CHAPTER VI
Past-war Years
A new life had begun for Tom Prince, but the move to civilian was not to prove easy. It was 1953, and Canadian society held many more prejudices than it does today. And Tom Prince suffered from the prejudices of some citizens who he had served so courageously as a soldier.
Tom's first job was as a sweeper and cleaner, on the night shift, at a large ice cream manufacturing plant in Winnipeg. He proved to be a very good steady worker, but some men refused to work with him because he was Indian. At that time many people believed Indians to be dirty, disease ridden and untrustworthy. The manager of the plant tried hard to get men who would work with an Indian and often would encourage Tom to "stick it out." Finally, Tom could stand the humiliation no longer, and, despite the pleas of the manager, quit the job. It was a bitter lesson to learn, and it changed his personality. The equality that a uniform and an army rifle gave was non-existent in civilian life.
In many ways, Tom's problems were typical of a certain type of returned soldier. These men had been unskilled workers prior to joining the army. From being in a low socio-economic position, they suddenly became respected and honoured men, who wore a uniform that commanded attention. Men like Prince were promoted to the rank of non-commissioned officers and had authority over others. When they were demobilized from the army, all the power and respect which their uniforms generated suddenly disappeared. Many went back to doing rather menial and unsatisfying tasks. Tom was one such individual. His position was even worse, for his skills as a hunter, trapper, woodsman and brilliant army patrol leader were of no marketable value in the urban centre of Winnipeg. He had nothing to sell on the labour market but his physical strength and that, as a result of his knee injuries, deteriorated rapidly.
Shortly after being discharged from the army, Tommy met Verna Sinclair, a girl he admired greatly. They agreed to live together and in the next seven years, Verna gave birth to five children, Tom Albert, Beverly Rose, Beryl Ann, Karen Margaret and Stewart Mathew.
In June 1955, Tom Prince's exploits once more were recorded in the papers. He had been strolling the Alexander dock one Sunday evening watching the boats come in when an old man called to him that a man had fallen into the river. Rushing to the end of the dock, Prince lay on his stomach and, sprawling over the edge in a precarious manner, was just able to grasp the fingers of the drowning man. He tried to haul the man out of the water but the drowning man, as is often the case, fought his rescuer. Bringing his army training to bear on the situation, Prince put a strangle-hold on the man and dragged him up on the dock. As soon as other people arrived, Prince, in characteristic manner, simply walked away. A bystander, however, had recognized Prince and gave his name to the newspaper reporters.
After the birth of his last child on June 1, 1961, Tommy was faced with three serious problems. He continued to suffer from discrimination from fellow workers at some of the jobs he tried. As his drinking increased, he became a less reliable worker, and often simply quit his job. Sometimes he was fired for irregular attendance at work. At the same time his knees became worse and often he was in severe pain while walking or standing. The pain caused him to drink more and that was also part of the reason for irregular attendance at work. As he was now only capable of part time-work at casual labour, money problems became severe in his home. This led to many quarrels and, finally, he and Verna separated in 1964. The five children were placed by their father with the Children's Aid Society and were sent to separate foster homes; Tommy's world was disintegrating around him. A social worker's report exposed the complexity of the man:
In many respects this veteran continues to leave me puzzled. There is little doubt that he is intelligent and that he was a very brave and competent soldier but unfortunately he does not appear to possess the qualities required to adjust to civilian life. While it is easy to blame his adjustment difficulties on the fact that he is Indian and therefore is subject to a prejudiced society-and he constantly projects this blame in defense of his actions-this does not justify all of the difficulties he experiences. He is a very impulsive individual with poor self control despite his years of army discipline. He can at times display intense warmth and understanding for his family and particularly his common law wife but can also be markedly paranoid and brutal at other times.
With the perserverence he had shown as a soldier, Tommy attempted to keep in contact with his children, but the five children were in separate homes, some of which kept changing, and soon he saw them less and less.
His daughter, Beryl, who remained in one foster home for seven years, remembers that her father visited her at least once a month. His visits were exciting for they were always accompanied by gifts of fruit, candy and pocket money. After seven years she was moved to another home and lost all contact with her father.
