Coach: The Pat Burns Story (45 page)

Very nearly all of hockey royalty was in attendance: a fleet of NHL managers and coaches, the entire New Jersey Devils team, former players and the game’s dignitaries—Jean Béliveau, Dickie Moore (Burns’s favourite player, his name engraved on five consecutive Cups from the
Canadiens’ championships in the ’50s), Gary Bettman, Yvan Cournoyer, Ray Bourque, Doug Gilmour, Wendel Clark, Patrick Roy, and on and on. Leather-clad bikers from riding clubs he’d initiated in various cities, and maybe some real Hells and Nomads too, but not wearing their colours. The policing brethren were well represented, from olden days and the present. Senator Jacques Demers, who described Burns as “a confrère,” and Quebec premier Jean Charest, dozens of reporters—some of whom had managed to penetrate the coach’s irascible façade. All 1,200 seats in the basilica were filled by people Burns had known, and hundreds more he’d never met—ordinary folks who wanted to pay their respects to a man they’d liked and admired because they recognized he was one of them, a working-class hero who’d risen to the top and never forgotten his roots. “He didn’t put on the dog,” says Robin Burns.

It was a long service, two hours, and trilingual—French, English, Latin. There was both solemnity and lightness, reminiscences and jokes, the music that he loved, and Robin Burns evoking the child-Burns in short pants and propeller hat. Lamoriello recounted a phone conversation from two weeks earlier, when the Devils had been in a funk. “I asked how he was doing. He said, ‘To hell with how I’m feeling, I just watched you play.’ ” A vivid splash of colour was provided by the red gloves worn by Maureen and Stephanie—Devils red—in contrast to mourning black. When all were seated, Line Burns entered, cradling a miniature replica of the Stanley Cup containing Burns’s ashes. That was a grace note Burns had specifically requested, and Lamoriello had seen to it, getting one customized with the Devils’ insignia. “That’s when I really knew how much winning the Stanley Cup had meant to Pat,” he says. “He wanted that urn, and he wanted the logo on it.” The vessel sat near the altar with a flame flickering over it during the service. Afterwards, loved ones stopped to kiss the urn as it was placed in a hearse.

That evening, a coterie of family and friends gathered to celebrate Burns’s life in a venue and manner more appropriate to the dearly departed, a wake held at the Irish Embassy pub. Only the next morning was it discovered that thieves had broken into Line’s SUV, parked nearby, and
made off with a slew of personal effects: Burns’s watch, family photos, two suitcases containing clothing, even bed linen from the cancer hospice, and a dozen jerseys autographed by all thirty NHL teams, intended for auction to help raise funds for the Pat Burns Arena. Because Burns’s wallet was also taken, the culprits would have known precisely who they were robbing. Everybody was on the lookout, with someone even tipping off police to a homeless man spotted wearing an NHL sweater. Jason and Line Burns pleaded for the return of the items, no questions asked, and police warned they would be monitoring pawnshops; it would be near impossible to move the swag without attracting attention. Within a few weeks, six of the jerseys and two suitcases were recovered—returned via a media go-between—apparently surrendered by a contrite criminal. In fact, underworld elements had made it their errand to shake down sources, putting out the word on the street that the stolen goods had to come back. An individual known as “The Negotiator” made the arrangements. His identity remains a closely guarded secret. Suffice it to say that the outlaws Burns always semi-admired had come to the aid of the former cop.

The sports world can often be mawkish, bathing in bathos, in thrall to its legends of the game, especially when the endings are sad. Burns would have cut through that crap, in his own plain-spoken fashion. Yet in truth, he too was squishy at the core, emotional and sentimental. His game face was not his real face.

“He was a blue-collar guy, someone who worked like hell to become successful,” says Cliff Fletcher. “He wasn’t spoon-fed. He wasn’t highly educated. He was just one of the masses, and people gravitated to that.”

“He had a tough façade, but he was sincere,” says Wayne Gretzky. “People recognized he spoke from the heart. Pat had a big heart.”

Claude Lemieux, who long ago set aside their disagreements, salutes the Horatio Alger arc of Burns’s life, from humble beginnings to hockey luminary. “There are coaches that have been more successful and had a bigger impact on the game, but they’re not going to be recognized because they don’t have that kind of historical story. Pat was a great story.”

Bob Gainey played for him, coached against him and remembers him
with esteem. “He touched a lot of very important places in the hockey world—three of the Original Six teams. He left a mark that resonates with a lot of people that he touched, whether directly, on the back of the jersey to get them over the boards, or with eye contact through the TV camera.”

His old detective partner, John Janusz, watched the Pat Burns narrative unfold from up close and afar. He remains proprietary. “The Canadiens had him. The Leafs had him. The Bruins had him. The Devils had him. But he’s still our coach, the Gatineau boy. The rest of the world can share him and remember him, but he’s ours. We never let him go.”

Jason Burns had to let go of his dad as a larger-than-life physical presence. But the father is in the son’s DNA and in his heart. “His demeanour, the way he talked and acted, how hard he worked. He was always entertaining, fun to be around. Even at the end, he found ways to laugh.

“I like to remember our summers in Magog, water-skiing, boating and fishing. Those were great times because he was relaxed. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I wish he was still here to guide me, especially with the coaching and the hockey part of my life. I wish I could give him a call and chat about a bunch of shit. I miss when he’d answer the phone and say, ‘Duuude, what’s up, my man?’

“I miss him, my dad.”

So does hockey—the game Pat Burns loved, and which loved him back.

P
AT
B
URNS COACHED
1,019 games in the NHL. His teams won 501, lost 353, tied 165. In 149 playoff games, he won 78 and lost 71. He was named coach of the year three times, with three different clubs. In 2003, his New Jersey Devils captured the Stanley Cup.

And those are the least of his accomplishments in a life ended too soon, at the age of fifty-eight.

His ashes are interred in Georgeville, a little town on the shores of Lake Memphremagog, just up the road from a plot of land he bought in his first year with the Montreal Canadiens.

The gravestone reads simply:

E
XPLORING THE LIFE
of Pat Burns has been a journey of privilege. I am grateful to the many people who shared their insights and memories. I’m also indebted to the written record amassed by journalists who covered Pat’s career. I’ve plundered their work shamelessly. In particular, I’d like to note the reportage of beat writers in the four NHL cities where Pat coached.

My thanks to Patrick McCormick—a dear friend—for his skillful close editing of the manuscript, and all the errors that he caught. Any bloopers that remain are down to me.

I’m obliged to
Toronto Star
editor-in-chief Michael Cooke, who gave me the book-leave. Thanks as well to everyone at Doubleday Canada, especially editor Tim Rostron, who pushed too hard but brought me in on deadline.

I’d still like to start over, though.

Rosie DiManno
May 27, 2012  

Grateful acknowledgement is expressed to the following people and sources for permission to reprint these images. In the event of an inadvertent omission or error regarding copyright, please notify the publisher.

12.1
Courtesy of Diane Burns

12.2
© Denis Brodeur/NHLI via Getty Images

12.3
© Patti Gower/GetStock Images

12.4
© Michael Stuparyk/GetStock Images

12.5
© Michael Stuparyk/GetStock Images

12.6
© Lou Capozzola/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images

12.7
© The Canadian Press/Ryan Remiorz

12.8
© The Canadian Press/Graham Hughes

Rosie DiManno
is a news and sports columnist with the
Toronto Star
. She was friends with Pat Burns from his coaching days in Toronto to the end of his life. She is the author of
Glory Jays, Canada’s World Champions
(1993), about the Toronto Blue Jays.