I always enjoyed watching Keith and Brent play hockey. They are both gifted athletes. But to compare them to Wayne is unfair. Compare them to other kids who play Major A, and we can have a discussion that would last for hours. My friend Bob Coyne remembers being involved with Brent when he was in Junior B, and always said Brent had “more moves than a rattlesnake.” He could captivate an audience. He still can, playing in the United Hockey League, which is a pro league in the northeastern United States. He is an excellent skater, a good playmaker. Keith was very much an instinct player. He just knew where to be, all the time. He had great hands. Bob worked with him in hockey schools, and he’s said to me, “The things Keith can do with a puck are just like … Whoa! Where’d you learn to do this, kid?” He was very, very good. But was he Wayne? No. Should he have been? NO! He was Keith. And he was a very good Keith, just as Brent is a very good Brent. This is the attitude we’ve had over the years. We tried to stress with our kids that everyone has something valuable to offer, and not everyone can be a superstar.
BRENT: We knew there was going to be comparison between us and Wayne, but Dad would never get into that, because I guess then he’d be doing it, too. But in a roundabout way, he’d just say, “Do your best.” Hockey was his life. He wanted to be with Wayne every game, and I think with every other boy, same thing goes. When he went to my games, he would stand in the corner and videotape, and if I was playing bad, he would kind of look at me, and I knew I had to pull up my socks.
CHARLIE HENRY: You know, over the years, we’ve seen Brent play in the minors, we’ve seen Keith play in the minors, like we went to see Wayne. I remember one time travelling fifteen hours with Wally to see Keith play. He made sure he saw everybody. He tried to help the other guys to play in the NHL, to play pro. And there was a lot of pressure on those kids. I can remember when they came into the Ontario league. It wasn’t them people saw, it was the name. It was hard to have that name on the sweater. And they were great hockey players. If they had had any other name, they might have been better treated. People expected so much. It put them in the limelight right away. And often it takes time for a player to become exceptional. They didn’t get the benefit of the doubt there. But on the other hand, Wayne—there was nothing he didn’t do for his kid brothers. He knew what they were going through. He was always so good to them. It wasn’t his fault.
Some people have tried to suggest from time to time that there’s bad feelings between Wayne and his brothers, but that’s absolutely not true. Keith and Brent love their older brother, and he loves them. Wayne’s always been a terrific fan and supporter of his younger brothers and sister; Charlie’s right, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them.
But there was no denying that Wayne had something extra special going for him in the hockey department, and right from the beginning, I was prepared to nurture that along in whatever way I could. Although the minor hockey rules said he couldn’t join a novice team at the age of six, I took him to the tryout anyway, and he made the team, just because of his adept stick handling. He was a proud number eleven, but he was so much smaller than the other players, he really stood out. His sweater hung so low, he had to tuck it into the back of his pants and, as every hockey fan knows, that became a trademark for him.
Wayne scored only one goal that year (the one I managed to capture on camera), and he didn’t win any awards. I could tell he was not happy about that, and I remember saying to him, “Don’t worry about it, son. If you keep working at this, one day you’ll have so many, you won’t know what to do with them.” Years later, when Wayne brought home the Stanley Cup and received the Order of Canada … it’s hard to describe the feeling.
After that first year of working to keep up with the bigger kids, Wayne won his first trophy: the Wally Bauer Award for being the most improved Novice all-star player during the Brantford Minor Hockey Association’s 1968–69 season. As has been well documented over the years, there really was no stopping him after that. He went from one goal in his first year to twenty-seven the next. Four years later, by the age of ten, he went from 196 goals the year before to a stunning 378. That’s really when the media picked up on the story of “the kid from Brantford” big time, and Wayne was interviewed by newspapers and on radio and TV shows across the country.
