Jacques Plante

by Raymond Plante

  “It took me fifty minutes to put everything back together again,” said the surgeon. “I don’t know how you managed to mind the nets with your knee in such a state.”

  Jacques didn’t say a word. He looked over at his wife, who smiled at him. He knew that he had been freed from an enormous weight. Now that the main obstacle was out of the way, he could depend on himself to climb back up the slope. He had done that all his life, and he was used to it. He knew that he could regain his physical stamina.

  The early May sun was shining through the window of the hospital room. Now, Jacques could say it out loud, and, above all, he could say it to himself, “I’m not finished, cercueil!

  The period of inactivity at the hospital gave Jacques a chance to think. For long hours, he was alone, forced to reassess his life. He realized that he had accomplished an incredible feat: with five Vézina Trophies, he could retire and most likely be inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame. It would be a source of personal satisfaction, naturally. But Jacques was aiming even higher.

  The warrior suddenly shook himself. He had another challenge to face. If everything had seemed easy on the crest of the wave, all it meant was that he had to try twice as hard in the slough. At the same time, he realized what it meant to be a professional athlete, and what was expected of him: to give, always give, overcoming the suffering that, however bad it may be, brings a person maturity.

  Something Frank Selke had said to him one day came back into Jacques’ mind: “You’ll always be better when you have something to fight for.”

  Now Jacques had something to fight for. He didn’t just want to make a comeback; he wanted to play better than ever.

  “Cercueil! They’ll see what Jacques Piante is made of!”

  Jacques designed a training program for himself, with the help of physiotherapist Bill Head, who had never doubted that Jacques’ knee problems were real.

  “You’ll have to work very hard, Jacques. Your left knee is five centimetres less in circumference than your right. You’ll have to build up your muscles.”

  “I’m ready,” was the prompt answer.

  During the summer of 1961, probably no one in the Montreal region worked harder or more tenaciously than Jacques Plante.

  Propelled by his desire to surpass himself yet again, to come back with a flourish, and to overcome past failures, Jacques began exercising methodically and conscientiously. He walked on a treadmill; he made sure that his left leg was involved when lifting weights; he constantly moved his knee, to help it recover all its strength and flexibilty. While he watched television or read, he would continue exercising his left leg, bending and stretching it. Along with everyone else who was interested in sports, he followed the epic race between Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris to break Babe Ruth s record of 60 home runs in one season. all eyes were glued to the performances of the two New York Yankee teammates, including Jacques, but he never lapsed in his training. He knew that his future depended on his efforts.

  He took his golf clubs out again. On the links, he had occasion to meet people, and these encounters were encouraging for him. He also took long walks. At home, he spent his free time doing carpentry, something he had always enjoyed. He did all the repairs and improvements to his eleven-room house in Laval-des-Rapides by himself, just as he had drawn up the construction plans for it years earlier.

  Jacques kept up a lively interest in everything and everyone around him. Soon, he was able to run without difficulty. He refused to go easy on his left leg. He knew that the coming 1961–1962 season was crucial for him. He would have to prove that he wasn’t a has-been in pro sports. He knew it, but the rest of the world did not.

  Jacques was aware that the Canadiens autumn training camp would be different from usual that year. The Habs had lost their position as League champions, and some changes would certainly take place.

  For one thing, competition for the position of number 1 goaltender was going to be sharper. The team had succeeded in obtaining the young Cesare Maniago from the Maple Leafs. It was obvious that the management was taking exceptional measures to avoid being left without a good netminder on the off-chance that Jacques was not up to scratch. They could count on a reliable pair of backup goalies with Maniago and Charlie Hodge.

  Besides that, four Habs stalwarts had been traded to the New York Rangers: Doug Harvey, Junior Langlois, Bob Turner, and Jean-Guy Gendron. The Canadiens club was ready to do anything to put together a championship team. But Jacques Piante had to prove over again that he had a place in the kingdom of hockey.

