Kalamity K

The Daily Chaos of Kalamity K
2006-09-10 15:23:41 (UTC)

Ken Dryden Wears His Flag on His Sleeve

Ken Dryden wears his flag on his sleeve
The former goalie is admired for his intelligence,
discipline and kindness. But without a killer campaign
machine, he seems to be falling behind in the leadership
race.

Sep. 10, 2006. 01:00 AM
LINDA DIEBEL


A kiss of death comes softly in a campaign, veiled in
praise. After the debate in Winnipeg last June, candidate
Ken Dryden says candidate Michael Ignatieff told him he
had the best introductory speech of then 11 hopefuls vying
for the Liberal leadership, himself included. Dryden has
worked hard to define his reasons for running, his passion
for Canada and concern about what's at stake in the next
election against the Conservatives, and he was pleased. So
were his people who made a point of passing on the comment
to the media.

His staffers believe Ignatieff was sincere. Maybe so, but
this is politics, a race for the helm of arguably the most
powerful political entity ever created in this country.
Sincerity aside, there are layers. These were wooing
words, a sly siren song to guide one candidate to
another's camp come the leadership convention in Montreal,
especially a candidate who, by all signs and portents,
isn't a front-runner. A whisper meant to linger as
aspirations die: "Come join me, Ken. Come sit in the place
of honour I have reserved for you."

Cynical, you say? Well, imagine Ignatieff, at or near the
top of this particular political heap, laying the same
compliment on rival Bob Rae? Or Stéphane Dion? Not likely.
These men are serious threats and Dryden, though mightily
praised, is not. Not so far — and he won't be in December,
barring a more spectacular miracle than Team Canada's
victory, Dryden in net, in the final game of the storied
1972 Canada-Soviet series.

His campaign, launched at his old Etobicoke school at the
end of April, failed to ignite. No buzz, no magic and,
even with last week's back-to-school launch of his policy
book, "A Big Canada," with its emphasis on education, no
momentum. He has been cash-strapped from the get-go,
pulling in only $48,082 in contributions by the end of
July (the third-to-last showing) and forced to lay off
paid staff mid-summer. It looks bleak. But it matters only
in that, as things stand, he's unlikely to win the
leadership. Otherwise, he's the belle of the ball.

Of 10 contenders, Ken Dryden would add the most lustre on
a personal basis — in terms of the affection and respect
Canadians hold for him — to any campaign he cared to join.
Consider his image and reputation linked to a team with a
serious machine. It puts him in an enviable position.

Dryden is admired for his intelligence, talent, discipline
and kindness. He visits children in hospitals without
waiting for camera crews; he helps with the family
charity, Sleeping Children Around the World
(http://www.scaw.org), which operates out of his childhood
home; he devotes hours to humanitarian endeavours. He's a
hockey legend in goal, six-time Stanley Cup champion with
the Montreal Canadiens, a Canadian Hockey Hall-of-Famer,
BA from Cornell, law at McGill, bestselling author, former
president of the Toronto Maple Leafs, MP for York Centre
and, in the last Paul Martin government, minister of
social development.

Dryden's career (and those of others in the race) mocks
the conventional wisdom that says this leadership contest,
without a Frank McKenna, John Manley or Brian Tobin,
offers only "second-tier" choices.

Red Fisher, himself a legend, a Montreal sportswriter for
more than half a century, is proud to call him a
friend. "Ken Dryden is a genius," he says, referring to
more than hockey (although if he had to pick the top three
Canadian goalies of all time, "Kenny would be No. 2 at
worst" behind Jacques Plante, ahead of Patrick Roy). Adds
Fisher: "Intellectually, he's way out in front of
everybody else ... He has an IQ of God knows what."

So why hasn't he done better? A Liberal source from
another campaign blames Dryden's team, with manager Mark
Watton from Paul Martin's PMO, for failing to take
advantage of his fame. That's unfair, given the lack of
money. It's Catch-22: if you don't have the money to
create buzz, you can't raise money.