Being “the one to watch” was tough for Wayne, because he was a shy kid, or at least kind of like me back then, more reserved in personality. We often recall the story of the hockey banquet where he met his idol, Gordie Howe, for the first time. It’s where the famous picture was taken of the two of them, when Wayne was ten. They’re both smiling away, and Gordie’s got a hockey stick around Wayne’s neck. They hit it off, but there was a mix-up with the announcer, who introduced Wayne as a speaker. The poor kid had no speech prepared. He stood up and stared at the hundreds of people out there in front of the head table, and was literally speechless. It was Gordie who rescued him. He just walked over and said, “I think anyone who just scored that many goals doesn’t have to make a speech.” Everyone applauded, and Wayne got to sit down. That was the beginning of a connection between those two that carries on to this day. I’m sure Gordie knew back then that this kid might one day surpass his own achievements in hockey.
We travelled around the country to watch Wayne play. By the time he was thirteen, he had gained so much attention, he had been all over Canada and had an agent. Meanwhile, at home in Brantford, eleven-year-old Kim was into her track and field in a big way, travelling to meets around the province, and winning a lot of races, eventually proving herself to be “one to watch” at the national level. It was too soon to tell just what kind of player Keith would be, but he was forging his own way in minor hockey; Glen, at age five, was proving to be a smart and active kid, nicely overcoming all the difficulties with his feet and keen to get into his own pair of skates. Baby Brent, bringing up the rear, was showing signs he’d soon be toddling toward the hockey arena himself. Despite all of Wayne’s successes on the rink and the attention he was gaining far and wide, we still wanted him to have as normal a family life as possible and to work hard at school, which he did—he managed to be an A student, too.
WAYNE: People might not believe it, but although my father’s biggest passion—apart from fishing and photography—was seeing his sons do well in hockey, he wasn’t motivated by money. That just didn’t enter his mind. That’s why he has a hard time fathoming the way it is with some hockey parents today. I mean, hockey was the focus of his life, but every Sunday morning he got us up for church. I never missed church for the first fifteen years of my life. He didn’t even go regularly himself until 1980, but he made sure we went. The nice thing is that now when I go to Brantford, we go to church as a family, and I see the same people there as I did when I was a kid. That’s just incredible to me.
In April, 1974, Wayne recorded his one thousandth minor hockey goal. People could see he had the potential to do things in hockey that no one had ever done before. Still, with all the success came pressure for Wayne, and there was resistance and skepticism among some spectators and reporters. Wayne was aware of that and always tried to rise to the challenge of performing to the best of his abilities and proving people wrong.
I remember how it was when I first met Charlie Henry, who would become a lifelong close friend. We were in Belleville, watching Wayne play, and Wayne was wearing these white gloves. I overheard Charlie making a remark along the lines of, “Could he skate in the dark in the white gloves,” and everyone around chuckled. It’s true, they were so bright, they practically glowed. I knew people assumed that Wayne was trying to show off and draw attention his way. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to introduce myself to this wisecracker. I guess Charlie felt a little embarrassed. He said, “Hey, nothing wrong with the kid. He’s a great player.” Later, I told Charlie the truth about those gloves. The Cooper company, now Bauer, had sent them to the sporting goods store in Brantford especially for Wayne. But the owner knew I wouldn’t just take them. So he said he’d give
them to me for ten bucks, which I thought was a good deal. Wayne wore them not only because he liked them, but because he knew we didn’t have a lot of money to throw around. It might have been the first product endorsement Wayne was asked to do, but it certainly wasn’t his last. These companies had good reason to suppose they were on to a good thing.
Wayne had a lot of enthusiastic supporters in those days, people like Eddie Ramer, Bryan Wilson and Charlie Henry, who we have always appreciated and who are dear friends to this day. We got to know Eddie when Wayne was ten. He started following Wayne’s progress when he was about eight or nine years old, when he was still playing hockey for the young Nadrosky Steelers. Eddie was among those who seemed to know right away that he was seeing someone special. So he made a point of going to a lot of the games. In Wayne’s last year of Peewee, Eddie felt he was going to have his most prolific scoring year and he decided he would keep stats on every game. He didn’t know our family at the time, he just enjoyed watching Wayne play. That was the year Wayne became famous for scoring 378 goals. So Eddie had this chart drawn up and decided he would present it to us. He phoned up and told me that he had something to give to Wayne and me, honouring that particular year. When he came over with it, we were pretty overwhelmed by such a generous gesture. Today, Eddie’s chart is one of the first things you see in the display cases of the Gretzky exhibit at the Hockey Hall of Fame. We were truly touched when people showed that kind of interest in our son.
