With his mission accomplished, he ends his tale. “There’s the family history you wanted. I don’t want to own anything any more. All I’ve got is a suitcase and a few clothes. Suits me, everything is off my neck now.”
Fast-forward a year and a half. Dad’s slovenly living conditions have deteriorated to a point where public health authorities force him into what he calls “a filing cabinet”: a Castlegar residential care facility. The day he is admitted is the last day he ever walks, although nothing is wrong with his legs. We journey from our home in Victoria to see him the following spring. We arrive in the early evening, and Ben and Charlotte check in to the Sandman Hotel while I drive to the care home for a quick visit before they lock the doors.
As I enter, I see that the lights have already been dimmed, and the halls are quiet and empty. Dad’s room is the second on the left, near the nurses’ station. His door is slightly ajar. I find him on his back, eyes closed and his long body tightly tucked in. A warm amber glow emanates from his overhead bed light. Several days’ worth of stubble darkens his lower face, and his cheeks cave in like dented fenders. I kiss him on the lips. “Hi Pappy.” His eyes spring open and as I fumble for a nearby chair he pulls out his left arm and tightly grasps my right hand, bringing it to his chest and cupping his other hand over mine. His hand feels massive and warm. Like a bear paw. I inch my chair closer.
“I was a very bad boy,” he says, looking directly into my eyes.
“Uh-huh,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze and hoping for more.
“I didn’t want to be. I really didn’t. But I was.”
“Yes?” I prompt.
“A very bad boy.”
Turning his head away, he rolls over, closes his eyes and releases my hand. That is it. I press my lips to his forehead, tell him I’ll see him tomorrow and leave.
The next day when Ben, Charlotte and I visit he is gruff, haughty and monosyllabic. Ben shaves him, an act he begrudgingly permits. Charlotte draws him a picture of the mountains. He glances at it. The visit turns awkward and as I am saying we’ll return tomorrow when he is feeling better, he raises his hand to silence me.
“Don’t hang around on my account.”
“What?” I reply, not sure I heard right.
“I said don’t hang around on my account.”
His voice is loud, monotonic, and his eyes stare at the wall ahead. I walk out, along with Ben and Charlotte.
Dad dies four years later in the early morning of January 7, 2006, at Mountain Lake Seniors Community in Nelson—toothless, penniless, diapered and demented. I am with him the day before. But that is not how I remember him.
Framed and backlit, a young fair-haired man bends beside a shallow, rocky mountain brook. Dressed in jeans, leather chaps and a fringed buckskin jacket, he is alone but for a tall, all-black horse standing beside him. In the background, sunshine warms a row of stunted black spruce and bunched scrub grass. Above, shadows and sun stream across a ragged snow-patched crag. Off scene, positioned at just the right spot, is a tripod mounted with a 35 mm single-lens reflex Pentax camera. The man lifts the water-filled brim of his Stetson to his mouth. And drinks. Click.
Forgiveness has nothing to do with love.
A Note on Sources
Many years ago, complete transcripts of my Dad’s first and second trials were stored in a heavy cardboard box in a dark corner of my Omi and Grandpa’s basement in East Vancouver. My mom, in anger and shame, threw out the box and its contents long before I even considered tackling this story. Decades later, when I’d changed my mind and began research, I discovered, much to my dismay, that the Yukon Department of Justice had lost the complete court files. Someone had borrowed much of the official record and failed to return it. And that was that. What remained with the department, however, was of immense help and included testimonies from key witnesses such as FBI special agent Bruce Lanthorn and geologist Alan Fawley; correspondence between Justice John Parker and the National Parole Board; and some Yukon Court of Appeal documents.
Fortunately, the official RCMP file on the case that I obtained after sending an inquiry to Library and Archives Canada filled in significant gaps in the trial record. That request yielded more than nine hundred pages of RCMP notes and correspondence relating to the investigation, the preliminary hearing, the two trials and the appeal. Although many pages and names were blacked out, they revealed a more complete picture of what occurred than I ever imagined. Included in the pages were valuable summaries of the preliminary hearing and the first trial written by Corporal George Strathdee. Strathdee’s summary of the actions taken by the prosecution between the first and second trials was invaluable in understanding how the Crown shifted its focus after the first, unsuccessful attempt to convict my father.