The real problem goes deeper. It's more likely Dryden
didn't have the necessary network in place to run, and
that speaks to his nature as (described by others) loner
and perfectionist. Nobody wants to criticize him on the
record. But a source close to his seven-year tenure as
president of Maple Leafs argues he was indecisive to the
point of not being a good leader. (Granted, there were
tough politics around the team with executives Steve
Stavros and Pat Quinn, but his job was to navigate those
politics.)

The source qualifies: "Ken Dryden is one of the most
likeable, caring people I know. He is unbelievably decent.
I like the man dearly. He is a quality person." Long
pause. But?

"He worries things to death. He cares so much about
people's feelings. He tries to predict the outcome and he
almost makes himself ineffective. He wants so much to make
the right decision he's not the guy to make any decision.
He has an inability to make tough decisions."

His leadership run came together late. He says he was
blindsided by the January election defeat. "I was
expecting to win. I absolutely was not prepared to lose."
It was too soon on election night when friends urged him
to consider a run for leader. "I was way down."

Then came weeks of reflection until he decided the race
needed his voice, his focus on social issues and goals of
cutting child poverty in half over a decade, improving
education, saving the Kelowna aboriginal accord and Kyoto
environmental targets. He believes the next election is
about the very survival of the Canadian system of values.

What differentiates his platform from the others is his
sincerity. Toronto Star's Carol Goar suggested in a column
on Friday that he was the conscience of the Liberal party.

"He is a really proud Canadian," says his brother, Dave
Dryden. "Not to say the others don't care, but he really
wears that flag on his sleeve."

And the lack of organization?

"Organization this, organization that ... yeah, all of
those things matter," replies Ken Dryden. "But however one
focuses between now and December (delegates) are voting
for the person they think has the best chance of beating
Stephen Harper ... who has the best chance of winning the
country."

Dryden believes it's him. "I think I really know this
country, and I am a listener." He thinks he may come up
the middle as a compromise candidate.

There's been speculation recently Dryden might withdraw,
perhaps to save himself the embarrassment of a poor
showing.

He says he will finish what he started. He could have made
other choices after hockey. "You could live your life out
as a celebrity and be a successful celebrity ... To me,
that's not interesting. What's far more interesting, you
put yourself on the line and you try. That's what you do."

Adds Dryden: "I will be on the convention floor in
Montreal as a candidate."


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It's cool under the trees on his old street in Etobicoke.
Looking out over big lawns, bicycles, basketball hoops,
one senses that post-World War II spirit he remembers,
when everything was new and full of hope. Murray and
Margaret (Campbell) Dryden worked hard to give a good life
to their kids, David, Ken (Aug. 8, 1947) and Judy. Ken
played bantam hockey for the Humber Valley Hornets and Dad
coached hockey and baseball. "In that time and place, the
real understanding of adults was that part of raising kids
was what you did in your community."

Here's the house where he grew up, the United Church and
Humber Valley Middle School down the street, the dent in
the garage door from a wrongly shifted gear left to teach
a lesson, the ball hockey rink where he learned to play.
(His dad couldn't flood a rink because the backyard
sloped.) "Most of my childhood memories were right in this
place," says Dryden. At 6' 4", he seems to overpower his
old backyard. "The Big Guy," Fisher calls him.

He's heavier than in his playing years, certainly, but
still trim. He has silvery hair, and glasses frame his
round, open face. He's talking about what makes
genius. "The people who are truly special at something,
not just good or very good, (you ask) where did they
develop that real specialness?" he begins, describing the
kid he was, shooting, analyzing, trying something
new. "It's not from lessons ... when you truly become
special is in that time alone when you make it your own,
when you're not a derivative person."

His brother Dave, six years older and a retired hockey NHL
goalie and high school teacher, saw talent early. "We sort
of knew when he was 6 years old. Aside from his
athleticism, it was his sense of concentration and ability
to focus. All goaltenders have it but he would do
absolutely anything to keep that puck out of the net. He
would fight you all the way."

