Gail Cyr moved to Yellowknife in May 1974. She is originally from Nelson House, Man., where she was one of seven siblings all fostered out. After arriving in the North, Cyr took a job as a coordinator with the Indian Brotherhood of the NWT – now the Dene Nation – before becoming the first executive director of the NWT Native Court Workers’ Association. In 1984, she was elected to Yellowknife City Council, where she served for 10 years. She was named a member of the Order of Canada late last year. The following is the first of what we expect will be many stories put to print about her life in the North. This column contains subject matter that some readers may find disturbing.
I arrived mid-afternoon in Yellowknife at a much smaller airport then in 1974, met by Nadine and Richard for a tour of the town, including a Gold Range Giant Egg Roll feast and the Gold Range Bar, where Nadine worked as a barmaid.
The next morning, I awoke to sleeping friends and saw the Old Town hill and wondered why we did not travel there? I talked to Nadine who said only “dogs and Indians” lived there. I immediately walked down and the first person on the road was Herbie Beaulieu – dark and somewhat scary, with the darkest eyes. He immediately wanted to know who I was. Herbie and I still talk with a friendship relationship.
I always knew Nadine had that edge about her respecting Indigenous persons. As a foster kid raised in white homes, I managed to pass her approval being roommates at the University of Winnipeg. I left school after a rape at gunpoint, traumatized as a natural reaction to such. I had spent a full day with this man, talking, laughing at jokes and stories. I lost my faith in my ability to read people. At that time, I had internalized trauma to an extent that I needed help.
And it was Nadine who encouraged me to come to Yellowknife to live and find work as it was near impossible in Winnipeg to find work with closed doors from landlords and clearly aggravated potential employers telling me they were not interested in having me in their workplace.
Hotpants and high heels
I started work at the Gold Range behind the bar pouring drinks as I had at the Spaghetti Factory in Winnipeg, with the one exception that hotpants and high heels were required as hostess wear.
Harry Pysmanny, who recently passed away, hired me. He knew how to run a bar with a smart way to bring back clientele, keep the liquor inspectors happy and make money – tons of it every evening. He would never hire male bouncers because they caused more fights, or more vicious flights than required. And he did not have to. The clientele always defended their barmaid by surrounding her like a herd of muskoxen with a single fighter air-sparring with the person who wanted a fight.
I made it to the floor from bartending. I loved it. We walked miles every night carrying a tray of 16 of the largest draft glasses in Canada, perhaps 14 ounces – not like the wimpy glasses from down south – and ashtrays, change and a walled folder for bills.
Remember the heels? I had a pair of wood heels that spiked my height into the next decade. If I wore these today, I would simply break my leg if my ankle buckled. I wore these for the hundreds of miles I walked. One day, getting dressed to work the bar, I slipped on my shoes, stood up and the right shoe basically exploded into splinters! Wood exhaustion!
The bar was always completely full with a small slow-down at supper only, then wound up until closing. Outside, rain or shine, cold and blizzardy, the line-up was constant.
Indigenous people did not understand tipping the barmaid, so I made less in tips than any other server. One evening a young non-Indigenous person comes up to me and tells me that I treat his Indigenous friends really well and he understood they did not tip. He wanted to thank me for the respect I gave to his friends. He puts out a large pickle jar full of change and said, “This is for you.” I said all was OK and I felt I could not accept it, but he insisted. I could barely pick it up!
Sam and Harry
I left this job early. This was part-time work and I found a full day job at the Indian Brotherhood of the NWT. Yet Sam (the old Gold Range owner Sam Yurkiw) would call nearly daily to ask if I could fill a shift that night as someone could not come into work. Even though I was in my early 20s, I found it hard after several consecutive nights coming in after a full day job, working until 2:30 a.m., trying to shake off the “hustle” of the evening, I had to tell Harry, I could not carry on any longer.
Harry, who, like Sam, would also call me in to work, would pick me up so I could change from office clothes to barmaid clothes. He told me how much he appreciated my time at the Range.
Sadly today, the Gold Range is a shadow of its earlier self. It may fill up for the band and dancing but often it is near empty. Before, if you did not have someone save you a seat, you could not get in.
I rarely go as well unless a band is playing and the drinks are half-price… Oh! That does not happen!
If the Gold Range Hotel and Bar goes down, there will be a HUGE crowd to mourn its passing. Much bigger than the crowd when the Gallery went down.