A number of people either involved in the investigation or the trials shared their stories with me. Without them it would have been impossible to reconstruct events of fifty years ago. They included George Strathdee and Lauren McKiel, both long-retired from the RCMP; professional geologists and former United Keno Hill Mines employees Bob Cathro and Al Archer; and retired Vancouver lawyer John Molson, who represented my father at the preliminary hearing. In the Acknowledgements I name other people who provided important insights and information.
A handful of writers have briefly sketched out versions of the robbery. They are Aaro Aho in Hills of Silver: The Yukon’s Mighty Keno Hill Mine (Harbour Publishing, 2006), Jane Gaffin in Cashing In (Nortech Yukon, 1980) and Joe Riddell in the magazine The Yukoner (Issue 22, 2002). Bob Cathro also wrote an account of the caper, The Keno Hill Ore Theft, published in 2002 in The Moccasin Telegraph, a now defunct online newsletter. He gave me an unedited copy of his story. Of even greater benefit was Cathro’s 2006 article “Great Mining Camps of Canada 1. The History and Geology of the Keno Hill Silver Camp, Yukon Territory,” published in Geoscience Canada (Volume 33, No. 3).
Both Aho’s and Gaffin’s books also provided rich details on the history of Yukon mining and settlement. Other historical accounts I drew on included Christopher Burn’s Guidebook to the Surface Geology and Environmental History of the Silver Trail (Silver Trail Tourism Association, 1985); Jack Hope and Paul Von Baich’s Yukon (Prentice-Hall, 1976) and the Mayo Historical Society’s Gold and Galena (1991).
The Yukon Archives in Whitehorse helped me access Whitehorse Star articles published in 1963, 1964 and 1965 editions, and copies of The Tramline, a weekly mimeographed newsletter published in Elsa. At the archives I also discovered a small booklet titled Souvenir Brochure of the Yukon Territory. It was filled with useful facts about and wonderful pictures of the Yukon and its mining history. The brochure was written by former United Keno Hill Mines general manager Al Pike, and published to commemorate the gathering of the Sixth Commonwealth Mining and Metallurgical Congress, held in September 1957.
For insights into Justice John Parker, I drew on Frank Wade’s Advocate for the North: Judge John Parker—His Life and Times in the Northwest Territories (Trafford Publishing, 2005). As for learning about conditions in the first prison Judge Parker consigned Dad to, I turned to Earl Andersen’s Hard Place to Do Time: The Story of Oakalla Prison, 1912–1991 (Hillpoint Publishing, 1993).
The selected passages from the poems of Robert Service reprinted in this book are taken from two collections: The Best of Robert Service (McGraw-Hill Ryerson Ltd., 1953) and Songs of a Sourdough (McGraw-Hill Ryerson Ltd., 1957). Readers interested in learning more about the man, his poetry and his times would do well to read Enid Mallory’s Robert Service: Under the Spell of the Yukon (Heritage House Publishing, 2008).
Finally, my great appreciation goes to my mother, who thanks to a healthy hoarding streak kept all my father’s letters and all of my sister’s and my letters to our father when he was imprisoned, as well as many of her journals and records of her early years. She died in 2011.
Acknowledgements
My book is cons
idered to be a memoir, the narrative telling of my recollections. But it is much more. It is also: a true crime story, a record of an essential era in Yukon mining and social history, a tribute to a disappeared place and lost way of life, and an important instance of Canadian legal evolution. Without the contributions of so many, however, it would be none of those. I am indebted to everyone mentioned below.
In 2009 I was at Yukon Justice requesting copies of any transcripts of my dad’s preliminary hearing and two trials. Initially told that there was nothing, employee Natalie Paquette later emailed me a smattering of transcripts from the first trial. Later, Karin Keeley-Eriksson sent me more helpful materials.
