Mr. Hockey My Story

by Gordie Howe

  May 9, 1952

  Dearest Colleen,

  Hi love. Sorry I haven’t written long before this and while I’m at it, I better say I’m double sorry because we go into the woods tomorrow and seeing as we have to walk six miles carrying food and all, I won’t be coming out each day to mail a letter. So this short note will let you know that I received your two wonderful letters which I was very happy to receive as I too have missed you more than you’ll know.

  . . . Well love it’s getting on and we’re due out of here at 4:30 in the morning. So I’ll leave you with the thought in your mind that there’s a fisherman up north who is missing you like crazy.

  As ever,

  Love and all, Gord

  June 14, 1952

  Hi dear,

  Once again I have heard three sweet words from you which I should use more often and that is, “I miss you.” They sound awful good to me coming from such a sweet young lady as you and again I say I should use them much more often. But the truth is I don’t know too much of sweet words so just give me time as I am a comer.

  Love, Gordie

  June 16, 1952

  Hello dear,

  Guess what—little Gord received not one but two very nice letters from you today which is setting a pace I really can’t hold up to, but believe me it is awful nice.

  It sounds like you’re having yourself one wonderful time this summer which is very nice. I only wish I were there with you to enjoy your company and to see all the nice places and also to enjoy the sun as it’s something we haven’t seen out here for the last week.

  Love, Gordon

  June 28, 1952

  I sure wish you weren’t so darn far away so I could run down to see you on weekends. But as it is, it takes me a week’s driving to get there and back. It would be nice if you also lived right here. Seeing as I’m dreaming, I might as well go all out. As it is, I’ll just have to go on missing you until I get the call from Adams.

  And also, I don’t know as yet just where I’ll be staying in Detroit because, as I said before, Adams would like to see me back with Ma Shaw and the boys.

  Well dear, it’s needless to say that I miss you. Of course there’s joy in hearing from you all the time, but it’s not like the real thing as you well know.

  As always, Love, Gord

  July 3, 1952

  Dear Colleen,

  First on order is the thought of the day. “Love me or leave me, or let me be lonely, my love is your love to share with you only, I’d rather be lonely than happy with somebody new.”

  This song just finished playing so I thought it a good way to let someone know they have been missed by a farm boy.

  Love, Gordie

  July 23, 1952

  Dear Colleen,

  Hello dear. Well at long last they sent me home from the lake long enough to have a little party for my brother Vern and his family, and so I could get a letter off to you to let you know all is well and that I miss you and enjoy your letters very much.

  Love, Gordon

  • • •

  Colleen said the moment she knew we belonged together happened when I came back to Detroit that fall. She heard my voice on the phone and realized I was the one for her. As for me, I knew it from the first time we talked at the bowling alley. As the next off-season approached, I was sure I didn’t want to spend another summer apart. I asked her to come to Canada with me, but she refused. It wouldn’t be proper, she said, to go all that way to meet my parents as things stood. I agreed.

  By that point I knew everything I needed to about Colleen Joffa. I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. We’d dated for long enough that we decided to skip a formal engagement. On April 15, 1953, we headed over to Calvary Presbyterian, a big old brick church on Grand River Avenue in Detroit. Like so many buildings in Detroit, it’s fallen on hard times now, which is tough to see. Back then, though, it was exactly the type of church you picture when you imagine a wedding. The sun was shining through the stained-glass windows when Colleen appeared in the doorway at the back of the church. I know that every groom says this, but she was the prettiest bride you ever saw. Pat Lindsay was her maid of honor, while Ted Lindsay, Marty Pavelich, and Reggie Sinclair were there to stand up for me. Any player lucky enough to win the Stanley Cup will tell you it’s the best feeling you can have on the ice. I treasure each one of our championships, but I can say without a flicker of hesitation that the five happiest days of my life were when Colleen agreed to become Mrs. Gordie Howe and when our four children were born.

