Orr Page 16
My grandmother wasn’t the only person who has felt that way about Don. I get my fair share of looks from people when I travel, but whenever I’m with him they often walk right by me in order to speak with Grapes. When you are with Don, he is the only person they see. It’s truly amazing how recognizable this man is. I’ve told him that the only reason he gets so much attention is because of those wild suit jackets he wears. You know what I’m talking about, the ones that look like they’ve been fashioned from odd sets of drapes (seriously, he picks the patterns out himself at Fabricland). But it’s not just that. As much as some people may disagree with his opinions, Don is loved by millions, and there is a reason for the adoration. There’s a reason he was voted one of the top ten in the CBC’s The Greatest Canadian. He has a rare quality that few people have the courage to imitate. He tells it like it is.
I know that to this day he takes pride in the fact that average Canadians just like my grandma see that quality in him. Frankly, I wish I had the courage to say some of the things Don has said over the years. I know he has often expressed an opinion when he fully understood that trouble would follow. He may often be out of step with what everybody else is saying, but it is not as though he’s unaware he is taking a position others in the media won’t share. In Don’s mind, the truth is worth the fight that always seems to be going on around him. He is not afraid to go nose to nose with politicians, with the league, with hockey guys like Brian Burke, or even his own bosses at the CBC. He will not change his opinions to suit other people, and I’ve always respected him for that.
I should be clear that I can’t be expected to be objective about Don in this chapter. He is one of my best friends in the world. And yes, he is undoubtedly one of my biggest supporters. I realize there are probably some people out there who do not share my personal feelings about Don. I know he’s not for everybody. But even if you don’t necessarily like him, or if you disagree with some of his opinions, you must concede at the very least that he shines a bright spotlight on the game of hockey. Even if our feelings about this man differ, it is impossible to deny that he is better known across North America than most players in the National Hockey League. He’s not just a unique person, not even just a good person. He is an asset to the game, no matter what else you think about him.
I’d like to share some insights about the Don Cherry I know. He is a man I have learned to appreciate over the many years of our friendship, and you really should know more about this giant in the game. So, although I may be a bit biased, allow me to share my views on a man I have come to both love and respect.
• • •
The first time I met Don was just after he’d been named the new head coach of the Rochester Americans of the American Hockey League. It was 1972, and I was at the induction ceremony for Gordie Howe at the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto. By that time in my career, I had played on two Stanley Cup–winning teams and was pretty well known, especially in a hockey-crazy town like Toronto. As usual, the press had gathered for the event, and many of us in attendance were being sought by all kinds of newspeople and fans alike, so much so that it was difficult to get away, even for a quick bite of food.
Don saw that I was being cornered and was unable to enjoy my meal very much, so he walked up to me, introduced himself, and said, “I’ll provide some cover for you.” He stood in front of me during that luncheon so no one could get to me until I’d finished my meal. It was the first of many times that Don would step up to the plate and help me when I needed a hand in some way.
I had absolutely no idea who he was. He was coming off his first year as head coach of the Rochester Americans, where he had started the season as a player, and he had been a career minor-leaguer, so our paths had never crossed. But two years later, we would meet again, this time in the Boston Garden. Only, on that occasion, he was about to become my new coach with the Bruins.
Don has shared one particular story through the years about the day when he found out he was getting the head job in Boston. He hurried home to tell his young son, Tim, the good news. “Tim, your dad is going to be the new head coach of the Boston Bruins.” His son said, “Dad, that’s great! I’ll get to meet Bobby Orr!” To which Don replied, “Yeah, Timmy—me too!”
And speaking of his son, I’d come to know Tim over the years, too, and spend time with him on some fun outings, especially fishing. It was on one of those trips that I thought Don’s beloved dog Blue was going to kill me. We were expected back at Don’s house around 4 P.M. that day, but as fate would have it, the fish were really biting. There was no way Tim and I were going to pack up and leave, so we decided to extend the day on the water.
Four P.M. soon became 5, then 6, then 7, and before you knew it, it was about 8 P.M. before we pulled into the Cherry driveway. I guess Don and his wife, Rose, had been getting worried that something had happened, so when we pulled up, the door opened and they came out, relieved to see that their son was still in one piece. Blue came tearing out as well, barking and snarling, making every sign that she was about to attack me, but Don got her under control. Can you imagine the headlines if Blue had sunk her teeth into me? “Orr Out 4 Weeks, Cherry’s Dog the Culprit!” (For years after that incident, Rose claimed that Don really wasn’t concerned about Timmy all that much. She maintained he was more worried about his defenseman.)
