 It was supposed to be a routine favor, a short 
and simple task for Mel Pearson.
 The Andersons, his billet family, were 
preoccupied and asked Pearson, then 16, to 
pick up one of their daughters for them.
 Naturally, Pearson borrowed one of their 
cars. His parents had taken most things, cars 
included, when they moved back to Flin 
Flon, Manitoba two years prior.
 Despite his inexperience driving, he didn’t 
shy away from the opportunity to use the car, 
nor did the Andersons feel deterred from 
letting him use it. 
 It was the family’s car, and he was, by all 
means, family.
 Pearson hopped in the driver’s seat of the 
blue Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, glanced 
in the rearview mirror and started backing 
down the driveway, a straight path to the 
road. It was a simple exit. 
 But before he knew it, he came to a halting 
stop. As he started to turn, the car jerked with 
resistance. Maybe he heard the grating sound 
of metal first. Or maybe he felt the ever so 
slight recoil first. But he certainly didn’t see 
it coming at all — an oak tree. One he had 
passed thousands of times before. One that 
laid so idly to the side. And he misjudged it.
 “You’re trying to be careful,” Pearson joked. 
“But that tree just jumped out at me.”
 A big dent on the front passenger-side 
fender of the car was residual evidence of his 
slip-up.
 Forty-four years later, Pearson understands 
the safety of the driver is the main concern. 
Cars can be replaced. People can’t be. The 
Andersons shared that sentiment, too.
 But at the time, when Pearson rushed out 
of the car to survey the damage, insecurities 
that lingered from his last billet family 
resurfaced.
 After complications with that family 
arose, the Andersons had taken Pearson 
into their home in Edina, Minn. with open 
arms, ensuring he wouldn’t have to go back 
to Canada — leaving behind his friends, his 
hockey team and the education his mother 
pushed so hard for.
 Now, bark torn off their tree, car dented, 
Pearson couldn’t help but feel this was the 
end of the world. For the first time since 
moving in, he felt that he had really done 
something wrong. It was a sinking feeling, 
especially knowing what was at stake.
 “I didn’t know if I was gonna get kicked 
out of the house, kicked out of the country,” 
Pearson said. “No, I’m serious. It’s one of 
those things, you feel so bad.”
 Neither ended up happening.
 Families aren’t perfect. Mistakes are 
bound to happen, and part of being family 
is forgiveness. So the Andersons forgave 
Pearson. Even though he thought he was an 
outsider, they didn’t consider him one.
 “It’s the nicest compliment you can give 
anybody,” John Anderson, Pearson’s billet 
brother, said. “He’s one of our family.”
 Pearson lugged a suitcase and a hockey bag 
up to the porch leading to the Andersons’ 
traditional colonial house. As autumn leaves 
fell all around him, he cradled the bags 
around his arms and shoulders as he started 
to scale the stone stairs.
 He’d been up the walkway before, but in 
much different circumstances. Before, he 
was just a visiting friend, a close neighbor. 
Now, he was a full-time resident. John 
followed behind him, carrying the remainder 
of his stuff. The move-in would only take one 
trip. Pearson didn’t have much to bring.
 His back was turned away from the 
O’Brien’s house directly across the street — a 
place that Pearson once called home.
 A year prior, when Mel’s father, Melvin, 
got cut from the Minnesota Fighting Saints, 
the Pearsons decided it was time to go home 
to Flin Flon. But Mel’s mother, Ruby, was 
adamant on giving her son an opportunity 
to earn a college scholarship and get an 
education. She believed letting Mel stay 

