BRENT GRETZKY: My dad used to say, “Enjoy life later, work for now. Train in the backyard, run, play baseball.” There’s that saying: “Kids in sports stay out of courts,” and it’s true. We never got into trouble. As for going to movies or hanging out at the mall, whatever, he’d say, “You can do all these things later in life.” Dad’s example was Wayne at the time. He would say, “Look at Wayne, he didn’t go to movies on Friday nights with his friends. He would be outside training.” So how could I say that didn’t work?
Rest and proper eating, that was Dad’s big thing. I remember being fourteen years old, playing Junior B. I’d be watching TV at nine o’clock at night, and he’d say, “Don’t you have a game tomorrow? You should be in bed!” I’d have to go right to bed. We waited for Saturday nights to come, because we got to stay up late and watch the hockey game, the Leafs. He wasn’t a drill sergeant about it, but he’d say, “If you want to play well, you should be resting.” To this day, two nights before a game, he’ll be saying to me, “Brent, you know, this is the most important night for rest, it’s not just the night before.”
We never argued with what my dad said. We’d want to go swimming in the hotel pools at the out-of-town tournaments, and he’d say no. I’d throw a fit, but he’d say, “It’s because you use different muscles. How are you going to play tomorrow?” At the time, you don’t really listen to it. You’re a kid, you want to go. I look back on it today and think, “Wow, he was right.” I thank him for those things now.
With all the kids’ different involvements, there was a lot of juggling of responsibilities and activities. Still, I don’t really know why I worried so much. It’s just the way I was. I worried about my aging parents out at the farm, especially when my father became ill—he died in 1973. Then I worried about my mother being out there caring for Ellen and the farm all on her own. I worried about doing a good job at work and about having enough money to support my growing family. I worried through every hockey game my boys ever played. I worried about what was best for Wayne as his career unfolded at a very tender age and big, life-altering decisions had to be made, dealing with people I wasn’t always sure I could trust. After he was launched, I worried about what was best for my other hockey-playing sons, Keith and Brent, who had their own challenges to face, coming up behind the Great Gretzky, with the same name on their sweaters and many expectations attached. When Glen was born with club feet, we were all devastated at first, wondering “why us?” I worried about making sure he got the best chance possible to correct the problem and have a normal life. Phyllis made many exhausting trips to the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto, where Glen got excellent care. Thankfully, the surgery and physical therapy he had there were a success— when Glen wanted to play hockey, which, of course, he did, we made sure he got the skates he needed, too. But you can imagine how hard that was at the time, especially for Phyllis, contending with one child’s health problems and raising four others as well.
PHYLLIS GRETZKY: It’s just what you did in those days. You didn’t think you were hard done by. I looked after the kids and house; Wally went to work and looked after the finances. I never had to write a cheque until after his stroke. Let’s just say he wasn’t what you would call a homebody or Mr. Fix-it. But he was on the go all the time, going out to the farm to help his mum, pruning the fruit trees and so on, taking the kids to their games. He’d make sure that rink in the backyard was clear, but our driveway would go unshovelled all winter. That does not happen now, with Wally taking care of our driveway and half our neighbours’ as well! It makes us all laugh to think back on how it used to be. I remember there was a cement porch at the side of the house, with no railing. I wanted it down, but there was no way Wally was going to look after it. One Saturday, he was off with one of the kids—it was summertime, so it was probably a ball game with Wayne. We have a video of my brother-in-law Marvin and some other guys tearing it down with one of those jackhammers. It was better built and reinforced than they thought, and they needed a sledgehammer. But it was done by the time Wally got home.
He was always very concerned to see all the kids’ games. Never sat down to eat, always on the fly doing something. Stayed up late, catching up on things he wanted to do. He hardly ever missed a day of work. And that was tough, especially when he was travelling with Wayne. I’m not sure how we worked it all out. I would go to one kid’s game and he’d go to another, sometimes we’d go together. But he’d work all day and go to a game at night, and then a tournament the next day, and maybe there was something that needed doing at the farm, working in the garden there, looking after Ellen. I’d be home with the kids. He’d run in between work and hockey games and ask for tea. I would fry him an egg and it would be stone-cold a half hour later when he finally ate it. He was just a whirlwind all the time.
