On one glorious night, Toronto played host to a meeting of hockey royalty from the days of the NHL’s last great dynasty—the Edmonton Oilers of 1984–90. Stars such as Wayne Gretzky, Kevin Lowe, Glen Sather and Paul Coffey filled the Great Hall of the Hockey Hall of Fame, while many teammates from the day were watching via the television broadcast. Coffey, the celebrated defenceman, sat just a few rows away from the podium where his former goalie Grant Fuhr now stood nervously in a tuxedo. One observer joked that this seat was probably closer than Coffey ever got to Fuhr on the ice during his legendary days rushing up to the other zone with the Edmonton Oilers. Like the best jokes, the jibe about the freewheeling Coffey had just enough truth to drive home the point. In his days as the Oilers’ goalie, Grant was often a solo act, left to defend the home net while his prolific teammates swarmed the opposing end in search of goals, goals and more goals. The isolation—this abandonment by teammates—might have broken many other goalies. It’s not hyperbole to say, as Ken Dryden once did, that goaltending is “grim, humorless, largely uncreative, getting little physical pleasure in return.”
But Grant Fuhr never took it personally. With a characteristic shrug of the shoulders he’d just handle the opposing shooters all by himself. And on most nights during Edmonton’s run of five Stanley Cups in seven years that’s exactly what happened. No muss, no fuss. “It was well within his right to stand up and say, ‘Come on guys, we’re giving up five, six, seven breakaways per game,’ ” says teammate Marty McSorley. “He had every right to stand up in the dressing room and go, “C’mon guys,’ but he never did. Not a peep of complaint.”
For 17 NHL seasons, Grant defied the odds. And now, on this day, the Hall of Fame beckoned. As he nervously looked out over the assembled crowd to deliver his induction acceptance speech, the audience might have been forgiven for wondering where Fuhr might start. There was, after all, no easy way to sum him up, to describe his career. No. 31 was the culmination of the many streams flowing through his life and career. Starting out as an 18-day-old adoptee of mixed race in Spruce Grove, Alberta, with the most challenging of prospects, Fuhr authored a remarkable story of talent, resilience and a comeback from personal demons that almost ruined him and his career. Overcoming injuries in his mid-30s, he produced a triumphant second act in St. Louis long after the hockey “experts” thought he was finished.
Perhaps not surprisingly, he started his talk with the pioneer. The first superstar of colour in the NHL, Fuhr was a low-key model for racial equality in hockey, a worthy successor to pioneer Willie O’Ree, who broke the NHL’s colour barrier in 1958. “I’d like to thank Willie O’Ree,” Grant announced as O’Ree himself looked on from the crowd. “It’s an extra-special honour to be the first man of colour in the Hockey Hall of Fame. It just shows that hockey is such a diverse sport that anyone can be successful in it. I’m proud of that, and I thank Willie for that.”
To most of those gathered in the Great Hall, Grant was synonymous with the Oilers dynasty. It was hard to separate the kid who’d grown up in the Edmonton bedroom community of Spruce Grove from the city and that wonderful team. “I see Paul here, Wayne, Kevin [Lowe] … we had a huge family. It was all a team. More than a team it was a family. That said the most of it, and that’s why we were successful.”
Grant thanked one of the earliest Oilers for helping to launch his story. Ron Low took a teenaged goalie prospect fresh from the Victoria Cougars and taught him about life in the NHL. “He was my partner in my first year and a big part of where I am. For an 18-year-old goalie it takes a lot to get comfortable in the NHL, and Ronnie was a huge part of that. He was instrumental in that.”
Grant also recalled two “special” relationships: one with the man who’d drafted him into the NHL, Oilers coach and general manager Glen Sather, and one with former Oilers and Buffalo Sabres coach John Muckler. “Glen and I probably had a little more special relationship than most coaches would want. I seemed to find a lot of time in his office. Some good, some bad. John Muckler, I seemed to spend a lot of time in that office too.”
Mike Keenan, Grant’s coach with Team Canada in the 1987 Canada Cup, revived the goalie’s career late in his playing days, in St. Louis. “Lot of things have been said about him,” Grant noted about Keenan. “His style’s a little bit different, but he gave me a fabulous opportunity. It was a time in my career where you’re thinking about quitting, and he gave me that opportunity to play. And I played a lot. He let me play every night. As a goalie that’s what you want: the opportunity to play every night. And he gave me that.”
It was also in St. Louis that Grant’s unique approach to conditioning was changed for good by legendary Olympic coach Bobby Kersee. “At one point I thought I was a good athlete,” Fuhr said. “I was athletically good, but not a good athlete. Through Bobby, I found out what it was like to be a good athlete. I know Glen had pushed me to do that. Muck and I had a few conversations over that. I spent a lot of time riding a bike in Buffalo with one of our assistant coaches, John Tortorella. I might have been the only guy who rode every day and gained two pounds while the coach lost eight.”
Finally, when conditioning was not enough, Grant’s knees and shoulders were repaired by team doctors—extending his career to a remarkable 17 years at the top of the world’s greatest hockey league. “They played a special part in my career,” he said. “I spent a lot of time being put back together again. This body seems to have broken down a few times, and got written off a few times. But the doctors put me back together again.”
Looking into the crowd, Grant could see his longtime friends and his four children, including son Robert (RJ)—wearing a suit for one of the few times in his life. “Kendyl, Rochelle, son RJ, daughter Janine: they make the big sacrifice. You get traded; you don’t see the packing, you don’t see the moving. Somehow it happens. We don’t see that; we’re pretty much married to the game of hockey. First and foremost, that’s probably our wife—the game of hockey—and they take a back seat to that. I thank them for that.
“My friends have been there through thick and thin. I’ve had a different road than most people to get here. Most of it good, some not so good. A little bumpy along the way. But they’ve always been there. You have to have that love and support.
“In closing, it’s the greatest game in the world, I’m happy to be part of it and I’m more happy to get back to it. It’s special. Thank you.”
To understand just how special requires a voyage through the singular games and moments of a remarkable life lived in full view.