from Dan Robson of Sportsnet magazine,

He walked slowly to the front of a room packed with reporters and sat on the last seat in the first row, facing the podium. He had hoped they wouldn’t notice, or, at least, that they wouldn’t react. This day, after all, was never supposed to be about him. But in the vaulted sanctuary of the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto, his presence is something akin to the manifestation of a deity. His white hair was cropped neatly and parted. His face was soft, but dignified. His white dress shirt was crisp, buttoned down over a black and gold tie. The navy blazer fit perfectly. The Hall of Fame logo sat just right. Even veteran sports scribes were in awe. “Gordie Howe,” whispered one, sitting in the fourth row. “There’s Gordie Howe,” nudged another, somewhere in the back. They glowed like giddy schoolboys.

Gordie Howe might have heard their whispers. He hears them everywhere he goes. But he didn’t turn and wave like he usually does. He just looked forward, to the stage where the Stanley Cup sat and where, in moments, his son would be introduced as one of the new inductees into hockey’s holy Hall.

continued and a suggested read…