Mostly, the kids Wayne played with didn’t have a problem with him. But some of the other hockey parents and people in the media weren’t that fond of him. There was a lot of naysaying. Many just assumed he was a flash in the pan, an arrogant show-off with a pushy parent who got him more ice time than he deserved. In fact, because he was so good at all the sports he played, he got that kind of response whether it was lacrosse or baseball or distance running. Some people just seemed to have a problem with a kid who was that talented.
The truth was, although Wayne loved to score as much as the next guy and didn’t hide his pride when he did, with that famous kick of his, he was always a team player. He looked out for the other guy right from the youngest age. I recall one time before a game, during that season when he scored 378 goals, he came to me and said, “Dad, there’s a boy on the team, I feel so sorry for him, he hasn’t scored a single goal. You watch, Dad, tonight I’m going to help him score a goal.” And he did that. He was ten years old, the top scorer, and yet he set up a play so that his teammate could finally score a goal.
It was a long time ago, and frankly I don’t feel any anger any more about the negative attitudes some people had toward Wayne. A little while back, I was out at the arena with my friend Warren MacGregor. One of the parents who was really among the worst for verbally abusing Wayne out on the ice in those days came up and shook my hand, all smiling and friendly, asking me how I was doing. Afterwards, Warren said to me, “Wally, how can you talk to that man after the way he used to behave?” But I say, what’s the point of holding a grudge? It’s over, move on.
In some ways, I could understand how people felt. You’re a parent, you’ve got a kid out there who you want to have as much ice time as possible, and you see this other kid who just seems to score all the goals and get all the attention. It got so bad, some people actually booed when Wayne came out on the ice. I guess they never stopped to think what kind of effect that could have on a young player. He might have been talented beyond his years, but he was just a little boy. After a game where there’d been a lot of abuse from other parents, he’d come home and spend the night crying in his room. Looking at it from a kid’s perspective, it must have been confusing: you go out on the ice, give your best effort for the love of the game, and you get booed? It hurt him, and it hurt Phyllis and me to see him so upset.
We could see how the atmosphere of resentment in our hometown was affecting Wayne, and that led us to make the tough decision to send him to Toronto to live and play hockey when he was just fourteen years old. A friend called and asked if Wayne would like to play on a team in Toronto, go to high school there and live with the family of a teammate. Wayne was eager to go, but as parents, we really did not want to see that happen. Added to my worries was the thought of the kind of trouble a young teenager could get into in the big city, living away from his parents. It was the early ’70s, and we were, of course, worried about drugs. I remember arguing with him about it, and finally Wayne said, “Dad, you’re worried about me getting into drugs in Toronto. Just name the drugs and give me a few hours. I’ll just go over to the high school here in Brantford and bring some home.” I saw the point he was making. Reluctantly, Phyllis and I said yes, he could go.
It was a turning point in his life and the life of our family, because he never lived at home again. But we worked hard to remain close and to provide all the support we could for Wayne, even if it was at a distance. As much as possible, he visited us and we visited him and went to see as many of his games as we could. Talking on the phone late at night, when the long-distance rates were lowest, became part of our way of life, and large phone bills became part of our budget! But any fears and worries we had were put to rest. We were very fortunate to find a good family for Wayne to live with in Toronto, Bill and Rita Cornish. I think he was probably lonely sometimes, aware of how much his abilities in hockey were setting him aside from the rest of the kids his age, but he could go to school like a normal kid, play hockey in the evenings and on weekends, and enjoy a bit of anonymity, the last in his life really, in a bigger city. He was supposed to play Bantam at that age, but he was good enough for Junior A and so ended up on the Toronto Young Nationals, playing with young men who were much larger than he was. I’d always told him his strength would be his brains, not his size, and that continued to be the case.
