Mr. Hockey fights on

That was just the beginning of the Howes’ case against their former employees. The lawsuit also claimed that Reddy and Howard had created a charitable foundation in Colleen’s name with themselves and their family members as officers—ostensibly to fund the cost of her care should Gordie die. But deposits to the fund came from Gordie Howe’s signings and public appearances, the complaint alleged, and neither he nor Colleen Howe saw a cent of the money. The Howes were similarly suspicious of a project called “Kings of Their Sports,” in which Howe had posed for photos with other sporting greats, including Arnold Palmer and Jean Béliveau. The project was funded with Power Play money, the Howes contended, yet Power Play received only $15,000 for the 2,500 photos produced and autographed. Given that the photos currently sell for between $150 and $350, that was presumably a tiny fraction of what the pictures fetched.

Then there was the Vancouver Giants deal. According to the Howe’s suit, Reddy in 2005 told Gordie that Power Play was having financial difficulties, and needed to raise cash to help pay for Colleen’s care. Ron Toigo, the majority owner of the Western Hockey League team, told Maclean’s Reddy approached him with the same story, and set up a deal for Howe to sell his five per cent share back to the other owners. The sale netted Howe US$200,000, court documents show. But the Howes contend that Gordie was not in financial distress at all. Reddy and Howard made the move, the suit alleged, to enhance Power Play’s bottom line so they could collect bonuses and “other financial rewards” due to them if Power Play did well.

Not surprisingly, the Reddy-Howard camp offered an alternative version of events. In a series of court filings over the past year, they denied breaching their duties of trust and honesty to Howe, claiming that Gordie had verbally consented to the book and photo projects. Reddy denied telling Toigo that Gordie was in financial trouble, noting that Marty Howe signed off on the Giants deal, while Howard said that Immortal had a “partnership” with Power Play, which allowed it to write contracts on Power Play’s behalf that Gordie “verbally endorsed on numerous occasions.”

Their countersuit cast Mark Howe as bent on destroying their future prospects. In particular, Del Reddy argued that a story about the Howes’ suit in the Hockey News torpedoed his chance to host a proposed TV show called Champs, which was to be produced by Mike Ilitch, Jr. Worse, he claimed, he was unable to apply his experience with the Howes elsewhere in the sport. “I believe I had a realistic expectation of obtaining work in professional hockey,” he said.

“Nobody really wins these things. Just the lawyers.” The words are Mark Howe’s, and they offer as good an explanation as you’ll get for why—having started the proceedings with all guns blazing—the Howes gladly settled the day the trial was to begin. For all the witnesses willing to enumerate Del Reddy’s shortcomings, the spectre of Gordie on the stand clearly scared the Howe boys. Their father’s memory was breaking down, Mark now acknowledges; he was easily confused about times, dates and details. “I sat with him through a day of depositions and it wasn’t nice,” Howe says. “All I ever told Dad to make it easy for him was to tell the truth. But it wasn’t in the best interests of my father to go to court. I’m sure the other side knew that too.”

Indeed, the other side was so buoyed by the deposition Gordie gave last July they fought to make the transcript public. They failed: Judge Andrews ordered most of the testimony sealed. Yet details that emerged in subsequent legal arguments suggest Gordie was fuzzy during the deposition on why the case had been launched, and that he considered his former employees to be basically truthful people. “Throughout his deposition, Mr. Howe admitted that many of the factual allegations of the complaint were simply untrue,” the defendants argued in their briefings. In court, Joel Newman, Reddy and Howard’s attorney, claimed “a right to disclose what he said about our clients, that he thinks they are honest, that he doesn’t think they have stolen from him, that they were like family to him.”

In the end, the Howes weren’t complaining about the deal they got (though they carefully avoid discussing the terms). Neither side won costs, and the agreement came with an injunction forbidding Reddy and Howard from “possessing, using, selling, storing, or in any way profiting from” merchandise bearing the Howe name. Same went for the ill-fated book and the “Kings of Their Sports” photos, the remainder of which they appear to have returned to the Howes. Meantime, says Mark Howe, the Vancouver Giants have brought Gordie back on a retainer to help publicize the team, while Marty, with the help of Mark’s 30-year-old son Travis, has the company back on track. “Dad’s business has grossed higher in the last few years than ever,” says Mark, “and his net is much, much better than it’s ever been.”

Del Reddy hasn’t fared nearly so well. In mid-July, during arguments over Gordie’s deposition, Newman disclosed that his client had suffered a nervous breakdown and was receiving psychiatric care. He has all but disappeared from the pro sport marketing scene. Howard, for his part, was still trying to find work, Newman told the court.

None of this makes Mark Howe rejoice. “I hope those guys move on and enjoy their lives,” he says, managing not to sound facetious. But he’s not exactly crying a river either. His father has moved on—or more accurately, reverted to previous form, which pleases his sons to see. “If there’s some guy sitting in the bowels of Joe Louis Arena who wants Gordie’s autograph, and he wants to give it, I have no problem with that,” says Mark. “We’re just letting Gordie be Gordie.”