  Toe Blake was optimistic. He reminded himself (and other people) that Jacques was always at his best when the going got tough. And although several of the veterans were gone, the Habs were rejuvenated with Jean-Guy Tremblay, Jean Gauthier, Lou Fontinato at the blue-line, and the speedy winger, Gilles Tremblay, out in front.

  Soon, Jacques was back in Frank Selke s office. He knew it like the back of his hand by now: it had been the scene of all his contract negotiations. This time, however, Jacques did not have the chips on his side, and had to accept a salary drop of $1000. Still, he got Selke to promise him a bonus if he played an extraordinary season. That was his main ambition, and it mattered to him more than anything else.

  9

  The Masked Wonder

  By September, Jacques was restless. He was eager to don his heavy leg pads, adjust his mask, and plunge into the action. More than anything, he wanted to test his knee to know whether the operation had restored the quick reflexes he needed. Would he still be able to move fast enough during the games and not be paralyzed by pain? Would his body be capable of obeying his brain?

  Determined to obtain clear-cut answers to these questions, Jacques was the only player from the regular team to show up at the Canadiens’ pre-season training camp in Hull, Quebec. This week was traditionally reserved for evaluating rookies. Without an ounce of pride, Jacques wanted to measure himself against the younger players. He was willing to start again from scratch.

  Jacques Plante, the “Masked Marvel.”

  Jacques’ knee did not let him down. He regained his self-confidence, his smile, and his old zest for giving all he had. Satisfied by this personal tryout, he left to join the Habs’ regular training camp, which, exceptionally that year, included an eleven-game tour of Western Canada. Jacques played with so much energy and enthusiasm that he obviously wasn’t going to be edged out by either of the two other goaltenders. He demonstrated beyond a doubt that he was still the best, in spite of the gaping hole left by the loss of Doug Harvey, who had gone to play for New York, and to whom some fans had attributed a good part of Jacques Plante’s success.

  From the very start of the season, the Habs’ key players came down with injuries that kept them off the ice. Jean Béliveau, recently promoted team captain, missed 27 games; Dickie Moore, the Canadiens’ powerful left-winger, missed 13; and Tom Johnson, the last remaining veteran defenceman for the Habs, missed 8. The team was having trouble getting a cohesive defence line together, and as a result, the burden of keeping the Canadiens in the race that season fell to Jacques. The star who had been sent into mothballs too soon could lift his head proudly He held his end up skillfully and consistently. In each of the games, he made at least 30 saves although his teammates only managed to take an average of 20 shots at the opponents’ net.

  It was also during this season that some of the other NHL teams improved their level of play. The Red Wings had three seasoned forwards in Gordie Howe, Norm Ullman, and Alex Delvecchio. The Black Hawks, who had defeated the Canadiens in the playoffs the previous year, had the unbeatable duo of Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita. Hull won the scoring championship by establishing his own 50-goal mark. The Habs stars were embarrassingly absent from offensive play. But their goalie was once again an impenetrable fortress, parrying huge numbers of shots. When Jacqu
es Plante was attacked, he defended himself in every way he could – both on and off the ice.

  Sportswriter Jacques Beauchamp learned this the hard way. As a reporter for the popular daily, Montréal Matin, he had covered the hockey scene for years. He travelled everywhere with the Canadiens; he had several friends among the players and was considered part of the Habs family. At the end of November that year, writing about a Canadiens-Black Hawks game in Chicago, he was harshly critical of Jacques’ performance. Offended and hurt, Jacques defended himself in an interview that he granted Robert Desjardins of Nouvelles Illustrées:

  Beauchamp doesn’t like me. For example, in Chicago, when the Hawks tied the score 3–3 with six seconds left in the game, Beauchamp wrote that I was sleeping for that goal. It would have been more accurate to say that I had just done the splits to block a shot with my skate when I was outplayed by another torpedo from Bobby Hull, while all of Pilous’ players were piling up in front of me, and my teammates only had one thought in their minds, which was getting the puck into the Hawks’ empty net!