With four kids still at home, family life continued to centre around sports: hockey tournaments, track meets, baseball games. Wayne maintained a good relationship with his siblings, even if he didn’t get to see them as much as we’d all have liked. In 1977, despite our initial misgivings about Wayne going even further away, he was drafted to the Sault Ste. Marie Greyhounds. But that turned out well, too, and it’s where he first wore the number ninety-nine.
We couldn’t always get to those games, of course, but my friend Bryan Wilson and I figured out a way to be part of the action all the way down in Brantford.
BRYAN WILSON: Wally and I, we had this thing built. It was two pieces of wood from a crate, like a pyramid with a wire in it as an aerial, and we’d plug it into the portable radio and listen to the Sault Ste. Marie games. He’d be sitting at one end of the table, I’d be at the other. There was only one earphone we had to share. And I’d say, “Wally, what do you hear?” He’d say, “I think he just scored.” And I’d be saying, “Well, let me hear!” And, of course, he would hardly let me listen to the game! I’d get so mad. I’d have to make the tea. I’d say, “Wally, I’ve made three pots already, I haven’t listened to anything, because you’re the only one with the earphone!” It was funny, the two of us sitting at the table. Oh, we listened to almost every game that Sault Ste. Marie played. Or at least Wally did!
I must have smoked a lot of cigarettes and coated my poor old stomach with a lot of milk around the time when Wayne was getting ready to join the pro leagues. He was under age, of course, and that didn’t sit well with the NHL. His agent, Gus Badali, thought it was best to go for the World Hockey Association (WHA), and, once again, that decision turned out for the best. A few deals fell through, but, in the end, it looked like a guy by the name of Nelson Skalbania was pretty serious about Wayne. Skalbania flew him, Phyllis and me out to Vancouver to meet with him. It was pretty funny; I’ll never forget him picking us up at the airport in a Rolls Royce. It might as well have been a jalopy, because it smoked all the way back to Skalbania’s house. He advised me, “Walter, never buy a Rolls Royce,” and I can honestly say to this day I never have.
When Wayne signed that deal, his first la
rge professional contract, we were all pretty relieved, even though it wasn’t clear yet where he was going to play. It ended up being in Indianapolis, with the Racers. It wasn’t a great season. People weren’t all that interested in the team, or in Wayne, and Skalbania was losing money. After only eight games, he decided Wayne should move, and Gus Badali advised Wayne to pick Edmonton, where the WHA was attracting more attention and the team was more likely to be bought by the NHL.
And that of course, was the beginning of a whole new era for Wayne, and for hockey, and in a lot of ways, for me and the family, too. It had always been exciting being Wayne’s dad, but as the ’80s got started, I don’t think any of us could have dreamed about what life was going to be like now, with a bona fide NHL star on board.
Every hockey parent of a kid with a little talent dreams of him making it to the NHL. All the hard work of so many years was paying off, but it sure didn’t stop just because Wayne had “made it.” Far from it! Not that we’d have it any other way. I can only say that even though it was a dream come true, for Wayne, for me, for all of us, it wasn’t always what we expected it to be, either. But if nothing else, the Gretzky family of Varadi Drive, Brantford, Ontario, Canada, knew how to rise to a challenge. The “fame and glory” might have thrown us for a loop sometimes, but one thing was for sure—life was never going to be dull!
chapter three
“PINCH ME, MY SON’S IN THE NHL”
So many books have been written about Wayne. There are dozens, by now, that detail his achievements as the NHL star who spent his career shattering every record in sight. Anyone with his kind of success and fame is bound to generate a lot of curiosity in the public. People marvel at his performances on the ice, but they also want to know what it was like behind the scenes during those golden years. What’s it been like to be Wayne’s dad?
On Family, Hockey and Healing Page 6