I don’t know how I drummed up the courage to call Doug Wankel in the spring of 1973. I must have been shaking like a teenage boy asking a girl to go on a date. That call, made when I was 18, changed my life, although I didn’t realize it at the time. It struck me over the years how important he was to me, and hit home when I heard of his passing, at age 89, on Aug 5. I played third on the curling team that won the provincial junior curling championship in 1973. Three of us thought we could learn more about the game and, to be honest, have success in men’s curling right off the bat with a seasoned skip.

Doug, who was 39 at the time, was that skip, and so much more as it turned out. I didn’t know Doug and had never curled against him as I recall. We knew he was the provincial men’s champion in 1967, one of the best shot makers — ever — in the province, and a great person. Rodger Schmidt, Norm Gilbertson and I drove to Elbow to meet Doug. After visiting with him and his family — his wife Marie, son Doyle and daughters Denise and Val — we crossed our fingers that he would skip us three young whippersnappers. He did and I had two of the best curling years of my life. Take out the curling, and they were two of the best years of my life. Norm was with the team for one year and then subbed out for Gord Herman.

I roomed with Doug when we went to bonspiels. We would have great chats, with Doug sometimes using ashtrays to set up shots that were made or missed. At home, salt and pepper shakers were his props. I couldn’t be in Elbow for his funeral on Aug. 17. Thanks to technology, I watched it on Facebook. It was wonderful to see and hear the words of Denise, Val and Doyle, and those of so many members of their families. Stories told at the service made me laugh out loud. Some made me choke up. I learned that Doug was the all-star skip at that 1967 Brier. He received 43 of the 44 votes. Clearly, someone voted for himself. His team finished second at that Brier. He was an incredible baseball player and is said to have been scouted by a major league team. He thought it was a joke. He is in the Saskatchewan baseball and curling halls of fame. It was probably not a joke.

Doug would only talk about his curling successes if asked. He was a humble man, who talked a lot — I mean that in a positive way — but never about himself. On and off the ice, he became a father figure, a teammate and a friend. I wish I could turn back the clock, even briefly, to curl and room with Doug again. There are lyrics to a song that say, “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone.” That is how I feel today. I can’t remember calling him Doug in those two years. He was Mr. Wankel to me, although I never actually called him that for fear of embarrassing him, like saying, “Good shot, Mr. Wankel.” We had instant success.

We made it to the Northerns. I remember losing the final of a bonspiel and winning one. After games, we would often go to the bar in a curling rink. At a certain point, Doug, who didn’t drink, would give me a sign that it was time to go back to the hotel. After two years, I left the team. My focus on the game had taken a time out. I should have rethought that decision. Then, three years later, on an evening in 1978, Doug phoned me. He asked me if I could go to the Calgary Classic bonspiel. A team had dropped out and Doug was asked if he could put one together. We left the next morning to compete against 31 of the best teams in Canada. He got Gary Pierce to play lead, Murray Trapp to play second, and I played third. We went on a roll. We beat the likes of Garnet Campbell, Sam Richardson, Hec Gervais and Paul Gowsell. Against Gowsell, I remember making a come-around freeze on the first end, and Gowsell went somewhat ballistic. He called me a skinny little so-and-so. Doug flapped his long arms in protest. I told Doug it was all good. “Let’s just beat him.” It took us six ends.

In the semi-final against Ed Lukowich, I missed a peel on an extra end, eventually leaving Doug to have to draw the four-foot for the win. He threw it perfectly, but the rock caught a straw as it was approaching the four-foot and we lost. Doug shrugged his shoulders and said we should be proud of how we played. He could find the positive in defeat. I learned to fake being a good loser. I talked to Doug in 1980, and then our paths didn’t cross until three years ago. I am forever grateful to his daughter Denise for getting us together. Doug and I and his wife Carol sat in the coffee shop at the Granite Curling Club in Saskatoon and chatted for about an hour. It was like the clock had stood still for 40-plus years. During our time together, I thanked him for what he did for me both as a person and curler. Sadly, I haven’t measured up to his standards. Few could.

I was deeply moved when Doug, as he approached death, told his family how much he enjoyed skipping those young guys. It was humbling to hear that we meant as much to Doug as he meant to us. The 1973 I will be forever grateful for the time I got to spend with Doug — or Mr. Wankel as I called him when I was 18.

– Cam Hutchinson