by Bob Leroux
“Jeez, Dan,” Labelle protested, as he watched Angus’s face for a reaction. “Don’t make it sound like it’s going to bankrupt you. Can’t be more than twenty bucks for the whole kit.”
“Yeah,” retorted Dan, “but you’re still talking a lot of haircuts. Might have to raise my prices.”
“But you can always buy used. I mean, look at Angus. His older boy must have some stuff he’s not using anymore. He played hockey, didn’t he, Angus?”
“Far as I know, he never had but a stick and a pair of skates.”
“Oh,” Labelle managed to respond.
Donald Joseph smiled at the man’s discomfort, and decided to offer some support. “Well,” he said into the mirror, “I’d say it would be worth it to put that boy of yours on a team, Angus. I hear he’s got the makings of a fine hockey player. Isn’t that so, Paul?”
Delighted with the help, Labelle jumped back in. “That’s right, Angus. He’s really quite talented. A natural, you know.”
Angus raised his eyebrows. “How’s that?”
“Well, he’s got a heck of a lot of talent for a boy his age. Henry Markham said if we didn’t enter a team, he would take him for the Alexandria team.”
Angus didn’t respond right away. He got up from his chair and dug a handful of change out of his pocket, then fished around for a dime. When he found one, he went to the red machine in the corner, dropped the dime in the slot, and pumped the handle. A bottle clunked down the chute and he stooped to retrieve it. After popping the cap on the machine’s bottle opener and taking a long, thirsty swallow, he ambled back to his chair along the wall and sat. Then, after a couple more pulls on his cola, he was ready to deal with what he knew Paul Labelle wanted. “Thanks, Paul, for praising the lad like that. But you know, I never played the game, and all that talk doesn’t mean much to me.”
Labelle was quick to respond. “I gotta tell you, Angus. The boy has a lot of natural ability. He’s really in a class by himself, already two steps ahead of kids much older than him. He anticipates the play like I’ve never seen in a kid that age.”
Angus smiled. “That’s nice, but why don’t you just tell me what you want?”
“Well, hell, man. You’ve already figured that out. I want to know if you’ll let him play on the team next year.”
Angus shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. I’m open long hours, you know, and my wife doesn’t drive. I can’t be on the road all the time, running back and forth to hockey rinks. I mean, they play all over the county, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Labelle nodded, “I’ve thought about that. Half the kids’ parents don’t have cars, so we’ll have to work something out. How about young David? Isn’t he due to get his driver’s licence pretty soon?”
Angus gave him a half smile. It was clear Labelle had put some thought into this project. “Could be. I’ll have to talk it over with the wife, though. He was pretty sick a few years back. Billy, I mean. She still worries a lot. You knew she lost a brother to consumption, right?”
Labelle nodded slowly. “Is it the bodychecking she’s worried about? That boy is tough, Angus. He’s built solid.”
Angus frowned. “Sure, and he’ll go till he drops. That’s what we’re worried about. I watched him that first game in Maxville. He runs around out there like there’s no tomorrow; doesn’t know how to take it easy. We don’t want him used, Paul. I’ve seen the way some coaches turn hockey into a big circus, winning cups and playing the big shot.”
That was a long speech for Angus Campbell, and Labelle realized now that he couldn’t take Billy’s participation for granted. “Well, I’m just getting into this coaching stuff, myself. Like I was telling Dan, I just want the kids to get a chance to play. Just let them play, that’s all I’m interested in. I won’t be shortening the bench just to win a game, I can promise you that.”
“Shortening the bench?” Angus queried.
“You know, playing only the better players. To win.”
“Uh-huh,” Angus nodded, still looking doubtful.
Then Donald Joseph put an oar back in. “The town should really have a team, don’t you think, Angus? We’re almost as large as Maxville and Vankleek Hill, yet we don’t even have an arena. It doesn’t make sense.”
When Angus didn’t respond, the councillor pressed the point. “I mean, it’s a great thing Tony Stanton is doing. Another year or two and we’ll have enough money to build a new rink.” He paused then, while Dan Weir swung him around to shave his neck. Looking at Angus now, he continued, “Tony’s putting together a midget team, too. Heck, maybe we could even sponsor a junior team, someday. A town our size should be in those leagues, wouldn’t you say? Put the place on the map. Good for business, too.”
“Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure.” Dan Weir murmured his support without being too definite, taking care not to antagonize the paying customers.
Angus Campbell was not so careful. “It seems as how Tony Stanton has his own big plans. He went as far as he could playing hockey himself; now he wants an arena for the town. It’s not hard to figure out what he’s hoping for. Someone’s going to have to run that arena, and make it pay for itself.”
“But that’s progress, Angus,” the councillor responded. “A town has to grow if it’s going to prosper. Just like that special levy we’re proposing to finance a factory building, to attract industry. We need to grow if we’re going to have jobs for our children.”
“Well, sir, Anna and I moved back here so our kids could grow up in a small town. They were crying for service stations, up there in Ottawa, but it’s no place to bring up kids. Anyway, I don’t see how we’re improving the town, if we end up with something altogether different from what we liked about it in the first place.”
Angus shifted in his chair and finished off his Coke. He had said his piece about progress. He finally turned to Labelle. “About this hockey business. I’ll have to think about it, Paul. Like I said, we don’t want the boy used, or made into something he isn’t — just to fit someone else’s plans. That’s the bottom line.”
“I can tell you right now, Angus, it isn’t my intention to push him too hard. Yours and Anna’s wishes would be respected at all times. I can promise you that.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about you so much. I’m more worried about what it could lead to — hurting his health and his school work. I know one thing for sure: if we let him start one year, there’ll be hell to pay if we try to stop him the next.” He stopped to contemplate for a moment, before he continued. “And it’s not just paying for all that equipment he’d need, that’s got me worried. I been counting on him to man the gas pumps lately, and giving his brother more work in the shop — to keep him interested.”
Labelle nodded. “I understand; it’s a family business. And it can’t be all hockey.”
Angus acknowledged his understanding and added, “But if young Brian is playing . . . well, that complicates it even more. They’re a pair, those two.” He paused again and rubbed the side of his face, as though he were checking to see if he needed a shave. He finally seemed to come to a conclusion. “Billy will only turn thirteen this summer. Hasn’t got his growth yet. How about we wait until next fall, see how things sit then?” He looked Labelle in the eye. “Can’t do any harm, can it?”
Labelle shrugged. “Nope, can’t say as it will.” He knew better than to keep pushing a Campbell from Glengarry.
So the afternoon in the barbershop proved profitable for Dan Weir alone. Donald Joseph was pretty sure he wouldn’t have Angus Campbell’s support on that factory building he was promoting, and Paul Labelle wasn’t sure at all that he’d start the next season with a star centre.
Chapter 7
Gloves and Garter Belts
“Hi, I’m home.” Billy threw his books on the kitchen counter and went to the fridge. His mother was coming up the steps from the cellar with a handful of carrots in her apron.
“Get what you want and shut the door. I just defrosted that thing.
” She put the carrots in the sink and reached for the vegetable brush. “So, what did you learn today?”
“Not much,” he answered, as he poured himself some milk. “This grade ain’t as hard as Sister Thekla said.”
“Isn’t as hard. And give it time. It’s only your third week.” She pointed a carrot at him and added, “Ask David. He never worked so hard in his life as he did for Sister Thekla.”
Billy sat down at the table with his milk. “Dave? Work hard? That’s hard to believe.”
Anna turned and smiled at him. “So, it’s Dave now, is it? Well, never you mind; he worked hard that year. Too bad the nuns aren’t running the high school. They’d make him work.”
“I doubt it. All’s he’s interested in is fixing that old wreck of his.”
“Don’t laugh. Won’t be long and you’ll be the one wanting a car of your own.” She paused in her work to push back a wisp of hair. “That reminds me. Your father wants to see you in the garage. Mr. Labelle is with him.”
Billy jumped up from the table and almost knocked over the milk. “Jeez, Mom, why didn’t you tell me? He’s the hockey coach.”
“Don’t ‘jeez’ me, mister. Finish your milk, first. Then go and change your clothes. You’re not going over there with your good clothes on. I know you.”
“But, Mom! This is important.”
“So are your clothes. Go up and change. No ifs, buts, or maybes.”
Billy set a new record for changing his clothes, then ran over to the garage, charged into the office, tripped over the threshold, and fell flat on his face. The two men looked at each other and started to laugh. Angus had just finished telling Labelle that Billy’s growth spurt had started, with the result that he had two left feet.
