Usually I write about only what I know. Knowing the Hornung family practically my entire life and attending Regina Pat games with Brad for, literally, twenty plus years, I am right now writing about Brad Hornung with authority. I have got the creds, as Brad would say.
HORNUNG and
HOCKEY are synonymous.
Yes. Brad loved hockey. Having played the game,
having scouted the game, and having blogged about the game between scouting
gigs (google: HORNUNG ON HOCKEY. I will write a bit more about Brad's blog, in a few paragraphs from now).
Here is the HORNUNG-HOCKEY
LEGEND and the HORNUNG-HOCKEY LINEAGE from my personal and empirical
point of view. The Hornung-Hockey legend begat with Larry Hornung, Brad's dad, who played in the World Hockey Association and the National Hockey League. Larry, like hundreds of other Hornungs, was born in my hometown of Vanguard, Saskatchewan.
Sidebar: I was such a frequent flyer in the Scouts Room at the rink, that most of those others who were privileged to enter recognized me (incorrectly) as being a fellow NHL scout. I mean, really, I was there before the start of every game, complete with the scouting ID on full display hanging around my neck, while I loaded up with coffee and Coca-Cola and the game sheets. I certainly looked the part and as the years rolled by, more and more so even acted the part. Every game someone would I ask me what I thought of this player or that player, and though I was reluctant to respond, I often did respond just to expedite the economy of time. Never did I want to get caught in a long-winded treatise on the marvels or skills of any of the prospects. It was not my place to be that guy, and besides, I would surely be found out if I pretended to be that guy.
Only NHL’er and real hockey scout, DREW CALLANDER, was the only one who knew my real
identity. Drew sat alongside Brad and me
at every game. Sidebar: Drew played in the National Hockey League,
the American Hockey League, the East Coast League, and the European Hockey
league. Drew coached in the Western
Hockey League, and was now the international scout of the Regina Pats. And in
the words of MARSHALL JOHNSTON, al long-time friend of the Brad Hornung family,
in a humorous reference to hockey players such as Drew, “What else can we
do?”
Well, Drew could do more than hockey (for awhile). After his professional hockey career with the Philadelphia Flyers, he completed 25 years with the Regina City Police. And after that, he was an WHL coach (Regina Pats), and is currently the international scout for the WHL Regina Pats.
It is obvious that Brad was a hockey fanatic. Shortly after his injury and having to adjust to living the rest of his days as a quadriplegic, Brad became an National Hockey League scout for the Chicago Blackhawks, and after that a scout for the National Hockey League Central Scouting up until the day of his passing. Between these two scouting gigs, Brad created his blog, HORNUNG ON HOCKEY, reporting on eligible hockey prospects and having a readership for hockey fans in 65 countries. (I was a regular contributor to Brad's blog, writing under the pseudonym, Gordie Know-How.)
Knowing Brad and even having been to other funerals with Brad, I know that he would want to be remembered for being more than hockey. He would want to be remembered for his academic achievements, save for Doctor Hornung being bestowed an honorary doctorate which he jokingly repeated that he was not a real doctor.
[DOCTORS BRAD HORNUNG AND SHELDON KENNEDY]
As a
quadriplegic assigned to a wheelchair, Brad completed his grade 12 at the
hospital school and went on to attend the University of Regina to complete his
bachelor’s degree in Political Science and History. Alone and in-person, he rode the para-transit
bus to the university each day, drove himself to class after class, the boarded
the bus home. A remarkable achievement!
And he would
want to be remembered for his appreciation of life. In Zen-like fashion, Brad would rise every
morning from his hospital bed, which was his in-house studio apartment room in
Main Five of the Wascana Rehabilitation Centre and go for a stroll (roll). Brad did appreciate the simplest of the
simple things in life.
He loved his
setting. Brad resided in the heart of Wascana Park, the second largest urban
park in North America. Complete with a
promenade along the Albert Street Bridge, a paved Devonian pathway all around
the Wascana Lake, a bird sanctuary, and several fountains and bubble ponds,
Wascana Park is paradise.
Whenever the weather allowed, Brad would roll around in that beautiful urban lake and experience all the yin-yang it offered, from being caught in the rain to bumping into another hockey guy, Mike Bossy, who happened to be in town that day.
Going
downtown for an espresso was another favorite and simple thing that Brad loved
to do. We would usually walk, sometimes
drive into downtown Regina, grab a java, then attend an outdoor live concert in
and around Victoria Park. Those summer
concert days were glorious.
And Brad had endless summers. All summer long, certain friends and certain family members gathered at Terry’s (Brad’s mom) for Sunday barbeques. (In wintertime we would gather at our place, a downtown condo.) From his place to his mom’s, in clement weather Brad would roll solo, four city blocks down the Hill Avenue road to get to those barbeques, whereas to our place, he would roll solo around Wascana Lake to Speaker's Corner, where I would meet him on the Devonian.
Anyone who ever visited Brad in his home at Wascana, will agree that Brad was always the perfect host. I can recall several zany and even a few Zen moments visiting Brad in his room at Wascana. One time Jared Livingstone and I entering Brad's room at the same time, caught Brad watching curling! (NHL scouts do not watch curling.) Another time, his long-time hockey team-mate, Kenny McIntyre asked Brad what number he wore in hockey, to which Brad actually replied, "Eight." (Brad's number 8 had been retired in the rink rafters since his injury. Brad's license plate on his van was BRAD 8. Brad's permanent parking spot at the hockey arena was designated in big bold print, BRAD 8. EVERYONE who knew Brad knew he was #8.) Coincidentally, when his best friend, former NHL'er and AHL'er and European hockey player, Gary Dickie, and I went to see Brad in hospital just a week before he passed, his room in ICU at the General Hospital was #8.
Unbeknownst to most, but certainly known to a chosen few, Brad was a connoisseur of licorice. Brad always had a stash of licorice and jujubes and sours and other chewy candies of the ilk and texture of licorice in a plastic tub in his
closet. The jujubes were always fresh,
supplied bi-weekly by his mom, Terry. Terry's friend, Tina, too, greatly contributed to the licorice stash. True confession: I supplied lots
of licorice because I ate lots (maybe most or all) of the licorice, the
long-nib red to be precise. For years
and years and years I stole from his licorice supply.
Factoid: Every birthday and every Xmas we exchanged the gift of licorice. That is how important the sharing of
licorice really was. Bradley was my friend and my favorite NHL scout, and my licorice provider.
Brad was also my nephew. Forty-two years ago I was fortunate to marry Carol Hornung, sister to Brad's father, Larry. Carol and I have sons, but they did not contribute to the Hornung-Hockey legacy -- our sons did not play hockey.
Carol and I, as well as his mother, Terry, and sister, Leanne, his Uncle Bill, his best friend Hollis, and a couple other longtime friends, were in the
room with Brad when he passed. On Tuesday,
February 8th, Bradley John Hornung died at exactly 6:31.
Brad’s funeral was 1:00 Wednesday February 16th.
Brad, I just needed to say a few words about you in this soliloquy of sorts.
AND YES, BRAD
HORNUNG, YOU WERE HOCKEY. AND YES, BRAD
HORNUNG, YOU WERE LICORICE.
Though my
reference to licorice may seem blithesome …
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