By then, the game had stopped. Wayne, completely shocked, came up and said, “What are you guys doing here?” And we said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about us.” And Wayne and Paul started killing themselves laughing. We stopped the game!
Finally we were ushered upstairs to a VIP box, and we watched the game in great comfort, feeling immensely relieved that we hadn’t been arrested. Afterwards, we didn’t know how we were going to get back home. We went into the dressing room—by this time we were just part of the gang, Charlie and me—and the players were beside themselves laughing again. I said to Wayne, “Well, how are we going to get back to Helsinki?” He said, “You can’t go back with us. The bus is packed. There’s no room.” He called over some organizers, and they put us on the VIP bus. I couldn’t believe it. We were in these big roomy seats, and we got cigars, champagne and a waitress to serve us. There were about fifteen of us—Charlie, me, and a bunch of NHL owners—in a bus with twenty seats. Wayne was staring over at us in disbelief from the players’ bus, where he and everyone were all crammed in. We just couldn’t believe our luck. So we were sitting down with our cigars, and Charlie said to me, “We really pulled this one off.” I just shook my head and said “I don’t know how we did it!”
Charlie would get me into the strangest situations. I remember during the 1998 Olympics in Nagano, Japan, we ended up on the bullet train. I was in a good mood, just fooling around, and I started waltzing around the car, singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” Charlie was egging me on, and he said, “Wally, why don’t you take off your cap.” So I did. There I was with my hat out, and, of all things, an elderly lady put some money in it! Charlie was just beside himself laughing. I felt terrible and kept trying to return the money to the kind Japanese lady, but she refused to take it back. Charlie never lets me hear the end of that one: Walter Gretzky, begging for money on the Nagano train.
Another time, Wayne called Charlie and said, “Would you take my dad to the races?” Before I knew it, we were on the Concorde, on our way to Paris to see one of the horses co-owned by Wayne and Bruce McNall compete in a big race. Bruce’s people had booked us into this unbelievably expensive hotel, the Ritz Carlton, one of the most luxurious places in the world. Each of us had our own huge room. Charlie took one look, got his bag, came to my room and said, “Wally, let’s get another place to stay. Wayne’s spending way too much here.” I had an even bigger room than he did! This is no lie: the bed was about ten feet wide. I felt as uncomfortable as Charlie did and got kind of mad about it. I called Bruce’s office and got one of his financial people. I started chewing him out, saying, “Why are you spending Wayne’s money like this? Charlie’s not staying in his room, and I’m not staying in my room. Get us a hotel that makes more sense for us.” And the guy said, “Don’t worry, Bruce is taking care of the tab.” I said, “Well, I don’t care who’s picking up the tab, we’re not staying.” The guy said, “It’s too late now, Walter. It’s eleven o’clock, and we can’t make any changes.” So we stayed there, but Charlie didn’t go back to his room. There was more than enough space for the two of us in mine. The next morning we cancelled Charlie’s room, but we couldn’t persuade them to move us somewhere else. So reluctantly, we stayed there for three days.
Now this story is a classic. We were watching the race, and Wayne and Bruce’s horse was running, and Bruce was back in L.A. One of his people was supposed to give him a description of the race over the phone, but she didn’t know how to do it. Charlie and I were in our seats and heard her talking to Bruce, describing the race: “Well, Bruce, we’re in first place. We’re heading for the first post, and we’re going pretty good. Everything is going fine.” But Charlie and I noticed that a man sitting nearby was actually telling the woman what was going on and she was repeating it into the phone. It was one to the other to Bruce as the race was taking place. There was just one problem. I heard the woman telling Bruce that his horse was in first place. I leaned in and said to Charlie, “Are you looking at the same race as I am?” Finally, I turned to the lady and asked her the same question. She said, “Yes.” I said, “Well, you’re looking at the wrong horse. Our horse is sixteen, and he is in sixteenth place.” The man says, “Oh my God.” The lady said, “So now it’s, uh, well, Bruce, I think we’re falling a little behind.” And when the race was over, that horse was last.
