Happy 85th to a life-changer

Every human interaction, no matter how brief, can potentially impact each of its participants. Occasionally, a chance meeting can alter one or more lives, for better or for worse. On rare occasions, an everyday individual can, through a variety of coincidences, experience such an encounter with a stranger who has achieved a degree of renown.

In December of 1978, the editor of the University of Connecticut’s student newspaper needed someone to write a feature story on Gordie Howe, who at the time was playing professional hockey three-quarters of an hour or so down the road for the New England Whalers of the World Hockey Association. Fifty years old at the time, Howe was in the midst of what would turn out to be the penultimate season of his unprecedented 32-year playing career.

Since I was a hockey fan, I eagerly volunteered for the job. It didn’t hurt that many of the Daily Campus’ other staffers were busily preparing for their looming final exams, an issue with which I was far less concerned. My brilliant reasoning: There was only so much damage one could do to a grade point average that, after six dreary semesters, had finally risen several scant percentage points above the lofty 2.0 level.

When he finally hung up his blades for good in 1980, Gordie Howe was his sport’s all-time leader in games played, goals, assists and points scored. Many still consider him the single greatest hockey player ever; the three men who many consider his competition for that designation ”“ Bobby Orr, Wayne Gretzky and the late Maurice Richard ”“ all uttered words to the effect that Howe was the greatest player that they ever saw. How dominant was he? A basketball equivalent would need to combine Michael Jordan’s myriad offensive skills with Bill Russell’s intimidating defensive ones, and then play four more seasons at his game’s highest level than the two above-mentioned hoop legends did ”“ combined!

In 1978, my primary passion was sports, but even I knew I wasn’t athletic enough to play one professionally. I saw myself as being even less successful socially than I was academically; any woman I found modestly attractive, it seemed, found me eminently resistible. Direction-less, ambitionless and without any real confidence that I could ever do anything worthwhile, I felt pretty insignificant at the time. And as I have since learned, feeling worthless all too often puts one on the fast road to actual worthlessness.

I spent a sleepless night before my scheduled trip to Hartford, preparing the questions I’d ask my intended subject. I prayed the Whalers would win, terrified that if they didn’t hockey’s grand old man would be far too distraught over the defeat to talk to some wannabe reporter from a college newspaper.

The next evening, my worst fears were realized: The Whalers got thrashed by their nondescript opponents. Fully expecting to be disappointed, I headed with great trepidation to the locker room after the game, concluding en route that The Great Man, stewing over his team’s defeat, wouldn’t want to talk to anyone, let alone some sweater-clad nerd from a college newspaper. I just hoped he’d quietly reject my interview request rather than increase my inevitable humiliation tenfold by loudly dismissing me in front of others.

Feeling even more insignificant than I actually was, I waited for all the real reporters camped in front of Number Nine’s locker to finish their work. When the last one had finished questioning the Whaler star, my big moment came.

“Uh ”¦ Mr. Howe?” I managed to squeak in a high, nervous voice that undoubtedly came out sounding like a cross between Porky Pig and Alvin the Chipmunk. The weary gladiator glanced up, curious to see who was stammering in his space.

“MynameisAndyYoungfromtheConnecticutDailyCampusandIwashopingyoucouldmaybe ”¦” At that point, the 50-year-old hockey legend mercifully interrupted with, “Where’d you say you were from, son?”

“The University of Connecticut,” I replied.

He gave me a big smile, heartily slapped me on the back, and said, “That’s OK. I won’t hold that against you!”

For the next five to 10 minutes, Gordie Howe patiently and thoughtfully answered questions he had undoubtedly heard hundreds of times before, but did so in a manner which suggested he felt privileged to be talking with me, rather than the other way around. I left the Civic Center that night feeling 10 feet tall. More importantly, I never, ever felt completely insignificant again, no matter who I was interacting with.

At our family’s Easter dinner this coming Sunday, while we’re all taking time to reflect on everything we’re grateful for, I’ll be consciously hoping Gordie Howe is enjoying his 85th birthday.

Perhaps if he hadn’t cheerfully given me those few minutes nearly 3 1/2 decades ago, I’d still be the same productive, happy and reasonably successful fellow I am today.

Maybe.

— Andy Young teaches high school English in York County, and would be doing so even without the ongoing assistance, encouragement, reassurance and occasional kick in the hindquarters from his spouse, children, siblings, in-laws, close friends, co-workers, neighbors, teachers, coaches, boyhood chums, current and former employers, and long-departed parents and grandparents.

Maybe.