Come winter, hockey was just what everybody in a town like Brantford did for recreation. I can’t remember a time back then when there wasn’t a bunch of kids out there together on the street or on the backyard rink, shooting a puck around, just getting out into the fresh air and having a great time. To me, that’s what it’s all about. There’s the competitive aspect, sure, but some of the best friendships come from playing sports, as well. It’s where kids can learn all kinds of things, about playing a game, about sportsmanship, team spirit, how to win and lose gracefully. How to have some discipline and pride in accomplishment and how to perfect a particular skill. And yes, how to just have fun! You don’t have to win at all costs, or be the most talented player on the ice to enjoy a game. That’s certainly how it was back when I was a kid, and what it was like at its best when my own kids were growing up. It bothers me sometimes that the emphasis has changed so much. Parents can be so aggressive when they watch their kids play a team sport at the beginning levels, I think they forget that the activity, whatever it may be, is supposed to be something their son or daughter enjoys doing, regardless of whether or not he or she is a superstar. I taught all my kids, and every kid I’ve ever coached, that if you have a good time, work hard and do your best, that is all that matters—and I really mean that.
Of course, I don’t deny that right from the beginning, I had a feeling my son Wayne might amount to something playing hockey, though I worried for awhile that, like me, he might be judged too small for the big leagues. That’s why I always told him that if he couldn’t be the biggest or fastest player, he could work on being the smartest. I wasn’t the only one who saw that he was special, though. Lots of people who watched him play in Brantford as a kid had a hunch he was destined for greatness, or at least had the potential for it. You just don’t see a kid with that kind of dedication and ability at such a young age very often. Mary and Sil next door used to say, “Wayne, you’re going to make it to the NHL, and we’re going to go to your first game.” I’d just say, “I hope you’re right.” (The Rizzettos did come with us to see Wayne play his first game with the Indianapolis Racers.)
We’ve told this story so many times, it’s legend for hockey fans now: Wayne could skate at the age of two, and we have the footage to prove it. Another thing people tease me about is how I used to be such a shutterbug. I always had cameras slung around my neck. I just got in the habit of taking pictures of Wayne and the other kids, whatever event they were participating in, and I’m glad I did (as are a few people who’ve published books on Wayne). It’s a wonderful record to have, in light of all the achievements since. I even managed to get a shot of Wayne’s first goal, at the age of six. He was pretty pleased with himself that day. He’d worked hard for it. But I don’t suppose even I, as the proud dad of a talented and determined little player, had any idea what kind of amazing career that single, hard-won goal was inaugurating.
As well as a shutterbug, I was a pack rat—still am, actually, much to Phyllis’s dismay. I saved everything, you name it: Wayne’s first pair of skates, his first hockey sweater and stick, first trophy, all his other awards, newspaper stories and photos. And, of course, I liked to display all my kids
’ trophies and other mementos from their lives in sports. I hope I can say this without sounding boastful: we have a lot of trophies and memorabilia in our basement. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed showing it to people. I just love to see their faces when they come down and look at some of this stuff. I know it can brighten someone’s day, especially a kid’s, and that’s made all the collecting worthwhile, right from the beginning. Don’t forget, it’s important not just from a sentimental point of view. As it turned out, it was hockey history in the making. Ron Ellis, head of the Hockey Hall of Fame—and a pretty good player with the Leafs in his day—tells me it’s rare to have such a thorough record of a hockey star’s early days. That alone makes it fairly unique, and I’m very pleased about that, too. Regardless of how well a kid ends up doing in sports, it’s nice to have the mementos. And you never know when the Hall of Fame might come calling …
MURRAY ANGUS, FRIEND, CHARITY TOURNAMENT ORGANIZER: People always used to ask Wally, “Who’s gonna be the next Wayne Gretzky?” Or they’d come up to him at a minor-league game and say, “This kid’s the next Wayne Gretzky, don’t you think?” Wally would always respond very politely, “Yeah well, he could very easily be, mmhmm, yep.” Meanwhile, he was probably thinking, “Not likely.” I remember I went over to the house once. Wayne was with the Oilers at the time, and Wally was sorting through home movies in the basement. He said to me, “Come here, you gotta watch this.” It was Wayne skating around when he was about ten years old. And Wally said, “You wanna know who’s gonna be the next Wayne Gretzky? The next ten-year-old kid you see who can do that!” One-handed stick stuff, you know. He’s dodging and weaving in with these kids. His stick was like an extension of his arm.
