Mr. Hockey My Story

by Gordie Howe

  Metro was originally from Yorkton, Saskatchewan, which gave us a lot in common. A number of Red Wings in those years were from Saskatchewan, including Gerry Couture, Bill Folk, Tony Leswick, Joe Carveth, Sid Abel, and myself. My closest friend at that time, though, was Ted Lindsay, a tough kid from northern Ontario. He came from Kirkland Lake, a rugged mining town, which probably had a lot to do with his temperament. Hockey fans from that time know that Ted played the game like a holy terror. He had a reputation for not being the nicest guy in the league and it was probably fairly earned. There’s not a pair of shoulders in the world big enough to hold the chip he carried around. Some have even described him as mean, and they might be right. Truth be told, he could be the same way off the ice, but I didn’t see that side of him too often. At that time, I’d have to say I considered him the closest thing I had to family outside of Saskatoon. Ted was there for most of the significant moments in my life during those years, including the biggest of all. He was around when I met a pretty little blonde girl named Colleen Joffa.

  • • •

  The first time I laid eyes on Colleen was just before I turned twenty-three in the spring of 1951. To kill time, I used to wander to a bowling alley, the Lucky Strike, a few blocks from the Olympia. Sometimes I’d get a lane and other times I’d just watch other bowlers. I used to do a fair bit of people watching back then. Occasionally I’d just sit on a bench and check out the world going by. Detroit could be a pretty entertaining place if you stopped to pay attention. One night at the Lucky Strike I looked over and saw what had to be, quite possibly, the best-looking girl in the Midwest. Heck, maybe in the entire country. I was smitten. I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but if it wasn’t then it was pretty close. Of course, I was so shy at the time I didn’t know what to do. Just rushing up and saying hello felt too forward. My parents had raised me to believe that when a young man had serious intentions for a girl, he should proceed with a certain amount of propriety. It took a few weeks before I decided to ask Joe Evans, the alley manager, for an introduction. I was at the lanes one night with Vic Stasiuk, a left winger who had just come over from the Black Hawks, when Joe introduced us.

  Colleen had just finished high school and was working as a secretary before going to college. She was a sharp cookie, I could tell that right out of the gate. She also had a great voice that matched her looks. I offered her a ride home, but she had the family car that night so she turned me down. It was a small setback, but not enough to deter me. I convinced Joe to track down her number and a few days later I took a deep breath and dialed her up. Normally I wasn’t one to stay on the phone for too long, but our first talk was a marathon. Three or four hours passed with hardly a pause, which was a record for me at the time. That is, until the next night, when we did it again. The night after that was the same thing. Talking to her was easy, but it still took me more than a week to ask her out. Years later, she told me she was wondering how big of a hint she needed to drop before I got a clue. Thankfully, I eventually wised up.

  On our first date we went to a movie at the Michigan Theater in downtown Detroit, but I have no recollection of what was playing. I was too busy fretting over whether to put my arm around her to pay attention to what was happening on the screen. I don’t think my arm ever got around her shoulders, but I’m pretty sure we held hands. Judging by our phone calls I knew she was interested, but I could tell she was hesitant. As it turns out, she’d been going steady with some baseball player through high school. When I came along, the ballplayer had shipped out for the summer, leaving her all by her lonesome in Detroit. His loss was my gain, as far as I was concerned. After the show, I took her to Carl’s Chop House for dinner. It was a classic steak place that was a pillar of the Detroit dining scene for decades. It closed its doors a few years ago, I heard. What’s happened to Detroit’s economy has been tough to watch. I don’t live there anymore, but as someone who loves the city, it’s hard to see. I know a little something about comebacks, though, and I like to think that Detroit has one in store. The city has heart; that much I know for sure.

  When we finished dinner at Carl’s, we moved over to Seller’s Restaurant and Lounge. I knew that Ted would be there with his girl, Pat, and I wanted them both to meet Colleen. I can’t remember if Ted and Pat were engaged at that point or just going steady but, either way, they were married not long after. Colleen used to tell the story of the first time she remembered hearing my name. A year before we met, she was heading out the door to go to school when Budd, her stepdad, started talking about a hockey player who was almost killed in a game the night before. She felt terrible for this faceless player and thought it was awful that he might die over something as trivial as hockey. Of course, the article Budd was reading in the paper that morning was about our playoff game against the Leafs. It took until halfway through our first date before she realized I was the same dumb hockey player who’d smashed himself up on the boards.

  As a kid, Colleen, much like me, didn’t realize how little she had. Although she was raised in Michigan and I grew up in Saskatchewan, we were both children of the Depression. Times were tough all over. Her father was a twenty-eight-year-old musician who played swing music during the Big Band era when he married her mother, who was only seventeen at the time. Between the drinking and the philandering, he didn’t exactly turn out to be husband of the year. Her mom left her father when Colleen was still very young. That’s never an easy decision, but in those days raising a child as a single mother was especially tough. Instead of putting Colleen up for adoption, her mom leaned on her family for help. For a time, Colleen lived with her great-aunt Elsie and her uncle Hughie, who were big influences in her life, as was her grandmother. Her mother remarried when Colleen was twelve, which brought more stability to her home life. It didn’t sound like the easiest childhood, but she never complained about it. She only talked about how much she loved her friends and family. She was grateful for the people in her life who had helped her along the way. It’s something we shared.

