'I'm very emotional. I've lost my idol'
A pilgrimage to the mecca of hockey to mourn the death of a childhood idol evokes memories of cherished times spent between fathers and sons...and mothers and daughters
MONTREAL – There is really no time to reflect. Because the line is a half-dozen deep and it’s still stretching as far as the eye can see, right out of the Bell Centre. So you stop in front of Guy Lafleur’s casket, you reach out and touch it, you look at the No. 10 banner behind it that usually hangs high in the arena. You see all the trophies and the floral arrangements in the Montreal Canadiens logo and you marvel at how this organization always hits exactly the right note, whether it’s celebrating one of its many iconic players or mourning his death. You pass by the family and all you can think of to say is, “Mes condolences, Mme. Lafleur,” and Lise Lafleur puts her right hand up to her chest and pats her heart.
And then it’s over. And as you’re leaving the building, you’re left to wonder what to make of it all. What was it that made you take a 6:30 a.m. train from Toronto to be here for this moment? Why is this personal pilgrimage so important, for you and for the thousands of people who have come to this place to share their grief?
And then you think about your father. You can’t help but lament the fact that Kenneth Elliott Campbell and Guy Damien Lafleur died at exactly the same age of exactly the same disease for exactly the same reason. You think about how you sat by your father’s death bed that hot summer day in 1999 and, as he struggled with his last rattling breaths, told him how much you cherish those moments you had together watching and cheering for the Canadiens through all of those wonderful Stanley Cup years. And you think of how Guy Lafleur was such an enormous part of that. You chuckle when you think that, after all these years, the coach your dad used to constantly berate for juggling his lines so much is now your friend on something called Facebook and that you can call him up anytime you want to talk hockey.
And you hope he’s proud of that. You hope he’s proud of what you’ve become. And you try to continue typing while your eyes well up with tears.
When your dad lives the way Big Ken did, sometimes you wish he wouldn’t have done those things to himself. Other times, you wish you could be a bigger part of his world. You learned you could do that on the night of April 8, 1971, Holy Thursday night, when the Canadiens are down 5-2 in Game 2 of their playoff series against the Boston Bruins and your sister is trying to convince you to come downstairs to listen to Jesus Christ Superstar, which is being played in its entirety by the local radio station in Sudbury. At this point, Jesus Christ Superstar is looking like a pretty good option, but the eight-year-old you hangs in. And the Habs score. Again, and again, and again and they beat the Bruins 7-5. They go on to win the series and the Stanley Cup and, as the Canadiens are finishing Game 7 against the Chicago Black Hawks, Big Ken is pacing around the kitchen, unable to watch. You relive the ritual two years later, then three years after that, four times in a row. And Guy Lafleur is prominent in all but one of them.
Outside the Bell Centre, you start to talk to people. You start to contemplate this father-son dynamic and you find that everyone you talk to has a similar story. You start to think that maybe you got lucky. But then you realize that is exactly what our childhood heroes do. They bring us together. The same way you bonded with your father watching Lafleur and the Canadiens, so many others have.
How else do you explain how you’re watching a replay of Game 7 of the 1979 semifinal against the Bruins outside La Cage Aux Sports and a stranger comes up to you and says, “Bons souvenirs, n’est-ce pas?” Great memories, right? It turns out he’s from your hometown, moved to Montreal when he was four and watched the Canadiens every Saturday night when his father would return home after being on the road for work. “I wouldn’t say I have a super-close relationship with my father, but I still have a very good one with him,” said Jean-Claude Godin. “Guy Lafleur was my father’s favorite hockey player. Born the same year and they kind of look alike. When my father plays hockey, the hair is in the wind. It kind of pinches because it’s all kind of psychologically father related. It stings.”
Godin’s fondest memory of Lafleur with his father came in 1991 when Lafleur played his last NHL game for the Quebec Nordiques at Le Colisee. Quebec pop star Diane Tell had a hit song called La Legende de Jimmy, which was an homage to James Dean. For this one night, though, Tell performed the song live prior to the game and changed the lyrics to La Legende de Ti-Guy. “He wasn’t going to miss Guy Lafleur’s last game,” Godin said. “I was in Grade 7 and you’re still at that age where if your father is watching hockey, I’ll come and watch it with you.”
How do you explain seeing a father with his son and you notice them pointing at you in the vintage Lafleur sweater your buddy gave you for your 50th birthday? Your buddy was in the hockey memorabilia industry and while he can’t 100 percent confirm that Lafleur wore that sweater in a game, it looks exactly like the ones the Habs wore in the mid-1970s. If your house is ever burning down, once you’ve confirmed that everyone in it is safe, that’s the first thing you’re grabbing as you scamper to safety.
