"Learning is a treasure that will follow its owner everywhere."

-- Chinese Proverb

"Fear defeats more people than any other one thing in the world."

-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

-- Goethe

Now imagine that you're only seven years old.

Charlie Crow was born on October 26, 1943, in Richmond Gulf -- a settlement of only three buildings on the eastern shore of Hudson Bay in northern Quebec. In 1943, Charlie's father, Sam Crow, was hired to manage the Hudson's Bay Trading Post, which serviced the Inuit population living along the coast, as well as the Cree who lived in the interior of that part of northern Quebec. Richmond Gulf, an odd name for such a remote community, was so named by American whalers who used to work in Hudson Bay more than 200 years ago.

In the 1940s and '50s, Richmond Gulf was isolated. There were no roads, electricity or indoor plumbing. Growing up, Charlie lived with his parents and four siblings in a 20-by-16-foot house that served as both their home and the trading post. It was heated by a wood stove and lit at night with lanterns.

The only other two buildings in Richmond Gulf were a Roman Catholic mission (which, with its own generator, did have electricity), inhabited by two priests, and another 20-by-16 foot building owned by a white trader. As was the case in most northern communities at the time, there was no school.

Today, Richmond Gulf is deserted. The Catholic priests abandoned their mission in 1952 and headed further north in search of "more fertile ground" (all of the Inuit and Cree people surrounding Richmond Gulf were Anglican). The white trader left in 1954. And the Hudson's Bay Trading Post closed its doors in 1957, three years after Charlie's family moved to Belcher Islands.

As a result of a hereditary condition on his mother's side of the family, Charlie was born with poor vision. As he grew he began to experience more and more difficulties with his eyes -- bright sunshine caused severe headaches, forcing him to spend a great deal of his time indoors, away from direct light. With no medical staff in the village, any treatment Charlie received came from his parents and the local priests. Whenever he was in pain from his eyes they would administer homemade ointments and other traditional remedies.

By the age of seven the pain and headaches were so severe that it was clear that Charlie needed medical treatment. This was no simple task. There were no permanent medical facilities within 1,000 km of Richmond Gulf. Western medicine was available in only a few settlements, with the rest of the territory receiving service from roving medical teams that flew into communities and spent a week or two treating local residents before flying on to another village.

In July, 1951, one such team arrived for a one-week inoculation clinic at Great Whale River, a community about 150 km southwest of Richmond Gulf. After discussions with their priest neighbour, Charlie's parents decided to take Charlie down for treatment. Given the terrain and lack of roads, an overland journey was impossible. They would have to travel by boat -- specifically, the family's 22-foot canoe equipped with a five-horsepower outboard motor. After piling in the entire family, camping equipment, food and supplies, the Crows motored their somewhat overstuffed craft along the eastern coast of Hudson Bay. The journey lasted several days.

Upon examining Charlie, the medical team in Great Whale River decided that if his vision was to be saved he would have to be treated immediately with a more extensive array of equipment than they carried. On August 3, 1951, Charlie was airlifted to the closest available permanent hospital -- in Moose Factory, a small town almost 1,000 km away. At the age of seven, and unable to speak English, Charlie was taken to this unknown land -- without his parents -- for medical treatment.

Northern Ontario's Moose Factory is an island community on the Moose River about 16 km southwest of James Bay. Moose Factory -- or, more precisely, the hospital in Moose Factory -- became Charlie's adopted home for the next year. As it turned out, arriving in Moose Factory was only the beginning of Charlie's first great adventure -- although he did not consider it much of an adventure at the time!

For the next month, hospital doctors tried a variety of treatments for Charlie's eyes. Like the medical team before them, the doctors were unable to cure Charlie's vision or eliminate his pain. If his vision was to be restored, he would need a more sophisticated facility. They decided to send him to Toronto for treatment at the Hospital for Sick Children. "Sick Kids" had dedicated ophthalmologists who would be able to provide better treatment for Charlie.

While the medical staff made this decision, Charlie was literally and figuratively in the dark. No one in Moose Factory could speak Inuktitut, and Charlie spoke absolutely no English. All he knew was that he was being moved from the hospital and it was not to return home.

Even if the medical staff had been able to communicate their decision, it is doubtful that Charlie, whose world up until that point consisted of vast tundra, wildlife and the odd bush plane, would have been able to understand. The little boy from the north was about to experience the sights and sounds of the great city of Toronto.

Accompanying Charlie on the trip would be two escorts -- neither of whom spoke Inuktitut.