  Around the time I spotted Colleen in the bowling alley, I was hanging around in Detroit for a few weeks, waiting to go on a trip to Florida. Our season had ended in bitterly disappointing fashion. We’d had a great run in the regular season, finishing first overall with 101 points; it was the first time a club had topped the century mark. I led the league in scoring with 43 goals and 43 assists for 86 points, which was good enough for my first Art Ross Trophy. The total also put me 1 goal and 19 assists ahead of the Rocket, who finished second. He got his revenge in the playoffs, though, when Montreal eliminated us in six games in the semifinals. After steamrolling over everyone all season, it hurt to come up so short when it mattered most. In the Stanley Cup finals, Toronto ended up beating Montreal in a series that saw all five games go to overtime. Bill Barilko finally ended it on his famous flying goal. It was Toronto’s fourth Stanley Cup in five years. The Leafs had established a dynasty, but deep down we still believed that the Red Wings were the team to beat.

  After our failure in the playoffs, Ted, Marty Pavelich, Red Kelly, and I decided to take a vacation to regroup and get some sun. I’d been looking forward to the trip, but after my first date with Colleen I started having doubts about going. I wanted to squeeze in as much time with her as possible and so we went out every night until I left for Florida. On one of those early dates, I remember leaning over and asking how old she thought a guy should be to get married. We’d only known each other a few weeks, so she told me later that she didn’t know what to make of the question. Was I serious, or was I just trying to score points? I’ll say this much: I never put the question to any other girl. I also may have figured she had one too many guys knocking on her door. If I gave her something to think about, I was hoping it might put the brakes on the competition. Whatever she thought at the time, the reason I asked that question is perfectly clear to me. I loved her from the beginning.

  By the time we left for Florida, I was in a bad way. We’d met only a few weeks ea
rlier, but I missed Colleen like I’d known her my whole life. I couldn’t tell any of this to my buddies, of course. Ted, in particular, would have been merciless if he’d known I was so lovestruck. I made time nearly every day to sneak away and write Colleen a quick note. The irony of seeing me struggle to share my feelings on paper wouldn’t have been lost on my teachers back in Saskatoon. Poetic or not, I needed to let her know how much she meant to me. In her typical sweet way, Colleen saved all of my letters from those early days. Here are a few excerpts:

  April 15

  Hollywood, Florida

  Dear Colleen:

  Hello honey, well we’re not there as yet but already I’ve found out you can miss someone even though you know them but for a few days.

  Love, Gord

  April 17

  Hollywood, Florida

  . . . as soon as we get our tans we all intend to catch a few big fish. I’m really looking forward to that as I love to fish. There’s only one thing I like more this last week and that’s a little girl in Detroit.

  Love, Gordie

  April 19

  Hollywood Beach, Florida

  Hello love,

  . . . all I can think of right now is as I’ve always thought for the past few days and that is “I wish you were down here also.” Goodnight for now, dear.

  Love, Gordon

  April 20

  Hollywood, Florida

  . . . we intend leaving here the night of the 26th so we will be in Saturday sometime. I hope to stay awhile and spend a few days with you if I can. I would love to spend as many more nights with you as I can before heading for home. So how about telling everyone you are out some place starting the night of Saturday the 28th . . .

  As always,

  Love, Gordie

  April 23

  Hollywood Beach, Florida

  . . . I really enjoyed my fish as we ate about 6:00 and I hadn’t anything to eat, and believe it or not all I had was one beer all day. So you and I seem to be in the same boat, but that’s the way I like it. ’Cause I think the world of the girl in my boat with me.

  Love and stuff, Gordon

  Some of that might be a bit sappy, but it still brings back a lot of good memories. I wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, but I wanted to let her know I’d be worth the wait. Unfortunately, we faced a number of hurdles in the early going that put a lot of pressure on my humble letter-writing skills. For one, I had to head back to Canada straight after returning from Florida. The government granted me only a temporary work visa, which barred me from spending any more time in the U.S., other than for brief visits. The border rules meant that Colleen and I wouldn’t see each other until the team reconvened in the fall. I knew I was crazy about her, but since I was leaving she wasn’t quite ready to commit. She said we hadn’t known each other long enough to be exclusive, so I reluctantly agreed that we should date other people while I was gone. Being thousands of miles away from a girl you’re falling for is a hard situation. Added to which, the ballplayer was still in the picture, and I didn’t know what to think about that. Colleen was such a catch I also figured that Lord only knew how many other guys were lining up to ask her out while I was stuck in Saskatoon.

