Bud Grant: A north country icon

Opinion editor's note: Editorials represent the opinions of the Star Tribune Editorial Board, which operates independently from the newsroom.

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Bud Grant died Saturday morning, which you undoubtedly knew long before you arrived at this article. It's huge and unavoidable news in this place, not because it was downright unexpected — the legendary Minnesota Vikings coach was 95 — but because Harry Peter "Bud" Grant Jr., originally of Superior, Wis., was a symbol of stoicism and endurance and discipline to multiple generations of people whose families settled in this harsh region from the 1800s onward. He harked back to a time — which during his prime coaching years was not really so distant a past — when such strength was a necessity rather than a recreational choice. His longevity was a reassurance even after he receded from frequent public view.

To ponder this development on Saturday, an editorial writer decided to walk around for a while underdressed in the blowing snow, and these are thoughts that occurred.

First, suffering in the cold, even a little, is overrated. Grant was famed during his years coaching the Vikings for requiring his players to perform at a high level with whatever wherewithal they could muster in whatever weather conditions they found. He was more than willing to do so himself. It was an advantage against opponents.

In a sense, this was a natural progression of events in Grant's life. In 1940, the teenaged Grant and friends were out duck hunting when they were caught in the now-infamous Armistice Day blizzard. One hundred and fifty-four people, including 25 duck hunters, died in that storm. Grant nearly did. Last November, he recounted the harrowing tale for a column by Star Tribune outdoors writer Dennis Anderson.

Eventually the Vikings moved to indoor stadiums, and creature comforts grew abundant throughout society. On the whole since then, Minnesotans have gone soft. For instance, it really wasn't very cold on Saturday. But more to the point, residents of the state and their official bodies of governance are less likely to confront the storms these days, and seemingly less equipped to endure them, both literally and figuratively.

This is not a bad thing altogether. Caution that saves lives never is. The Spanish philosopher Baltasar Gracián, a Jesuit whose life spanned the first half of the 1600s, wrote that "every talent is balanced by a fault, and if you give into it, it will govern you like a tyrant." We'd add that talents and faults are often two sides of the same coin. Both brazenness and meekness in the face of danger can be foolish.

Grant, however, was neither brazen nor meek — he simply met directly the things he encountered — and an account of his life could catalogue few defects to counter his contributions. His players occasionally thought he was hard on them, but they respected him overwhelmingly. His teams did lose all four Super Bowls in which they were strong and fortunate enough to compete, but that stacks up against winning nearly two-thirds of the time during his 18 years of coaching the Vikings. ("If winning isn't everything, why do they keep score?" is a quote attributed to another famed coach of the Northland, Vince Lombardi, but as most mortals could attest, doing good work consistently is as admirable as winning the biggest prize.)

Outside of football, some people disliked Grant for his lifelong love and advocacy for hunting. He was an unapologetic sportsman — another way it manifested was in his support for conservation — though it sometimes steered him in difficult directions, such as when he spoke against a settlement over Native American hunting and treaty rights.

A second thought from our Saturday ambulation after receiving news of Grant's death? That his visage will endure along with his legacy. Square-jawed, steely-eyed, wearing only a billed cap, ears uncovered, as the steam from the breath of his players and tens of thousands of fans fills the frigid air around him — we'd say it would be well-suited for a postage stamp, if only we thought postage stamps would continue to be items of common connection.

But times change, and another thing about Grant's visage is that it was white. Nothing wrong with that — it seems egregious to even bring up, except that it's representative of the era in which he lived and of the complicated evolution of racial balance taking place in current times, both in society at large and in professional football leadership specifically.

Though current Vikings general manager Kwesi Adofo-Mensah praised Grant on Saturday for being ahead of his time for his commitment to diversity, the Vikings did not hire their first Black assistant coach until after his head coaching tenure.

The makeup of the region is changing, too. Those early European settlers — with their connections to pioneer times — are now joined by diasporas from Africa, Latin America and Asia.

Grant's public presence cannot be summed up just by his football contributions. An all-around athlete, he also played three sports for the University of Minnesota and professional basketball for the Minneapolis Lakers. He was a philanthropist and worked in support of veterans' causes and youth sports, among others.

This is one of those times when it's neither an exaggeration nor a trifle to declare that an era has ended. But it should not be forgotten that public figures have personal lives, too. The Star Tribune Editorial Board joins all Minnesotans in expressing sympathy to the Grant family.

Editorial Board members are David Banks, Jill Burcum, Scott Gillespie, Denise Johnson, Patricia Lopez, John Rash and D.J. Tice. Star Tribune Opinion staff members Maggie Kelly and Elena Neuzil also contribute, and Star Tribune Publisher and CEO Michael J. Klingensmith serves as an adviser to the board.