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  Any representative or advisor who receives that kind of offer needs to disclose all aspects of it to his client so that every detail can be studied. I was getting near the end of my career, and considering my medical condition, my future earnings as a player were questionable. Eagleson knew that. It’s obvious what his advice should have been.

  Eagleson told me only those parts of the negotiations that he wanted to share. Why? I can only assume it was to get the outcome that would most benefit him, not his client. There were all kinds of stories in the press about my contract negotiations—apparently, other people knew all about the Bruins’ offer. How could I possibly have been in the dark?

  The reality was that Alan Eagleson often used the press to his advantage during contract negotiations. His clients never knew whether what appeared in the paper was fact or just another of Eagleson’s ploys to gain the upper hand at the bargaining table. Anyone who knew him knew not to believe many of the things he told a reporter.

  I believed what he told me, though. There was no reason to doubt him, and no reason to even consider that he wasn’t hammering out the best deal he could make for me. After all, he wasn’t just my representative. He was a valued friend.

  I still don’t know why he did what he did. I can’t see what he could have gained from that betrayal. People have guessed he was doing the Hawks’ owners a favor, and it is true that he was friendly with the Wirtz family. But he was friends with me, too, and it is not clear that he did either party any favors by sabotaging the Bruins’ offer. I suppose I’ll never have all the answers, and it really doesn’t matter. In the end, what really matters is that someone I trusted betrayed me. This close friend, someone I paid to take care of my financial interests, turned out to be the last person I should have trusted. Eventually, I knew I had to get as far away from the man as I possibly could.

  Finally, in the spring of 1979, I decided to schedule a final face-to-face meeting with Eagleson to clear the air. Peggy and I met with him at a mutual friend’s apartment in New York City, and it was not a pleasant afternoon. By this time, it had become very apparent to me that in his capacity as my representative on all matters relating to my contract negotiations and other aspects of my financial affairs, Alan Eagleson had misled me. That realization was a difficult one, first to understand and then to cope with. But it had become obvious what had transpired, and a break was inevitable.

  Even as we gathered for that final meeting, he kept up the classic Eagleson bravado and told me that if I stayed with him all would be well. He had the gall, even at this late stage, to try to make me believe it would be in my best interest to remain part of his “team.” He looked at me and said, “It would be a mistake to leave me.” I looked at him and said, “Alan, I don’t care how it turns out. I have to get away from you.” It was tense, and I couldn’t wait to leave the room and him behind when it finally ended. I simply had to get away from him for my own sanity.

  My sanity was just about all I had left. It wasn’t just that Eagleson had hidden from me the opportunity to be a part-owner of the Bruins. It was that he had left me practically broke. I didn’t grow up with a lot, and I knew kids with less, so I shouldn’t use the word broke lightly. And I don’t want to get into an inventory of my assets and liabilities at the time. But I had played over a decade of pro hockey, and during that time had been one of the highest-paid players in the history of the game. I had no shortage of endorsements. Yet when I retired from the National Hockey League, I was not in the financial position I had expected to be in.

  For years, Eagleson had told anyone who would listen that “Bobby will be a millionaire by the time he’s twenty-five years old.” That didn’t quite work out.

  Where all the money went, I will never know. A huge part of what remained was eaten up by unpaid taxes. Whether this was due to incompetence, greed, or malice on his part is impossible to guess. At this point, it doesn’t matter. What mattered to me then was that I was watching what remained all but disappear.

  • • •

  I was not the only hockey player to be affected by Alan Eagleson. Every professional hockey player paid a price. Obviously, along with many members of our players’ union, I failed to do my due diligence on Alan Eagleson. Time would expose a lot of the inconsistencies in his dealings, but it is his personality that I will never understand.

  He had everything a person could possibly want, but apparently it wasn’t enough. For instance, during the Canada Cups, the players and team personnel would be outfitted by a Toronto tailor named Marty Alsemgeest. All this work was paid for with gift certificates Eagleson had bought with Team Canada funds. But according to Marty, friends of Eagleson who had nothing to do with the team would walk into his shop with those gift certificates. Eagleson’s buddies were benefiting from that friendship, but it was the players who were picking up the tab.

  This kind of practice by Eagleson was common during that time. I remember on several occasions being at functions at Eagleson’s home in Toronto. Inevitably, the guests would receive a bag full of gourmet food and presents on the way out the door. We soon came to realize that those goody bags were full of gifts he had managed to accumulate from various companies that were involved with his long list of clients. He was always scamming one way or another and just couldn’t do a deal and be up front and honest about it.

  In his book Game Misconduct, Russ Conway documents all kinds of examples of Eagleson’s conflicts of interest. I won’t try to list them. But one thing stands out for its pettiness. When the NHLPA moved its headquarters, Eagleson seized the opportunity to rent out ten parking spaces—when only four were available. The NHLPA and Hockey Canada picked up the tab.

  My old teammate Gerry Cheevers came up with a famous line shortly after Eagleson negotiated a new contract on his behalf. Someone asked him how much more money he got due to Eagleson’s efforts, and Gerry responded that “he got me another $1,500, but when I got his bill I owed him $3,000.”

