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Archeologist who unravelled the story of North America's only Viking site has died

Archeologist who unravelled the story of North America's only Viking site has died

CTV News28-05-2025

Birgitta Wallace is shown in this handout photo sitting on a bucket at L'Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland in 1976. The celebrated Swedish-Canadian archeologist was known for her work unravelling the story of the Vikings at L'Anse aux Meadows, which is the only acknowledged Norse site in North America. THE CANADIAN PRESS/HO
ST. JOHN'S — A celebrated Swedish-Canadian archeologist who helped unravel the story of the Vikings at the only acknowledged Norse site in North America has died.
Birgitta Wallace Ferguson discovered evidence that Leif Eriksson's Vinland was briefly established at L'Anse aux Meadows, at the tip of Newfoundland's Great Northern Peninsula.
Robert Ferguson, her husband and fellow archeologist, says she was passionately devoted to her work and the L'Anse aux Meadows site, where she felt a deep connection with the local community.
He says the day before she died, she was in her hospital bed dictating comments to him about a paper she was co-authoring about the site.
Adjunct archeology professor Shannon Lewis-Simpson says though Wallace Ferguson was a titan in her field, she was known for being modest, kind and generous with her time and expertise.
Wallace died last week in Halifax while in hospital. She was 91.
This report by The Canadian Press was first published May 28, 2025.
The Canadian Press

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From a Moose Jaw railway worker to a cafe owner to a suspected spy: this man's family never knew the truth
From a Moose Jaw railway worker to a cafe owner to a suspected spy: this man's family never knew the truth

CBC

timean hour ago

  • CBC

From a Moose Jaw railway worker to a cafe owner to a suspected spy: this man's family never knew the truth

Social Sharing Robbi Kane still remembers visiting her father Philip Kane's high school in Washington State in the 1990s, and cracking open a yearbook to find his name. "All of a sudden, I'm looking through the yearbook and I see this guy that looks like my uncle and my dad, and it said 'Philip Nakane,'" said Kane. "I was just shocked." She wondered if 'Nakane' was an Indigenous name, as she knew her father came from Canada and had the dark hair and dark eyes that she inherited. Then she recalled the shape of her eyes, which once compelled her young daughter to ask, "Mommy, you have Asian eyes, don't you?" That was how, in her 40s, Kane discovered she was part Japanese and her last name was derived from Nakane. It was a discovery that set her on a path to learn more about her paternal grandfather — a Japanese man who settled in Saskatchewan, but whose family would end up distancing themselves from his radical actions and, at the same time, hiding their own Japanese heritage. From Japan to the prairies Naka Nakane was born in Kitsuki, Japan, in the 1870s to a former samurai family, before immigrating to Canada around 1903. He moved to Moose Jaw to work for the Canadian Pacific Railway and eventually married an English woman. The couple had five children there, including Kane's father, Philip, born in 1916. After becoming a naturalized Canadian, Nakane worked his way from manager of the CPR's lunchroom to the proprietor of his own restaurant and hotel. It wasn't always an easy road for him as an Asian business owner, as Saskatchewan — fearing "Oriental" monopolization and corruption — banned Asians from employing Caucasian females in 1912. That law was part of a series of Canadian labour laws that targeted people of Asian heritage. Linda Yip is a genealogist who's studied anti-Asian labour laws and the Chinese-Canadian experience in Western Canada. Newspapers from that time period made it clear that some white business owners were concerned about competition from non-white business owners, but she said concerns about interracial marriage were also at play. "Society at the time was very concerned about Asian men and white women; they wanted to keep these two groups apart to keep any relationships from developing." She said some would end up leaving Saskatchewan and Canada for America, which did not have policies as controlling over Asian peoples at the time. Nakane left as well. After successfully lobbying to exempt Japanese employers from Saskatchewan's "White Women's Labour Law," he decided to take his business skills and activism to America, relocating with his wife and children in 1921 to Tacoma, Wash. For about five years in the 1920s, the family thrived in Tacoma with Nakane working at a life insurance company. Then suddenly, around 1926, Nakane vanished, leaving five children without a father and his family with massive debt reportedly accrued by gambling and embezzlement. His wife Anne had to find work as a hotel maid. Kane's father Philip would have been about 10 when his father left. He never saw him again. His children would agree to keep their Japanese father a secret. "There was a pact between the kids to never tell anybody," Kane said. "Nobody knew." Uncovering the truth The internet was still in its infancy when Kane first learned the truth about her heritage and began to search about her renegade Japanese grandpa. She managed to find some information, which other researchers helped her piece together. After disappearing for several years, Nakane emerged more than 3,000 kilometres away in Detroit, Mich., as a "retired Japanese Army major" named Satokata Takahashi. He preached for dark-skinned empowerment using what he described as the strongest "coloured" nation of Japan as a guide. 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"I could tell from him that he'd been carrying [this trauma]," she said of her father, whose own father had left him and who'd spent years, along with his siblings, hiding his Japanese roots. "He was an angry person, and now I was finally getting an idea where this anger came from." "I realized how much shame they all had." Kane's father never wanted her to dig into their family history, getting angry when she would raise the topic. But now, having learned more about his upbringing, she said she has a little more compassion and understanding of his emotional tumult. "I thought he was just angry, but I see how much fear he had now, you know … he was fearful of his life," she said. Yip said for her part, she's not surprised that some families have only discovered their Asian roots in more recent years. Their Asian ancestors wanted to free themselves from discrimination and be treated like everyone else around them, she said, adding that this is understandable to her. "If our ancestors desperately wanted to assimilate and forget the past, who could blame them?" The hotel and restaurant Nakane ran no longer exist in Moose Jaw. But he and his wife left one part of their family history in this province, having buried one child there. An unmarked grave of Eric Masuni Nakane is all that remains of a singular figure and his singular time in a singular Saskatchewan city.

