COVID-19 claims life of Haida elder and storyteller, but his teachings live on
Alaska-born Woody Morrison spent years travelling North America before settling in Vancouver
Woodrow Morrison Jr. spent the bulk of his life making friends, cracking jokes and telling stories — even when he was a patient inside the COVID-19 unit of Vancouver General Hospital.
"At one point, one of the nurses was rushing around, just a little overwhelmed, and he stopped her and he said, 'Don't take it all so seriously. Relax,'" Morrison's daughter Erika Swanson recalled.
"Here he is in the ICU, really sick, and he's trying to comfort her. That's the kind of person he is."
If you ask friends and family, it's that kindness and sensibility that drew people to Morrison, an Indigenous Haida elder who was long referred to by both loved ones and acquaintances as Uncle Woody.
The 79-year-old spent much of his life travelling before settling in Vancouver for nearly three decades.
He was a beloved dancer, teacher, storyteller and support worker.
Morrison is one of nearly 1,400 British Columbians who have died of COVID-19.
While he had lived a long and fruitful life, his family says he wasn't ready for the curtain call.
"He was not his age. He didn't look like it. He was in great shape," said Swanson. "He had 2021 all planned out."
Morrison was diagnosed with the virus on Jan. 1 and fought it for 28 days.
WATCH | Why dancing helped heal Haida elder Woodrow Morrison:
Early life
He was raised in Hydaburg, Alaska. His Haida name was Kaawan Sangaa, meaning "he brings a special day."
At three years old, he started his training as a storyteller and history keeper.
"They taught me the story of all humans and how to maximize the use of memory — it was not something that just anybody was trained for," he recently wrote in a profile for the Vancouver Aboriginal Child and Family Services Society (VACFSS).
"My father, his sisters and brother were the last of my advisers, my guides, the last fluent K'iis Xaataay (Old Ones) northern Haida speakers."
Embracing his history as a child, he wanted to walk a path similar to his father and become a fisherman.
But those plans changed when he became a teenager.
From residential school student to elder support worker
At 13, Morrison was sent to Indian School — a U.S. boarding school similar to Canada's residential school system.
"He was beaten for speaking his language, beaten for singing his songs," said Mike Dangeli, Morrison's nephew. Dangeli says Morrison also wasn't allowed to eat traditional foods.
"He would talk about how part of that destructive power of assimilating our people and destroying our culture was food based."
Morrison joined the U.S. Navy at 21, serving for four years and specializing in electronics tech and radar. He would later pursue university and graduated with a law degree in 1982.
He spent the last 29 years of his life in Vancouver, working in the film industry and then becoming a family support elder for the Vancouver Aboriginal Child and Family Services Society (VACFSS).
Dangeli says reuniting and strengthening families was his way of giving back and repairing the damage done by systems of colonization like residential schools.
During sessions with families, he would pass on his cultural knowledge, including the Haida language.
"What he did was beyond the call of duty, beyond his job, but he didn't see it as a job — he saw it as his role in the community," said Dangeli. "He took the role of Uncle Woody to that level and understanding that 'this is what an uncle does.' We're all better for have known him."
And even in his later years, he was an avid dancer with Git Hayetsk, a Vancouver-based Indigenous dancing group.
In a video recorded in his 70s on dancing, he said, "It doesn't matter if I'm feeling bad, if I'm tired, if I'm feeling sick. When I leave, I feel uplifted. I feel like I've got some kind of new energy."
Legacy
Morrison leaves behind a wife, two children, a large extended family and countless others he touched. His stories and teachings live on through the people he shared them with.
His nephew Dangeli is carving a totem pole in his name that will be raised at the VACFSS.
"Uncle was really good at getting art from me," said Dangeli, laughing. "It will become a way of closure ... we're going to hold the good memories and let go of a lot of that hurt."
Morrison also leaves behind tales that he's written, from short stories to screenplays, that his family aims to get published.
"He had a whole new chapter he wanted to embark on, and we're going to definitely," said his daughter Erika Swanson. "We're going make sure that we fulfil those things he wanted to bring to fruition. He was just the best."