenous community were among the visitors. They offered me emotional and spiritual support. They also agreed that while this was a tragic accident that took the lives of five people, I survived for a reason. God had spared me. Why? They told me I needed to find out what that reason was and pursue it.

Errol was pretty off the wall as a youngster, kind of full of himself, rambunctious, full of energy, scrappy. He would get into fights at school. He even had a fight with a teacher once, a physical fight. He challenged authority. He still does. He had a lot of nerve, a lot of guts, and this carried through into his adult life and probably had a lot to do with his success and the success of the band. He is very driven.
Wally Ranville, brother

I was in school with Errol. It was a two-room school, grades 5 to 8 in one room and grades 1 to 4 in the other. The principal had left so the teacher in grades 1 to 4 became sort of the head of the school. She was a bit strap happy and tended to give the strap for a lot of things. And I guess the grade 8 boys had done something, I cannot even recall what it was, so she brought them all in and stood them in the back of our room. We were all seated in our chairs. One by one they held out their hands and she gave them the strap. Whack! Errol was in the middle of the lineup. When she came to him, he moved his hand and she hit her leg. She got angry. We didnt know whether to laugh or what exactly to do. She put her hand out to hold his and of course he just yanked his hand out and she slapped her hand. Now she was furious. I cannot really recall what happened after but what sticks in my mind is he actually stood up to her because she gave the strap for no apparent good reasons. He wasnt going to take that from anyone. Thats the kind of person Errol was. Curtis Johnson, Eddystone resident

Running. Ive been running all my life. Running from chronic poverty and racism in rural Manitoba, from a discriminatory music business that told us We dont want your kind here, from people trying to label me and my music, from alcohol and drug addiction, from the responsibilities that come with being regarded as a role model. And running from a horrific accident that took away the love of my life, leaving me both physically and emotionally broken. Running is in my DNA. I read a saying once: The only way I am ever going to get to go to Heaven is by running away from Hell. That saying sure applies to me and my current situation. A man on the run.

The name Ranville originates from France; Normandy to be precise. Ranville is a town on the northwest French coast that was liberated from German occupation by the Allies on D-Day, June 6, 1945. It was the first French community to be liberated. There is a Commonwealth cemetery situated up from the beach called Ranville Cemetery. The town dates back to Roman times. My brother Bryan, the family historian, traced our family roots back to 16th century France. Jean De Rainville and his wife Elizabeth De La Gueripierre emigrated to North America around 1678, settling in New France (Quebec). On arrival somehow the name was recorded as Rainville, dropping the De. Their occupation was listed as fur traders and subsequent generations included voyageurs who made the arduous canoe journeys west to trade with the Indigenous peoples. In 1753, Joseph Rainville (Renville) married Miniyuhe, daughter of Mdwakanton Dakota Chief Big Thunder of the Kaposia Village near Lower Agency Reserve in Minnesota and settled in what is now northern Minnesota. From this, the town of Renville grew. Further intermarriage with Sioux tribes led to the Renville family extending into Montana and as far north as Pembina, North Dakota. Joseph Renville, the son of Joseph Rainville above, (whose name was later changed to Renville), in 1804 married Marie (Tonkanne) Little Crow, the daughter of Petit Carboneau and the niece of Chief Little Crow. On the July 3, 1823, Joseph joined Major Stevens H. Longs expedition to the source of the St. Peters River. He was highly valued and was chosen by Colonel Dickson to command the Sioux contingent of the expedition at the rank equivalent to a Captain in the British Army. By the time the American Fur Company bought the Columbia Fur Company, Joseph was established at Lac Qui Parle and maintained an army of warriors known as the Tokadantee or Prairie Dogs. This group later evolved into the Renville Rangers under one of his sons. The Renville Rangers were an Indigenous group on horseback who kept the peace between the white settlers and the Sioux tribes in Minnesota.