For most of this time Prince was truly a forgotten man to the general public. He worked at odd jobs around the city but his work capability decreased with each year as his knees continued to deteriorate. He tried to keep up contact with the children whose location he knew, and faithfully visited his mother on the Brokenhead Indian Reserve. For some time his problems proved too great and he tried to drown his sadness by drinking. During these periods, his old army buddies avoided him for, when intoxicated, Tommy's long tales of war exploits were boring to them. To those who had not served in the war, however, the stories were fresh and interesting. Slowly, his "old friends" deserted him as his "new friends" wanted his company only when he was drinking. The excessive use of alcohol hastened his physical deterioration and people were shocked to discover how rapidly he was aging. Nevertheless, his war record still earned him a special place in the hearts of many citizens. One Winnipeg policeman said:
We often used to find Tommy drunk on the streets. Even when he could hardly walk he was no trouble-always a polite, well mannered gentleman. I remember when i first started on the Main Street patrol I arrested this drunk and sent in a call for the Paddy Wagon. To me, I just had another candidate for the old drunk tank on James Street. When the wagon came the driver was shocked and said, "Don't you know that's Tommy Prince, the war hero. He wouldn't harm a flea. We take him home, not to the drunk tank." And take him home we did. I remember how i helped him up the stairs to his suite and when i had opened the door, Tommy straightened up and saluted me. Every new guy on the beat soon learned that Tommy was to be treated differently because he was a great war hero.
One event brightened Tommy's life during this period. His daughter, Beryl, now seventeen, made contact with her father again. Achieving independence at age sixteen, Beryl had determined to find her long lost father. She took to wandering along Winnipeg's Main Street asking in hotels and restaurants if anyone knew Tom Prince. Often someone did, and she would be told, "He often drinks in the National." She would wait outside the front door of the hotel and ask people leaving if they had seen her father. Always he had left by some other door or hadn't been there that night. For months she carried on her search until one day a waitress in a restaurant told her she had heard Prince say he was living in the Salvation Army Hostel. Beryl rushed over to the hostel that evening and asked that Tom Prince come down to a visitor. Soon Tommy
came into the waiting room and looked inquiringly at the young girl. Beryl had to introduce herself and Tommy said, "My Baby," as he took her in his arms. It was the only time anyone had seen Tommy Prince cry. Although he kept in contact with his eldest son and daughter (all contact had been lost with the two youngest children) it was with Beryl that the closest ties were formed. Often she would meet him after work and they would eat supper together, then Tommy would go for a few beers with the fellows while Beryl, too young to enter the pub, would wait in the cafe until her father came out and then walk him home.
The Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, operating out of their new base in Winnipeg, appropriately named the Kapyong Barracks, never forgot Tommy Prince. He was in constant demand at Remembrance Day and other special ceremonies. In August 1975, a special salute and citation were given him by the 2nd Battalion on the Brokenhead Indian Reserve.
The salute, and a 45 minute army band concert in his honour, took place during the reserve's Indian Days celebrations. Every inch a soldier, Tommy saluted as the full dress marching band passed. Always the gentleman, Prince accepted the honour on behalf of all the Indians who had served in the armed forces. When interviewed by a reporter, he said,
I didn't make Tommy Prince alone. My men made me. I left a lot of men over there.
One year later, in October 1976, the Manitoba Indian Brotherhood honoured him for his pioneer work in fighting for Indian rights. They presented him with the Certificate of Merit, found in his daughters album.
By this time, Tom Prince had learned that alcohol was not a good friend, nor were the people it attracted. He gave up excessive drinking and despite increasing pain in his knees, at times so severe he could hardly walk, he continued to work at odd jobs in warehouses as a labourer.
To ensure peace and quiet in the evenings and remove himself from the drinking parties held nightly by his friends, he chose to rent a room in the Salvation Army Social Service Centre on Logan Avenue. It was a small room containing a bed, a wooden chair and a four-drawer chest. Despite these poverty-stricken surroundings, Tommy Prince was not bitter. In an interview with Brian Cole, reporter for the Winnipeg Free Press, on November 10, 1976, he was asked if he would risk his life for the modern generation of Canadians.
"No. absolutely not. I wouldn't go back and fight for these punks." Then turning his head so the two-inch cut inflicted on it recently by one of these "punks" becomes visible, the Indian from Scanterbury, Manitoba, whispers, "but i would fight for the people of my generation any time."
Only a few weeks later, this man, who was decorated twice for valour by King George, was stabbed in the side by yet another "punk." Despite mistreatment by the "cheap punks"
and the pain in his legs and in his heart, Prince was not an unhappy person. He said, "I'm doing fine. I'm happy here. It's my home."
A year later Tommy Prince died in the Deer Lodge Hospital for Veterans. With him at the time were his daughters Beverly and Beryl.
For a veteran, 62 is not an unusual age to die. But must it be in such poverty? Here was a man who had fought for his country. But he died lonely, and viewed by society as a failure.
It is hard to know exactly what society should do for a man like Prince, but whatever is done isn't enough. Tommy Prince gave the best years of his life to preserve the best years of our lives. In a sense, he is symbolic of thousands of other men who have risked their lives so that Canadians today can enjoy freedoms that most other nations in the world would envy. We remember the Tommy Princes of this world for only one day every year, on November 11, Remembrance Day. We are wrong in not remembering them every day. There are many more Tommy Princes living today but we are unaware of them or what they did for Canada. In a sense, the story of Tommy Prince is a plea for better treatment for all Canada's veterans. And that would please Tommy Prince.
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