You’ve likely already seen a lot of writing this week about how Ken Dryden was one of the all-time great legends in hockey history; about how he stole a Stanley Cup from Bobby Orr, Phil Esposito, and the Big Bad Boston Bruins; that he was part of a Montreal Canadiens dynasty that won four straight cups in the 1970s; that he was the stalwart between the pipes for Canada in the most important hockey game in history — game eight of the 1972 Summit Series, when Paul Henderson’s goal beat the Soviets. You might also have read about how he followed up his hockey career with an astonishingly original array of activities: lawyer, author, documentary filmmaker, education champion, president of the Toronto Maple Leafs, member of parliament, cabinet minister, and much more.
So, I don’t need to add to any of that.
I want to talk about the Ken Dryden I came to know because he was a big fan of a television program I used to host at TVO called The Agenda. And when I say a fan, I don’t mean he regularly emailed with praise — quite the contrary. He saw the show for what it was: a nightly forum for serious discussion about issues. And when he felt it missed the mark, he let me know. Ken was a guest on the program numerous times; we'd have him on every time he came out with a new book. And he was always one of my favourite guests — brilliant, thoughtful, and so much fun.
A few years ago, he went so far as to suggest we have lunch together, so he could download a whole bunch of constructive criticism and show ideas. Interestingly enough, the shows he wanted to comment on the most had nothing to do with sports. At first, I constantly had to tell the hockey fan in me to remain cool, that Ken was one of those legends who really didn’t like “the legend treatment.” I can confirm that it was always a struggle; I never lost the childlike awe in which I held him. But I did a pretty good job keeping it under wraps.
I once asked Ken, “When was the golden age of hockey?” His answer was brilliant: “Whatever you were watching when you were 12 years old.” Well, when I was 12, Ken was in the net for Canada in the original Summit Series.
I always had Ken sign his books when he came on the show. (Steve Paikin)
Later on, he was also president of my favourite hockey team, the Maple Leafs, who actually managed to make long, sustained playoff runs on his watch. After the Leafs were eliminated one year, he came to TVO to talk about the season.
“Now that the Leafs are out, who do you hope wins the Stanley Cup?” I asked him.
“I don’t care!” came his immediate reply.
I kept every email Ken sent me over the years and have been re-reading them since the news of his death broke on Saturday morning. Ken didn’t hold back. Once in 2018, I was talking foreign affairs with Janice Stein of the University of Toronto. Ken wrote: “You pushed at her a little; she deserved to have been pushed harder.” When I responded by pointing out that Janice had only just learned that her husband had been diagnosed with a fatal neurological brain disorder, and that’s why I didn’t go harder on her, he responded, “I’m sorry for Janice’s husband and for Janice. I understand why you didn’t push.”
Dryden's #29 Montreal jersey was iconic, even for a Leafs fan. (Courtesy Steve Paikin)
Ken could be a tough critic, which I appreciated. No sucking up, that’s for sure. So, when I got the odd note of praise, it meant that much more. My all-time favourite player was the Leafs’ Ron Ellis, whom I met when I was 10 years old and, somehow, became great pals with (I gave a eulogy at Ron’s funeral in 2024). Ron and Ken were teammates in the Summit Series and, when Ron died, I wrote a column about him and shared a very personal letter Ron had sent me. Ken read the column and emailed this:
“Ron’s letter to you was touching, real, and so Ron. It was perfect. And what you wrote, the stories you told about him, made this so clear, to anyone who didn’t know him. It’s a pretty nice thing you have done.”
Some of his emails went on for hundreds, if not thousands, of words. Others were much more to the point. I once told him I’d attended an event at which I sat at the same table as former Edmonton Oiler great Glenn Anderson. He and I had argued about who did the TV colour commentary for the U.S. Olympic hockey gold medal win in 1980. I said Dryden; he said someone else. When I asked Ken who was right, he responded simply: “Glenn’s wrong.”
Ken was an icon to millions of Canadians — including those in my family. Here my daughter Giulia poses with his statue. (Steve Paikin)
Another time, I emailed Ken to tell him that one of his great games from the 1976 Stanley Cup final against the Philadelphia Flyers was being replayed on TV, in case he wanted to watch it. “I never watch,” he wrote. “The first time we won. The second time, who knows?”
I couldn’t leave that alone, so I followed up. “Really? You never watch? Why not?”
Ken’s answer was pure Dryden — thoughtful, philosophical, intelligent, and sensible.
“I don’t look like I think I look or want to look like,” he began. “As for our games, I have in my head how each player looks, and that's been put there through hundreds of games and many years. To me, that’s what’s real, and I don’t want to come to doubt that.”
