What I’ll always remember about Pat Quinn is the presence.
He was a mountain of a man with a grandfather’s wisdom and a bear grip for a handshake. Those that knew him well also said that he had a distaste for the daily question-and-answer sessions with the media, so you can imagine how a keen 20-year-old must have felt when he first got dispatched to cover the Toronto Maple Leafs back in 2002.
Intimidated. A little scared even.
However, what I came to learn about Quinn is that he wasn’t a bully, far from it. He may have gotten into it with some of my more experienced colleagues from time-to-time, but no matter how stupid or mundane or awkward of a query I launched at him, he never made me feel small.
There was a certain class and dignity to the way he conducted himself that I’ve rarely witnessed inside a hockey arena since. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word.
Being a head coach in the NHL comes with a lot of pressure. Being a head coach and a general manager in markets such as Vancouver and Toronto, where one controversy inevitably follows another, is the ultimate pressure-cooker.
Yet Quinn seemingly had an unending willingness to share what he learned from a lifetime spent in this great game. During his final seasons with the Leafs, he would stand around until every last question was asked and always came up with colourful anecdotes once the cameras were turned off and there was just a couple writers left standing before him.
Often, you’d end up hearing that big laugh that seemed to come right from the bottom of his belly. I’d love to hear it again now.
After news of Quinn’s passing was announced on Monday morning, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper referred to him as a “giant of the hockey world.”
“When he walks in, hockey’s in the room,” long-time friend John Davidson said during the recent Hockey Hall of Fame induction weekend.
Nothing sums it up any better than that.
In surveying Quinn’s legacy, we should not focus on the awards and honours. Even after coaching Team Canada to its first Olympic gold in 50 years, his biggest impact at the 2002 Salt Lake City Games might have been on the dozens of athletes from other sports that he motivated and touched.
Quinn was still smoking cigars back then and would sit on a bench in the athletes’ village for hours every day and spread wisdom to whoever came strolling by.
Even after leaving the NHL, there were lessons to be found in how he lived.
Many were surprised when Quinn agreed to go to Kazan, Russia, to coach Canada at the 2008 world under-18 championship. After leading that group to gold, he did the same with the world junior team the following year.
For a guy with a reputation of not liking to work with young players it was quite a thing to see. But Quinn just loved being around the game and being part of a team.
I can still remember phoning him within an hour of learning that Wade Belak, one of his former players, had taken his own life in 2011. It was an emotional time for those of us in the industry because it so closely followed the deaths of fellow players Derek Boogaard and Rick Rypien.
As you might expect, Quinn offered a voice of comfort.
“As everyone knows there have been some real losses that we’ve experienced over the years, but it never seemed like there was three in a row like this,” he told me then. “Anybody that’s around this game, you feel like it’s part of your big family, and that includes the fans and all the people that support these players and get to know them. We’ve lost a lot in the last three months.
“You don’t replace it. You just hope the ones that are left behind can live through it and be all right.”
Those words ring especially true on a morning like this one. We’ll be all right, for sure, but the hockey world won’t ever be quite the same.
Thanks for everything, Pat.