  Six

  THE GLORY YEARS

  The Detroit Red Wings, as they’re now known, took shape in 1932 when James Norris rode into town with a hat full of cash to save the city’s struggling NHL franchise. The team’s first incarnation joined the league in 1926 as the Detroit Cougars. Its foundation came all the way from Vancouver Island, after the Victoria club was forced to find a new home when the Western Hockey League dissolved. A naming contest was held for fans a few years later and the team was rechristened the Detroit Falcons. However, a new name didn’t exactly inspire the Falcons to soar to greater heights. To put a winner on the ice the club needed cash, something its owners were either unable or unwilling to pony up. The Falcons fell into receivership and needed a new owner who was willing to run the team on more than a shoestring budget. It found its meal ticket in the deep-pocketed Mr. Norris, who had made a fortune in grain, cattle, and shipping. He’d dreamed of owning an NHL franchise for years, but couldn’t make it happen in Chicago, where his empire was based. He’d kept a close eye on the fortunes of the struggling Detroit franchise and when an opening came up, he pounced. In his younger days, Mr. Norris played for the Winged Wheelers of the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association, and the game of hockey had stayed in his blood. When the Red Wings debuted in the 1932–33 season, the team had a new owner, a new name, and a new logo, a wheel with wings inspired by the owner’s old amateur club—and a nod to Detroit’s stature as the Motor City.

  The change in ownership still didn’t mean that Detroit would be putting a winner on the ice. No one knew that better than the team’s coach and general manager. A former professional player, Jack Adams had been with the Detroit organization since 1927, its second year in the league. By the time he met Mr. Norris in 1932, he had little to show for his time with the club. Regardless, I guess Mr. Norris still liked what he saw, because he offered Mr. Adams a one-year deal. If Mr. Adams could make good, he’d get another shot at it the next year. And that’s exactly what happened.

  Looser purse strings brought better players to the team and the one-year trial period between owner and coach, sealed with a handshake, was extended for another season. Another followed, and then another. In 1936, Detroit broke through with its first Stanley Cup. In 1937, it won again. The Norris–Adams partnership was off and rolling. It continued for thirty years, all of them without a formal contract. It’s hard to imagine an understanding like that coming to pass in today’s NHL, where coaches are routinely locked into multiyear deals worth millions of dollars. In any case, by the time I came along, the Red Wings had added a third Stanley Cup in 1943.

  Coming up in the league, the young Jack Adams was known for playing a tough brand of hockey. His philosophy didn’t change when he moved behind the bench. When Tommy Ivan became coach I remember him echoing Mr. Adams’s belief that hockey was a simple game with only two basic maneuvers: either you knock the puck away from the man or you knock the man away from the puck. Both men believed in playing hard-checking two-way hockey. As an extension of that doctrine, the organization looked for players who tried equally hard in both directions. If you didn’t back-check as a forward or a center, you weren’t long for the Red Wings; it was as simple as that.

  When it came to constructing his hockey club, Trader Jack wasn’t one to shy away from pulling the trigger on a big deal, no matter how much it shook up the team. For better or worse, it was actually part of his philosophy of team building. After one of Detro
it’s Stanley Cup wins in the 1930s he stood pat, only to watch the Wings, in his mind, become less hungry the following season. He told himself it was the last time he would be complacent. From then on, regardless of how well his team did the year before, he remained unsentimental about his players. Anyone could be traded. It’s been said that I was an exception to this rule, but I’m not sure that’s exactly right. It’s probably true that our relationship—Mr. Adams called me the “Big Guy” in a way that might pass for affection if you squinted hard—was better than the ones he had with most of his players, but it’s not like I couldn’t have been traded. I knew that my spot on the team depended on how I performed on the ice and little else. I felt like it wasn’t good business to get too confident about my place in the league. Starting out, I constantly worried about being demoted to the minors and, even when I became more established, I still felt like I was playing for my job every time I stepped on the ice. It’s an attitude that was likely passed down from my father. Growing up, he told us we shouldn’t ever get too comfortable with what we had, because something could always come along to take it away.