On September 13, 1951, Charlie left Moose Factory for Toronto. Fifteen minutes in a canoe from Moose Factory landed Charlie in Moosenee, where he was to catch a train. A train? Charlie, although familiar with bush planes, had never before seen a train. As he approached this low-rise "building" with the wall of windows and row upon row of seats, he had no idea what was about to happen. After Charlie had sat for almost half an hour in a seat, looking out the window, the building gave a mighty lurch -- like it was moving! What was happening? Everyone else seemed calm, so Charlie gradually relaxed. Then another shock -- the buildings outside the window appeared to be moving! Charlie was scared and left with the imaginings of a seven year old.

They slept on the train and continued travelling all the next day, arriving in Toronto during the night of September 14. At this point Charlie witnessed yet another phenomenon of modern technology. Exiting Union Station, the little Inuk boy of seven crossed the sidewalk to approach what looked to him to be a large moose with bright eyes! After getting into the taxi, they drove to the hospital.

The entire journey was a wonder, remembers Charlie. It was frightening and confusing. During his entire eight-week stay in Toronto he was never able to communicate effectively with those around him. While today Charlie recounts this story with wry humour, he acknowledges that the entire series of events was terrifying at the time. Being unable to ask questions of those around him only added to his confusion and his fear.

Charlie received medical treatment for his eyes, but his vision loss was not cured. His vision improved but remained blurry, and bright lights continued to hurt his eyes.

Although Charlie couldn't speak to other kids, every morning he was taken to a playroom where he spent time with his fellow patients. The language barrier was less of an issue when playing. And the room filled with strange and exciting toys was a bonus! Charlie finally began to learn his first words of English. In the playroom he and the other children were taught the words to "Patty Cake, Patty Cake" and "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?"

Not all of Charlie's memories of that first trip are positive. During his third week in Toronto, just before lunchtime, Charlie had to go to the bathroom. Not knowing where the bathroom was and unable to ask for help, Charlie had an "accident" in the playroom. The response was immediate, and drastic. He was taken from the room by a nurse, cleaned up and sent back to his room. Charlie was not allowed back into the playroom for the remainder of his stay -- almost two months.

Just last year, Charlie bought a recording of the song "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?" -- "on the [anniversary] date of my arrival at Sick Kids, ironically," he recalls. "The first time I played it, I cried. Foolish -- a 56-year-old man crying -- but when I played it that first time all the memories of my first trip to Toronto came flooding back."

Charlie turned eight while at Sick Kids. There was no celebration.

Charlie left Toronto at the end of November for Moose Factory, where he remained in hospital until the next summer when he returned to his family in Richmond Gulf. He had been away for 12 months, and his eyesight, although stabilized, hadn't improved. In fact, the pain remained so great that Charlie took to spending more and more time indoors, often spending a week or more at a time in bed.

An opportunity for independence

Over the next two years Charlie's condition changed very little, his sight neither improving nor worsening. "On June 24, 1954, I was once again sent to Moose Factory for treatment," he remembers. He remained there until February 15, 1955, when he was once again sent to Toronto's Hospital for Sick Children. Doctors were able to reduce his pain but, once again, they could not restore his vision.

This time, however, Charlie's stay in Toronto was more positive. Not only did he know what to expect, but he actually began to understand English. By the time he left Toronto in April, 1955, Charlie was able to understand a great deal of English and had learned how to say a few words.

In 1954, while Charlie was in hospital at Moose Factory, his father had been transferred from the small Hudson's Bay Trading Post in Richmond Gulf to a larger one in Belcher Islands. Unbeknownst to Charlie, the family had moved. In all, Charlie spent another year away from his family, arriving at his new home in Belcher Islands in July, 1955.

When Charlie was released from hospital the nurses emphasized the importance of his continuing to use the medicine they had provided, every day, or he would be back for treatment for sure! Although the instructions were clear, Charlie never really understood why they were important, and he was not diligent with his treatment.

He remained healthy for a year. On September 15, 1956, Charlie returned to the Moose Factory hospital. But this time his eyesight wasn't the problem. During the summer of 1956 a medical team had descended on his community, and Charlie, along with 40 others, was diagnosed with tuberculosis. His treatment at Moose Factory was to last for 24 months.

By December, Charlie's eyes, never fully healed, once again began to cause problems. With the TB stabilized, he was sent for a third time to Toronto for treatment. His ophthalmologist at the time, Dr. Callahan, decided that if there was any possibility of retaining Charlie's vision, they would have to operate.

