Hank Hayden found his calling in life the day he became a father.
It was Jan. 4, 1992 — long before he became the unofficial “Mayor of Moccasin Flats.” Soon after his daughter Tamara arrived, Hank decided he no longer wanted to be away from his family, working in remote camps as a driller, carpenter and first-aid attendant.
He ditched his transient lifestyle so he could watch his daughter grow up and take care of her — a commitment he honoured until the day he died on Dec. 8, 2024, of an overdose in his tent at the notorious downtown Prince George homeless encampment.
“Hank had such a big heart for people, and I have never met such a dedicated, committed dad. Nobody holds a candle to him. When I think of all the dads that I know — he was the best,” said retired social worker Diane Nakamura, among the crowd of about 200 who attended a noon-hour Healing Fire tribute to Hank on Wednesday in front of the Prince George Courthouse.
“He had such a love for people, and he had a child — a daughter — he loved unconditionally, and that’s just who he was. Tamara put him through the wringer and made him run, and he never, ever gave up on her. I saw that in his dealings at Moccasin Flats. That was a very hard life for him, but he was so dedicated to helping people.”
Hank established himself as a dependable worker in whatever job he took on — diamond drilling, construction, bartending or youth counselling, a role he especially took to heart.
“He always had a decent job, and I was shocked when I saw him at Moccasin Flats and asked what he was doing there,” Nakamura said. “He said, ‘I’m here to look after Tamara.’”
Hank held a Level 4 industrial first-aid ticket and was the person everyone in the camps turned to for help. He treated infections and frostbite, stitched up knife wounds, picked buckshot out of shotgun injuries and delivered almost daily naloxone shots to prevent overdose deaths. He saved dozens of lives.
He also offered guidance to a pregnant woman whose addiction had left her rejected by aid agencies. He discouraged teens from setting up tents, knowing how vulnerable they were, and connected them to support services.
He boiled artificial respiration masks used on overdose victims so he could reuse them — he couldn’t afford replacements — until former Camp Trapping director Alan Huggett found a local agency to provide new ones and a digital oximeter to help him detect heartbeats during CPR.
“Hank was often frustrated that the city and many citizens weren’t seeing the full picture of the homeless situation,” Huggett told the crowd at Wednesday’s gathering. “He saw the behaviours associated with addictions and poor mental health as the result of deep, trauma-based psychic pain.
“Hank wanted to find ways to bring the homeless and the rest of the citizenry together to reduce the stigma of homelessness. He wanted the city and the province to stop treating poverty as a criminal issue. We’re still working on that, Hank.”
When Huggett met Hank, Daryl Goll was working as executive director at Camp Trapping, a wilderness camp south of the city for young offenders started by parole officer Bruce Hawkenson and his wife, Joanne, in 1971. For 50 years until its closure in June 2021, the camp offered a court-ordered alternative to jail for up to a dozen boys aged 12 to 18.
At about 30, Hank was familiar with the dangers kids faced on the downtown streets. Encouraged by Goll, he enrolled in the Front Line Youthcare (FLY) worker course while still working as a gold miner.
“He was blown away by what he learned and realized he was highly effective with street people,” said Goll, now a youth social worker with Intersect Youth & Family Services. “I’d taught a lot of people, but never saw someone take to it like he did. As a result, I invited him to Camp Trapping to work weekend shifts.”
Though nervous at first, Hank soon connected with some of the First Nations youth.
“He was like a deer in headlights,” Goll said. “But after a couple of chats, he started becoming highly effective. It was spectacular, really.”
Though Hank wasn’t keen on strict rules or group counselling, he thrived in one-on-one mentorship. His knees struggled with the daily six-kilometre runs, and after six months, he left Camp Trapping and never formally worked as a youth counsellor again. But he never forgot the experience, using those skills the rest of his life.
“Hank was vital to a couple of kids I worked with who were involved at Moccasin Flats,” said Goll. “Through him, I got the word out that they were off-limits and nobody should sell them anything. Next thing you know, the kids would come to me saying, ‘I can’t score.’”
It didn’t always work. Three summers ago, when close to 100 people were camped at the Flats, one of Goll’s clients — a 14-year-old boy — was found dead in a dumpster after an overdose.
“I was shook to the core, and Hank felt bad too. We did our level-headed best to prevent it, but couldn’t,” Goll said.
Hank loved the party lifestyle and had a reputation for making people laugh. He also struggled with substance use. Two years ago, he overdosed on fentanyl at the former Connaught Inn motel and was revived with naloxone.
“He talked about it like it was just business as usual — that freaked me out,” said Goll. “I said, ‘Hank, you could have died,’ and he just smiled. He said it was so cool to see his own body. You’d think he would learn.
“I never got over the fact he was playing both ends against the middle. He would work all day to repair people and then go to his tent and use. I said, ‘That’s no way to live.’”
Hank was known as part of the “welcome wagon” at the camps, offering newcomers a safe haven. He was the link between residents and city council, city staff, Prince George Fire Rescue, RCMP and social agencies. Just before he died, he was preparing to launch a podcast called Voice from the Tent, to be recorded at Moccasin Flats. Huggett helped him form a non-profit organization: Building a Healthy Community Society: The Voices Project.
“Hank saw it helping all of Prince George be healthy — not just the homeless,” Huggett said. “The Voices Project was to give the unhoused a voice. Hank worried shelters were being built just to meet court orders, not the real needs of people. I hope we can prove him wrong.”
As much as he cared for everyone in the camps, Tamara was his world.
He was proud of her and worried constantly, knowing her own struggles with addiction and the dangerous people she sometimes encountered. All he wanted was for her to find peace and happiness.
Years ago, Tamara fell in love with a high-ranking Hell’s Angels member. Hank followed her to Edmonton and attended club activities to keep her safe.
“He was always there for her until she was ready to go,” said Goll. “If she wanted to stay, he stayed — talk about going the extra yard.
“I can’t knock Hank for that. That is so righteous. If half the people had as much love for our kids, we’d chase them all over the place too.”
Years of living at Moccasin Flats, Millennium Park and near the courthouse, and facing gut-wrenching situations — like the night he put himself between Tamara and a man with a loaded pistol — wore him down. Goll urged him to return to his roots with the Nuxalk Nation in Bella Coola, where he had been raised in a foster home with 16 kids after being adopted as a baby during the Sixties Scoop.
“I sensed Hank was slowly burning out,” Goll said. “The constant strain of living down there — it was all just welling up in him like a bad smell. I wanted him to take care of himself, but he wouldn’t listen.
“I think he had such a big heart that he eventually fell over. Hank was friends with everybody, had very few enemies. He was always giving of himself. Him forever chasing Tamara, trying to get her right — it was admirable. You can’t touch it. It was so good.”
