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From Kenora Online

Written by Mike Aiken

Thursday, 22 March 2012 07:18

The lasting image is of Justice of the Peace Joe Morrison peering over his glasses. After sentencing a young man for assault, he would offer some words of advice.

“If you like to fight, then maybe you should join the army?” he'd say.

If you knew him, it was more than a simple play on words. As a young man, Joe had done exactly that, and it had helped him turn his life around.

Wearing the uniform in the service of his country offered him a sense of pride, as well as the opportunity to broaden his horizons by serving overseas. In Germany, he was treated as an equal.

When Joe was growing up, the residential school era was still very much in place, and overt acts of racism were very much a part of everyday life. He understood very well the anger and frustration this could create.

This is why, over the course of his lifetime, he would become a widely respected traditional elder. Throughout Treaty 3 territory, you could see Joe teaching the way of his people with pride.

It was almost comforting to see him, often around the drum with friends, sharing a laugh and a smile. He would talk about gatherings and memories, as well as the hopes and dreams for a better way of life for his people and for all people.

I was lucky enough to spend a few hours at his kitchen table, listening to him as he described how his family grew up. He'd talk about how his father helped those in need, as a founder of the Morningstar detox centre. His mother, who also passed away recently, had been the elder at the Fellowship Centre.

Joe and Mary Alice were committed for much of their lives to the Friendship Centre movement, which offered a place where aboriginal people in urban settings could still find a sense of belonging, even though they were a long way from the land they came from.

I remember trying to make a short stop at the NeChee one evening, only to find myself in the middle of a Red and White social. Joe was there smiling, as he joined in a square dance, complete with caller.

He had a way of drawing me in and making me feel at home. Judging from the long  list of tributes and condolences, I think it's fair to say he was a favourite papa, grandpa, uncle, elder for many.

I would often run into him downtown, where he could be seen wearing his plaid Elmer Fudd hunting cap, venturing into stores, often just to see if they'd throw him out. He liked to circle the aisles and watch the sales clerks, who sometimes thought he was a shoplifter.

I might see him at a hockey game, where he remembered the long list of players from past generations. Some of them would still be playing in the oldtimers division at the North American. It was fun to watch them trip over the blueline or stumble on a breakaway.

If you invited Joe to be your elder, to help open an event, then you knew he was also going to take the time for a history lesson, and this was fine with me. I enjoyed his walks through time, as he explained how life used to be, as well as how it's changed. There could be hundreds of people, who couldn't wait to get on with it, but slow and steady Joe was reaching out to those listening intently for the lesson and purpose of his teachings.

He had lived through the nightmare that was Anicinabe Park, when the community was bitterly divided, and he was deeply committed to building strong relationships built on a better understanding of our different ways of life. Joe would often talk with pride about the Pow Wow Club, whose  members toured the territory bringing a sense of hope, along with fun, to their gatherings.

On the afternoon of The Apology, after all assembled had listened to the words of the prime minister, the national chief, survivors and leaders... Joe understood both the need for understanding and compassion, but also the importance of finding a way forward together. 

He had a big heart, with a true gift for reaching beyond the temptation for bitterness and anger, so he could reach out to others with an open mind and an open hand. Last night, his big heart finally gave out, and he leaves big shoes to fill.

I will miss him.