From there, my research spun out like a skein from a ball of yarn. Whitehorse author Jane Gaffin handed me the first thread that led to the unravelling of a great ball of hitherto unexplored information and adventure. When I told her I needed someone to help me retrace my dad’s footsteps on his former Moon claims, Jane lined me up with Keno City prospector Matthias Bindig. Matthias and his partner, geologist Lauren Blackburn, spirited me off one late August day on a hair-raising trip to the Moon. The day before Alexco Resource Corp. permitted employee Jennika Bergren to escort me around the Elsa camp and Keno mining site in a pickup truck. My evenings and nights were spent in Mayo with friend and fan Tex Fosbery, who hosted me in perfect, understated Yukon style.
Once I was back home, Jane introduced me via email to former UKHM mining engineer Bob Cathro, who happened to live just on the other side of the Malahat Highway from me. Bob, who testified against my dad, has graciously shared his memories and his expertise ever since. Bob connected me with Al Archer, the sharp-minded former chief geologist at UKHM, who related his version of events and even gave me hand-sketched maps of the crime scene. Bob also put me in touch with the two prime investigators of my dad’s case: retired rcmp officers George Strathdee and Lauren McKiel. I was astounded at how well they remembered the case and how forthcoming they were in sharing their memories. George told me the official police file must still exist somewhere so after turning over a few barren rocks, I luckily encountered Library and Archives Canada senior analyst Diane Simard. Simard unearthed my nugget of gold and sent it to me in the form of a nine-hundred-page official rcmp file. Even though a good third of the file was redacted, it revealed more information than I’d ever hoped to find.
Former Yukon-based friends-of-the-family George Duerkson, George Esterer and Virginia Grundmanis, who knew my dad, supplied invaluable details about Elsa life as did childhood Yukon buddy Darryl Andison and former Yukoners Don White and Joe and Louise Volf.
Obviously, all the memories are not mine alone. I thank my sister Vona Priest for sharing some of hers and dusting off some of my own. Ever generous, Vona also shared her Yukon mementos, scrapbooks and photos. My cousin Rick Nelson openly related his experiences with my family, as did Helene Klassen and Neil Klassen.
For legal matters, I turned to Vancouver lawyers Robert Bellows, Chris Johnson and Allan McDonell as well as to retired Vancouver lawyer John Molson, who briefly defended my dad, and to retired Seattle lawyer David Wagoner, who contested my dad’s American lawsuit.
On the photo front, I first credit my dad, who was an exceptional photographer and who took most of the photos in the book. For sharing their photos I also thank Lauren McKiel, Bob Cathro, Valerie and Jane Fawley, Kathy Haycock and Grant MacKenzie. For their help in tracking down archival photographs I am grateful to Cheryl Charlie, of Yukon Archives, and Anne Doddington from the Vancouver Public Library. My appreciation also goes to professional photographer and friend Garth Lenz of Victoria, for his help in making good photos great.
Special thanks to my special friend Robin Fowler for her keen editing skills and enormous heart. And a deep bow to Dude Dave Marshall for building my book website like only a geezer of his stature can.
At Harbour Publishing, I thank publisher Howard White, who showed keen interest in my query letter from day one. It didn’t hurt that Howard has spent time in the Mayo–Keno area and even had a distant recollection of my dad’s trial. Thank you to Pam Robertson, my eagle-eyed and gentle editor, for her exacting skill, and to Heather Lohnes, Harbour publicist extraordinaire. Thanks too to Harbour Managing Editor Anna Comfort O’Keeffe who helped shepherd everyone together to complete the project, and to Peggy Issenman for her stellar work on the book cover.
For his faith in my ability to write this book no matter what, I thank long-time friend and author Tom Wayman. Tom was the first person who, many years ago, gave me the confidence to become a writer after years working as a nurse. I also thank author Richard Mackie, who taught me a course on historical writing and took my query letter to Harbour.