Charlie underwent surgery on December 12, 1956. He spent the next four months in bed with bandages covering his eyes.

When the bandages were removed, Charlie couldn't see. The surgery had failed -- Charlie was now completely blind.

The major benefit from this third trip to Toronto, according to Charlie, was that his English improved. By now he could understand English quite well and could speak it a little. Another benefit was that the pain he had experienced for so long was now gone.

They had done all they could at Toronto's Hospital for Sick Children. Charlie returned to Moose Factory to continue recovering from TB. Here he remained for almost a year, without facilities or education for a person who has recently become blind.

On March 4, 1958, Charlie was released from hospital with a clean bill of health. There remained, however, the issue of "what next?". He was 14 years old, had no formal education and could not see.

Charlie's parents understood the benefits of education. They believed that it was now even more critical for Charlie who, because of his blindness, was much more limited in vocational options than the average citizen of Belcher Islands. They decided he should attend school in the south. It was a difficult decision for his parents and for Charlie. It was not, however, an uncommon decision. In the 1950s, sending children, with or without disabilities, to schools in southern Canada was a decision many Inuit parents made in hopes that their children would have a better future.

Fortunately for Charlie, the method of education considered to be the best for young blind students was the same as that for young native Canadians: boarding school. Today we may not agree with the rationale of these segregated institutions -- but had they not existed in the 1950s, Charlie's only option would have been to return to Belcher Islands to be cared for by his family.

"My father felt I should go to school to learn to be more independent," says Charlie. "He said he wouldn't always be around to take care of me and that I had to learn how to take care of myself."

It was decided that he would go to the W. Ross Macdonald School for the Blind, in Brantford, Ontario, to learn skills to be independent. This turned out to be the most significant decision of Charlie's life. Had Charlie returned to his family and community, he would have done so with few skills to function independently as a blind person. He would have been forced to live off the charity of others. Going to Brantford changed the rest of Charlie's life, from one of handouts to one of leadership -- both in his community and for Inuit people across the north.

In March, 1958, Charlie was sent to a sanitorium in Hamilton to await the start of the new school year in September. While there, he received a visit from the Brantford school principal. The man tried to explain to Charlie what he could expect at the school. He emphasized that Charlie would learn a lot of new things, skills that would help him function with his disability and that he would be able to use when he returned home.

By this time Charlie had gained some competence in English. However, understanding what was said and understanding what was meant were two separate issues. Charlie kept saying to himself, over and over again, "How am I going to learn? I'm blind!" Charlie was also still unsure of what to expect -- he was almost 15 years old and had never gone to school! Charlie was afraid and, driven by this fear, remained silent instead of voicing his questions to the principal.

However, Charlie did confide in his hospital roommate, Gerry. At the time of the principal's visit, Gerry and Charlie had been roommates for almost six months. Gerry was older and had taken Charlie under his wing. Every day they would take walks together and talk. After the principal left, Charlie admitted his fear. Gerry pointed out that Charlie was faced with a great opportunity. At the school Charlie would learn much more than how to cope. Gerry explained that they would teach him to do something meaningful with his life. Although somewhat reassured, Charlie was still concerned -- unable to believe that he could actually learn.

Within days it was time to leave. Gerry was appointed to escort Charlie to Brantford, 35 km from Hamilton. Charlie found leaving Hamilton extremely difficult. Not only was he leaving the security of the known, he was leaving his friend -- someone who had taken the time to get to know him and had mentored him over the course of six months.

Upon arrival at the school, Charlie was taken to his dorm and introduced to the boys who were to be his roommates for the next eight months. Although they were friendly and tried to befriend "the new kid," Charlie remembers, "I just cried and cried."

The other boys didn't give up. They said he would soon learn how to read -- at which point Charlie blurted, "How can a blind person learn to read?" This was how Charlie learned about Braille. "One of the boys gave me a book with strange bumps on it and told me I'd learn how to read them," recalls Charlie. The next morning, Charlie went to breakfast with the rest of the boys. By the time they returned to the dorm, the crying was done and Charlie had a new group of friends.

And then the learning began.

Given his age and limited experience with English, Charlie was put in a special class with nine other students where they were taught both English and Braille at the same time. His first teacher was Mrs. Backsteader. Charlie was also given an English tutor, Ms. Smith. She was 70 and spent two hours a day with Charlie.