  I know that Beauchamp doesn’t like me, and it goes back to the best days of Gerry McNeil, his favourite. He is carrying out a campaign against me; he always has something to criticize about my goaltending technique. Frankly, I think we carne out of that disastrous trip pretty well, considering the number of players with injuries and our lack of experience in defence. Our boss, Mr. Selke, congratulated us when we got back to Montreal.

  Beauchamp hit back in his column:

  I admit that McNeil was one of my favourites. I never declared that McNeil was the best goaltender in NHL history, but he was a good guy who never blamed anyone else when the puck got past him, even when it was his teammates’ fault. I CAN’T SAY THE SAME OF JACQUES Plante.…

  I have always acknowledged that Plante is a fabulous goaltender. I am not in favour of the mask. I know that Jacques has played a lot of successful games while wearing it, but I still say that he performed more consistently when he didn’t wear it during regular games.

  As for his goaltending style, I never criticized it. On the contrary, I praised it. I said it many times, and I still say it: hockey needs spectacular athletes like JACQUES Plante.

  The argument was a symbolic face-off that took up a lot of column space. For a long time, the two men refused to speak to each other. Later, in his book entitled Sports Are My Life, Beauchamp confided that a few of the Canadiens players “who complained openly about Jacques Plante’s behaviour” had told him: “If you want to help us win the Stanley Cup, roast him in your column.”

  But in spite of people who criticized or even maligned him, Jacques Plante, 1961 vintage, continued to shine in the nets.

  In October, the sports commentators predicted that the Canadiens would finish the season in fourth place, behind Detroit, Chicago, and Toronto. This prediction did not take the masked man’s extraordinary comeback into account. It was Jacques Plante alone who carried the team to the finals against formidable odds. He was in full possession of his powers that year and played in all 70 games of the regular season, relegating Cesare Maniago and Charlie Hodge to relative obscurity, as they never had a chance to prove themselves against the Plante phenomenon. His astounding performance allowed the Habs to win their fifth consecutive League championship.

  The team was not so fortunate in the finals. After winning the first two games in the playoffs against the Black Hawks, the Habs were bowled over by the brilliant play of Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, and Glenn Hall in the four subsequent games.

  On an individual level, Jacques was elected to the first All-Star team, and won his sixth Vézina Trophy, matching Bill Durnan’s record. But he also gained another honour, the most prestigious of them all.

  Once the Canadiens had been eliminated, Jacques agreed to participate in a series of lecture-banquets in Western Canada – twenty-one appearances on a tour from Winnipeg to Vancouver. The weather was wonderful that month of May, and the resting goaltender took advantage of the occasion to take a holiday jaunt. He visited the city of Los Angeles and the World’s Fair in Seattle. Feeling relaxed, he travelled leisurely from city to city, eventually arriving in Las Vegas.

  Jacques had never been a gambler. He always said that it was better to count on one’s efforts and talent rather than on luck. Nevertheless, for fun, he sat down at one of the many blackjack tables in the gambling mecca. After half an hour, he had lost about twelve dollars. A new dealer arrived to begin his shift at the table, and stared at Jacques. “It’s great to see you here! And you’re right to ride on your lucky streak.”

  Jacques had no idea why the man was talking to him this way; he thought perhaps he’d been mistaken for someone else. “I should try to win my money back, anyway,” Jacques answered.

  The dealer smiled. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s your lucky year.” He realized that Jacques didn’t catch his meaning and asked, “Well? Aren’t you Jacques Plante, the goalie?”

  Jacques was astonished: so far from home, in a town where people were much more interested in slot machines, cards, and roulette than in hockey, someone had recognized his face. “You’ve heard of me?” he asked.

  “Of course I have! You had a fantastic season. Really, it is your lucky year.”

  Jacques conceded, “To win the Vézina Trophy, it just takes a lot of work. But to be picked for the first All-Star team, you’re right: you have to have a bit of luck for that.”

