Comment vous remercier, Mr. Dryden

St. Boniface

When Ken Dryden passed away in September, his death struck me harder than I thought it would, and I’ve been reflecting on why.

I was 10 years old when I witnessed the rookie keeper backstopping the underdog Canadiens to an exciting seven-game victory in the first round of the 1971 playoffs over the mighty Boston Bruins, with superstars Bobby Orr and Phil Esposito.

Some will never forget the day school life in Canada stopped cold to broadcast that final heart-stopping final eighth game of the epic 1972 Canada-Russia Summit Series. Dryden was the goalie.

He was an enigma — a towering 6-foot-4 goaltender in an era when goalies were smaller and more compact. That ghostlike fiberglass mask with oval-shaped cutouts for the eyes and small slits for the nose and mouth had a slasher-movie feel. His leather leg pads didn’t seem to fit his lanky legs, one of which miraculously came out of nowhere to stop a sure Jim Pappin goal in the seventh game of that ‘71 Stanley Cup final game. I still get shivers thinking about that save.

Then, when he stuck his signature pose, arms propped up on the knob of his goalie stick when the action shifted into the other end, as if he were staring outside a window daydreaming, I was hooked. Not the typical hockey player.

You don’t always get the chance to meet your childhood hero. I did. Twice.

The first time, he was serving as Ontario Youth Commissioner in 1995 and I stood in line to get my copy of In School signed. I blurted out that I pretended to be him during our Thursday night Lawndale Avenue hockey games. His eyes lit up and he peppered me with questions about my hockey experiences. For my hero to care about my little world, even briefly, was unforgettable.

My second meeting was in 2023, at the Winnipeg book launch of his last work, The Class, a unique memoir honouring the individual stories of his 1960 high school class. He uttered a line at the launch that I’ve never forgotten – “You don’t know what you know” – an admission that daring to step into the frying pan of life to meet the moment was worth any risk. He was taken aback when I shared a head portrait by a local artist of him in his iconic 1971 goalie mask that hangs in my basement.

When the Canadiens retired his number 29 at the Bell Centre in 2007, Dryden thanked the fans repeatedly: “Comment vous remercier.” Again, diverting attention of his momentous achievements from himself and towards the fans.

His hockey, writing, and life work exemplified his humility, his gift for seeing the extraordinary in ordinary lives.

Perhaps that’s what really connected him to me for all these years. Somehow, he thought my modest story was extraordinary.

Comment vous remercier, Mr. Dryden.