"Ms. Smith was like a mother to me," remembers Charlie. "After she taught me a little English, she gave me a book and said she would teach me how to read it."

Charlie studied other subjects, including math. As he became more comfortable in the environment, he began to enjoy his classes. "I learned a lot," says Charlie, "and the boys were always willing to help." Charlie learned how to swim, skate and even play hockey. The physical education teacher, Mr. Burns, taught the boys to use a tin can as a hockey puck so that they could hear where it was. Through it all, Charlie's father encouraged him to study hard.

Charlie attended school from September to May, returning home each summer. Because of the distance and the cost, he was unable to go home for holidays. At Christmas, students whose families lived too far away to travel home were sent to stay with local families -- those of classmates, or other families who volunteered.

While Canada's north is vast geographically, as a community it is small. In 1958, Charlie spent his first Christmas holidays with Elijah Menark and his family in Ottawa. Elijah, who worked for Indian Affairs, often volunteered to host Inuit children for the holidays. But Christmas, 1958, was not the first time he had met Charlie. Elijah had spent many years in the north as an interpreter. In 1951, Elijah had worked as an interpreter for a travelling medical team. One of the patients was a seven-year-old child with vision problems -- Charlie Crow.

Charlie and Elijah would spend the next 25 years popping in and out of each other's lives.

For the following three years, Charlie celebrated Christmas with the family of one of his classmates, the Froome family. "They were a wonderful family," says Charlie. "I learned how to celebrate Christmas properly -- to enjoy family and to spend time together."

In 1962, the school principal asked Charlie if he would like to spend Christmas with a new volunteer family, in Windsor, Ontario. Fred Falt had written the school expressing an interest in hosting a student. Charlie agreed to visit this new family. It was a testament to how far Charlie had progressed in his comfort with both the English language and new experiences. "It was an opportunity to learn more about the culture of the south," recalls Charlie.

Charlie attended school in Brantford for five years, during which time he progressed from literally zero literacy and numeric skills to grade-eight level. Although he spent time with his family back home during the summer months, he always enjoyed going back to school. By 1963, Charlie was almost 20 years old and felt it was time to leave school. He had had enough. He returned home for good. It wasn't easy.

When abilities are needed, disability is irrelevant

Belcher Islands is a group of more than 1,500 islands -- some very small -- spread over an area of almost 3,000 square kilometres. They form the largest group of islands in Hudson Bay. The main group of the archipelago forms an S-shaped pattern whose long, narrow peninsulas are separated by clearly defined channels. Although more than 1,100 km south of the Arctic Circle, the islands are distinctly arctic. No trees grow here and, except in valleys, only a thin layer of soil covers the ground. In the early 1960s there were only about 200 people living across the islands, mostly in two settlements: North Camp and South Camp, approximately 100 km apart.

There was nothing for Charlie to do, which is exactly what he did for six months.

Then, in January, 1964, Charlie's life once again took a change for the better. It was his blindness that led to Charlie's first job. He was hired by an X-ray nurse and trained as an X-ray technician. The nurse taught him how to work in the darkroom (not much of a challenge for a man who had been working in the dark for more than a decade), developing and changing X-ray film. It was common in the north for this job to be given to people who were blind. However, Charlie had additional skills, more critical at the time. Thanks to his education in southern Ontario, he spoke English fluently. The X-ray nurse began to use Charlie as an interpreter.

Interpretation quickly became the focus of Charlie's career. He was one of the very few locals who could speak both Inuktitut and English fluently. Once word of his skills spread, his translation and interpretation services were in high demand across the vast archipelago. Whenever medical teams came to Belcher Islands, they hired Charlie to be their interpreter. They took him with them when they travelled from North to South Camp, often covering the 100 km by dog sled.

"Everyone wanted me to interpret," says Charlie. "The Anglican minister even used me to interpret sermons!"

Charlie worked as an interpreter from 1964 until 1968. This work demonstrated to Charlie that he was indeed a valuable member of the community, not a charity case, and helped his self-esteem. It also demonstrated to everyone else his value to the community -- people saw his skills and abilities, not his disability. His work allowed Charlie the opportunity to travel across the islands to meet everyone. And, finally, the experience of regularly speaking in front of others, often strangers, allowed Charlie to conquer his fears of public speaking. Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, all of these experiences would lead in a short time to Charlie's next career -- as a politician!