  “And the Hart Trophy?” asked the card-dealer. “Was that a combination of both?”

  “The Hart Trophy?! Cercueil de cercueil!”

  Jacques was stunned. Four thousand kilometres from home, a total stranger had just informed him that he had won the trophy that all pro hockey players coveted. Was it true that the panel of NHL sportswriters had finally voted for him? He rushed back to his hotel room to telephone his wife. Jacqueline was relieved to hear his voice, and told him, “It’s in all the papers, and the phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

  He, Jacques Plante, a goaltender, had been awarded the title of most valuable player, over Bobby Hull and his 50 goals, over Doug Harvey and the remarkable job he had done in New York, assuring the Rangers a place in the semi-finals. Jacques couldn’t believe it. But he had done even better than they had: he had taken his team to first place, almost singlehandedly.

  Jacqueline was literally buried in telegrams that poured in from everywhere to congratulate her husband. Jacques Plante was the fourth goaltender in history to be awarded this great honour, after Roy Worther in 1929, Charlie Rayner in 1950, and Al Rollins in 1954. And since 1962, no other goalie’s name had been engraved on the most highly prized trophy of the NHL. Winning the Hart Trophy was the confirmation that Jacques was a truly great hockey player, and, more importantly, that he was by far the most remark able goaltender of his era. The lad who had dreamed of taking his place between the goalposts for the bleu-blanc-rouge had finally attained the zenith of his career, and the recognition of everyone in the sports world.

  The following year was not only less spectacular for Jacques, it was very tough on him. He suffered another asthma attack in September. With their goalie out of sorts, the Canadiens had a miserable season. Defenceman Tom Johnson was injured and missed almost half the season. Lou Fontinato’s career in the NHL came to an abrupt halt when he received a slamming body check by Lou Hadfield of the Rangers. Jacques missed 14 games and had to be replaced by Cesare Maniago. The Habs finished the season in third place, which, for fans used to cheering on a championship team, was nothing short of a catastrophe.

  Throughout that season, relations between Jacques and Toe Blake deteriorated. Blake did not have much sympathy for Jacques’ recurring health problems. When Jacques stayed away from practice one day,
the coach was furious. Jacques explained that he was saving his strength for the games. But even in the games, Blake was never quite sure whether Jacques would be able to give his best – especially in Toronto, where Jacques claimed that he was allergie to the carpets at the Royal York Hotel. Now, whenever the Habs played at Maple Leaf Gardens, Jacques stayed by himself at the Westbury Hotel.

  In spite of this arrangement, one evening, Jacques declared that he could not play the game against the Leafs that night. Toe Blake was beside himself. “What’s going on, Jacques? You slept at the Westbury last night.”

  “I know,” answered the goaltender, adding, “But I dreamed that I was at the Royal York!”

  The Habs’ coach did not appreciate this type of humour, nor did a few of his teammates, who couldn’t understand why Jacques was getting special treatment. There were mutterings behind the scenes that he was eroding team spirit.

  The 1962–1963 season was not a good year, neither for Jacques Plante nor for the Canadiens. But in February, Jacques’ name was once again in all the sports columns. At first, it appeared that he was simply seeking media attention when he declared that some of the goals scored in the NHL were illegal. A curious journalist asked him to develop the subject further. Jacques explained: “Baseball players have it better than we do. In any city where they play, home base is always exactly the same format. In the NHL, the nets aren’t all the same size.”

  According to Jacques, in Chicago, New York, and Boston, the goal crossbars were lower than those in the Detroit, Toronto, and Montreal arenas. The story instantly reached the League managers, who defended themselves in telephone interviews. Lynn Patrick in Boston and Muzz Patrick in New York would have liked nothing better than to laugh the Habs goaltender’s statement out of the League, but to be sure of their case, they took measurements first. The result? That troublemaker Jacques Plante was right!