BOB COYNE: Now the problem was, how was I going to get to Europe with this stuff? We went to the airport with these garbage bags, and the security people looked at us and said, “And WHAT is this?” I said, “Well, that’s from Walter Gretzky for kids to trade when they get to Europe, at the hockey tournament.” And as I was saying that, the pilot heard me and came walking up. He said, “That’s from Walter Gretzky?” I said, “Yes.” And he said, “I’ll look after it.” Not another word was exchanged. The three bags disappeared. Later in the flight, the pilot invited the kids up to see the cabin, and I noticed, tucked in right behind him, on this 747, three green garbage bags, full of Wayne paraphernalia.
You see, I believe things have a way of working out!
I enjoyed doing special stuff like that for kids, but the main focus, always, was hockey. It’s true that Wayne and I would discuss the games in great detail, by phone or, if I’d been at a game, in person afterwards. He even called me between periods. Wayne was as intense about playing hockey as I was watching it. You’d see him on the bench there during the game, beside the other players, and you might see some of them chatting with each other, or looking down or away from the ice. Not Wayne. He would be watching the play non-stop. You’d see his head going back and forth, all the time. He’d be looking at all the other players, sizing up their moves and strategies, seeing if he could pick out weaknesses in the defensive line, if someone wasn’t turning well in a certain direction or had a problem with their leg, that sort of thing.
CHARLIE HENRY: Walter was always an adviser to Wayne, and Wayne liked it when his dad was there. He’d call me and say, “Charlie, pick up my dad and come to the game. I’d have to get myself from Ottawa to Toronto, and then we’d be off to Chicago or someplace. Phyllis would drive Wally to the airport. Oh, Wally would be a nervous wreck during the game. He’d comment. He’d analyze Wayne and everybody else, too. But he’s not loud. And if he had a criticism of someone and he met the player’s parent afterwards, he’d be very nice. He’d say, “Your son played so well.” And he meant it. Because at that level, you would have to be a pretty good athlete, just to be there. He was very gracious to everybody.
MURRAY ANGUS: I’d tag along with these guys to hockey games in Toronto or Detroit, Buffalo, Chicago. Listening to Walter and Wayne after a hockey game was incredible. These guys would talk this cryptic kind of language. Wally would say, “Well, you know, that shot in the second period …” and Wayne would reply, “Well, yeah, Kevin was coming up the side, and so-and-so was behind me and Messier was over here, and this guy was there, the goalie was going down, I had to shoot high.” And Walter would say, “No, if you’d gone over there and left your stick down …” and they’d talk this way, Wayne a half sentence and Wally the other half. It was this whole amazing dialogue. You talk about two guys talking hockey! You realized they spoke the exact same hockey language. I don’t mean the terms. I mean, Wally would say, “When you were coming in on that wing,” and Wayne would know exactly what he was talking about, which play, say, in the middle of the second period. Those four seconds out of a whole hockey game. And Wayne would know because when he’d done it, he’d been totally aware that Wally would be thinking that he should have been over there instead.
As Wayne’s celebrity grew, I did what I could to offer guidance and advice that I thought would help him stay grounded. But by the late ’80s, after years of really intense work as an athlete and being in the spotlight, I knew Wayne was feeling stressed. He was being pulled in a lot of different directions. He’d get mobbed by fans wherever he went. He was dating Janet, who was a Hollywood actress, and the tabloid press was showing an intense interest in his personal life. I know he just wanted to hide sometimes. I think he always knew we were rooting for him here in Brantford, and that we were delighted whenever we got a chance to see him play and to get together after the games. We were even more delighted when he was able to be with us at home. If he sometimes felt overwhelmed by all the demands, surrounded as he was by agents, owners, lawyers and whoever else wanted a piece of him at any given time, I think he also knew that I was just a phone call away, and I’d always try to give him the only advice I thought made any sense: mainly, be genuine and keep it simple.
