"Elvis" delivers a healing message in a unique way

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They started calling Geronimo Henry "Elvis" shortly after he returned to the reserve from residential school sporting sideburns and wearing his jet black hair Elvis Presley-style.

When he started attending the longhouse wearing the white shoes Popularized by the king of rock 'n' roll, the nickname stuck to the troubled young man.

"The shoes looked odd with black pants, but we were poor and they were the only shoes I had," said Henry, 63, who performs as Elvis at service clubs, powwows and Native conferences across Ontario to focus public attention on the residential school issue.

"People listen more when I'm Elvis."

Henry, who ends each performance with a speech about his experiences, founded The Lost Generation, a non-profit support group for residential school student survivors.

After spending 11 years of his childhood at the Mohawk Institute Residential school in Brantford, the young Iroquois man found it difficult to adjust to life on the Six Nations Reserve when he returned in 1952 at age 16.

Henry often walked for miles, a guitar slung over his shoulder, brooding about how his heritage had been stolen from him.

"We were raised in a prison atmosphere: everybody had a number, not a name. Mine was 48 and that's on my heart and why all these years later I still feel very angry.

"It wasn't just native religions they wouldn't allow, it didn't matter if you were a Catholic or a Baptist- everybody had to be an Anglican," Henry recalled.

He was 5 years old when his father, a traditional person and "faith keeper" at the longhouse, reluctantly sent him to the residential school at the urging of the government.

"He painted such a wonderful picture of what the school would be like. Instead, we were being sent to hell, but my father didn't know that. (My father) was led to believe we would be learning our language, ceremonial beliefs and traditional values. He put his trust and faith in the system and he was let down."

Throughout his troubled life, and a marriage he describes as the joining of "two people who were dysfunctional because of their lost childhood in the residential school," Henry found solace in the music of Elvis Presley.

" His music was a big part of my life, and everybody said I looked like Elvis and sang like him."

Then three years ago, Henry met Billy Can, founder of the Collingwood Elvis Festival. Can persuaded him to compete with nearly 100 Elvis tribute artists in the annual three-day event.

Henry was an instant hit and found himself performing in the "top amateur tribute artists" category that year.

The man who had only been able to find occasional work over the years on farms suddenly found himself on a new career path.

Even though he didn't compete at last year's festival in July, the costumed Henry attracted a lot of attention and fans mobbed him, asking for his autograph.

"The feathers - that's what caught my eye. He's the king of the birds," said Kathy Leger, who travelled from Sudbury for the festival.

Henry's costume was also the envy of other tribute artists. "It's one of the best I've seen," said tribute artist Darrin Hagel of Michigan.

Henry hopes that other residential school survivors will gain some support by hearing him speak out, and in turn will step forward to tell their own stories.

"It's hard to speak about what we went through, but by doing so we can help each other heal," he said.

He designed and distributes a tri-colored ribbon that he hopes Indians and non-Indians will wear to show their support for the children who suffered abuse in Canadian residential schools.

"The Three Ribbons of Justice is a symbol of hope and unity to all former residential school survivors who have been torn apart by the abuse and injustices."

The three ribbons are red "for the colour of our skin", white "for our purity and innocence" and black "for the hell we suffered".

Henry called his organization the Lost Generation because "that's what we are, a whole generation who lost ou on living."

Although the government earmarked $350 million for therapy and counselling through a healing fund, Henry says it is "too little, too late."