Afterwards, we went downtown, where there was supposed to be a celebration party, but no one was in a big mood to celebrate. Apparently, the day before the race, they had refused $8 or $9 million for that horse. So the victory party was really more of a wake. We were all eating steaks, and I couldn’t help whispering to Charlie, “I wonder if this is the old nag itself.”
After the party, everyone climbed into their limos to leave. Charlie and I were sick of all the trappings and decided it was a nice night and we’d walk back to the hotel through the streets of Paris. Well, we got lost. We tried to hail a cab but no one would stop for us—I guess they don’t pick up people off the street in Paris at night. We ended up flagging down a garbage truck and the driver kindly drove us back to the doors of the Ritz Carlton. Bet the doorman of that hotel had never seen guests arrive in a garbage truck before!
I’ve met a lot of celebrities over the years, and I’ll tell you, one of the greatest was John Candy. I don’t know why he and I hit it off so well, but we did. We’d just laugh and laugh. He was a fan of Wayne’s, and I got to know him when he and Wayne co-owned the Toronto Argonauts for a time with Bruce McNall. I don’t think I missed a single Argos game.
WAYNE: I remember we had just bought the Argos and we were sitting in the box watching the game, which the team lost. And after the game, my dad came out and said to me, “Did you really buy this team?” I said, “Yes, Dad,” and he looked at me and said, “You need your head read!” I should have known my dad, of all people, would turn out to be right.
One time, Bruce McNall decided he was going to sign Rocket Ishmail to the team, and he said to my dad, “Walter, with Rocket Ishmail I’m going to do for Canadian football what Wayne did for hockey in the United States.” I’ll never forget, my dad just turned and looked at Bruce and said, “You’re a damn fool. There’s only one Wayne.”
John Candy flew Butch and me to every Toronto away game in his private plane. He’d lay on a spread and we’d eat and laugh our way coast to coast. Charlie also had the chance to meet him when Wayne arranged for us to fly back to Toronto from a game in L.A. with John. Poor Charlie. John was a heavier smoker than I was, and between the two of us, we created a fog so thick in there you could hardly see. I was really sad when John died so young, and I miss him. I was still recovering from my stroke and missed his funeral. I also missed the highlight of his time owning the Argos. I had my stroke in October 1991 and that was the fall the Argos went on to win the Grey Cup.
I also once met Larry Hagman, when we appeared on a fishing show together. Old J.R.! This was after he’d rehabilitated himself. He’d had some bad alcohol problems, which he freely admitted. He’d even had a liver transplant since he’d done so much damage to his own. I found him very gracious, funny, down to earth and genuinely concerned about other people. That impressed me. We could talk about anything, tease each other. Maybe he felt he was making up for lost time, I don’t know, but he has done his bit for charity, and I respect people who do that.
Wayne’s brought home quite an interesting mix of people over the years. I’ll never forget the time we ended up with KGB agents in our living room. This was when Wayne was playing in the Canada Cup tournament in Hamilton in the late ’80s. That was some of the best hockey you’d ever see. Mario Lemieux and Wayne playing together—that was fantastic. One day, Wayne phoned up and said to his mother, “I’m bringing some people home for a barbecue.” Next thing you knew, we were entertaining half a dozen Russian hockey players, including the goaltender, Tretiak, and the coach, Tikanov, in our backyard. And sitting on our couch were two big, burly guys in suits, looking very uncomfortable. I invited
Murray Angus over, and he asked me, “Who are they?” You should have seen the look on his face when I said, “KGB.” In my house, in Brantford! It was pretty unbelievable. But the players were having a great time, and we were, too. Half of them didn’t speak English, but they learned how to say “hamburger” soon enough.