In 1968 Charlie was offered a unique opportunity in South Camp. The teacher at the one-room schoolhouse, Mr. Kemp, wanted to teach the adults of Belcher Islands about democracy and how to organize themselves politically so that they could represent themselves and secure better services for their community, including housing. He asked Charlie to be the interpreter for each three-hour evening class. Charlie agreed.

Mr. Kemp taught, and Charlie interpreted. As he interpreted, Charlie learned. And, over the course of the next four months, the people of Belcher Islands learned about the Canadian political system. In the spring of 1968 islanders came together and elected their first annual community council: seven members, three from South Camp and four from North Camp.

Mr. Kemp also wrote to Ottawa and requested a representative to come to the islands to teach the people how to manage a business. As a result of this training, the Mitiq Cooperative was founded on May 7, 1968, to manage the production and sale of Inuit carvings. It continues to operate today. The cooperative secured a loan from the federal government for $10,000 to buy carvings from local artists -- the loan was repaid in just two years.

The community was getting organized. In June of 1969, a government agent moved to Belcher Islands to help the council and the cooperative. With the annual election for council fast approaching, the agent suggested Charlie run for council.

The annual general meeting was held in the basement of the local Anglican church. Charlie stood up and announced that he was running for council. Charlie, with the public profile gained from his work, was well known to everyone, and he was elected.

As a member of council, Charlie was now plugged into developments in the community. And there were many. In July there was a visit from the minister of the federal Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development (DIAND) -- none other than Jean Chrétien. The purpose of inviting the minister was to profile local conditions. Charlie and the chair of the council met with departmental officials and the commissioner of the Northwest Territories to seek support for more housing and public infrastructure. Charlie's fluency in English and comfort with making presentations to strangers allowed them to make a strong case.

That same year, the government directed the citizenry of Belcher Islands to choose one site for its community development. A referendum was held to determine whether North Camp or South Camp would become the central community. With an existing population of 160 versus only 90 in South Camp, the results were practically predetermined -- North Camp became the community to be developed. Today North Camp is called Sanikiluaq, after a famous Inuit hunter and fisherman who lived on the islands at the turn of the 20th century -- and has a population of 750.

Contractors arrived the following year to build roads and other infrastructure for the town. In August, a boat arrived carrying 15 three-bedroom houses, five smaller one-bedroom houses and a small 16-by-20-foot schoolhouse. By 1970, all 250 citizens of Belcher Islands were living in houses.

In 1971, a permanent nursing station consisting of three trailers, one for living and two for work, was established in Sanikiluaq. Three more trailers were brought in to expand the school -- allowing children, for the very first time, to go to school every day!

Charlie would serve on the community council for eight years. He was chair for two years, and occupied various other positions other years, including chairing committees such as the housing association, education council and recreation committee. "They were peaceful years," Charlie says of his term as council chair, "because the people were enjoying their new community."

In addition to his local duties, Charlie was active representing community concerns in Yellowknife, which in 1970 became responsible for local government, and in Ottawa, to the range of federal departments and agencies whose policies impacted on his community.

In 1975, Charlie and four other members of council travelled to Ottawa to lobby for improved mail service. They were hoping for weekly mail delivery -- instead of once a month! En route to Ottawa Charlie stopped in at the Toronto offices of the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB) to have the delegation's pitch material, including pamphlets, translated into Braille. In Ottawa, Charlie met with the minister responsible for Canada Post, Bryce MacKasey, for an hour.

Postal service to Charlie's community was increased to weekly. Six months later, it was expanded to daily service.

The little boy who had boarded a train for Toronto without even knowing what it was 24 years earlier was now making critical community decisions and meeting with officials from all levels. The little boy had indeed come a long way.

Moving up in office

During Charlie's term with the community council, it had always fallen to one of Charlie's parents to help him get to and from meetings. But they were getting older and it was becoming more difficult. In 1972, Taylor Lawrence, the local Anglican minister, pointed out: "Charlie, you have so many responsibilities. Why don't you get a seeing-eye dog?" Charlie agreed. The minister wrote a letter to the CNIB describing Charlie's circumstances and emphasizing how the dog would increase Charlie's independence.

At the time, the only source of guide dogs in North America was in Morristown, New Jersey. The CNIB wrote to seek its support. In the spring of 1973, Charlie went to Morristown for assessment and training. His was not a typical course. In addition to the standard course curriculum, there was the issue of location. Could a guide dog be effective in the north -- with severe cold, endless days of darkness, winter snow and ice for two-thirds of the year? Courses usually lasted four weeks. Charlie's lasted six, at the end of which it was determined that a dog would be effective in Charlie's case.

