Bud Grant was a great judge of character. He had you figured out in the first five minutes. He didn’t give advice to just anybody. If he gave you advice, you should be thankful – for it was most often good advice only given after much thought.

One fall morning we were hunting ducks in Saskatchewan and he invited a guest whom he admired, the outdoor writer Tony Dean.

After about an hour of hunting, Bud left his blind and walked over to Tony’s blind for a talk and he saw in his blind a pile of spent cigarettes. Tony was a habitual chain smoker.

Their talk went something like:

Good friends and hunting pals Mark Hamilton, left, and Bud Grant are shown during a trip to Africa in 2000.

“That’s a lot of cigarettes, Tony. How long have you been a smoker?”

Tony said he started smoking when he was about 16.

“I’m going to give you a little advice. You need to quit and quit right now. How long do you hope to live? When you get to be my age you see a lot of your friends dying at an early age. Almost all were lifelong smokers.”

Bud told me he had a conversation with Tony about a year later. He told Bud that he did not smoke another cigarette since his talk with him that morning in Saskatchewan.

I had heard that speech before. Tony had likely heard that advice hundreds of times but this time it was different. Bud had that kind of effect on people.

Moments with Bud

Bud was a prankster. You made his day if he could play a joke on you or get you to believe some wild story that was pure fiction.

Bud had a lasting effect on people. He had a presence, a persona unlike anyone I ever met. Bud was the consummate observer of all things. Nothing escaped Bud. He was a details guy. When we were going hunting he wanted to know everything about it:

“Where are we going today, Mark? Are there any ducks there? How many? Will we have a good hunt? How do you know? When did you last scout it? Who else is going with us? Are they good hunters? How did you know? How long will we hunt? What will we do after the hunt? Did you bring lunch?”

Bud was always a student, and the wilderness was his textbook. I was continually amazed at his knowledge about a great many subjects but especially the wilds. He was a particular student of history. We used to exchange books often – most often the subject being history. He seldom talked about football: “That was my other life. I am retired now and I think mostly about hunting and birds and animals and their curiosities and strange ways and their struggles.”

He loved a good joke. Once, when we were on an elevator, a guy kept looking at us, especially Bud. He finally opened up and said, “I know you from – you’re some famous guy – a famous coach. I know it.” Bud said, “Who do you think I am?” He said, “You used to coach the Dallas Cowboys. You’re Tom Landry.” Bud just smiled and thanked him for his support. Nothing more was said. Bud loved that.

Life and longevity

Bud and I talked often about life and longevity.

“I have lived a very good life, haven’t I? I am 95 now, soon to be 96, and I would like to live to be 100, perhaps, but I am ready to go anytime now. I am a happy man! I tell people there are three essentials to living a happy life – having a loving wife and a good black Lab and a great quarterback.”

Penny and I last visited Bud at his home in Bloomington (Minnesota) just three weeks before his death. We talked nonstop. He seemed to never want to stop talking about everything and he expressed to us his love and devotion to his special friend, Pat Smith, who was taking care of Bud after his wife died.

Penny and I and our kids, Maria and Chappy, are especially honored and thankful for the times we spent together. As we left his home that last time a few tears streamed down his face. He seemed to know he would not see us again.

Bud was a hunter to the last. He and Pat and I spent his last hunt together at artist Michael Sieves’ home in southern Minnesota, hunting turkeys in the spring of 2022.

At the time of Bud’s passing I penned a few words that properly fit him – “Bud never ran out of bullets. He just ran out of time.”

Bud once gave me a book about the Vikings. Inside he wrote: “Mark and Penny, Thanks for the many years of looking out for Pat and I while hunting with you. Thanks for the long days of driving endless miles down dusty roads and prairie trails looking for a ‘duck hunt.’ Thanks for all the duck plucking at the end of the day’s hunt.Thanks for all the stories and your insight about ducks. Thanks for the many great meals of properly prepared mallards with cranberries and other fixens and all the chocolate chip cookies with lots of pecans. Thanks for all these courtesies and many more, and most of all, thanks to you and Penny for your cherished friendship through all these years. Skoal Vikings.”