March 1, 2021

By Danny Gallagher

Canadian Baseball Network

Once a week, sometimes bi-weekly, Skip Snair and Greg Leonard would engage in phone chats.

That's what friends are for or made for … even though Leonard had moved to pursue a career in Philadelphia a number of years ago while Snair continued to live in Montreal, they still communicated.

There was a noticeable age difference of 20 years or so but Leonard was not bothered by that. He saw how wonderful and special Snair was. And vice-versa. Snair thought the world of Leonard.

They had known each since 1989 when they met at Derek's, a trendy bar on chic Crescent St. in downtown Montreal. They were bartenders and became friends for life. For a long time, they had been part of a text chain called 'Laval Boys'.

Just a few weeks ago, Leonard had become concerned that he had not heard from Snair for one of their regular calls. Snair had been lively during the Super Bowl on the text chain but what "scared'' Leonard, he said, was that there was "no chirping'' from Snair prior to an important Leafs/Canadiens game.

Leonard had skated like he does on a Wednesday night and when he got off the ice, "there was still nothing'' in the way of feedback from Snair.

Leonard said he was going to call Snair the next morning, Feb. 11, but Snair's sister Wendy Rhodes called him ahead of time. Leonard was told his fabulous friend had died in his sleep of a heart attack. A week prior to that, Snair "sounded great,'' Leonard said.

"He went peacefully but it was him being alone that bothers me so much,'' Leonard told me. "77 years is a good life but I wasn't ready. I love Skip and I was gutted.''

I was also gutted. I had grown to appreciate and admire Snair and Leonard in the late 1980s and early 1990s because myself and other writers frequented Derek's many nights after covering an Expos game as a beat writer at Olympic Stadium. I'd get off the Métro and walk to Derek's to unwind with adrenaline still flowing from the clubhouses, the press box and filing my stories.

In a side partition at Derek's, there was often a game going on that inspired umpires who worked Expos games. I would often see Bruce Froemming, Dana DeMuth, Joe West and the late Eric Gregg.

When the Cardinals were in town, St. Louis Post-Dispatch beat writer Rick Hummel and St. Louis catcher Tom Pagnozzi would often show up to spin the dice with the umpires -- in a game called Shut the Box. Sometimes, Snair and Leonard would roll the dice.

I was never a card player or one for spinning dice. I preferred to stay at the bar and talk with Snair and Leonard.

Snair was a man about Montreal, a bon vivant, who had his hand in so many things. He was a Lake Tahoe ski host, a radio promotions director, a fund-raiser and was part of the Rolling Stones entourage, both in Montreal and on the road from 1972 to 1986.

As his obituary said, "Skip was a notorious storyteller'' and when it was suggested he should write a book about his rock and roll days, he would always say, "I would, if I could remember any of it.'' Yes, the stories he would tell about the Stones.

Derek's became Ziggy's Pub years ago and it remained Snair's hangout. The bar has made up a little shrine to pay homage to him.

"He was my champion, my protector, my consigliere, my brother-in-arms. He was such a lovable character,'' his good friend Terry DiMonte of CHOM Radio in Montreal told Bill Brownstein of the Montreal Gazette.

"I'm going to forever miss him,'' Leonard told me. "It's hard just because there were so many good laughs. You just want them to go on forever.''

Snair is survived by his sister Wendy Rhodes and his brother-in-law David Rhodes of Campbellville, Ont, and his brother Bob Snair and his sister-in-law Cathy Snair of Scottsdale, Arizona, along with nephews, nieces and many friends.

Deepest sympathies are extended.