  After winning a championship, most general managers are willing to give their players a chance to defend the title. Not Jack Adams. He wouldn’t sit still, even after we won our first Stanley Cup together in 1950 (the year I was out with the concussion). In the off-season he engineered one of the biggest trades in league history. Typically, a goalie who just won the Stanley Cup is treated like he’s worth his weight in gold, but that’s not how it went for Harry Lumley, who was shipped out the door to the Black Hawks. Joining Harry in Chicago were Black Jack Stewart, an All-Star defenseman, as well as Don Morrison, Al Dewsbury, and Pete Babando, who’d just won the Cup for us with his overtime heroics. In return, we got Metro Prystai, Gaye Stewart, and goalie Jim Henry. We were stunned when the news broke. Seeing Metro in red and white would be good, but losing so many of our teammates was tough to swallow. The press was equally shocked and our fans didn’t seem to know how to feel about the trade either. As it turned out, Mr. Adams had a larger plan. He was clearing the way for a young goalie named Terry Sawchuk, who had played a few games for us the year before. Mr. Adams felt that Lumley’s days as a top-flight goalie were numbered and that Sawchuk was ready to take over. As the years went on, Sawchuk proved to be one of the best to ever put on pads, so making room for him in the lineup worked out in retrospect. At the time, though, seeing Lumley moved to the Black Hawks with little more than a nod didn’t make us feel very warm inside. As much as I loved playing hockey, it was moments like those that reinforced the business side of the sport. Someone else was always signing your paychecks, and as long as they kept coming you had little alternative but to say good-bye to your friends and get to know your new teammates. Whether you liked it or not, when the puck dropped you still had a job to do.

  In 1950–51, our job was to defend our Stanley Cup championship. That was the plan anyway, but when we reached the playoffs that season, Montreal had its own ideas. Some people tried to blame our flameout that year on the big off-season shake-up, but I don’t think the argument holds much water. Sure, we missed Lumley, Stewart, and the rest, but the 101 points we put up in the regular season suggest that chemistry wasn’t a problem. I’m not about to make any excuses for our team. Montreal won and they deserve the credit for beating us. From the Rocket on down, they were tough in that series. It just goes to show how little the oddsmakers really know about anything. They had us as favorites going in, but nobody ever wins anything on paper. Once we got on the ice, we didn’t deliver. The next season, we knew, would have to be different.

  • • •

  For my money, the 1951–52 edition of the Red Wings was the best team we ever had in Detroit. Mr. Adams had another busy off-season. He brought in Tony Leswick through a trade with the Rangers and Black Hawks. He also sold six more players to Chicago for $75,000 in cash: Clare Martin, George Gee, Jim McFadden, Jimmy Peters, Clare Raglan, and Max McNab. The open roster spots allowed us to bring in Glen Skov, Johnny Wilson, Marty Pavelich, Benny Woit, and Alex Delvecchio. We had Vic Stasiuk and Bob Goldham already from the previous year. The new blood meshed with the veterans right away. Ted, Sid, and I were still going strong as the Production Line. Metro was settling in nicely in his second year with the team. Our blue line was rock solid, anchored by Red Kelly, Marcel Pronovost, and Leo Reise Jr. In net, we had Sawchuk, who won the Vezina Trophy that year as the league’s best goalie. We could score, we could skate, we could check, and we were even a little bit mean. In short, we were stacked. Seeing that much talent in one place when I went to work every day was a pleasure.

  At only nineteen, Delvecchio took over as the baby of the team. You wouldn’t have known it by the way he handled the puck, though. He was magic. In his first year with the club, Alex centered Metro Prystai and Johnny Wilson on the third line. The second line featured Skov at center with Pavelich and Leswick on the wings. In previous seasons, the Red Wings had leaned heavily on the Production Line to handle most of the scoring. We didn’t mind, but on nights when we didn’t have it going, the team could struggle to get on the board. All that changed in 1951. Our squad had three full lines that scored as well as they checked. Add in Red Kelly, who might have been the best offensive defenseman the NHL had seen until Bobby Orr came along, and we had as much firepower as you could ever want.

