Peter Gzowski

Memories with Peter

In 1975, I owned one of the more popular booze cans in Toronto. It was a lively place, frequented by a mix of locals, celebrities, and creatives. Among them was Peter, a man I came to know well during his time hosting a TV show. The pressures of his work were immense, and he often sought refuge in my bar, visiting a couple of times a week to unwind.

Our friendship deepened during those nights. Many evenings, it was just the two of us in the backroom, playing pinball for $20 a game. We talked about everything—life, work, and the world around us. One particular morning stands out in my memory. For reasons I can’t quite recall, we found ourselves both pursuing the same woman, and neither of us was willing to back down. The night ended with the three of us at Peter’s apartment on Yorkville Avenue. The Lady made us breakfast and by eight in the morning, we were sitting at his kitchen table, a bottle of wine open, all of us thoroughly drunk.

It was then, out of the blue, that Peter paused and asked, “Want to know what the most important thing I ever did in my life was?” Of course, I said, “Sure.” He proceeded to tell me about a hockey game he had played years earlier—a game where he and his team had beaten a notoriously tough team from another town. I don’t recall how old he was at the time or the specifics of the game, but I remember being struck by his choice of memory. Here was a man who had achieved so much, yet it was this moment on the ice that he held above all else. Not long after this conversation, Peter wrote The Game of Our Lives, a book that would cement his legacy.

Peter’s influence extended beyond our personal friendship. Through his show, I had the privilege of meeting some of his guests—Jack Webster, Hunter S. Thompson, and Tom Waits, to name a few. Many of Peter’s staff were regulars at my bar, and I often found myself doing favors for him. On more than one occasion, I had to send a taxi to the CBC with the master script for the next night’s show, which someone had inevitably left behind. I also lent him a room for card games with his friends, including Michael MacClear and Bobby Miller.

After his TV show ended, I didn’t see Peter for several years. Then, one day, I ran into him on the Esplanade. “Peter,” I said, “Where the hell have you been?” He looked at me and replied, “Sorry, man, but you just remind me of a very bad time in my life.” It was a sobering moment, a reminder of how deeply intertwined our lives had been during those years.

Looking back, those days with Peter were filled with laughter, camaraderie, and the kind of stories that stay with you forever. He was a complex man, driven by his passions and haunted by his struggles, but he left an indelible mark on my life and the lives of so many others.