Mr. Hockey My Story (27 page)

The way Dad saw it, as a professional hockey player his job was to win games. As it turned out, he was perfectly suited to the task because he wanted to win more than anyone you’ll ever meet. He decided early in his career that to be successful in the NHL he’d need to give the opposition a reason to slow down when they came to get the puck. If that meant throwing an elbow or putting some lumber on a guy, then it seemed like fair game to him. After all, everyone in the NHL was being paid to be there, and the odd
cut or bruise was just a cost of doing business. Ironically, it was the respect he had for other players that made him feel like he had a license to play as ruthlessly as he did. He wasn’t mean-spirited or dirty; he just figured that a few stitches or a knock to the ribs didn’t cause any real harm. If it gave him the extra split second he needed to make a play, then that was justification enough for him. In his mind, playing any other way would be shortchanging the team. Some people might not approve, but his tactics gave him the space he needed to operate for more than thirty years. There was definitely a method to his madness.

When Mark was playing in Philadelphia, Brad McCrimmon told him a story from his rookie year with the Bruins, about the first time he played against Dad. They went into the corner together and Brad came out with a nick over his eye that needed stitches. When he returned to the bench, his teammates asked what had happened. He said that Gordie’s stick had popped up and caught him in the eye. It had been an accident, though, and Gordie had said he was sorry. All the guys started to laugh. They pointed to their own scars and told Brad that Gordie had apologized for this one and that one, too. That was Dad. He let everyone on the ice know they shouldn’t get too close.

Years later, he passed on some of that wisdom to another of Mark’s teammates. While in Philly to watch Mark one night, Dad noticed that one of the Flyers was having a tough time holding his ground in the slot. Every time Tim Kerr—a big guy at six foot three and 225 pounds—went to the front of the net, the other team would hammer him until he moved. After the game, Dad went up to Tim and asked if he’d do him a favor. In the next big televised game the Flyers played, he told Tim to drop his gloves and pop someone on the other team. Tim was as gentlemanly a player as
you’ll find, so he agreed only reluctantly and only because it was Gordie Howe doing the asking. The next time Dad was in the arena, Tim hauled off and leveled a guy for no reason. The rest of the league must have been watching, because Tim suddenly found himself with more leeway. His soft hands deserve most of the credit for scoring more than 50 goals in each of the next four seasons, but Gordie’s advice couldn’t have hurt.

On the ice, our dad had an uncanny awareness of what was going on around him at all times. If he saw something that upset his sense of right and wrong—and if the officials weren’t handling it—he didn’t mind taking matters into his own hands. While playing in San Diego when he was in the WHA, he noticed one of the fans being a jackass. At the time, the arena had fencing instead of Plexiglas above the boards, and when a Houston player went into the corner, this fan would try to kick him in the head through the fence. Before a face-off in that end, Dad circled over to Marty and told him to pay attention. When the puck was dropped, he let himself get ridden into the corner where, sure enough, the fan was waiting to deliver a kick. It never landed. Somehow, the butt of Gordie’s stick slipped through the mesh as he leaned back and popped the guy in the mouth, knocking him into the next row. The only reason Marty knew what had happened was because Dad had given him the heads-up. It happened so quickly he would have missed it otherwise.

We know that not everyone will approve of our dad’s particular brand of frontier justice, but that’s just how he’s wired. He holds true to his own code, both on and off the ice. As a player, if someone disrespected his code, he didn’t care how long it took to set things straight. A story from the mid-1960s shows just how long his memory could be. The Red Wings had missed the playoffs that
year, so he’d picked up a gig as a television commentator for the postseason. On an off day, he wound up watching a bridge game between some of the players. Our dad was an avid bridge player and a real student of the game. At one point, Dick Duff, who played left wing for the Canadiens, took a trick by finessing a mediocre trump card past the other players. Appreciating the move, Dad mumbled, “Great play” under his breath. One of Montreal’s defensemen, J.C. Tremblay, overheard him and snapped, “What would a dummy like you know about it?” That didn’t sit well with Dad. He told J.C. to remember what he’d said and walked away. Six months later, the Red Wings were in Montreal to play the Canadiens. As it happened, it was the night that Dad scored his 600th goal. The fans had barely finished giving him a standing ovation for the achievement, when they reversed course and started to rain down boos. A few minutes after his big goal, Dad trailed J.C. into the corner after a puck. When he came out of the corner, he left J.C. on the ice with a fractured cheekbone. The Forum crowd didn’t know why it had happened, but Dick Duff did. He skated past Gordie and said, “Card game.” Dad just nodded.