in Edina was the best bet for that. So she 
turned to her good friends, the O’Briens, and 
arranged for him to stay with them.
 The O’Briens had children themselves, so 
they were used to the responsibility. But the 
age differences were the problem. Mel was in 
high school, and their children weren’t even 
teenagers yet. Late curfews, hosting rowdy 
teens, giving up their car when needed — 
these were things they didn’t have to worry 
about yet with their own children. They 
thought they knew what to expect, but they 
didn’t expect it to be so hard.
 The O’Briens kept in touch with Mel’s 
parents, but Mel saw the writing on the 
wall. When his parents reached out to him 
and told him the O’Briens couldn’t host him 
anymore, he had already felt the same way. 
So while he was in the process of packing, 
Mel’s parents began the search for other 
possibilities. As the window was closing, 
John, his friend and teammate, reached out 
to his parents and probed the possibility to 
billet him.
 “He was probably gonna have to go back to 
Canada because nobody was going to take 
him at that point in time,” John said. “And I 
said to my parents, ‘Well, why don’t we take 
him?’ ”
 With each step he took toward the 
Andersons, he added distance from the 
O’Briens, a place he liked but knew didn’t 
really fit him. 
 It was the small things. 
 When bands such as Blue Oyster Cult, 
Marshall Tucker and the Eagles came to 
town, all of Pearson’s high school buddies 
went. Sixteen was a reasonable age to go. 
But when Pearson appealed to the O’Briens, 
they pointedly said “no.” They just weren’t 
comfortable with stuff like that yet. And that 
discomfort only grew.
 The Andersons were asked and said yes 
with little hesitation. 
 Mel was happy with the new arrangement. 
The O’Briens were as well. The Andersons 
had similar activities and interests. It was for 
the best, they thought. 
 So Pearson, his life with the O’Briens 
behind him, walked into his new house.
 Upon seeing him, Pearson could only recall 
the Andersons saying one thing.
 “Oh yeah, here comes this kid.”
 ***
 Pearson dropped his things into his new 
bedroom upstairs — a couple suitcases, a full 
backpack and his hockey bag.
 He didn’t decorate it too much, there was 
no need. John, his new roommate, had his 
fair share of decorations. One of which was a 
Farrah Fawcett swimsuit poster that Pearson 
was in disbelief his parents let him hang. If it 
was Pearson, he’d have slapped on a hockey 
poster.
 But Pearson started unpacking. While he 
did so, he asked John questions, things on his 
mind about the rest of the family and how 
he fit in.
 How were things going to be? He asked 
about John’s mom, dad, the two sisters. He 
was nervous, and he wanted to know.
 After Pearson finished, he crept down the 
stairs and into the foyer, where he could see 
the entire house. The slate floor felt cold 
against his feet.
 It was awkward.
 This was the second time in under a year 
Pearson had to move in with strangers. Of 
course, he had met both families before, but 
outside of John, neither family knew him 
particularly well.
 “I think that was the biggest thing,” Pearson 
said. “I knew them, but I didn’t know them.”
 Getting to know a new set of parents, a new 
set of rules, a new lifestyle, it was all weird to 
Pearson. This time, though, he had one of his 
good friends with him.
 Pearson walked through the hallway and to 
the kitchen, where Margaret — John’s mom 
— had just finished making dinner.
 As Pearson took his place around the table 
with the other kids — the parents would eat 
after they finished — he started to recognize 

one of the dishes, tomato and split 
pea soup.
 Margaret, normally called Margie, 
didn’t know at the time, nor would 
she learn until years later, but split 
pea soup was one of Pearson’s least-
favorite meals. He hated it. But it was 
his first day, and he wasn’t about to be 
ungrateful.
 The jean jacket he had on was already 
rolled up from when he had moved his 
things, so he went straight to digging in. He 
ate as much of what was served to him as he 
could handle, and when Margie looked away, 
he rushed to pour the rest down the drain. 
When she looked back and saw the quickly 
emptied bowl, she mistook it for how much 
he loved the soup, and asked him, “Oh, how 
was the soup?”
 “I said, ‘Haha, Mrs. Anderson. That was the 
best split pea soup I’ve ever had.’ ” Pearson 
said. “How could you tell her it’s lousy, right?
 “So the joke was every Sunday for quite a 
while, she made split pea soup. Just because 
she thought I loved it so much, and she 
wanted to welcome me into the family.”
 It was different than what he had left 
behind at the O’Briens.
 “Easygoing, fun, loving, relaxed, that was 
her role. Caring, all those things,” Pearson 
said. “A good mother.”
 And even though Pearson had just met her 
as a family member and not as a guest, that’s 
what she was.
 “Like a second mother,” Pearson said. 
“Appreciate her taking somebody like me 
and treating me like one of her kids.”
 The Andersons wanted people to stop 
by, guests to stay, people to enjoy their 
time when they visited. It came from their 
upbringing, and they were just trying to carry 
it over to the next generation.
 That extended to Pearson.
 They would try their hardest to include 
him in whatever family activity they had 
going on. Family trips, he came along. Family 
traditions, he took part. Family holidays, he 
celebrated. When Christmas rolled around 
and the kids rushed out of bed and to the 
tree, he joined. 
 “He was considered part of the family, he 
got presents just like everybody else,” John 
said. “My parents were really good about not 
making him feel like an outsider.”
 But there was a lingering feeling that never 
went away — at least not immediately.
 Despite all their best efforts, there were 
times when Mel couldn’t help but feel like 
the odd one out. And it was never obvious. It 
was as simple as going through the kitchen 
late at night for a snack and hesitating to 
open the refrigerator.
 “It’s weird moving into a house and going 
into somebody else’s refrigerator,” Pearson 
said. “Doesn’t seem like it’s yours.”
 Nor did turning on the television. Or 
staying out late at night beyond curfew. Or 
being able to just say no. 
 “If they were going somewhere, ‘Oh, we’re 
going to (wherever). Let’s all go along,’ and 
you know you’d rather just stay home and 
relax or something,” Pearson said. “OK, but 
you’re just trying to accommodate them, and 
because you know they’re going out of their 
way to make room for you and whatnot in 
the house.”
 And for a long time, whatever they did, he 
would do. If they didn’t offer, he would “just 
stay to (himself) and not screw up.”
 But within a year, when the hospitality 
became the norm and the household became 
family, he grew more comfortable. After a 
year, he could help himself to the fridge.
 “ ‘Do I have to do my own wash?’ I didn’t 
feel like making Mrs. Anderson have to do 
my laundry,” Pearson said. “I mean just little 
different things until you feel comfortable. 
‘Okay, she can do it. She’s doing the rest of 
the group’s.’
 “It’s a process, so I think after a year then, 
yeah, you know them. They know you. You 
feel comfortable with them.”
 Comfortability, though, was a two-way 

