There were other extremely talented players in our league in our age group. We played a very high level of hockey, and there were opportunities for an adult to latch on to a boy’s success. There was money to be made and coaching and management opportunities to be had by showing an eye for developing successful hockey players.
Graham was neither a parent nor a relative of any of the players. Still, it would never have occurred to anyone that he might have an ulterior motive. It would have been beyond contemplation in 1979 that Graham was using his position to develop relationships with young men, to access potential prey. Nobody considered for a moment that he might be putting himself amidst young, athletic, and even, some would say, good-looking boys for his own satisfaction.
Everybody on our team knew that Graham was there. As hockey players, we desperately wanted to impress him. But at the same time, we saw his helping a team from a different district, our rivals no less, as an act of treason against both the St. James team he coached and our team representing that same district. We used this seeming treason as motivation throughout the tournament. Hockey is about many things, with loyalty and respect for the jersey very high on the list. How dare he disrespect our jersey, his own team’s jersey, and help another team against us? Oh, the silly things that motivate young boys.
And of course, things being what they are, our two Winnipeg teams had traveled all the way to Minneapolis only to end up facing each other in the Mid-Western Regional AAA Final, a game that could have been scheduled just a short drive from everybody’s house back home.
I don’t remember much about that game except that I did not play particularly well and we lost to the team Graham was helping. For some reason, I’d been very calm on the bus taking us from the hotel to the rink for the game and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t more energized for the final. So I mentally “worked myself up,” that being the mantra for successful athletes back then. But I had completely misunderstood what was going on. My perfectly calm state had actually been something I’d never experienced before—perfect preparation for a big moment. As the game wound down I realized that in working myself up, all I’d done was get in the way of my ability to play naturally to the best of my ability. I was so disappointed, so mad at myself.
Me being me, I blamed myself for the loss and was both angry and somewhat despondent as our team left the ice with our second-place trophies or medals or whatever they gave us—it was just a loss to me, and second-place awards meant nothing to me that night. And just then, as we were walking down the pathway from the ice surface to our dressing room, there, almost incredibly, was Graham standing just off to the side, alone, watching us but looking as if he didn’t want us to see him. I looked over and saw him and couldn’t help myself: “Hey! Graham! Nice job helping them. Traitor! You have to leave St. James to be a winner?”
Back then, I would have been the last, and I mean last, person to say anything rude to an adult. I immediately felt sick about what I had done and resolved to do whatever I could to try to take it back.
Except you can’t ever really take words back.
After getting out of my equipment and eventually leaving the dressing room, I searched for Graham to apologize to him. I was nervous and ashamed. I expected the worst. Instead, I was met by a very calm, very reassuring, almost nurturing man who said that he understood that things are said in the heat of the battle and that I shouldn’t worry at all about what I’d said. He said that if he’d been in the same position, he likely would have done the same thing. I was relieved.
“Hey, Greg, this is just one game,” he said. “Focus on what you’ve accomplished. Focus on your skills, on what you can do. That’s the real you. You know you’re better than today. Today, tonight, was an exception.”
“It’s Gil. The guys call me Gil.”
But it got even better. Graham went on to compliment me on my play. He told me to put this one game aside and learn from it. He let me know that he was aware of my ability and successes and that he thought that I had a future in the game if I kept progressing in the right direction. He said that he was prepared to help me, that he had some thoughts on things that could help me, but he definitely did not want to interfere with my current coaches (who, he thought, weren’t that good but must be respected) so we would have to keep this between us to avoid causing offense. Same with my dad—don’t tell him, as my coaches would eventually find out. Keep this to myself, at least for the next little while, and we’ll see what we can do. He said he would get in touch when we were back in Winnipeg. And with that, we agreed to speak when back in Winnipeg.
I remember getting on our team bus to head back to Winnipeg not caring one bit about the fact that we had lost the regional finals. Instead, all I could think about was that one of the leading figures in our hockey world thought I had a future in the game and was prepared to work with me.
That was the random event that caused our paths to cross. Those were the random words uttered by me in frustration that changed my life. Some might assume that I would wish I had never apologized to him. But I see it differently: it was my fault and I wish I had never been rude to him. In the end, nothing mattered. I was nobody to him, just an opportunity, a potential victim.
Not too long after we were back in Winnipeg, Graham started following my team around and showing up at games. Seeing him there, knowing he was watching me, I felt flattered. In those days before email, texting, cell phones, even voice mail or home recording machines, he could have just called my house and asked for me. But he never made direct contact with me anywhere other than at a hockey rink. He was always surrounded by other coaches or kids in hockey jackets, near the canteens at the rinks that everybody passes on the way in and out of arenas. It provided him with a perfect opportunity to grab a quick minute of conversation with me while my dad was waiting for me in the car. If he ever needed to get in touch with me, he could always easily find me.
Eventually, Graham suggested that we get together at a local restaurant. I was so excited that somebody of his stature in our hockey community wanted to meet with me, and I could hardly wait until the day came.
THE DAY FINALLY came. I had just turned fifteen and didn’t yet drive, so I had to walk there, about a fifteen- or twenty-minute walk. I was so excited. I wanted to make a good impression, and I most definitely didn’t want to be late, so I arrived very early. Because I had very little money with me, I sat drinking several glasses of water while I waited for him. The waitress asked if I was going to order something or just sit there. I was quiet and nervous. Eventually Graham showed up.
“Greg, sorry, Gil, sorry I’m late.”
He wasn’t late. Graham can be very charming. He was just less early than I was and wanted to put me at ease for being a dork who showed up way too early for our meeting. He immediately made me feel like the most important, successful young person he had ever come across. He gushed with praise about my hockey talents as well as my success at school.
“So, I hear you’re a bit of a genius. What’s your favorite subject?”
“Yeah, right. I don’t know. Math, English, stuff like that.”
I was clearly a brilliant conversationalist.
It was apparent that he had done his research, as he seemed to know more than I thought he would about who I was and what I had already done. He said that he had seen