Was his retribution excessive? An argument could be made that it was. On the other hand, J.C. might have done well to think twice before being so disrespectful. Our dad may not have been right all the time, but he was consistent. He hasn’t changed to this day. Just last year he was signing autographs at the arena in Murray’s hometown, when suddenly he stood up and walked purposefully toward a kid about thirty feet away. He had spotted the boy picking on his sister and didn’t think that was right. He gently cuffed the kid on the back of the head and told him to smarten up. When the boy’s family reached the front of the line, the boy’s eyes were red and he was clearly sheepish. Taking the boy aside, Dad said that
he needed to look out for his sister, not torment her. By the time they finished talking, the kid was beaming. We don’t know how the boy’s parents felt about their child getting lectured by Gordie Howe, but he couldn’t help himself. His sense of justice is the same now as it was on the ice.

Lucky for us, our folks took a kinder, gentler approach to raising kids than was standard at the time. We’re all still thankful for that, since getting spanked by Gordie Howe would have been no kind of fun. He has some of the biggest hands you’ve ever seen, with thick wrists to match. Really, he’s just a big strong guy from head to toe. It’s one of the reasons he was able to play hockey into his fifties. Athletically, he’s not like most other people. His hand-eye coordination, for one, is almost supernatural. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, he picks it up almost immediately. If he didn’t find his calling in hockey, he probably would have ended up playing major league baseball or professional football. He was also a scratch golfer in his day. Put a club in his hand and he can swing it equally well from the left or right. Just name the sport and within a week he’ll be playing it like he’s been doing it his whole life.

It’s been said that Dad was built to play hockey. There’s actually more truth to that idea than anyone could know. When Mark was a teenager, he picked up the phone one day to find Eaton’s on the other end of the line. They were tailoring some clothes for Dad and needed his measurements. Mark hustled upstairs to our parents’ room and pulled a suit from the closet. When he measured the inseam, it was 27
¹
/
₂
inches, which he knew must be wrong for someone six feet tall. He double-checked it, but the number stayed the same. After relaying the measurements to Eaton’s, they asked him to measure the inseam yet again. Nothing changed. They told him they’d call back when his mother was home. Mark, of course,
had been right. Few people realize it, but Dad’s legs are remarkably short for such a big guy. Mark, for instance, is two inches shorter than Dad, yet his inseam is 32 inches. As it turned out, having short legs and a long torso was ideal for Dad’s physical style of play. His low center of gravity made it nearly impossible to knock him off the puck. It’s a physiological advantage that gave him an edge for his whole career. When it comes to playing hockey, it’s as if he won the genetic lottery.

The other secret weapon that Dad had going for him that can’t be overlooked was our mother. At the start of their marriage, she handled the household matters so he could focus on hockey. She paid the mortgage, called the plumber, talked to our schools, and did everything in between. When she took over as his business manager a few years later, it allowed him to sleep easy knowing that she was looking out for the family’s best interests. Their personalities meshed perfectly. Our dad is so easygoing it can be astounding. He could be sitting in a hundred-degree room wearing a sweater and it wouldn’t occur to him to complain. However, if someone came along and asked if he’d like to go somewhere to get a cold drink, he’d think that was a great idea. Well, our mom was always the person who came along. It made for an ideal team. He put all his energy into hockey and she worried about everything else. She was a born organizer. We used to joke that if the house caught fire, the first thing she’d go for would be her appointment book. It was like another child to her.