  With all of that talent on hand, we ripped through the league again that year. For the second season in a row we cracked the century mark, tallying 100 points even. With 44 wins against only 14 losses and 12 ties, we were 22 points clear of Montreal, which finished in second place. By the time the playoffs came around, we couldn’t have been more ready to make up for the previous year. The semifinals against Toronto started like a dream. Sawchuk posted back-to-back shutouts and we cruised to a quick 2–0 series lead. The Leafs finally solved the puzzle in game three with a pair of goals. Fortunately, we were there to pick up our goalie, lighting the lamp six times for a relatively easy 6–2 win. Three wins in a row wasn’t enough to calm down Mr. Adams, who wouldn’t stop being nervous until the final horn sounded. Between games he kept saying that no lead was ever safe. He reminded us that in 1942 we were up 3–0 on the Leafs, only to lose the series. This edition of the Red Wings wasn’t about to make the same mistake. We closed the door with a 3–1 victory and a series sweep. After losing so many big games to Toronto early in my career, it was satisfying to lay down such a sound beating. At that moment, the league felt as if it was undergoing a changing of the guard. The Leafs were still the defending champions, but the signs pointed to an end to their dynasty. Their best players were getting long in the tooth, while we were young and coming on strong. We liked our chances not just for that year, but also for years to come. I’m sure the Habs, who were also young and hungry, felt the same way.

  While we were rolling into the Stanley Cup finals in four games, the Canadiens and the Bruins were locked in a war in the other semifinal. The Rocket finally put Montreal over the top in game seven. Earlier in the game, he’d been knocked unconscious after being upended by Leo Labine. Say what you will about the Rocket, but he was a tough customer. He had to be helped off the ice and took some stitches to fix a cut over his eye, but late in the third period with the score tied 1–1, he reentered the game. No medical staff today would have let him sit on the bench, let alone get back on the ice, but that was a different era. With time running down, he collected the puck deep in his own zone, skated the length of the ice through the defense, cut to the front of the net, and made a move to beat Sugar Jim Henry for the game-winner. I wasn’t there, but I was told that the Forum erupted with one of the loudest roars you’ll ever hear. Habs fans count it as maybe the greatest of the Rocket’s 544 career goals and 82 playoff goals.

  The victory earned the Canadiens the right to face us for the Stanley Cup. We couldn’t wait. By taking care of the Leafs in short order, we’d given our bumps and bruises time to heal. The Habs, on the other hand, were
pretty banged up. However, just as I won’t make any excuses for us losing the year before, I won’t make any for them either. (Nor, I’m sure, would they ask me to.) The series opened with a first game that’s best remembered for how strangely it ended. Late in the third period we were up 2–1 when the Forum announcer signaled the last minute of play. Montreal’s coach, Dick Irvin, pulled his goalie, but the extra attacker didn’t help and Lindsay scored on the empty net to make it 3–1. After the goal, the Forum announcer told the building that another minute of play remained. Irvin was furious. He claimed that the timekeeper’s mistake led to the empty-net goal. It didn’t matter, though. No coach’s tantrum was going to change the final score. We followed up the win with another in Montreal and returned to the friendly confines of the Olympia with a two-game lead in the series. In game three we came through with a 3–0 shutout victory to put us one game away from the Cup. As it turned out, four games were all it took. In the season’s final game, Sawchuk delivered another shutout, backstopping us to a 3–0 win. Technically, it was my second Stanley Cup, but in my heart it’s the first one I feel like I had a hand in winning. When we won it all in 1950, I was in street clothes watching from the stands. This time I was out there sweating and bleeding with the boys. It was beautiful.

  Our back-to-back sweeps made us the first team to ever go undefeated through both playoff rounds to win the Stanley Cup. As good as we were offensively, our defense was even better. As a team, we allowed only 5 goals in eight games and Sawchuk, who had four shutouts in the playoffs, didn’t allow a single goal on home ice. Naturally, we didn’t spend an extra second feeling bad for Montreal. Not that they needed us to. As any Habs fan can tell you, they’d be back—plenty. The Canadiens have had their share of playoff heartaches, but that’s only because they were good enough to put themselves in a position to be disappointed in the first place. Between 1951 and 1960, they made it to the Stanley Cup finals ten years in a row. They won six times over those years, including five straight Cups to end the decade. As good as they would become, though, the first half of the 1950s belonged to us. It’s not my way to be cocky, but if the playoffs had lasted another couple of months, I feel like the team we had in 1952 could have played for the rest of the summer and still not lost a game. The way we clamped down on our opponents led some to say that we strangled them. As it turned out, a local fish vendor really took that phrase to heart. In the final game of the series, he packed an octopus with him and threw it on the ice at the Olympia as a strange symbol of how we treated the competition. Detroit fans have kept the tradition alive for more than sixty years.