WAYNE: My father was my sounding board, whether it was about playing hockey or whatever else was going on for me. He was there all the time, and you just knew that his advice was the best advice you were going to get. I mean, he was my dad. Nobody knew me or the game of hockey better than he did.
Of course, we always wanted the best for him and were so happy when he did well in Edmonton and later in Los Angeles. People would often ask me to comment on Wayne’s career during that period, especially on the deal Peter Pocklington made with Bruce McNall to trade him to the L.A. Kings. I suppose in the beginning, like so many other hockey fans, I was reluctant to see Wayne leave such a successful team as the Oilers, and even more reluctant to see him leave Canada. You knew it was the end of an era in lots of ways. It was no wonder that everyone, including Wayne, was very emotional about it at the time. But even though the decision might have been painful, everyone knew Wayne was going to be traded at some point, and I think he did the right thing in retaining his right to choose where he’d go, and in making the decision to go where he figured it made the most sense for him and Janet to base themselves and the family they planned to raise.
Quite frankly, I thought at first he’d be better off going to Detroit than Los Angeles and told him that. The team was more established and familiar to me, and closer to home. L.A. seemed like another planet, and I was a bit suspicious of the whole idea. For a while there, Wayne was pretty scared and worried about what his next move should be, because he was inclined to go with L.A. and knew I wasn’t immediately behind that. But I spent a few days out there visiting Wayne, meeting with Bruce McNall, who I got to know and respect, and I changed my mind. I said to Wayne, “You know, maybe this would be the best place for you.” I have to say it worked out pretty well for Wayne.
We’re delighted that he and Janet have four great, healthy kids, and we always enjoy visiting them, even though L.A. is a long way from Brantford, in more ways than one, and took some getting used to! I’m not sure I could ever get used to driving around Beverly Hills in a Ferrari; but I don’t mind doing that now and then as long as Wayne or Janet is doing the driving, and as long as they don’t go too fast. And how could I not appreciate meeting some of the people we’ve met over the years through Wayne? It was just a huge thrill for me to go to a Hollywood dinner party with Wayne and end up at the same table as my favourite actor of all time, Kirk Douglas, who turned out to be a great person. I couldn’t believe it. Wayne teased me about being such a big fan. I talked about that meeting for weeks afterwards!
Some of the happiest—and craziest—times during the ’80s were those spent travelling with friends to see Wayne play. I remember the time Wayne was getting the Canadian Athlete of the Year Award. The ceremony was in Toronto, but the Oilers were playing in Chicago, and he had to rent a plane to fly to Toronto after the game to get there in time. He phoned me and said, “Why don’t you guys just rent a plane in Toronto, fly to Chicago and bring me back?” We did: a four-seater with a nice pressurized cabin. Murray Angus, Charlie Henry and I went to Chicago, and I was able to get the pilot tickets for the game, too. We caught a ride to the arena on the team bus. It was the first time Murray had ever travelled on an NHL bus, and he didn’t realize that the seating reflects a very important pecking order. We got on and Murray sat down, and I saw Wayne get this look on his face, which I was trying to pick up on. Wayne went over to Murray and said, “I’ll let you know where to sit.” Murray was sitting in the goalie’s seat or something! There was a ritual to it all, and he had no idea.
Poor Murray, that was the first of two lessons he learned before the game. As we were standing outside the dressing room, the door opened and Murray went to walk in. Wayne came charging across the room and said, “You can’t be in here,
you can’t be in here!” I looked at Murray in disbelief and said, “What were you doing in there? You go in when you’re invited; you don’t otherwise. That’s sacred ground before a game. There is no fooling around.”
My friends were amazed to see all the NHL tough guys, like Tie Domi and Marty McSorley, politely saying, “Hello, Mr. Gretzky.” Really, so many players were like Jekyll and Hyde, on and off the ice. I always thought they were great guys, because they were always so nice and respectful to me.