  It is tough to summarize a person like Alan Eagleson in just a few words. He appears to me to have been someone who, above all else, was driven by greed. That word greed always seems to come up in any conversation you have with people who knew the man. He always wanted more, and it didn’t seem to matter how he accumulated it, or at whose expense it came. But there is another word that I now associate with him.

  As I think back on so many incidents that I witnessed during my time with him, I realize that Alan Eagleson was the worst kind of bully. He used power to get what he wanted from people and wasn’t afraid to threaten in any way necessary to achieve his goals. I don’t know how you define a bully, but that seems like a pretty good description of one in my estimation.

  • • •

  I don’t bring any of this up looking for sympathy. I don’t want to present myself as a victim, because ultimately only I was responsible for myself and my finances. I handed off a lot of responsibility to Alan Eagleson, but it was still mine. That lapse in judgment, the total faith I put in him, is all on me. I’ve come to understand that I didn’t take care of my own business, and I can’t blame anyone but myself for that mistake. Eagleson would slide legal papers in front of me and tell me to sign them—and I would sign, believing I had no reason not to comply. He may have abused that trust, but it was still my signature.

  My focus at the time was on one thing and one thing only, and that was to be the best I could be at the game I loved. Most everything else to me during that period was little more than a distraction. That was a mistake, a very big mistake, and that was my mistake alone.

  What Alan Eagleson did hurt me in any number of ways, financial and otherwise. But it especially hurt because of the relationship we had developed. We were friends. We were a team. We were brothers. To be disrespected in the way that Eagleson betrayed me is probably the most bitter of all pills anyone could ever have to swallow. I’m no psychologist, but I believe that what transpired during that tim
e fundamentally changed who I am. I became much more guarded about those around me, about their intentions as well as my own decision making. The entire episode made me less willing to open up to people. As time has passed, I have also become far more appreciative of qualities such as trustworthiness and loyalty. Those are the qualities that mean the most to me now, and they are at the center of all of the meaningful relationships in my life.

  There was a time after his betrayal when, had I found myself in a room alone with Alan Eagleson, I don’t know what I would have done. He caused my entire family a lot of pain, and the anger I experienced over that ate at me for a very long time. Those feelings have now passed.

  • • •

  In the end, of course, Eagleson was brought to justice. He was forced to step down from the NHLPA in 1992 amid charges that he had been abusing his expense account. And from there, the cracks spread as journalists picked up the story. He seemed to be protected by his money and connections, and, were it not for the efforts of the American prosecutors in this case, it might all have been neatly swept under a rug. I certainly didn’t have the finances to go after him, nor did I have the desire. I just wanted to be rid of him. So I have always been thankful for the way the US justice system fought for his extradition from Canada to face his crimes.

  In 1994, the Federal Bureau of Investigation charged Eagleson with thirty-four counts of racketeering, obstruction of justice, embezzlement, and fraud. In 1996, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police charged him with eight counts of fraud and theft. It would take several years to get him into a court, but eventually, on January 6, 1998, he was convicted in a federal courtroom in Boston. He pleaded guilty to three counts of fraud and was fined US$697,810, or CA$1,000,000. Shortly thereafter, he was returned to Canada and again pleaded guilty to three more counts of fraud. Those charges landed him with an eighteen-month prison sentence. His legacy will forever include the words “convicted felon.”

  As a matter of course, he was disbarred from the legal profession in Canada. He had his Order of Canada revoked. And his hockey legacy was taken from him by the people he had trampled. After Eagleson’s conviction, a roster of legends—including Brad Park, Gordie Howe, Bobby Hull, Johnny Bucyk, and Ted Lindsay—and I announced that if Eagleson were permitted to remain in the Hockey Hall of Fame, we would resign from it. Before he could be kicked out, he resigned.

  The fortieth anniversary of the Summit Series may have marked the final reminder of the way Alan Eagleson dishonored the games he once seemed to have done so much to promote. As the players and coaches prepared to gather to celebrate what was probably the most thrilling hockey ever played, Alan Eagleson had his invitation revoked by the team. The man who had been so instrumental in creating that series, a watershed moment in Canadian sports history, had become an embarrassment. While it is true that some players still stand behind the former head of the NHLPA, there was simply no room for the person who had robbed his own friends. Certainly, had Eagleson been allowed to attend those celebrations, I know I would not have taken part.

  But enough is enough. That’s all over for me now. Alan Eagleson changed the course of my life. That is undeniable. But that was decades ago. He has not been a part of my life for a very long time. The good times during that era are what I choose to remember. A lot has happened since then. I have more than recovered. And justice has caught up with him.

  To this day, though, I can’t help but wonder how he rationalizes many of his actions. It’s difficult to imagine how, or whether, he has taken account of the hurt he caused so many people. I just don’t understand how he can sleep at night. Yet knowing the man for what he is, my guess would be he has no difficulty sleeping at all. He probably couldn’t care less.

