The Day Gordie Dropped In

By Jim Hagarty

A friend of mine was a longtime committed member of our local Rotary Club.

Once a year, the club hosted a “sportsman’s” dinner to honour local athletes. A noted national athlete and often more than one were brought in each year to address the lavish banquet. It often fell to my friend to drive to Toronto to pick up the star athlete at the airport. He met many interesting people this way.

One year, one of the stars he picked up was Gordie Howe. Like me, my friend had always idolized the hockey star, a man who many still believe was the greatest hockey player ever. But my friend had another friend who was probably even more of a Howe fan than either one of us. She worshipped the ice he skated on.

On their way back to Stratford from the airport, my friend asked Mr. Hockey if he would mind playing a prank on his friend, the woman who idolized him. Howe immediately agreed.

My friend drove to the woman’s house and he and Gordie Howe walked up to her front door. Kevin tried the doorknob; it was unlocked. So he and Howe walked in and stood in the entranceway. (I realize, as I write this now, how badly this could have gone.)

“Hey, would you like to meet Gordie Howe?” Kevin yelled to the seemingly empty house. “I have him right here.”

From upstairs, the woman yelled down with a bunch of derisive comments directed in fun at Kevin. He called back that Howe was, in fact, standing in her house at that moment.

Finally, to end the farce and get rid of Kevin, the woman came bounding down her steps only to find her hero standing at the bottom of them.

I forget the outcome of the encounter but the woman had just been given a family story for her grandkids and beyond.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.