Charlie returned to Sanikiluaq with a film to show to his community explaining the purpose of a guide dog and listing instructions about what to do and not do. Given the abundance of working dogs in town -- mostly huskies -- community members were aware of the need for rules. One rule, which they all accepted -- rather graciously, Charlie thought -- was that sled dogs should be tied up while they were in town, off duty. It was important to ensure that they not attack the guide dog that would be on duty whenever Charlie left his house.

Charlie waited five months for a dog. On September 17, 1973, a female German shepherd named Keira arrived. She was 18 months old when Charlie welcomed her home to Sanikiluaq. She worked with Charlie for the next eight years, retiring in 1981.

His job as a local politician in a community of 200 left Charlie with lots of time on his hands. So he pursued other interests. He continued interpreting. Another opportunity opened up when, in 1973, the Mitiq Cooperative decided to establish a radio station to service the community.

Community radio in the north is not simply entertainment -- it is far more critical to community life than that, and people rely on it heavily. It is a major vehicle for communicating regional issues to the general public. Phone-in shows are common. At noon, when people return home for lunch, they listen to community radio. The station manager, by facilitating this communication, becomes an important member of the community.

A CBC technician came to Sanikiluaq in November to install the equipment and train the new local station operator/manager. That person was Charlie Crow. For the next four years -- every morning, afternoon and evening -- Charlie was "the voice" of Belcher Islands, announcing community events, weather and news.

One of Charlie's daily broadcasts was a replay of news tapes sent to him by his old friend Elijah Menark. Elijah was now managing a program in Montreal that broadcast news to northern Canada via shortwave radio. He sent reel-to-reel tapes to Charlie, who would then rebroadcast them on the handier local band for Belcher Islands.

In 1975, the government of the Northwest Territories called an election. The territorial government advised the Sanikiluaq council that the Belcher Islands and surrounding region of Hudson Bay needed a stronger voice at the table. At the time, the political member for their district (Keewatin) lived in Rankin Inlet and only rarely visited the less-than-accessible Belcher Islands. Council asked Charlie to run. Reluctantly, he agreed.

The campaign was difficult from the very beginning. First, Charlie was required to personally file his nomination papers in Rankin Inlet. It was just over 1,000 km northwest as the crow flies -- but not Charlie Crow. The only way for him to travel to Rankin Inlet from Belcher Islands was to fly to Montreal, then to Winnipeg, and finally north to Rankin Inlet. The journey, almost 5,000 km as we humans fly, was long and arduous and took two days -- provided there were no complications. (Flying anywhere in the north without problems is rare.) Arriving in Rankin Inlet just before the deadline, Charlie filed his papers and immediately began campaigning -- two days in Rankin Inlet, then on to Baker Lake. In each community, local citizens supported him, helping him meet with residents and organizing events. Charlie lost the election by 57 votes.

It wasn't a complete loss. While in Baker Lake he got to know one of the local organizers, a young woman named Bessie. On August 17, 1976, Charlie and Bessie were married.

After failing to win the riding, Charlie returned to Sanikiluaq and continued with his other work. However, by 1977 Charlie was beginning to get a little bored. He had been doing his work for a long time, and the challenge was gone. He also wanted to spend more time with his new wife. He decided to take a break.

Charlie quit his job with the radio in the summer of 1977 and chose not to run for re-election to the community council. Instead, accompanied by his wife, he travelled the islands, camping and fishing in remote areas, relaxing and generally enjoying life. They returned to Sanikiluaq later that summer and together started their own small business: soapstone carving. Bessie had been a carver in Baker Lake. With her carving and Charlie's filing and polishing, they began producing art for sale through the Mitiq Cooperative.

"Bessie sold her first carving for seven dollars in 1977," says Charlie. Today, she sells her carvings for as much as $2,500.

For four years Charlie and Bessie worked during the winter months and camped during the summer. The money they made from selling the carvings allowed them to enjoy a very good lifestyle. During this time the couple tried, unsuccessfully, to move to Bessie's home town of Baker Lake -- but no housing was available.

In 1981, Charlie was asked to run for community council once again. He agreed and was elected Deputy Mayor once more. He also renewed his work with the radio. He lasted a year. His heart simply wasn't in it -- there was no passion. According to Charlie, "The meetings and the radio simply weren't interesting anymore."