As a leader, Don was what you might call a player’s coach, and the guys identified with him on many levels. We immediately saw he was one of us. He had played only one game in the NHL—a playoff game for the Bruins in 1955—but more than a thousand in the minors. Everyone in the room figured this guy had paid his dues. If you ride the buses all those years in several different minor leagues, and move fifty-three times from one unfamiliar city to another, it says something about the passion you have for the game, and it says something about your personal toughness. (The fact that he piled up over a thousand penalty minutes during his career also gives you a good sense of his toughness.) To us, his commitment to play in the American Hockey League demonstrated above all else that Coach Cherry was no quitter, and that is exactly the type of person you want watching your back as a coach. It didn’t hurt either that he was coming off winning Coach of the Year in the AHL and had won four Calder Cups as a player, or that he had won a Memorial Cup in junior. Cherry wasn’t just stubborn and tough—he was a winner, too. Grapes was finally able to reap all he had sown over those many years as a minor league player when in 1974 he became a head coach in the National Hockey League.
You shouldn’t misinterpret the “player’s coach” label as meaning that Don was soft on us. He always had a very specific vision of how things should be done, and that vision was nonnegotiable. He was a personality, a forceful personality, and he brought that to the rink every day. He was self-assured and felt he had the roadmap to success, and that was that. There was never a lot of room for discussion when it came to Grapes and the way he wanted to run his team.
He demanded that his players were always prepared to play, and he expected performance on a daily basis. He was a person who motivated people brilliantly. Was he the greatest X’s and O’s coach in the league? Probably not, but the guys would go through the end boards for him. Don was loved by the vast majority of his players. Yet he could also be very hard on you if you didn’t play to your level. Don and I were on the same page right from the start on that point, because coaches and teammates must be able to trust players to deliver, no matter when. If you didn’t carry your weight, Don wouldn’t keep you in the lineup for long.
I was lucky in that Don continued a philosophy of coaching I had grown up with from minor hockey. Consistency in coaching styles is, I think, very important, and something I wish more coaches would consider, regardless of the level at which they find themselves coaching. That is, Don allowed his players to play the game their way if that would benefit the team. In my case, that meant puck control and skating. He didn’t ask me to dump and chase, or use the
glass to get the puck safely out of the zone. My role was to skate and control the puck. Don was smart enough to avoid putting a harness on his players, and instead expected us to get up ice and be creative. He understood there would be mistakes as a result of that style of play. He saw the potential downside, but obviously must have liked the potential upside, too.
I was at a function with Don years after we had both retired from the game, and during a little question-and-answer session, someone asked Grapes about his approach to coaching me while in Boston. In typical Cherry fashion, he had an answer ready: “One thing you don’t do is over-coach a Bobby Orr. Imagine me trying to tell Bobby what to do on the ice. How stupid would that be?” The audience loved it, and the truth is that Don did use a hands-off approach—as long as you were doing your job.
If you asked Don today, he’d tell you he had only three rules to guide those great Bruin teams of the 1970s. He’d say something like, “First, in the offensive zone, you can be as creative as you want. Try anything that will get the puck into the back of their net, no problem. Second, in the defensive zone, the exact opposite is true. In the D zone, you do what I tell you when I tell you, and if you don’t, I won’t argue about it, I just won’t play you. And finally, rule number 3, if Orr has the puck on a rush, for goodness sakes don’t go offside.”
I still get a chuckle out of rule number 3. To steal one of his own phrases, Don is a real beauty! But let’s give credit where credit is due. Don attributes a lot of his success to me, but the year he won the Jack Adams Trophy for NHL coach of the year, I wasn’t playing for him.
The other part of his personality that has remained unchanged after all these years is his flair for the dramatic. I don’t believe I’m exaggerating when I say he is arguably the most colorful coach ever to have stood behind the bench of an NHL team. Don always drew a lot of attention to himself, and in an odd way that allowed his players to fly under the radar and just play the game. He would take the heat from the press when things went bad, but deflect attention toward his players when things were going well. That’s the sign of a real leader. Yes, Don enjoyed the limelight, but he used it first and foremost to the advantage of his team.
Consequently, over the years he has been a lightning rod for praise as well as criticism from players, fans, owners, ticket takers, and everyone else associated with the game of hockey. Certainly, public figures have to be ready for that kind of scrutiny, and in Don’s case people either seem to love him or hate him. Today, ensuring that people have some sort of opinion about him is a part of his job. But even if you’re not a fan of Don Cherry, his good points are not open to debate. As I’ve said, he is without question the most consistent man I have ever met, bar none. He is a man of absolute honesty, absolute loyalty, and ceaseless friendship. He has a heart of gold, and let me assure you that the sometimes-gruff exterior is a front for a kindness underneath that is beyond description. A thousand times, I have seen him do things for people that never get in the papers, because he insists they stay private. It is impossible to calculate how many times over the past thirty years Don Cherry has called and asked if I could autograph something for a needy child, an adult he’s just met, or for one of our troops. He is unbelievable in his giving, and I don’t think he receives the credit for it he deserves. He is without question one of the kindest men I have ever known. He’s been my coach, my friend, my mentor, and my second father. He has guided me through some tough times in my life and has always been there to support my family. I know he’ll always be there for me in the future, too, and that is a great comfort.