His mother, from Hawkesbury, taught kindergarten before
she married his father, a Manitoba farm boy and Depression-
era salesman. He eventually succeeded with his own brick
and block company, but his son remembers the early years
of selling women's silk stockings and a magic mask
to "turn your pimples into dimples."

Dryden reveres his parents, gone now, his mother's calm
and quiet contentment, his father's responsibility and
support for his kids. On March 20, 1971, the Montreal
Canadiens and Buffalo Sabres were set to play at the
Montreal Forum. Ken was a rookie with the Canadiens, Dave
a goalie with the Sabres. Murray wanted to go.

"Don't get disappointed, Dad," said Ken. "I probably won't
get to play." He went, Canadiens' goalie Roggie Vachon was
injured early in the second period and, making NHL
history, it was brother against brother, with the
Canadiens winning, 5-2.

"He wouldn't have said a lot," says Dryden, of his
dad. "He would have looked proud."

Here, too, in Etobicoke, the pressure of fame began for
him.

Anybody who plays in the NHL would have been a star at
every level they played since the time they started," he
says. "And what is it like to be a star in anything at
anytime? You have certain expectations of yourself ... You
are living with a kind of responsibility most people don't
experience until they are 40 and you are experiencing it
from the age of 7."


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---------------------
Dryden is at the wheel of a silver Toyota Camry, talking
as we drive from Etobicoke to mid-town Toronto, where he
lives with wife Lynda. It's a graceful home, minimalist
and full of taste, with a maple tree outside and lemonade
and a plate of cookies waiting.

On a wall of photos, only a couple show Dryden the hockey
star. Instead, there are many photos of his mother,
father, Lynda, grown children, Michael and Sarah,
grandchildren. Family first.

As he drives, I feel safe. Even at 59, the Dryden reflexes
must count for something. It's a common reaction, one he
understands well. "If somebody has a favourite player,
after five years it's hard to have a visual image of that
person," he explains. It gets harder as time passes, until
the image disappears.

"Even people who didn't really care for me as a goalie
have a visual image of me standing on my stick — not a
splits save and catching the puck — but standing there and
that represents something to them. It was a resting pose
for me ... but for them it meant everything was okay. I
guess that's what my manner does for people."


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---------------------
The Dryden campaign has a couple of other potential
hurdles. He is still working at it, but he's not
bilingual. Plus, he's perceived as, ah, er, well, rather
dull. (Remember, Red Fisher had said, he's thin-skinned.)

A colleague, a former sportswriter and editor, bristles at
the "dull" image: "This guy has been a winner at
everything he's done. Maybe it's time we as voters and
journalists stop looking at people from the outside and
see what they're made of from the head and heart down."

Dryden, too, argues family and friends hardly think he's
dull. "I think my face is contorting into 50 different
ways (when I talk). I guess it isn't," he says. "And I
think I talk a mile a minute. I'm surprised when people
say I talk slowly"

If there is a lesson in the life of Ken Dryden, it's
persistence. So he won't win this time. But has he ever
given up?

His brother talks about the little kid playing with the
big guys. "He got hammered, but he never complained." It
took him years to better his brother in lobbing softballs
onto the roof. "I can remember when he started whipping
me," says Dave Dryden. "The look on his face (said): `It
took a lot of years, but I finally got you.' "

Out of respect for the Dryden legend, a sportswriter shall
have the last word: "I don't think Kenny has any kind of a
chance in this particular race," says Fisher. "But he's
smart enough to keep his name in front of people and next
time, he will be front and centre and maybe next time, he
will win. If the Liberals luck out and win the next
election, he will be in cabinet ... and down the road, he
might make a pretty damn good prime minister himself."

Tenacity. Fisher knows about that. Dryden asked him to
proofread his first book, the blockbuster, The Game.
Fisher thought it was "a crock, whining and
complaining ... the son-of-a-gun went to England and
rewrote it five times."

Three years later, Dryden came out with a classic.




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