Farewell to a Golden Trio

No one who saw them in their halcyon days would ever forget them: Gene Tunney, the perfectly controlled ring tactician; Bobby Hull, hockey's most explosive scorer; Bobby Orr, the greatest defenseman, graceful and creative, in hockey history. Tunney died last week at 81, and Orr retired at 30, just seven days after Hull quit at 39. They were three of sport's heroic figures. Consummate athletes, they came to be respected as much for their character as for their skills.

In the rough-and-ready world of prizefighting, Gene Tunney was unique. Self-educated and fiercely proud, he remained determinedly aloof from the Damon Runyon characters of the sport's golden age. George Bernard Shaw, an avid fight fan, was more to Tunney's taste, despite the fact that the heavyweight refused an offer to appear in Shaw's boxing play, Cashel Byron's Profession. He believed that the playwright had portrayed fighters as simple and dimwitted, and Gene Tunney was neither.

A high school dropout at 16, he became a self-taught Shakespearean scholar. He was also an intelligent fighter, a master of the sweet science who won the title from Jack Dempsey on a decision in 1926. In their second fight, Tunney was ahead on points when Dempsey decked him, then lost his chance to regain the title when he was slow to go to a neutral corner. Given an extra four seconds to clear his head--the famous Gene Tunney in his prime (1926) Aloof from the Damon Runyon types. "long count"--Tunney got up and outboxed Dempsey the rest of the way to save his championship.

Tunney retired undefeated, the only modern heavyweight champion besides Rocky Marciano smart enough to quit at the top, and settled into a successful business career. He lived quietly with his wife Polly Lauder and four children in Greenwich, Conn. In 1971 the fighter's son, John, became U.S. Senator from California. As time went by, Tunney came to be friends with Dempsey. The old foes were thought of together, two men joined by their past. When Tunney's death was reported, Dempsey's wife Deanna said of her ailing husband, "He is taking it very badly. You must remember Gene was a big part of Jack's life for 60 years."

In a sense, Bobby Hull and Bobby Orr were like Tunney and Dempsey: they transformed and lifted their sport. When Hull began to play for the Chicago Black Hawks as an 18-year-old left-winger, the National Hockey League gained not only a new idol, the Golden Jet, but also a new scoring weapon, the slapshot. At his best, Hull could skate at nearly 30 m.p.h., and his shot whistled at 118 m.p.h., sometimes knocking the glove off the goaltender's hand.

Enormously strong, Hull was as graceful as a figure skater, and he became the biggest attraction in hockey history. He was also one of the cleanest players in the game. In 1972 he joined the Winnipeg Jets in the new World Hockey Association and immediately became both its most solid asset and most expensive liability: his contract gave him a reported $2.75 million over a ten-year period. But age inevitably slowed his stride, and despondent over his recent divorce, he quit after 22 years in hockey. In 1,447 games, he had scored 1,012 goals (second only to Gordie Howe), drilled home 50 or more goals in nine seasons, and twice set single-season scoring records.

Hull and Orr were their sport's premier ambassadors, Hull beaming broadly as he spent tireless hours signing autographs, Orr smiling shyly as the cheers swept over him. Orr was a magician, a man who accomplished what no other defenseman had ever done--become his team's main scoring threat. Playing for the Boston Bruins, Orr changed the dimension of the game, sweeping up ice from the far end of the rink and then scoring with his short-range wrist shot. Twice he led the league in goals, an astonishing feat for a defender. For a record three straight years, he was the N.H.L.'s most valuable player.

Orr led the Bruins to two Stanley Cup titles and then, his knees already battered, went to the Black Hawks in 1976. He was still better than most, but he was not himself. His contract called for a salary of $600,000 a year, yet he had not cashed a single paycheck when he quit last week after seven operations had failed to save his knees. He refused to be paid unless he delivered, and Bobby Orr, like Tunney and Hull, always delivered the best.

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