He and his wife resumed their soapstone carving and camping for another five years. Charlie was twice asked to run for political office, once locally and once for the territorial legislature. Both times, after much soul searching, Charlie refused. With the revenue generated from their carvings, the Crows were able to enjoy a comfortable lifestyle -- and spend time together with their adopted children.

Then Charlie was approached yet again, in 1987, to run for the territorial legislature, and this time he agreed. Why? There were several reasons. He was ready for a change in life. Revenues from the sales of their carvings had begun to decrease. And having already worked in every local political position available, Charlie had decided that the next level of government would provide a renewed challenge.

On October 5, Charlie was elected to the Legislative Assembly, defeating seven other candidates. His riding stretched from Repulse Bay in the north to the Manitoba border 1,000 km to the south, and included the entire Hudson Bay area.

Wanting to ensure that he would represent his constituents effectively, Charlie turned to the CNIB again for assistance. He met with a technical aid specialist in Edmonton to obtain the equipment he would need to read the mass of written legislative material that crossed his desk. Armed with the latest technology, he went on to Yellowknife. While the House was in session, Bessie and their three children would often stay with Charlie in Yellowknife, all five living in a hotel room downtown.

Pursuing personal time and interests

Lydia Bardak first met Charlie in 1989 when she assumed the newly created position of Executive Director for the CNIB for the north. Based in Yellowknife, she worked with Charlie on a number of issues. She remembers him as one of only two people in the entire north who had a good command of English, Inuktitut and Braille.

"Charlie," Lydia says, "is reflective. He's wise. He's a very thoughtful man, always considering his answer carefully whenever he is asked a question." She often turned to Charlie when she wanted an opinion on disability issues.

In 1991 Lydia left the CNIB to take over the executive directorship of the NWT Council of the Disabled -- a disability rights organization. Lydia worked with Charlie on several committees. "In some ways he's bicultural. He has a lot of understanding of non-Inuit culture. He is a cultural 'translator' -- he can teach you and help you understand, whether you're disabled or not, Inuit or not. He can teach us a lot about each other."

When Saskatchewan's Robert Latimer was charged with the murder of his daughter, Lydia expected to be called by the media for an official position on the issue. To prepare her position, Lydia consulted Charlie for his opinion.

His response was insightful. "It is never okay for parents to kill their children -- for any reason," she recalls Charlie saying.

Charlie's three children are all adopted: two girls, aged 14 and 11, and a boy, 9. Adoption in the north is different from in the south. Adoption is customarily open: the adoptive parents and the children know the birth parents, and are usually in contact throughout the child's life. People are not as judgmental about the birth parents as they can sometimes be in the south. Adoption usually takes place within an extended family or among acquaintances. Charlie and Bessie's first daughter was adopted from Bessie's sister in Baker Lake.

Charlie chose to name his oldest daughter Delilah, from the story of Samson and Delilah in the Book of Judges in the Bible's Old Testament. It may seem an odd choice for their daughter. But Charlie explains that there were several reasons why they selected this name "First, my mother's name was Tammaq, which is Inuktitut for 'mistake.' Delilah was the woman who caused Samson to make mistakes." Symbolism permeates the Inuit way of life; Delilah, for Charlie, represented "mistake," so he was in effect naming Delilah after his mother. "Also, Delilah was born in Churchill, Manitoba," he continues. "Her mother was from Baker Lake, but instead of going home with her, she came with my wife and me to Belcher Islands" -- another "mistake" of sorts.

His second daughter's name has a different story. "One year, while I was in Ottawa for Christmas, I heard that the mayor was a woman named Charlotte Whiten. I was amazed that a woman could hold such a position of authority. I named my second daughter Charlotte, hoping one day she would become important!"

Charlie named his son James after the Book of James in the New Testament. "It's a short book, only five chapters," says Charlie. "It is important because it tells us how to live. Chapter three is most important because it tells you to control your tongue. It has been my experience that in politics people use their tongues inappropriately -- to hurt people, rather than help."

After Charlie's guide dog, Keira, retired in 1981, Charlie never replaced her. According to Charlie, by now he no longer needed a guide dog: "I have a wife now." A common sight on the streets of Yellowknife was that of Bessie with a child on her back, another child holding onto one hand, Charlie holding her other arm, and in Charlie's other hand, their third child!

Charlie decided not to seek re-election in 1991, and he returned to living full time in Sanikiluaq. The four years he had served, while interesting, were hard on his physical health. Simply travelling from Sanikiluaq to Yellowknife was exhausting, requiring flights via Montreal, Winnipeg and Edmonton. While the House was in session, Charlie lived in hotels. He was often away from his wife, only bringing her along from time to time when it would be a particularly long session.

