STRUCK DUMB IN THE PRESENCE OF GREATNESS AND FUTURE GREATNESS
In this issue of the Reader, your memory-infused correspondent reflects on a long-ago encounter with a Hockey Hall of Famer, celebrates a birthday for Astro’s owner, and quotes Yogi Berra.
This week: a 5-minute read plus a seven-minute audio attachment
FIRST BRUSH WITH FAME
We all have had our moments of sharing the same space with someone much more celebrated than ourselves. I know I’ve written about it in this space before (‘The Great One was Great,’ Sept. 29), but my first such experience came when I was, I’m guessing, 10 years old.
The celebrated personage was one Marcel Pronovost. Hockey Hall of Fame inductee. Four-time winner of the Stanley Cup with the Detroit Red Wings and a defensive stalwart on the last Toronto Maple Leafs team to win the Cup in 1967. The pride of his birthplace, Lac la Tortue, Quebec, and long-time resident—as were many of the Red Wings back in the day—of Windsor, Ontario.
The occasion was the annual minor hockey banquet in my Ontario hometown of Tilbury, and he and I sat together at the head table. Why was I so fortunate? It could be because I was the star goalie of the Squirt Division, but the more likely reason was because my dad was the president of the minor hockey association. It just occurred to me now that Dad wasn’t at the head table. Could it be he gave up his seat to me?
At any rate, the import of the situation struck me dumb, and any attempts at conversation by Marcel left me unable to muster anything more than monosyllabic responses. I do recall him asking if I was a Wings’ fan, to which I swore my allegiance to the Leafs and my hero, Johnny Bower. After that, nada. I was, as I said, barely 10.
That said, my mother did remark afterward to a friend that it was the first time she’d seen me eat all the peas on my plate.
I did see Marcel Pronovost again, 22 years later at the arena in Belle River, a town not far from Tilbury. He was coaching the Belle River Canadiens, a Junior C team that won the Ontario championship that season. His star player was a 15-year-old hometown hero named Tie Domi. By this point in Marcel’s hockey career, he had been a head coach in the NHL, WHA and CHL and coaching these young lads was more of a hobby for him. I ran into him in the lobby. I knew him immediately. He did not know me at all. I left it at that.
Marcel Pronovost’s life was one well-lived. We should all be so fortunate, though I do believe luck has little to do with it. He died in Windsor in 2015 at the age of 84.
ON APOLOGIES
Occasionally, a thought will smack you across the face like a slap from a mackerel. This is one came to me earlier this month when I was hopped up on cold medication and cough syrup.
Some people apologize but are not really sorry, while others are truly sorry but never apologize. It seems to me that given a choice, one is preferable to the other. The trick is in figuring out which one it is.
HE WALKS AMONG US
This year, George Jetson turns three-years-old.
How do we know that? There is this from the entertainment website IMDB. When The Jetsons first aired in 1962, the producers of the space-age cartoon made it known it took place 100 years into the future. In one episode broadcast later that year, George’s doctor tells him he should live to be 150. George responds, “I’ve got 110 good years ahead of me!” That means he was 40 and, well, you can do the math from there.
BOSTON PIZZA’S ORIGIN STORY
Speaking of the early 1960s, and our recent exploration of the history of pizza in this country, here’s a tidbit for all you lovers of your neighbourhood Boston Pizza.
The very first Boston Pizza and Spaghetti House was opened in Edmonton in 1964 by a former Greek sailor named Gus Agioritis. It was named, somewhat at random, after Bill Boston, who reportedly lived upstairs at that first location on 118th Avenue at 124th Street. There is some dispute about the origins of the name but a guy who was an executive with the company back in the day insists the story about the guy upstairs is accurate.
Today, there are 365 Boston Pizza locations across Canada and even more in the U.S. and Mexico.
MORE ‘DEAR TERRY’ LETTERS
Re ‘2024 Redux,’ Jan. 12. I did not understand the concept of gender reveal parties, Terry. Needless to say, I was the only one that showed up naked. Dick Wood, LaSalle, Ontario
Re ‘More Dear Terry Letters,’ Jan. 12. Hi, Terry. The letter you published about Ralph Klein reminded me of the night I was on duty as a photographer for the Edmonton Journal and told to head out and try to get photos of our drunken premier, who was reportedly staggering around a homeless shelter swearing and throwing small amounts of cash at unfortunate people. Alas, by the time I got there, his security detail had already bundled him into his limo and taken him home to sober up. John Lucas, Edmonton, Alberta
Ed. Note: Income redistribution, surely, John.
If you want to drop me a note (and risk me publishing it here), just reply to this email or, if you prefer send it to mysundayreader@gmail.com.
R.I.P. BOB
We lost baseball legend Bob Uecker late last week. I remember reading his book Catcher In The Wry years ago. He was a walking quote machine, but the most appropriate quote at a time like this surely comes from another great baseball character, Yogi Berra:
“You should always go to other people’s funerals. Otherwise, they won’t come to yours.”
THIS WEEK’S SHAMELESS PLUG
If audiobooks are your thing, we have just the ticket. Lethbridge: A Tale of Love in a Time of War is available in audio format for $9.95 Cdn. The narrator is an actor we hired from the north of England and he does a splendid job. Below is a four-minute excerpt, and you can read more at lethbridgetale.com.
See ya next week. / T.