Once Dad finally hung up his skates for good, our parents might have been busier than when he was playing. They stayed in Connecticut for a few years before eventually moving back to Michigan. They decided to live in Traverse City, which is only about an hour away from a cabin we used to have on Bear Lake. It’s a
beautiful spot located on the Twin Bays of Lake Michigan. Dad loves being on the water, so it was perfect. Their post-hockey years were similar to those of a lot of retired folks. They golfed and fished and went to Florida for a couple of months every year. In addition, of course, they ran Howe Enterprises, which eventually became Power Play International. They did a lot of charity work, and Dad always had invites to attend card shows, golf tournaments, banquets, and other hockey-related events. The business of being Gordie Howe turned out to be a full-time job. In 1997, Dad also laced up for a shift with the Detroit Vipers of the International Hockey League. At nearly seventy years old, he became the first hockey player to play in a professional game in six different decades. Some dismissed it as a publicity stunt, but that didn’t bother Dad, who just did it for fun. He still loved the game as much as ever and the idea of being back on the ice sounded too good to pass up. Our parents also stayed busy chasing after their nine grandchildren.
Mark has three kids, Travis, Azia, and Nolan. Cathy has two, Jaime and Jade, and Murray has four, Meaghan, Gordie, Corey, and Sean. The oldest grandchildren now have kids of their own, which makes Dad a great-grandfather to Ainsley, Ella, Brenden, and Lahna.

Our parents took a lot of joy in watching their family grow. Unfortunately, not everything can be out of a storybook. We received some hard news in 2002 when Mum was diagnosed with a rare neurological illness called Pick’s disease. She passed away in 2009. The WHA inducted her into its Hall of Fame a year later, along with Gordie, Marty, and Mark. Our dad misses her every day. We all do. Going through the last few years without her has been tough, especially on Dad. We know that he reminds himself often that they spent fifty-five very happy years together. He tells us that he feels lucky for every one of them. After Mum passed away,
we realized that Dad would get pretty lonely on his own, so now he takes turns staying with all of us. And these past few years, he has needed someone nearby around the clock. Marty makes up a schedule and Dad rotates between each of our houses. It works well for everyone and means that the grandchildren, and now sometimes even the great-grandchildren, get to spend a lot of quality time with their grandpa. We do, too.

We cherish our time with Gordie all the more these past few years as it has become clear he has been dealing with cognitive impairment, a form of dementia. It has been a very slow decline over many years, though it has become more noticeable recently. His memory just isn’t what it once was. At eighty-six, Gordie is becoming frail for the first time in his life. It is sad to see him struggle at things we all take for granted, things he wouldn’t have given a second thought only a short time ago.

But even in adversity, Gordie can’t resist helping. He has been involved in fundraising since Colleen passed away from her fight with Pick’s Disease, another form of dementia. He works with the NHL Alumni in Toronto, Vancouver, and Calgary to raise funds for research and care for dementia and Alzheimer’s patients and their families. He will continue this as long as he is capable.

That’s Gordie. He has always enjoyed working and helping others. God bless the kindest, most giving person you ever had the pleasure of meeting. Mark, Cathy, Murray, and I are lucky to have had two such great parents and we miss our mother Colleen almost as much as Gordie misses the love of his life. We enjoy and cherish the time we have left with our father, and look forward to a few more fishing trips.

•   •   •

A
peek into our house when we were growing up wouldn’t have given any indication that the most famous hockey player in the world lived there. The trappings of fame were of no interest to him, and he rarely read his own press clippings. Around 1963, however, something came along that was hard to avoid. A group called Big Bob and the Dollars put out a novelty song called “Gordie Howe (Is the Greatest of Them All)” that became something of an improbable hit. For a while, it was all over local radio in Detroit, which gave us plenty of chances to tease our aw-shucks dad. It’s an upbeat ditty with a chorus that went something like:
You can have your choice of all the rest / If you’re a Howe fan, you’ve got the very best
. As many times as we laughed after hearing it on the radio, a funny thing has happened as we’ve grown up. The song still makes us smile, but now we realize that Big Bob and the Dollars may actually be right. It just doesn’t have anything to do with hockey.