WAYNE: My dad was always very popular with the other players. More than I think he realized. He wouldn’t go in the locker room, ever, even though the fact was, he was welcome. He didn’t have to wait for an invitation. For awhile there, he was the official unofficial photographer of the Canada Cup games. I mean, all kinds of people would be running around after the games, getting the players to pose for this shot or that one, but all the guys used to say, “If you want a photo, make sure you get into a picture by Walter Gretzky, because you’ll get a copy for sure.” That’s just how conscientious and organized he was. He’d be on top of it. He’d make sure he’d get enough prints and send them out to every single person in the shot.
You never knew what was going to happen, going to those games. I remember one time, we were headed to a game in Detroit because Greg Stefan, a Brantford kid, was playing. His dad, Frank, was coming along with four other guys, and I was thinking, “How am I going to get six guys in one car in the wintertime, with big coats on—it could be uncomfortable.” So Murray Angus said, “Well, I’ll phone my friend Jack and see if I can borrow his limo.” So we got this great big Cadillac limousine from Jack, a local businessman, and there we were, all leaning back, feeling like Mr. Big Shot. We got to Detroit, and Jessie Jackson had been speaking— that was when he was running for president. There were cops everywhere around the arena because he’d just left two hours earlier. We were driving around, unable to find a place to park. Traffic was gridlocked, hopeless. I said, “We’re going to be late.” Murray rolled down the window and asked a cop who was standing there, “Is there any place I can park?” The cop looked the limo over and then looked inside. I thought, “What the hell,” and piped up, “I’m Walter Gretzky, Wayne’s dad, and we’re looking for parking.” The cop said, “Oh hey, hang on!” He pulled back the barricade and said, “Follow me.” He took us right to the arena. We got out of the car and followed him to the back door. This big tough Detroit policeman said, “You stick with me.” He knocked on the door and shouted, “Open up, I’ve got Walter Gretzky here!” In we went, the back way. He said, “You want a couple of programs? Just a minute.” He got them. My friends were delighted, and I said to them, “You know, I never, ever do that. But I think I’m going to continue!” It was true, I never did that sort of thing. Ever. I’d stand in line for tickets, and my friends would laugh and say, “Wally, for God’s sake, just go tell them who you are.” But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
After the game, we chatted with Wayne and had a little visit. Then we all piled back into the car. We were on our way home and feeling good, sitting there in the big limousine! All of a sudden, chug, chug, chug, stop. We were halfway between Chatham and London, and we’d run out of gas. It was three in the morning, a freezing cold night in February. We were all standing around on the side of the road in dress shoes. The wind was blowing. We had to go to work the next day. Murray said, “Oh Wally, I’m sorry, I forgot to buy gas.” We all looked at each other and started laughing. I said, “Right, Murray, you ran out of gas, you go get the gas.” So there we all were, at the side of the 401, wondering whether anyone was going to stop on the highway in the middle of the night and look inside a black limousine. Murray said, “Well, let’s put the hood up, to show that we’re stuck.”
A truck driver came along a couple of minutes later, pulled over and drove Murray to the nearest gas station. Then he turned around and drove him back. Murray told him that he was at the hockey game in Detroit with Walter Gretzky. And the driver was this American guy who loved hockey. So, we got the gas. We finally got home about a quarter to seven in the morning. Travelling to the games was always an adventure. We’d make all these plans, and they would just not happen that way!
CHARLIE HENRY: On many occasions, back before Wally was widely recognized, we’d get into a taxi, and I’d say to him, “Well, where are we going?” He’d say, “The hockey game.” And I’d say, “What’s this kid’s name, who’s playing again?” And right away, the cabbie would say, “Wayne Gretzky.” And I would go, “Oh shit, do we have to watch this kid again? I don’t think he can play!” Well, one time I said all this stuff and the guy just stopped the cab, and said, “Get out.” He was furious. And of course, then I said, “It’s just a joke. This is Wayne’s dad!” Sometimes, Wally would con me into it. He’d say, “This kid, Gretzky, do you think he’ll play a good game?” Right away, I’d jump in with insults: “He can’t even skate. What are you talking about?” The cabbie would go, “You’re damn right he can’t play,” and I’d say, “You wanna meet his dad?” We had more fun with that. Although Wally was more reserved in those days than he is now, he would get quite a kick out of that sort of thing.