  Young hockey players usually don’t struggle to find a date. Girls always seem to be around if you’re looking. Until that point, though, I’d never met anyone like Colleen. She had it all, as far as I was concerned. Not only was she smart and funny and beautiful, but I also felt completely comfortable around her from the first time we spoke. Any shy person can tell you that’s not always the case. When I was in Omaha, I remember being so spooked by a girl that I actually crawled out of a window to avoid taking her out. She’d been coming to games for a few weeks and it was pretty clear she was interested in me. I lived about six blocks from the rink and when I’d walk home from games, she was often waiting in ambush. The fellas started to tease me whenever she came around. One day she confronted me and asked why I wouldn’t take her out. I didn’t know what to say. In an attempt to avoid dealing with the question, I told her I only liked girls with gray hair. It was a silly answer, but it seemed to do the trick in the moment. You had to hand it to this girl, though. She was persistent. After the next game, I was in the dressing room when the door swung open. There she was standing in the hallway with her hair dyed gray. The guys gave a big whoop when they saw her and started cracking up. I was so nervous I did the bravest thing I could think of. I pulled on the rest of my clothes and went out the back window. As soon as my feet touched the pavement outside, I took off in a dead sprint until I reached my front door. It goes without saying that meeting Colleen was an altogether different story. By the time I returned to Detroit after our first summer apart, she’d broken it off with the baseball player. Thank heavens for that small mercy. The road was clear for me to try to sweep her off her feet, but for a while I had trouble getting out of my own way.

  As much as I wanted it to be smooth sailing, the first few months after I got back into town were choppy. I tried to spend as much time with Colleen as possible, but sometimes my team duties threw a wrench into that plan. For instance, the Red Wings would often schedule players to appear at functions or banquets. Sometimes the requests were last minute, but it didn’t matter. When Mr. Adams told you to go somewhere, you went. We’d just come off the season’s first big road trip and Colleen and I hadn’t seen much of each other. We had a big date planned for after the team’s first game back. It was on a Friday and Colleen was excited that she didn’t have to worry about working the next day. Then disaster hit. The club decided to send me to a banquet that night. When I called Colleen to cancel, it’s fair to say she wasn’t at all happy and she let me know it.

  After the banquet ended that night, a few of us decided to go out. One of my teammates wanted to swing by a concert to see a girl he was dating. We walked in toward the end of the show—the Four Freshmen were playing—and sat down with the girl and her friends. I looked over, and who was in the next booth? Colleen. And she wasn’t alone. I was crushed. I tried not to show it, but I’m sure the hangdog expression on my face was clear enough. After I broke off our plans that afternoon, an old boyfriend called her up and asked her to the show. She was so angry with me for canceling that she went. Here I was falling in love with this girl, and there she was in a booth cozying up to some other guy. It was a terrible moment.

  We had a game the next night. Normally I would have called Colleen and told her there was a ticket waiting for her at the gate. I always sat her next to Ma Shaw, who came to all of our games. That day, I didn’t call. Late in the afternoon, though, the phone rang and it was Colleen on the other end. It was a pretty brazen move for a girl in the early 1950s, but that was Colleen. She never had much use for convention if it didn’t suit her. She had bought her own ticket for the game and wanted to know if we could meet up afterward. I said that would be fine, except that I had a date. I figured that two could play at whatever game she was up to. As it turned out, my date was a bust. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but years later I found out that Colleen had a hand in muddying the waters. Once at the game, apparently she marched down the aisle to her regular seat and, in a loud voice, asked Ma Shaw to apologize to me for breaking our date that night, but something had come up. I’m sure Ma Shaw was mortified. One seat over, my date heard the message loud and clear. I’m sure it would have made Colleen happy to see how frosty she was to me later that night. I have to admit it was a clever trick. Colleen said it ate at her conscience for years until she finally confessed. I can’t say I was upset when I heard the story. Colleen said she knew we’d make up and she wanted to make sure there weren’t any complications when that happened. Turns out she was exactly right and we made up shortly after. I forgave her for not knowing about banquets and she forgave me for not knowing about women.

  By the time I had to leave the country again the next spring, our relationship was on firmer footing, but there were still some uncertainties. Not seeing each other for months a
t a time would once again be tough. While insecurity had plagued me the previous summer, our second summer apart was harder for Colleen. Part of that was my fault. As much as I was falling in love, I was still shy when it came to writing letters. I kept a dictionary beside me to make sure my spelling didn’t make me look like a donkey in her eyes. A few months into the off-season I went north to Waskesiu Lake to do some fishing and golfing, but I didn’t have a dictionary there so my letters dried up. Sometimes absence can play funny tricks on the mind. When Colleen stopped hearing from me, she thought it was over. She even met someone else who fell pretty hard for her in a hurry. Lucky for me, I returned from the lake in time to head that nonsense off at the pass. I was shocked when she told me she thought I’d moved on. To fix the situation, I needed to do some fast talking. I told her I would have written more, but we had been in such a remote spot there wasn’t a post office around. She accepted my explanation and we managed to put things back on the rails. Of course, when we went up to Waskesiu Lake years later, what was the first thing she saw? A post office. She said, “Oh look, they have a post office now.” Naturally, I’d forgotten about my little white lie and I told her it had been there forever. She gave me a pretty hard whack on the shoulder and I wasn’t even sure why. I probably deserved it.

  In my defense, when I wasn’t at the lake I did write to her that summer. Colleen, of course, saved the letters.

  (I sent this one to Miami Beach, where she was on vacation.)