When we got to our new home and as soon as I was up and about from my accident, I flooded our backyard to make a rink. Wayne spent most of his childhood winters out there and on the Nith River behind the old farmhouse, where I learned to skate myself. His grandmother Mary would sit in her chair in the living room and field his goals as he shot a plastic puck at her shins when he was just shin-high himself. It’s no wonder she became his number-one fan. And never underestimate the power of a doting grandmother. I do like to tell people about the time when young Paul Reinhart (he and Wayne love this story, too), who was playing defence for Kitchener against Wayne’s Brantford team back in the early ’70s, checked Wayne into the boards. Grandma Mary was in the stands and didn’t understand that Paul was just doing his job, that it was part of the game. She was so incensed, she marched right down from her seat and started clobbering Paul with her purse. I’m sure no one there will ever forget the sight, but it was the last time we let Wayne’s grandmother sit by herself while watching a live game!
I used to take Wayne to my own hockey practices and games when he was just a toddler, and he’d sit there, keenly watching the action. Even back then, you could see there was a kind of intensity there. He took to the ice so naturally, I’ve often said, his life in hockey always seemed to be predestined. It’s some kind of gift, there’s no doubt about it. I always tell people who think I had something to do with his talent that making the rink was more self-preservation than anything else: Wayne loved skating so much, I’d freeze at the public outdoor rink or arena while he was doing what he loved best for literally hours on end. At least with the rink at home, I could be in the house staying warm!
Mary and Sil, whose son used to play out there too, had a bank of lights installed. Wayne would stay out till long after dark practicing his moves, shooting a puck around. Phyllis used to get a bit upset about it sometimes, urging me to bring him in and wondering what the neighbours would think of a family who let a six-year-old skate out there till ten at night. But that is what made Wayne happy, and we certainly never forced him or any of the others. That’s why when parents ask Wayne to urge their children to practice as much as he did, he says, “I can’t do that.” Wayne did it because he loved it, not because someone told him he had to, and he doesn’t believe kids get better when it’s something they don’t enjoy.
To tell you the truth, Wayne was good at most sports he tried, including lacrosse and long-distance running. And, as he’s said himself, if you took his passion for hockey and doubled it, that’s how he felt about baseball. He was quite a good little pitcher, even trained himself to be both right- and left-handed. When he was eleven, he played for the Chatham, Ontario, travelling team in the All-Canada Championships in Saskatchewan, and the team won. Who knows, if Wayne had been born and raised in the United States and had the right coaching, he might have ended up a pro baseball player instead. Personally, I’m glad he stuck with hockey.
CHARLIE HENRY, HOCKEY COACH, FAMILY FRIEND: I remember seeing Wayne play baseball in Brantford. He told me he would hit a home run to a particular spot near centre field, and he did. He called a shot, at fifteen years old. And he came down that dugout and grabbed me and said, “I told you I was gonna do it!” That, to me, just proved that there was nothing he couldn’t do. And he didn’t do it to be a hot dog. No, he wasn’t a showman. Just to put himself under pressure. To say, “I’m gonna do it,” and then do it. Oh, he was an excellent ball player. He loved ball. He played lacrosse, but he loved baseball more. He loved it. He knew all the stats and the players.