street. 
As 
Pearson 
started to see the 
Andersons more as a family, they 
saw him as more than a guest 
and started treating him as such 
— even more than before.
 At the start, he would get away 
with some small pet peeves, but 
after a year, they were 
more than willing 
to lay down the 
law — Glenn 
Anderson, 
John’s 
dad, in 

particular.
 Glenn was 
a by-the-book, 
militant parent. 
As a well-respected 
businessman, he carried 
himself with high regards and held others to 
the same standards. As a father, he knew the 
things he had to do to raise his sons.
 So when Pearson rushed down to the 
base of the stairs one Monday morning his 
senior year, Glenn stopped him. The door 
was within arm’s reach, and Pearson would 
have been free to go to school.
 But Pearson had gone the full weekend 
without shaving and looked scruffy. He 
didn’t think there was much hair, but Glenn 
disagreed. Glenn wasn’t going to let Pearson 
go to school looking like that.
 “Pearson,” Glenn called.
 Pearson loosened his sights from the door, 
turned and lowered his head to meet his 
billet dad’s eyes. He was taller than Glenn, 
but the 5-foot-9 frame felt large in the 
moment.
 “Get upstairs and shave,” Glenn told him.
 When Pearson first met him, he 
thought Glenn was a hardass. He had a 
presence about him — powerful, but not 
overpowering.
 “My dad didn’t say a lot of words, but when 
he did, you probably should be listening,” 
John said.
 But Pearson grew comfortable with him, or 
at least, comfortable enough to argue back.
 The bus was coming, he countered, and if 
he missed it, he would be late for school.
 “I don’t care. I’ll drive you to school,” Glenn 
told him. “Get your ass upstairs and shave.”
 “And I’m going, ‘Come on man, like I hardly 
have anything. Big deal.’ ” Pearson said.
 But it was a big deal — at least to Glenn. He 
doesn’t go unshaven. A respectable image 
goes a long way, and so Pearson went back 
upstairs, shaved and Glenn drove him to 
school that day.
 “He was like that,” Pearson said. “He wasn’t 
afraid to lay down the law and sort of be a 
true dad, not just let me float.”
 That’s not how Pearson’s dad would have 
done it. Mel claims his dad would have said, 
“Hey, go ahead,” and let him leave unshaven, 
but Glenn was different. 
 “I think he knew the responsibility of being 
a father,” Pearson said. “And I was just like 
another one (of his) sons or daughters, and I 
was going to get treated that way.”
***

 In large 
part, 
staying 
with the 
Andersons 
helped Pearson 
stay out of 
trouble.
 “It’s like 
having a 
guest 
in 

your 
house 
for eight 
years. 
You have to be on 
your best behavior,” John said. 
“There’s your family and then 
there’s guests.”
 But the line got blurred. 
Pearson became both a guest 
and family. And that’s when 
Pearson’s devious nature started 
to show, with the jokester in him 
jumping out.
 When Pearson took part in Senior 
Skip Day, it was John who tried to cover 
for him when the homeroom teacher 
confronted him.
 “I tried to steer him away from trouble 
in school and stuff like that,” John said. 
“But there’s only so much you can do.”
 It was a friend looking out for a friend. 
A brother showing some love to another 
going out of line.
 That bond would stick with them 
through the years. No matter how 
far they were, no matter if Pearson 
eventually left for Michigan Tech in 
Houghton or moved to Ann Arbor to 
coach the Wolverines, he would stay in 
touch. Every break, he would come back 
to the Andersons. After he graduated, 
he didn’t go home to Flin Flon. He came 
back to Edina.
 “If you need to call him, you know, he’s 
always been there,” John said. “And I 
know that he always will be there. Just 
because we shared eight years being 
family together.
 “He’s like a brother to me.”
 Years later, after Glenn had passed, 
and Margie was sick in a hospital in 
Minnesota, Pearson was by her side with 
the rest of the family before she passed 
away. 
 Pearson still talks to John’s two sisters 
on occasion. He even asks his younger 
sister, Mary Beth, questions every now 
and then in regards to raising his own 
daughters.
 And he keeps in touch with John to this 
day. In the past seven days, he has already 
reached out twice. When either have 
struggles or successes or just anything on 
their minds, they’ll let the other know. 
There were few words Pearson had to 
describe what John meant to him, but 
two would always come up.
 A brother. Family. The moment he 
stepped foot on that stone porch, arms 
full of bags and suitcases, Pearson 
became so much more than the neighbor 
next door. 
 “I wish everybody could have an 
experience like that,” Pearson said. “Have 
another family.” 

Sports
8 — Friday, January 31, 2020
michigandaily.com

MICHIGAN COACH MADE A HOME AWAY 
FROM HOME WITH BILLET FAMILY

Top photo: File Photo / Daily | All other photos courtesy of John Anderson | Design by Jack Silberman

TIEN LE
Daily Sports Writer
FAMILY
SECOND

HOW MEL PEARSON FOUND A