Tretiak was kind of angry that these agents had to tag along. They were referred to as the interpreters, and they travelled with the team as security. Wayne managed to get the players past them and downstairs, one at a time, to have a cold beer without their coach or the KGB knowing. Tikanov was a gruff-looking guy, and I was scared that they’d get caught. But Wayne posted someone at the top of the stairs and took the players downstairs where the trophies were. They weren’t supposed to drink at a tournament, strict orders. They couldn’t have a beer, nothing. I suppose it was one time I didn’t insist on being a stickler for rules! It was still pretty dicey with the Soviet Union back then. You really saw the differences between the teams after the game: all the Canadian guys would be coming out in their $3000 Armani suits, while the Russians were wearing zip-up track pants, carrying a little bag with their stuff in it and heading back to the hotel.
Wayne got to be great friends with Tretiak, and we once had dinner at his place in Russia. We’ve also visited places like the Berlin Wall, the day before it came down. It was quite a creepy feeling, going through Checkpoint Charlie, seeing all the soldiers patrolling with their guns, and looking at the places where people had lost their lives trying to escape to the West. I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. Another place that I’ll never forget was Auschwitz. You see something like that and wonder how human beings can do such things to each other. It boggles my mind; it truly is almost impossible to comprehend.
I’d always wanted to go to Poland, to see the place my mother came from, and visit some of the old relatives. Again, it was Wayne who made that possible, and I travelled with Charlie and my other dear friend John Mowat. John had been a hockey scout for some years, and he had always been interested in baseball. He worked with Wayne as a pitching coach when Wayne was a kid. John and I had also co-owned a baseball team in Brantford together. He and his wife, Mary, were close friends of ours, and their kids knew our kids well, too. That trip to Poland is a memory I cherish, but it makes me very sad, too. In the middle of our trip, John had a fatal heart attack. He had been a healthy guy in his fifties who’d just had a clean bill of health from his doctor. We had no idea he had any heart problems. It was difficult to negotiate with the Polish authorities the transport of his remains back home. The red tape was unbelievable. It wasn’t until Wayne called the Canadian embassy that we got any action. It was tragic that the trip ended that way, but the one thing that gives me comfort is that I know John had an incredible time. We visited an ancient church the day before he died, and I can still see John turning to me and saying, “Thank you, I’ll always remember this.” To this day, I keep a picture of the three of us on that trip on the desk in my den.
As I’ve said before, one of the things that makes me most proud of my kids is that they have all turned into people who want to give to others. Our family has been very involved over the years with the CNIB. That happened because of Wayne. He was about eighteen years old, waiting at the airport for his ride home to Brantford, and two boys who were coming up to attend the school here were also waiting. Wayne went over, and while he was talking to them, one of the boys interrupted him—both of these kids were totally visually impaired—and said, “I know who you are. You’re Wayne Gretzky, aren’t you?” At about one o’clock that night I just wanted to go to bed, because I had to get up and go to work in the morning, and Wayne was sitting at the kitchen table, so impressed that this young boy knew who he was by his voice. Not only did the boy know who Wayne was, he knew everything about him: where he played, some of the problems he’d already encountered, some of the records he’d held. And I remember Wayne sitting there at the table, saying, “There’s got to be some way we can help kids like that. You know what we should do, Dad? We should have a little tennis tournament. I’ll phone a few of my friends, and we’ll have a tournament. We’ll raise a few dollars for the CNIB. Well, eleven years, lots of tennis (and baseball) and $3 million later, that came to a stop, only because I had my aneurysm. Since then, we’ve started fundraising again through the Walter Gretzky CNIB Golf Tournament, which takes place here in Brantford every July. The money we raise goes to a scholarship fund that helps visually impaired students from across Canada with the costs of going to university. Our daughter Kim administers the fund, soliciting applications and arranging for a jury to decide on the winning candidates. In the first year we awarded five scholarships, and now we are up to fifteen.
Those early tennis tournaments and baseball games were wonderful and exciting. They were a great boost for the community, with many local people getting involved. We even did a pioneer re-enactment one year, complete with townsfolk dressed as soldiers, firing off cannons and guns. The funny thing was, I guess I’d forgotten to tell Wayne what was on the agenda. He arrived for the tournament and was a bit puzzled to see people dressed up as though they were from the nineteenth century. It was 110 degrees out in the sun, and some of the people in their military uniforms must have lost twenty pounds in sweat. Wayne apparently waved our good friend Brian Cooper over and asked, “What’s my dad doing, trying to start a war?” I guess he forgot I’m a history buff. Muskets and bagpipes are right up my alley!
