Paul Henderson? Never heard of him...

“Never heard of him,” was the sad and revealing reply of the teenage employee when I asked him where the Paul Henderson Exhibit was going to be set up.

The initial line of questioning was even a little more presumptuous, asking where the “exhibit” was going to be located, since, according to the posters plastered around the arena where this young cashier’s sports store was located - I assumed it would be tantamount to asking a Parisian where Notre Dame Cathedral was.

When that drew a blank expression, I apprehensively expanded the inquiry to drop the Henderson name into the equation, which of course now would surely trigger an immediate and clear understanding of the inquiry. But, then he delivered that shocking response that officially made me come to a life altering revelation; I was old.

Explaining that Henderson was his generation’s Sidney Crosby, the young man appeased my growing angst with a sympathetic acknowledgment, as if to say; “you may be old enough to have once changed my diapers, but one day I will be changing yours...”

Paul Henderson’s number 19 jersey was the marquee piece in a traveling exhibit traversing Canada and set up camp, April 9, in Salmon Arm, where I was attending my son’s U17 BC Hockey evaluation.

A couple of years ago his jersey was auctioned off by an American collector and purchased by a Canadian businessman for $1.2 million. The jersey was brought back to the motherland and is currently on a cross-country tour.

To Canadians of my generation, the name Paul Henderson is synonymous with one of the greatest moments in this country’s otherwise less than spectacular sporting history.

Face it, other than this game that is weaved into the very fiber of our being, Canadians generally do not spend an inordinate amount of time on top of a podium or possess exclusive bragging rights to being the best at a particular sport. But hockey is different. We will forgo all other accomplishments or live with any shortcomings, as long as we are the best at this sport made for kids and played by men.

Foster Hewitt’s nasal-drawn call of “Henderson takes another wild stab for it and fell...” will forever resonate in my mind. I was 12 years old and attending St. Mary private school in Edmonton. Canada’s improbable comeback punctuated by the shot heard around the world, will always be part of hockey lore.

It was a win win situation for me that September afternoon in 1972. Not only did I get to watch an historic event unfold, but I got to miss math class as everyone anxiously gathered in the study hall, eye’s glued to the massive 20 inch color Cathode ray tube configuration sitting on top of a desk - a testament to 1970’s technology that we were confident could not be improved upon, in our lifetime, anyway.

The exhibit was nicely done and appointed with some great artifacts and memorabilia, striking a nostalgic chord in this “old man.”

And the young cashier? Saw him touring through the exhibit wielding a camera phone.

Now he knows...