I guess that’s one of my contradictions: I’m a worrier who gets a kick out of foolishness and spur-of-the-moment things. I remember one time, Wayne went to Finland to play in the World Cup championship. It must have been the mid-’80s. He had invited Charlie Henry and I to come, but we didn’t think we’d be able to because we were both working. Then, at the last minute, I decided, what the heck, we should just go. I thought I’d surprise Charlie, who was a firefighter in Ottawa back then. He was sitting at the fire station that morning when I knocked on the back door. One of the young guys answered and went back and said to Charlie, “Someone wants to see you.” Charlie said, “Who is it?” And the young firefighter said, “Walter Gretzky.” Charlie didn’t believe him. But it was me! I said, “Get in the damn cab, we’re going over to see Wayne.” He said, “Wally, I’m working!” And I just said, “Well, pick up the phone and make some arrangements.”
So Charlie got some time off, called his wife, Nan, and told her we were going to Finland. We took off that day. We had no tickets. We were truly winging it. We flew from Ottawa International to Montreal. In Montreal, we looked up at the flight boards and scratched our heads. I mean, we had to be in Finland the next day. We were really cutting it close. We figured that if we went to Copenhagen, then Stockholm and then Helsinki, we had a shot.
We started the journey that afternoon, and we got to Helsinki the next day. The tournament was in Turku, another hour from Helsinki. So we got on another plane, a mail plane. It was tiny, and I am not the most comfortable flyer. All I could say to Charlie was, “This is gonna kill me.” Anyway, we got there, jumped in a taxi and sped to the arena. We had taken four planes, it had taken us twenty-some hours, and we made it—we were just five minutes late.
It was the first game of the World Cup and Canada was playing. Again, we had no tickets. Wayne didn’t know we were coming. We were stuck outside, all these Finnish policemen were milling around, and we couldn’t communicate to anyone why it was they should let these two crazy Canadians with no tickets into the game. I’m a law-abiding person, and I thought, “We’re done here. We tried our best, but we’re not going to make it.” But Charlie looked at me and said, “Wally, I didn’t come all this way to miss the game. Why don’t we make a run for it?”
I had no idea how we would pull that off. I said, “Okay, but don’t get me in trouble.”
Charlie’s a bigger guy than me, and he meant business. “Wally, just hang on to my coat,” he said. “When I tell you to go, go.” So I’m hanging on to his coat, and we’re walking around looking for a door to crash. We went by one door, and this big security guy turned his back for a moment. Charlie just ran in with me literally on his coattails, and the guard turned around and started screaming at us. As we were running down the hallway, I could hear all kinds of people yelling behin
d me, and I thought, “Oh, this was a mistake! What were we thinking?” I was sure we’d get nabbed and hauled away to jail. Then Charlie saw an opening going down to the ice, where he could see a net. We kept on running, me still clinging to his coat, and then he saw the blue line and said, “This is it!” We went right by another security guy and ran down the stairs. The security guys were catching up to us. It was dumb luck, but we ran right down to the Canadian bench. Charlie had picked the right opening by chance.
Paul Coffey turned around and looked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He said, “Hey, Wally!” and got up. Wayne was on the ice. Then security jumped all over us. The players, hearing all the noise, were looking around, wondering what was going on. Everybody was running, following us. The Canadian players opened the door and tried to get us into the box with them. Finally, Alan Eagleson came over and managed to explain who we were to the security people.
On Family, Hockey and Healing Page 8