Why are The Good Guys taken so soon? My brother Bob, and now Dave Mathieson? Whether a Trusted Teammate, or a Feisty Foe – in hockey, football, or goodness, British Bulldog – my old friend Matty was one of the nicest human beings on the planet.
Just ask around.
There have been countless tributes, and many details of this sixty-four-year-old man’s wonderful life – online, on paper, and in-person. From 2,587 miles away, I will jot down just a few thoughts, and pen a story below, to add to the growing stack of love.
I am broken for Peter – Dave’s loving brother and courageous caregiver for the past few years – as well as the endless scroll of friends whose hearts he deeply touched during his lifetime. But, I do know that my old friend’s release from the awful bondage of earthly illness has become blissful peace, free of pain.
May Dave Mathieson have a continued presence of “Good” in our lives, way down here on earth. I believe, without doubt, his legacy of goodness will live on in the lives of those he touched.
Sadly, the “Weddings and Funerals” cliche is true, now more than ever, with how spread out families and friends have become. But that doesn’t mean we can’t return to the kitchen table, bring what we can, and share from the heart. No matter the miles, or even the kilometers!...we might be closer than we think.
In the Olden Days of Dorval, The Mathieson Rink was legendary. From 1964 to 1976, the ice was open for business on Brunet Avenue. In Montreal, everyone knows that life starts at the local rink. Quebec kids skated before they walked. Whether Dorval Arena, Westwood, Ballantyne, or the rest – indoors or out, in sickness and in health, the game of hockey ruled.
And Norm Mathieson, Dave’s awesome dad, built a true Hockey Heaven…in his backyard. The Mathieson Rink would not only host family and friends, our elementary school would have FIELD TRIPS there. Seriously? A backyard rink?
Kind of a little Rink of Dreams, perhaps?
I bring this up because this homefront setting – and this wonderful Mathieson family – clearly formed a great kid. A happy kid. A kid who loved his friends.
I lost touch with Dave, and most of my Montreal buddies, after leaving for the States in 1983. But in Dorval, losing touch just meant you weren’t on the ice together anymore. Dorval never left me. To this moment, my hometown sits comfortably in my mind and soul, with the warmest memories of Dorval Gardens, Dorval High, the arena, the community, the friends.
I now realize, Dave Mathieson never left me, and is with me still.
My mother and grandmother were teachers at Dorval Gardens, and both taught Dave. This elementary school, much like the local arena, was a microcosom of what I now describe in my writing and on radio, as a “1950s Handshake World”. My mum adored Dave Mathieson. “Polite, respectful, a great kid” – clearly one of her favorite students.
Matty – much like say, a Clint Eastwood or Jean Beliveau — was impossible to dislike.
Between hockey and football, I am guessing I played on dozens of teams with Dave Mathieson as my teammate, and dozens of teams where he was my opponent. Unlike today’s nasty and divisive political world, Montreal hockey players could punch each other in the nose on the ice…and go have a beer together after the game.
Matty was a beloved, loyal teammate…and a vicious little opponent. It was great.
Reading the volumes of tributes, memories and accolades last week, the one thing I noticed has become the Elephant in the Room, at least in my author's mind. A great big Elephant.
Dave was small. I mean, a little little guy.
A few decades ago in Seattle, I had coffee with a Dorval High alum, and I casually asked how Matty was doing. Ralph said, “Greg, you won’t believe it. Dave Mathieson is like, over six feet tall”.
I thought I was going to puke up my Starbucks. “WHAT?!!!”
Somewhere between when I left Dorval, and having a quick coffee in Seattle, Dave Mathieson grew like, three feet. After witnessing this miracle myself – on Facebook and through a few friends – it all made sense. Total sense.
My friend Dave Mathieson was big. Really big. Even if it took 64½ years for me to realize it.
A la prochaine, mon ami. A la prochaine.
See you on the ice.
Greg Meakin
Arizona City AZ
September 2023
A MATTY STORY
It was the Giants versus the Riders, Dorval Junior Football, circa 1970s. I played for the Giants, Dave Mathieson was a Rider. Being a small player, Dave was all technique – great technique, practiced technique. He would routinely go low on a big guy, and flip him on his ass, just like tossing a 250-pound pancake.
He did the same in hockey; a great skating defenceman with excellent technique, and a really punchy hip check. Believe me.
In football, Matty wasn’t the fastest player, but he would make up for it by smashing your face in.
We played a night game at Ballantyne Park, the Giants’ home field, and we prepared all week for this tough team. I was a receiver that season, or as Canadians say, a Flanker. Our quarterback was Gerry Wayland. Smart quarterback, great arm.
Even though we were at home, we were the clear underdog. We had to do something different, something unexpected, to beat these guys. Pregame, we decided we were going to start out with a bang. Rarely in Canadian football back then – especially boring junior football – did teams pass the ball on first down, never mind to open a game. It was run, run, run on first down.
Anyhow, after winning the coin toss, and just before the first snap, I snuck out wide left. I mean wide, just like NFL receivers. I winked at Gerry. The Riders were completely unprepared, as we expected.
The only defensive back who saw what was happening was Dave Mathieson. I know he said in his mind, “Oh shit. Meakin is going wide”.
I smiled at him, because he now knew what was coming. He didn’t smile back.
Once I saw that Matty was covering me, I winked at Gerry again. Dave was a small player, an instigator, and very tough. I confess he was actually a tougher player than me, especially pound-for-pound. But I was faster, and he knew it. As the saying goes, I could see it in his eyes.
It was called a Fly Pattern. Go Long. When the ball finally came down from Gerry, I had torched Matty by five or ten yards, whatever, and we led the game 6-0. Just like that.
Even in Canadian football, it’s called a Touchdown.
What I remember about that play is not what you might think. I remember Dave Mathieson. He is the guy who came out to cover me – not one of the others on defence. I was no JB Wiley – the best football player in the history of Dorval! – but I was fast, and Dave knew he was overmatched.
But he still came out to cover me. He didn’t point to someone else. And he did his best for his team. He got “beat bad”, but he did his best.
I don’t even remember who won the game. In those days it mattered, but it didn’t matter. We all just got together after the games, and went about small town life.
But I did remind him, more than once, that Gerry Wayland and I torched him that night.
And we’d laugh.
Greg Meakin
Arizona City, AZ
September 2023
Lisa (Scott's Lisa), Scott (Dave's oldest), Lilly (Dave's first grandchild, from Scott), Dave, Ricky (Dave's youngest) Kevin (Dave's daughter's husband), Lisa (Dave's daughter), Laurie's (Dave's wife and love of his life) and young Jack (Jackie Boy; from Lisa and Kevin)... gathered for a feast of lobster.
Family photo taken May 7, 2022 courtesy of Peter Mathieson
A la prochaine, mon ami. A la prochaine.