It broke my heart when Dad asked me, ‘Was I important?'
It broke my heart when Dad asked me, ‘Was I important?'

Globe and Mail

time2 hours ago

  • Globe and Mail

It broke my heart when Dad asked me, ‘Was I important?'

First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at My father was often described as a big man. Some of his students would call him the Jolly Green Giant or, more often, Uncle Norm. He was tall, with broad shoulders and large hands. Despite his size, he played varsity sports and eventually coached high school basketball teams both as a physical education teacher as well as a principal. People would also say he had a large heart. If someone needed a hand, he was there, without fanfare or the expectation of recognition or a thank you. My father was also incredibly well organized. As a high school administrator, he knew that the devil was in the details. He taught his three children: 'preparation is key, plan for the worst but keep the faith.' He used that last phrase often, not because of his religious beliefs, but as a reminder to always have hope, to support something or someone although it may at times feel difficult. 'It's not what you have, it's not who you are – it's what you do for others,' he'd say. Once retired, he focused his time researching his family lineage – from Ireland to Scotland to Canada. Both he and my mother grew up in the same small town in southwestern Ontario and the interconnections were numerous. He invested time and money documenting five generations of history. He was proud to have completed this sprawling family tree and was happy to disseminate copies to our extended family. My father was confident, but later in life he needed reminding of his good works. In his 80s and once his mobility and cognitive skills declined, our family made the difficult but necessary decision to place him into a local long-term care facility. We co-ordinated visits amongst friends and family and we all watched him decline, often to the point where he no longer knew us. But we would talk to him like he did. That was us trying to keep the faith. During a recent visit I told him I was going away on a long trip but I would be back soon – very soon. (Code for: don't die when I'm away please.) He asked if I had the papers. 'The papers?' I asked. 'Yes, the papers,' he said. 'You mean my will, my burial plans, my itinerary?' Defiantly and remarkably, he said, 'NO, the papers!' After some time, I thought, he means the family tree. He wants to talk about his family. I started talking about his mother, whom I'm named after; his father, the hard-working labourer; his three older brothers who served in the Second World War; and his two older sisters, one of whom he'd looked after as she aged. He was surprised to learn they had all died. I reminded him that he was still happily married to his childhood schoolmate, our mother, for over 60 years. His answer was 'Really?' (I'm not sure our mother quite appreciated that answer.) I described how he had worked as a math teacher, coached basketball and became a respected principal. 'I was?' he asked. Near the end of our visit, he looked at me curiously and asked, 'Was I important?' I didn't know how to answer at first, then realized he was wondering if he did something hopeful, impactful and lasting. I could tell him about the time he helped a terrified young woman whose car had spun out of control on the highway by waiting with her until her parents arrived. Or about how he read in the newspaper about an elderly man who required a drug that was only available in Europe, and how he found a way to get that drug to that man. How he won a Canadian magazine's 'carpenter of the year' through all the woodworking he did for friends and family, and to help the needy. How he volunteered to assist students who had fallen through the cracks to ensure they received their high-school diplomas. How he and my mother were leaders in advancing a hearing-impaired children's charity. How he would do anything for his wife, children and grand-children. 'Yes Dad,' I replied with a smile, 'You were important.' And that comforted him. Anne Purdie Morash lives in Toronto.

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