• • •
As I write this, Don Cherry is still not a member of the Hockey Hall of Fame, and to me it is one of the greatest oversights in the history of the game. He has left an unequaled mark on hockey over the past fifty years, not just in Canada but internationally as well. He played the game and coached it at the highest level. Of course, younger generations of Canadians know him better as the colorful hockey analyst and main personality on CBC’s Hockey Night in Canada (no offense to Ron MacLean). His “Coaches Corner” segment during those broadcasts is legendary—it’s the most-watched few minutes of television in Canada. Most of us can’t even imagine the game without him.
But that is only part of his story. Besides assisting in the growth of the game through his work in the broadcast booth, Don continually goes above and beyond to spread the good word about the game he holds so dear. From hospitals to military bases, from minor hockey rinks to charity events, Don has become an ambassador for all that is good about our game. I know he has never paused to add up all the money he has raised for good causes over the years, but I would guess it is well into the millions. His selflessness in serving the needs of many groups within the hockey community is a testament to his ability to build bridges within our sport. The honored members that make up the Hockey Hall of Fame are all people who have contributed to the game. Don undoubtedly deserves a place in that inspirational group, as his dedication to promoting and improving the game has been unparalleled.
Now, you could argue that Don’s career as an NHL player was, to be kind, somewhat abbreviated. Critics might contend that his coaching statistics by themselves don’t rank him with some of his contemporaries with respect to wins and losses. (As for his career as an NHL player, it’s hard to judge him by the one game he played. But, as he says, “Hey, if you build just one bridge, you’re a bridge builder, aren’t ya?”) When you look at the man in total and across time, however—when you look at his positive impact on the growth and development of the game—his record holds up against anyone in the Hall. If you read just a few of the points that are considered for membership in the Hockey Hall of Fame, Don should have been admitted long ago. For example, the Hall bylaws lay out quite clearly that nominees in the Builder category are considered for their “coaching, managerial or executive ability, where applicable, or any other significant off-ice skill or role, sportsmanship, character and their contribution to their organizations and to the game of hockey in general.” In other words, the bylaw could have been written about Don Cherry.
His stature within the hockey community is significant and meaningful, and his importance is as great as that of any player, past or present. Given his long-standing and continuing contributions to the game, both at home and abroad, he is more than worthy of nomination into the Hockey Hall of Fame. And I can tell you, I will most definitely be in the audience that evening when this oversight is corrected. I wonder if he’d be able to make it through his speech should his name ever be called. Certainly, his journey should lead to the delivery of that speech as a new member of the Hockey Hall of Fame.
• • •
From all the years I’ve been friends with Don Cherry, one moment stands out. It happened the day my father was put to rest in Parry Sound.
Of course, Don was there. He and Dad were thick as thieves, and my father’s passing affected Don greatly. That my father had made the sacrifice of giving up a hockey career to serve in the military was one of the things that endeared him to Don. Grapes visited Parry Sound often over the years, and he had become a great friend to the whole Orr family. Many is the time over the years that he mentioned Doug and Arva during his hockey broadcasts, and sometimes even Grandma Orr, so you know he had a deep connection with my family. I can still remember being with my parents one summer in their familiar place on the front porch of their home when Don and his son, Tim, pulled up to the house. When Don got out of his car, my mother looked at me and asked, “Bob, what color is that suit?” “Lime green, Mom,” I replied, “lime green!”
A lime-green suit in Parry Sound in the middle of summer—now that is vintage Don Cherry! My parents shared a lot of laughs with Don over the years, so when the time came, our family decided to ask Don if he’d stand up and say a few words about our father at the funeral. When it was his time to speak, he made his way toward my father’s casket. You all know that Don makes his living by ta
lking—he is rarely lost for words, particularly when there is a microphone nearby. But as he walked up to begin, I could see in his eyes that he was struggling.
As he started to talk about Dad, you could tell the emotions were just too tough to contain. He began by remembering my father in stories, and for a moment I thought he might make it to the finish line. But then, all at once, he just went silent. He stood there, this big, gruff, old-school hockey guy, and he simply could not find his voice. The crowd was silent. He looked out over the mourners, and they gazed back at him, and without any words Don Cherry managed to communicate both grief and sympathy. It was a very moving moment, and one I shall always remember. There are all kinds of images people have when it comes to Don Cherry, but the way he was on that day is the way I still think of him: humble and caring, saddened, but courageous enough to go on.
He was a great coach, and I can tell you, he is an even better person. My dad always said that, as a former member of our military, he’d have wanted Don Cherry beside him in a foxhole, because he is the kind of man that can be depended on. Dad was absolutely right on that point. If Don is your friend, he’s your friend for life, and he’ll always have your back. As time goes by, I’ve come to appreciate those qualities of his even more. Being able to count Don Cherry as my friend has been one of the great blessings of my life. I’ll take him, weird suits and all.
Eight
THE LAST YEARS: 1975–1979
There is no way to recognize the beginning of the end. Anyone reading the headlines in 1975 would have thought my career was in its prime. Things were going well for me. I led the league in scoring in 1974–75, and more importantly I had managed to stay in the lineup. I missed quite a few games earlier in my career, but in 1973–74 and 1974–75, I hardly missed a game. I played seventy-four games in the one season and eighty games in the next. It probably looked as though my knee problems were behind me.