He has now retired—because of his health—from active management of the Indians. But he still has sharp eyes that give the impression of being permanently blackened from a hockey bout, a wide toothy grin and a pate three-quarters bereft of hair. He speaks slowly, almost ploddingly, and inhales deeply between phrases. His face betrays none of the effects of his hundreds of stitches. In fact, at 5'11", 185 pounds, he looks as if he could take on half the Springfield team. "But to me," he says, "the S64 question isn't whether you can take it."
Shore always has been able to take it. As a hockey player he absorbed physical abuse. As an owner and coach he absorbed verbal abuse.
"I'll tell you what's the matter," says Eddie. "Shore has always been in the wrong. He doesn't mean to be but he gets in people's bad graces. He's been outspoken even if it hurts."
But couldn't he easily change his image? Couldn't he get a press agent to spread the word about his philanthropy, his good traits? Couldn't Eddie talk about such things?
"I see no point in bragging," Shore says. "I've always felt the truth will out."
But, with Eddie, it has been almost impossible to separate truth from fiction. His life and his legend have become too interwoven. His bizarre behavior has been embellished in the stories about him, no doubt, but the stories have roots in truth.
"Most of us are a little crazy one way or another," Eddie Shore says. "Some of us admit it. As for me, I'm not sorry about anything I've done in my life. As long as I can be close to hockey I'm happy to be alive."