  Ten

  FINAL ACT AND BEYOND

  It was Halloween night, 1980, and we were dishing out candy for the neighborhood kids. Peggy stood there with a bowl of goodies and handed out the treats as each child came to the front door. I was hanging around in the doorway so I could catch a glimpse of some of the costumes, so I was nearby when three little ghosts and goblins came up the steps, accompanied by their father. As Peggy stepped forward to hand them their candy, their father caught a glimpse of me standing in the wings and immediately said to the kids, “Do you know whose house this is?”

  Without missing a beat, they all blurted out, “It’s Scout’s house!” Then they got their candy and went on their way. Scout was our family dog. Apparently, he was quite popular with the neighborhood kids. So much for my fame and fortune. My number 4 was hanging in the rafters of the Boston Garden, but my dog was the celebrity of the household. Things were changing quickly in my life.

  It’s not easy to describe the anxiety you feel when the one thing you are good at is taken away from you. I know I’m not the first guy who has ever been out of work. I can sympathize with anyone who has been laid off for what seems like no good reason, men and women who suddenly feel they have nowhere to turn. I had no real education, and what schooling I did have hadn’t prepared me for any trade or vocation. The only experience on my resumé were the jobs I’d held as a kid. I was thirty years old and completely unprepared for the real world, which was now breathing down my neck. I had to go to work.

  What had been a day-to-day reality for me just months before now seemed like the distant past. Hockey had never felt like work to me. As hard as I played, it had always been a game, and I had always considered myself lucky to be paid to play it. The lifestyle of a professional athlete is pretty special. But nothing could ever take from me the important things I had been lucky enough to experience. Yet it would be dishonest not to admit that when I saw so much had changed in my life, it was frightening. At the moment my health left me, I lost my money, an important friend, a lifestyle I had grown accustomed to, and a career that meant everything to me. Ahead of me was only uncertainty.

  What I found, though, was that what I’d always thought to be true—what my parents had taught me, what coaches had instilled in me, and what I had seen for myself—was true whether I was a hockey player or not. The important things in life don’t change when your luck turns against you, and those things are no different for celebrities than they are for anyone else. No one is going to succeed without taking their lumps. No one is going to succeed on their own, either—what sometimes looks like an individual accomplishment is always the result of a team effort. And when you get knocked down, there really is only one thing to do.

  • • •

  I believe, without any doubt, that if you approach anything with discipline, you’ve got a chance to succeed. But that confidence comes from looking back. Looking forward, it wasn’t nearly as clear that I’d find my way out of the mess I was in.

  The Black Hawks tried to help me land on my feet by offering me a job. I certainly wanted to do everything I could to help the team. I felt I had let them down after they had shown such confidence in me. But I found it very difficult to be around the team. People told me it would get easier as time went on, but I found that the longer I was away from the dressing room and the routine of preparing for and playing the games, I missed it more and more. I wanted to help the team, but more than anything I wanted to help them on the ice. I would watch the games, see the play unfold, and feel in my heart that I should be out there. The more I watched, the harder it got.

  A few years later, I did some consulting work for the Hartford Whalers. My old teammate Eddie Johnston was the GM there, and he figured we might capture some of our old magic if we put our heads together. I must have thought so, too, or I wouldn’t have taken the job. But once again, I found that involving myself in the game from anywhere but on the ice was agonizing.

  It is probably also fair to say I was never cut out to be a coach or any kind of manager. Because, as much as I loved the game, I didn’t really think it. Hockey is fast and complex—you can never anticipate exactly where everyone is going to be at any moment. You can’t plan for someth
ing you can’t foresee. I made all my decisions the moment I had to make them, not the night before. So it was difficult for me to expect to show up and tell others how to play or run their teams.

  • • •

  When I had entered the spotlight of professional sports years earlier, I was extremely shy. I never really came to love being in front of microphones and cameras, but after more than a decade I could at least handle myself in a variety of social and business situations.

  The fact that someone as shy as I am would take a job on television is a good sign of how much I needed the work. I am uncomfortable enough in a small group, but there I was on the CBC doing color commentary for Hockey Night in Canada. The guys in the booth always took care of me, and I remember that Danny Gallivan especially was always trying to help me out in any way he could. I would be in the broadcast booth, and the veterans would sort of hold my hand by feeding me good questions while keeping me on track. There was always a three-man crew: the play-by-play announcer and two color commentators, of which I was one. But one night in Edmonton, I’m in the booth, but it is just me and the play-by-play guy. I’m looking around for the other color commentator, but he was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, I thought I was going to pass out. I figured out pretty quickly that being in the broadcasting business was not for me.

  Still, as I’d grown older, I had started to become more comfortable in the company of strangers. The idea of speaking in public when I was a young man would have been frightening. But when you are in the public eye there is no way to avoid speaking to crowds or making conversation with people you don’t know, whether you’re appearing as a volunteer or being paid for your time. Either way, if you’re going to do something for the public, you should either do it right or not at all. It isn’t good enough to sign on to appear at a function and then try to slide out the back door at the earliest opportunity. That isn’t professional, and it isn’t right, yet I’ve been at events where people have done just that.