I would be nowhere without my emotional cheerleaders—Susan and Steve Fox, Robin Fowler, Marjie Cave, Mia Stainsby, Lise Johnson, Sara Darling and Annie Carrithers. And my rock of a daughter Charlotte Priest who intuitively knew when I needed a cuddle or a poem to keep on going.
Finally, my book would not exist at all without my husband, my best friend, my superman Ben Parfitt. His devotion to this book and to me is beyond description.
The early afternoon sun shines on the deserted main street in Mayo during Gerry’s preliminary hearing in 1963. Lauren McKiel
Elsa, as seen from Galena Hill looking west toward Mount Haldane, known by locals as Mount Lookout. Lauren McKiel
Omi, born Maria and third from left, was the eldest of thirteen in Russia, and the only member of her family to escape the Gulag. Author's Collection
Gerry as a boy flanked by younger brother Ron, left, and elder brother Bill, right. Author's Collection
Helen and Gerry make merry by the Christmas tree. Gerald Priest
Frontier family from left to right: Helen, Vona, Alicia and Gerry Priest. Author's Collection
Caesar was no sled dog but would tolerate anything for his girls. Gerald Priest
Story time! Gerry Priest reads to Alicia, left, and Vona around 1956. Gerald Priest
Dust and high heels: Helen, centre, dressed up for a summer walk with Alicia, left, and Vona. Gerald Priest
The Panabode house where Helen raised her girls was a perk for families of salaried employees. Most miners were single, hourly workers and lived in bunkhouses. Gerald Priest
Helen in the fully stocked pantry. “I make the living—you make the living worthwhile,” Gerry frequently said. Gerald Priest
An excursion to Mayo Lake: in the physically and culturally isolated central Yukon, the outdoor getaway was a family staple. Gerald Priest
With no TV, long-wave radio or phone service until 1960, kids like four-year-old Alicia made their own entertainment in and around Elsa. Gerald Priest
That’s right! A proud four-year-old Vona beams beside a chalkboard. Gerald Priest
Sitting duck: while Omi perches on a stump, her granddaughters take aim with bows and arrows. Gerald Priest
Alicia and Vona sit with Pierre and Caesar outside their Vancouver home on Main Street, around the time of their dad’s conviction. Gerald Priest
Mountain man: Gerry and his pack horses trek across the Rocky Mountains. William Priest
The town of Elsa, looking east, likely photographed for a United Keno Hill Mines annual report. Author's Collection
Gerry and George Esterer at the ghost town of Wernecke Camp. Men rarely travelled without their rifles when foraying in the bush. Rob Stodard
Broken dreams: the decaying Wernecke Camp, where silver ore was once plentiful. Douglas MacKenzie
Outside the Elsa Coffee Shop or Snack Bar, where alarm bells rang after a truck driver transporting hundreds of bags of ore stopped to ask for directions. Douglas MacKenzie
The United Keno Hill Mines assay office in Elsa, where plans for marketing 70 tons of stolen ore were first hatched. Gerald Priest
For rcmp officers investigating the ore theft, operations in the Elsa mine and mill were among the darkest and dankest on earth. Douglas MacKenzie
In isolated Elsa, highly anticipated events on the social calender included choir, bridge, badminton, rod and gun club, square dancing, curling and even cake-decorating classes. Douglas MacKenzie
Top left: Allan Fawley, seen here with diamonds from a Tanganyikan mine, was a globetrotting geologist and lead defence witness. Author's Collection
Bottom: Judge John Parker presided over both of Gerry and Anthony Bobcik’s trials. He later called Gerry “an odd bird.” Yukon Archives, Whitehorse Star Ltd. fonds, 82/563, f91#75
Top right: Known as the “Gladiator of the Courts,” Angelo Branca was Gerry’s lawyer before being named a BC Supreme Court judge. Province photo, Vancouver Public Library 59594
rcmp constable Lauren McKiel, left, and FBI agent Bruce Lanthorn outside the Masonic Hall in Mayo during a break in the preliminary hearing. Lauren McKiel
A Rock Fell on the Moon Page 24