It turns out that Frank Scarfo and his son, Carmelo, flew in from Toronto because they felt they had to be here, too. Frank’s father came to Canada from Italy in the 1950s and fell in love with this team that had a habit of winning championships, thereby producing the only first-generation Italian to grow up in Toronto and not swear his undying loyalty to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Carmelo was born May 24, 1986, the night the Canadiens won their 23rd Stanley Cup. Carmelo’s middle name is Patrick. There was never any doubt about his allegiance.
“I was born that day and that left me no choice from Day 1,” Carmelo said. “My son is seven years old and it’s Habs all over his room. I’ve brainwashed him to the max.”
Frank remembers going to Carmelo’s first house league game, only to discover that Carmelo had been placed on a team that wore Maple Leaf uniforms. Carmelo was despondent, so his father went to the dressing room and demanded that his son change teams. “I walked into the dressing room and I went right to the coach and said, ‘I want him off this team,’ ” Frank said. “And the coach said, ‘What’s the matter, Mr. Scarfo, did I do something wrong?’ And I said, ‘No, but he’s not playing for this team.’ ”
So Carmelo Scarfo actually lived The Hockey Sweater, the classic story by Roch Carrier, but at least he didn’t have to go to church to ask God to right away send him a hundred million moths that would eat up his Toronto Maple Leafs sweater. “I got traded to the Flyers,” Carmelo said.
Frank was born in 1960, two years before I was, so that puts him in the same wheelhouse. I talk to him about how we’re losing our childhood heroes. “It was Guy Lafleur and Elvis Presley for me,” Frank said. “To be able to go up to the casket and touch the casket…” When his own father died in the 1990s, the last thing he did before the casket was closed for the last time was stick a small Canadiens’ flag into the breast pocket of his father’s suit jacket.
How do you explain that the woman directly behind you in the receiving line is crying and pointing to the sky when she meets Lise Lafleur? Giselle Allen came to Montreal from Haiti with her family in 1975 at the age of 18 to carve out a better life. She worked as a secretary in the public service all her life and she’s here because she and her mother loved Guy Lafleur. If her mother were alive, her 96th birthday would have fallen on the same day as Lafleur’s funeral. Between her broken English and my rudimentary French, we’re able to communicate. “I’m going to go to the cathedral for prayers and then I’m going to the cemetery to see my mother.” Gisele said. “We loved him.” So what exactly did she say to Lise Lafleur when she pointed to the sky? “I told her she can have comfort,” Gisele said. “I told her his suffering is over and that he is watching over her and protecting her now.”
Guy Habre and his son, Christopher, are leaving the Bell Centre after their visit and Guy has five minutes to stop and talk. He remembers when he became hooked on the Canadiens. It was in that Game 7 of the semifinal against the Boston Bruins, when the Bruins took the most famous too-many-men-on-the ice penalty in NHL history and, in the immortal words of Danny Gallivan, Lafleur came gingerly up the right side of the ice, making a pass to Jacques Lemaire that would be dropped back to Lafleur just as he crossed the blueline. You tell Guy Habre that as soon as Lafleur wound up for that shot, you knew the Canadiens were going to tie the game and win it in overtime.
“I was watching with my brother who was 14,” Guy said. “And when Lafleur scored, we went so crazy. We lived in an apartment in Ville Saint-Laurent and we had a broom and we were hitting it on the ceiling because we were celebrating with our neighbors upstairs. That’s my first memory of hockey and for me, and it’s all about Lafleur.”
You’re crying right now, Guy. “I know. I’m very emotional. I’ve lost my idol,” he said. “I wanted to bring Christopher because he never saw Lafleur play, but it’s part of our DNA.” Christopher is 18 years old and he knows the glory days of this franchise only by the stories his father tells him. “I always tell him that our only question at the start of the year was, ‘Will they win the Stanley Cup?’ And for them, it’s like, ‘Will we make the playoffs?’ For us that was not a question.”
Steven Champs, who does security at the Montreal Casino and lives in Laval, took his daughter, Frederique, out of school to make the pilgrimage because some things can’t be learned in the classroom. Champs is a very large, very imposing man with a thick neck and a bald head. What he loved most about Lafleur was his otherworldly talent, but also, off the ice, he had his shortcomings and Champs embraces that about him. “He wasn’t perfect, I know that,” Champs said. “What you see is what you get. I don’t like fluff-fluff and ass kissers. This guy was not an ass kisser. He had no ego and everything he said was from the heart.”
You leave the Bell Centre later that afternoon full of stories. All of them have the same theme. For the last time, our childhood hero has brought us together.
It was great seeing you again, Dad.
Thank you for sharing this story with all of us. My breakfast has been full of (good) tears.