I never get tired of reading stories about former Rough Riders Head Coach Frank Clair whether they’re about his ability/accomplishments in his field or his odd antics at the time. So while researching something else altogether at the library yesterday, I was tickled to not only come across a reminiscent article about “The Professor” but that it was written by Eddie MacCabe was an additional treat.
Mr MacCabe, for those who are not aware, is quite literally a hall of famer in the field. He was inducted into the Canadian Football Hall of Fame in 1985 following a 38-year career. He also wrote a biography about Russ Jackson towards the end of the latter’s playing days.
In this particular article (from 1988, see 1988, Sept 25th), he illustrates how Frank Clair turned a joke of a franchise around while reminding readers that it was not the overnight success that it is sometimes portrayed to be. I find it entertaining for the description of the 1996-like circus that the Riders were prior to Clair being hired.
In regards to Frank Clair’s own behaviour though, the anecdotes seem endless. The following is an excerpt from an article Earl McRae wrote in 2005 for The Sun. It includes a number of examples of occasions where Clair displayed the head-scratching behaviour that have contributed to his legendary status.
The article was inspired by Clair’s wish to have a portion of his ashes spread around the field, hence the unusual closing line.
There is no need, here, to go into again all the honours and awards and achievements of Frank Clair and his Ottawa Rough Riders; it is well known that he was to the Riders and the city of Ottawa what Vince Lombardi was to the Packers and the city of Green Bay. The finest coaches their teams ever had, legends in life and in death, never to be duplicated, never to be replaced.
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Little has been mentioned, in the obits on Frank Clair, about the funnier stories to do with him, and that were such a part of his legend, still told in sporting circles, as they will be for as long as memories last. Some deserve mentioning once again.
Like the time Clair and Brancato were entering a car wash, Clair driving, and Brancato suddenly realized the front windows were down. “Frank, geez, the windows, they’re down,” yelped George. “Too late,” fired back Frank. “We’ll be electrocuted if we try to roll them up, don’t touch.”
The two of them went through the car wash and came out the other end, drenched from head to foot, up to their waists in water and soap bubbles. “Nice day, how are you?” Clair said nonchalalanty, smiling at a kid watching stunned, his mouth open.
Or Pat sending her husband out to get a loaf of bread when they lived in Ottawa, Clair late in returning, Pat turning on the TV, Pat seeing Clair being interviewed at CNE Stadium in Toronto at halftime of the Argos-Alouettes game he’d suddenly decided to scout live.
Clair talking long distance over the phone to sports columnist Eddie MacCabe, Clair fumbling for a match, Clair saying, dead serious: “Eddie, have ya got a light on ya?”
Clair never able to get it right between his players Ernie White who was black and Rick Black who was white, calling Ernie White, Ernie Black and Rick Black, Rick White.
Clair driving the wrong way along an expressway under repair in Florida, Brancato beside him, a worker waving frantically at Clair that he was going the wrong way, Clair smiling, waving back, continuing on, and saying to Brancato: “Guess that guy knows me.”
It’ll be good to have you come home again, Frank Clair.