Minnesota to Dallas: A Friendship Frozen in Time

The summer of ‘92 started off like any other.  First year of junior high in the books; I didn’t make the basketball team, and my grades were less than stellar. One day a man named Rick stopped by the house.  My mom had mentioned him; the new neighbor on the street. We had a storm door that led into the living room where I spent most of my day watching television.  To my surprise there was another kid with Rick on that mid-June day.  With him, two tennis rackets in tow.  Blonde spikey hair and a big smile on his face.  His name was Timothy.  I spent the rest of that day playing tennis with Tim. 

We spent that summer running from wasps, fishing, playing video games, and just about anything else kids could do.  Tim was from up north.  Minnesota to be exact.  The following summer, Rick showed up again, but Tim wasn’t with him.  Instead, I later found out that Rick had asked my mom to consider sending me to Church Camp.  I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to go.  I was fine with wasting sixty or seventy days of summer playing video games, staying up late watching MTV, and sleeping in until 11 am the next day.  Have you ever had Frosted Flakes for lunch while reading the sports section of the newspaper? I miss it.  But Tim was going as well, so it couldn’t be that bad.

I had to go.  I didn’t get a vote.  Church Camp was amazing.  I tell anyone who wants to listen, that it fortified my personal relationship with God.  I even won Camper of the Year.  I still have the trophy.  Moreso, I got to spend an entire week with my friend somewhere in East Texas.  Ask Tim about the flu beds if you see him.

What happened next, not only changed me but also changed the course of my life. For the 1993-94 school season, the Northstars relocated to Dallas.  Tim now had skates and sticks in lieu of rackets.  And so, I followed.  My mom got me one of those sticks with the rubber end that you can curve with your hands.  Toys R Us special. I went to my first Stars game with Tim.  It was on birthday.  Stars versus Sabres.

My birthday party with mom, dad, Tim, and Nema (1993-Amherst Ct)

In 1995, not only were we playing in hockey leagues, rollerblading down the largest hills in Irving, but we spent weeks creating a hockeyumentary called “Modano Dome.”  It was a fourteen-year old’s take on all the hockey memorabilia that one could have of their favorite hockey player. We transferred it to VHS and sent it to Valley Ranch. Mike saw it.  So did Dave Reid.  I still consider it an amazing feat.  There wasn’t social media back then.  We had land lines, CD players, and VHS.  It wouldn’t have been possible without Tim.

Tim and I, with Tim's favorite Dallas Star, Joe Nieuwendyk (1996-Reunion Arena)

Steve, me, and Tim before Stars vs Red Wings (1998-Reunion Arena)

Tim has done a lot for me in life.  He introduced me to God.  He introduced me to hockey.  He was there many nights, sometimes past midnight, to help me get Mike’s autograph at Reunion Arena.  Showed up to Stars practices during training camp and waited out the players with me in the Texas heat. He always found creative ways to push me forward and in front of girls that I had crushes on.  He was never afraid to take chances.  He is the epitome of the adage “worst that can happen is they say no.”

Tim and I at Mike's statue reveal (2024-American Airlines Center)

Tim and I with some of my game worn Modano items loaned to the Bush Library (2026-Southern Methodist University)

Sometimes I question why I’ve been a benefactor of the best things in life, the best people injected into my day-to-day, why all my dreams come true, and perhaps why I’ve lived as long. I’ve learned not to question what God has in store for me but instead believe. As the late, great Rush drummer, Neil Peart once said, ‘the point of the journey is not to arrive.”

If you’re reading this Tim, thank you for joining me on this journey of life. Without you, my hockey adventures and the stories that I treasure would never have been written.