Meanwhile, our daughter, Kim, was turning into a terrific runner — obviously a chip off the old block there. She got involved in track and field and, in her early teens, won some provincial and eventually national titles. There was even talk among her coaches of grooming her for the Olympics. Unfortunately, Kim injured her ankle when she was fifteen and never pursued running after that. While she was doing it, though, I did push her to eat right and keep herself in top form, because I saw the potential she had. I think at the time, she sometimes didn’t like that I did that. My friend Charlie Henry from Ottawa tells me that when Kim went there to visit one summer, she wanted to run on the local track but asked if it was okay if she didn’t stick to the diet and sleep routine I’d recommended. I suppose I was being a stickler, but I knew it was the only way for anyone to become a champion.
As Keith and Brent grew up, it became clear that they, too, had talent when it came to playing hockey. I can tell you, it was sometimes tough to juggle all their schedules, but Phyllis and I really did make an effort to get out and see as many of their games as possible, to encourage them and be there for them as much as we had with Wayne. We understood from an early time that with all the focus and media attention on Wayne—don’t forget, that all began when he was just a little guy of six!—it would be possible for our other kids to feel neglected, and we did not want that.
BRENT: He got all of us skates at pretty much the same age: two or three years old. We were playing competitive hockey when we were five or six. We didn’t miss a practice, and afterwards we’d come home and skate in the backyard. He’d come out with pylons and nets, and he’d videotape us and instruct us on how to skate, how to shoot. You know, he’s the best coach we’ve ever had. Because we were his kids, he knew us better than anybody. Even in the pros, there’s different ways to treat players. They can be yelled at or pampered. My dad knew how to relate to us. I don’t think he showed any favouritism toward Wayne. He taught everyone the same thing—Wayne was just a heck of a lot better, the way he took it! Right after games, we’d go downstairs, watch the videotapes, and he’d point out what we were doing right. That was the main thing. With each child, my dad focused on what we did right and how to do it even better. He just wanted you to build on whatever you did best, whether it was skating or passing, whatever. He never put fighting into the backyard. His philosophy was, how do you expect to score if you’re sitting in the penalty box?
I think he took a quote from a baseball player who said, “You never know who’s going to be in the stands watching you.” We tried to play with that in mind. And if my dad was in the stands—Whoooo! We tried our best!
KEITH GRETZKY: I kind of liked it when he didn’t go to a game! I remember one game my mum came to, and
afterwards, I said, “Mum, just tell Dad I played good.” I had one goal and an assist. I didn’t play very well. So Mum went home, and Dad asked, “How did he play?” She said, “Good.” And then a few days later, he was waiting outside a practice, talking to some of the parents. And he came home and said to my mum, “What game did you go to? He played like a dog!” He’d heard from the other parents!
His big thing was rest, rest, rest. I remember, I was nineteen, in Junior A, I got traded from Belleville to Hamilton, and my coach said, “Oh great, you can live at home. It’s only a twenty-minute drive.” Usually you get billeted out. I lasted a week. I said, “I gotta get a billet! Dad wants me to go to bed at nine o clock! I’m nineteen!”
You see parents push their kids to live their dreams. I once ran a minor hockey rink in California, and I saw this all the time, and I thought, “Holy cow, they want their kid to be the next superstar in the NHL and yet my dad never would push us like that.” That’s the bad part of hockey now. People think that must be what he did, yet it’s far from the truth. He got us involved in other things besides hockey, and although he pushed us to do well, we also knew it was up to us what we did with our lives.
I remember travelling with my friends John Mowat and Butch Steele to Brent’s OHL games when he was with the Belleville Bulls. I’d finish a shift at work around mid-afternoon, Phyllis would make us a lunch for the road, and we’d pull out of the laneway around four in the afternoon. I’d fall asleep in the car until we got to Belleville. I’d wake up every once in awhile to say to whoever was driving, “Don’t get a speeding ticket. But don’t be late.”
BUTCH STEELE: Before his aneurysm, the way Walter would watch a game his boys were in—he’d smoke a pack of cigarettes before the national anthem. He was a nervous wreck. If we went to Wayne’s games, or young Brent’s or Keith’s, we’d pick up a quart of milk on the way there, because of his ulcer. Watching a game would get it going. We’d be home at three or four in the morning, and he’d be back to work by eight.
On Family, Hockey and Healing Page 5