Charlie had also been losing his hearing for the past five years, requiring him to wear two hearing aids full time. This sometimes made it difficult to keep track of the debates in the House.

But the deciding factor was the reconfiguration of electoral boundaries that took place before the 1991 election. Charlie's riding of Keewatin and several others, although geographically large, were sparsely populated. To address the issue of population distribution, two new ridings were created for Yellowknife, and then Charlie's riding was amalgamated with two other large geographic ridings. The winner of the next election would be required to travel even greater distances to meet with constituents.

Charlie opted for a quieter life at home with his wife and children. Charlie and Bessie continue to carve occasionally, but for much of the past decade Charlie has dedicated himself to raising his family -- and to his studies. Charlie, always curious, has begun to devote more of his time to learning.

Throughout the 1990s Charlie also continued to contribute to the well-being of his "neighbours" -- people with disabilities across the NWT and Nunavut. Lydia Bardak would invite Charlie to speak at disability conferences in Yellowknife. It was at one such meeting that Charlie first shared his desire to create a Braille code for Inuktitut so that blind Inuit children could learn how to read without necessarily leaving their community or learning English. To date, this remains a dream... but if anyone can make it happen, it's Charlie Crow!

The journey continues

Charlie is gifted with a phenomenal memory. He is able to recall exact dates of events throughout his life -- some from more than 50 years ago -- as if those events occurred just yesterday. He remembers the names of people he met with more than 30 years ago -- not just names of federal cabinet ministers but the names of junior officials, medical staff, teachers and acquaintances from all aspects of his life. The Inuit culture traditionally relies on an oral history. If Charlie's memory is any indication, the history is likely exceptionally accurate.

One of the most interesting observations one can make about Charlie's story is the minimal negative impact his disability has had on his career and the acceptance of his community. Even today, many people with disabilities across Canada remain marginalized. They live in the community but have little opportunity to contribute. Yet here is a man who achieved success after acquiring a significant disability, who has played a leadership role in his community for more than 25 years. It seems that his skills -- communication, thinking, language interpretation -- were so valued by his community that his disability was simply not important. Is there a lesson here for other communities?

Charlie's wife continues with her soapstone carving on occasion. She is also active with the church. As a member of the lay clergy, she helps conduct the service every Sunday. Religion and community involvement are important values within the Crow family.

Today Charlie is proud of how a land-claims dispute resulted in the creation of Nunavut. He remains concerned, however, about the rise of teen suicide in the north. He believes the best way to address the issue is by ensuring youth access to quality education. He is happy that his own kids have that opportunity. Each of the three has a 98 or 99 per cent attendance record.

Looking back, Charlie acknowledges that his early trips down south, although initially frightening, proved extremely profitable. The five years at school learning English and how to read launched his career. And learning Braille was important -- for more than one reason. "It allowed me a proper Christian education," says Charlie.

He has put much time into studying the Bible. (Not long ago, Charlie received an audio recording of the Bible in his native language, Inuktitut. A woman who heard him speak on community radio took it upon herself to make the tapes -- 24 of them in all. A huge undertaking!)

Charlie has studied a range of other topics, most recently taking up astronomy. He is interested in the moon and the planets and the effects of their gravity on earth. Many people believe that the cycle of the moon has a direct impact on emotional and psychological states. "When I was younger," recalls Charlie, "the elders use to say that the moon not only affects the tides and the weather, it affects human behaviour. I've decided to learn more about that." To that end Charlie has ordered a plethora of books from the CNIB's tape library in Toronto and plans to spend the winter feeding his hunger to know more.

From a young boy with no knowledge of the outside world, Charlie emerged as a leader and a valuable resource to his community, thanks to his visits to the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto and his education at the W. Ross Macdonald School for the Blind in Brantford.

From a young boy who was so often frightened by the unknown that he would rarely ask questions, Charlie emerged as a political force, effectively lobbying Yellowknife and Ottawa for services for his people.

At the age of seven Charlie experienced his first airplane ride, his first train ride, his first automobile ride and his first trip away from his family -- to western civilization where he neither spoke nor understood the language. It was the start of an extraordinary journey for Charlie -- one that has lasted a lifetime and has taken a young Inuk boy from light to darkness and into a greater light -- a light of understanding and awareness.

Charlie never let fear defeat him. The journey continues.