Ken made one exception to that rule. His last book, The Class, was about his Etobicoke high school classmates and what they’d gone on to do with their lives. He was forced to watch the corresponding Agenda interview so he could pull some quotes from it for publicity purposes. He sent me this email: “It was really good. I was relieved, but a lot more than that, I really enjoyed it. You were really good, and I was too. I found it very interesting, and very, very touching. Thank you.” That would be our last in-studio conversation. It was March 12, 2024.
Dryden joined The Agenda several times.
Two years ago, Ken made a particularly memorable story pitch for The Agenda. The issue was ensuring that refugee children had access to an education, despite living in miserable circumstances. He recommended I speak to a Harvard professor named Sarah Dryden-Peterson, who’d just written a book about the issue.
Yes, Sarah was his daughter.
“But only if you think it’s worth doing,” he added. He never wanted to use his influence if the story didn’t merit doing.
I read the book, which was terrific. We had Sarah on the program and talked for 20 minutes. In the last minute of the interview, I couldn’t resist: “This isn’t the most important question I’ll ask you today but: who is your favourite goaltender in NHL history?” She burst out laughing and said, “My dad!” Ken saw the interview and enjoyed it more than any of those that he and I had done. He was just such a proud dad.
A few months ago, Ken emailed me, saying he thought he had a neat idea for an episode of The Agenda, and could we talk? I called him up, and what ensued was, of course, a wonderful, original idea for a discussion.
“Steve, remember how 50 years ago everyone smoked on planes, in movie theatres, in elevators, even in doctors’ offices?”
“Of course,” I responded. “We even thought that if we sat in the non-smoking section of a plane that we’d be unaffected by second-hand smoke. Crazy!”
“Well,” Ken continued, “what are we going to look back on, 50 years from now, and ask ourselves, how could we have been so stupid? That could be a show.”
I agreed. I pitched it, the brass loved the idea, and we did it with Ken and a few other guests. It was one of the last ever episodes of The Agenda.
Sadly, Ken told me at the time that he was suffering from excruciating back pain and couldn’t come into the studio. So, he joined us via Zoom from his midtown Toronto home. I acknowledged right off the top of the episode that the show was Ken’s idea, and it remains a wonderful memory.
Over the years I interviewed Ken about everything from his books on his former coach Scotty Bowman, to the 1972 Summit Series, to head injuries in hockey (which became the cause of his life when he watched the National Hockey League, in his view, take inadequate steps to prevent its most important assets — its players — from suffering debilitating injuries due to head shots).
It's strange what stays with you over the years, but one conversation I had with Ken about his older brother always did. Ken’s brother Dave was also a goalie in the NHL, but never had the kind of success Ken had. Dave was Ken’s hero, but I always wondered how the older brother handled the younger brother’s far superior career. Given that Dave had just died (in 2022), I thought it was now or never to ask that question. It was risky: if I was scratching an itch Ken didn’t want scratched, it could bring the interview to an awkward end.
Two of my all-time favourites: Team Canada's Ken Dryden, with Ron Ellis to the left, honoured by MPs in the House of Commons on the 50th anniversary of the original Summit Series. (CP/Patrick Doyle)
“It never was a problem,” Ken insisted, “because Dave never let it be. And it was another reason why I admired and worshipped him so much.” Ken and I had to hold back tears because it was such a beautiful expression of fraternal love.
August 8 was a date Ken and I often noted. It was his birthday, but it was also the day that former Ontario premier Bill Davis died. Davis had once asked Ken to spend a year sitting in classrooms around Ontario, and to write a report on education reforms the government ought to bring in.
Three years ago, when Ken turned 75, I sent him a happy birthday email and congratulated him on having such a meaningful impact on so many different aspects of our country’s life. He wrote a beautiful reply:
“Thanks, Steve. It’s very nice of you to notice. It kind of snuck up on me a bit. I think of birthday milestones as those that end in zero, but I guess this one qualifies. We all have in mind that what we do next we want to be even more meaningful and useful. So here’s to you, too. And thanks, again.”
How can you not adore a guy that lovely?
When I emailed Ken a month ago to wish him a happy birthday, I didn’t hear back. I found that odd. Then I emailed him about something else and, again, I didn’t hear back. That wasn’t like Ken, and I assumed something was up. When I got the email from his family Saturday morning saying Ken had died, my immediate reaction was a terrible punch to the solar plexus. But my second reaction was: of course, that explains everything. He was fighting a virulent cancer that took him at age 78, when he had so much more to contribute.
Ken was a giant in every way, on and off the ice. I don’t know the exact number of players who’ve laced up the blades in the NHL over the past century. The internet speculates it’s more than 7,000. There has never been — nor will there ever be — any other player like Ken Dryden. He was unique. And I am so honoured to have been able to call him my friend.
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