We had sports figures, soap opera stars, rock musicians, you name it, coming to the tournaments year after year: Glen Campbell; Brendan Shanahan; the Leafs; Colin Campbell; Scott Stevens—what a nice guy; Bruce Hood, the referee; Kirk Muller—nice guy, too; Jim Kelly from the Buffalo Bills, six-foot-five and such a nice man; Marty McSorley, who came every year; Brett Hull and Gordie Howe—they were the first guys to get on the field and the last off after signing autographs. Brett Hull signed autographs for two hours after the baseball game was over. Stood by the fence till every kid was satisfied. He even outdid Gordie Howe, and Gordie never turns down anybody.
WAYNE: Those tournaments were among the few charities around where 100 per cent of the assets went to the charity itself—in this case, the CNIB. My dad worked so hard to make sure of that. And he was so appreciative of the celebrities who would come and give their time and not ask for anything in return. Sometimes people did at least want their airfare and hotel paid for, and I had to say to him, “Dad, they are giving their time. You have to give them something.” But he didn’t understand that, given who these people were. So when people asked for nothing, he loved them and would go out of his way for them. People like David Foster and Alan Thicke just went all out every year, and he felt indebted to them for making that tournament such a success in the community.
One year, two young players came, one from the Kingston Frontenacs, and the other from the Kitchener Rangers—I think they won a contest to attend. So we were standing in the VIP tent with these two kids who were seventeen years old, Junior A players and just drafted. Their eyes were bugging out, they had plates of food they couldn’t eat because they were surrounded by the greats. They weren’t looking at the Hollywood stars, they were watching the hockey players! Murray Angus took Paul Coffey, Mark Messier and Marty McSorley, the biggest guys he could find, over and said to the kids, “You guys want to meet these guys?” Messier, built like granite, shook one kid’s hand, and said “What position do you play?” The kid said, “Uh, defence.” Messier said, “Oh. Left-handed?” “Uh, yeah.” Messier said, “I’ve never had much luck against you left-handed guys. Watch yourself.” Those kids were speechless.
Dave Semenko, a sweetheart of a guy who played with Wayne in Edmonton, used to come to the tournament. Those original Oilers have become legendary now. Some are still playing. But they came to our charity events. I could see that they loved Wayne and would do anything for him, and we all appreciated it.
Other Hollywood celebrities who came over the years: Joh
n Candy, Donna Mills from Knots Landing, Cheryl Tiegs, Alyssa Milano, Rob Lowe, Brian Patrick Clark from General Hospital, Bob Woods from One Life to Live—that’s who my mum liked. He was one of the nicest guys. Rob Lowe was young and cocky then, but he was very nice and polite. Shannen Doherty from Beverly Hills, 90210 was supposed to be an incredibly wild, partying kind of girl, but she stayed here in Brantford and was nothing but polite and generous with her time, just an absolutely charming girl. Teri Garr, Connie Sellecca, Alan Thicke and Jamie Farr came, too.
I’ll never forget Mike Levine, the lead guitarist from Triumph. He and his wife arrived late. Levine had tattoos, long hair and sunglasses, and both of them were dressed like bikers. They looked so tough, I admit, I did a bit of a double-take, thinking, “Uh-oh, here comes trouble.” But nothing could have been further from the truth. First, he apologized for being late and explained that he and his wife had had to attend a parents’ meeting at their kids’ school. He was so friendly, and for the whole weekend was very open and pleasant and mingled with the crowd, having a great time. It was one of those cases where appearances can fool you— I do know it’s true that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
My priority with those tournaments was simply to make sure that we raised as much money as possible for the kids at the school. That was it. I didn’t want anything to be too complicated, and I wanted everyone to stay focused on that fundraising goal, which was tricky at times.
On Family, Hockey and Healing Page 9