“You sure you’re interested in this lad for a hockey team, Paul? The floor keeps coming up to meet his face.” Angus got out of his chair and leaned over the counter to smile at his son. “William? Are you able to get up? Did you break something?”
Billy scrambled to his feet and answered his father with a crooked grin. “Naw, just tripped, I guess. Mom said you wanted to see me?”
“That’s right. Come around here and say hello to Mr. Labelle.” Angus sat back down and started filling his pipe.
Billy walked around the counter and nodded at Labelle, who was sitting in the old office chair beside the desk. Labelle said hello and reached to shake his hand. He waited for Angus to do the talking.
“Now, son,” Angus said, “Mr. Labelle has come to find out if your mother and I are willing . . .” He paused to light his pipe, before adding, “to let you play for his team this year.” With Billy holding his breath in anticipation, Angus puffed on his pipe until he was satisfied it was well lit. He finally continued. “Your mother and I have had a long talk over this, and I want you to know . . .” with a few puffs in between, “it wasn’t an easy decision, but — ”
Fearing the worst, Billy interrupted. “Aw, Da-aad.”
Angus raised a hand to quiet him, and continued. “But, if you want to play for the Munro Mills Bantams, then, it’s okay with us — with certain conditions.”
Try as he might, Billy couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to split his face in two. He managed to control his mouth just long enough to stammer, “W-when do we start?”
“Now hold on, son. Didn’t you hear what I just said? There are conditions? Don’t you want to hear them?”
“Uh, sure.” Billy didn’t care what they were. He was ready to promise the moon if it meant he could play on a real hockey team.
His father studied him for a moment as he puffed on his pipe, wondering whether he was wasting his time. He finally took the pipe from his mouth and pointed it at him. “The first thing is, you’re not getting a free ride. You’re paying your own way, with — ”
“But, Dad — ” Billy started to protest.
“Listen, now. This is important. In between hockey games and practice, you’re going to be doing chores for me, and I’ll pay you. That way you can pay for your own equipment — maybe you’ll appreciate it more. And not leave it out in the rain like you did that lacrosse stick.”
“But, Dave said — ”
“Never mind that.” His father held a hand up to focus his attention, and then continued. “So, you’ll pump gas for me, pick up parts on your bike, and help keep the garage clean. You’ll be plenty busy, no time for fooling around. You understand me?”
“What’ll I get paid?”
Angus laughed. “Enough to pay for hockey equipment. And not enough to buy junk at the candy store. Understand?”
Billy grinned. “When do we start?”
Angus shook his head. “Not so fast. There’s more conditions.” He looked to Labelle. “Maybe your coach can tell you about them.”
Labelle was glad for Billy’s enthusiasm, but he wanted to make sure the boy knew the ground rules he had agreed to, in the earlier discussion with his father. “Do you understand what it means, Billy? To play for a team? It will take up most of your spare time, and it means you’ll have to be very careful about doing your chores and your school work. Hockey can never be an excuse for not doing your homework, or missing school. And your father has made it clear — if your chores or your school work suffer, you’ll be off the team.”
Angus joined back in. “You hear that? You’re in grade eight, now. You can’t afford to fool around.”
Billy nodded vigorously, and Labelle continued. “You’ll have to get plenty of rest, too, and eat healthy meals. I promised your father I would pay close attention — you know, your energy level, and your breathing. He tells me you’ve had trouble with that, with rheumatic fever.”
The boy shot a look at his father like he’d been betrayed, somehow. “I’m okay, now,” he protested. “There’s nothing wrong.”
Angus gave no ground. “And we want to make sure you stay that way.”
Labelle took his cue from Angus. “So, my boy, when you get home from an evening game, you have to get right to bed — no later than ten o’clock, and no horsing around. Any player who doesn’t follow my rules is off the team. And your parents will let me know if you’re breaking curfew. You got that?”
Angus inserted a further warning. “We start seeing those big, black circles under your eyes, that’s it for the hockey. You understand?”
Billy nodded slowly, his attention back on the man who was promising to put him on a real hockey team. “Yes, sir,” he said in a half whisper. “I understand, but . . . uh . . .” He looked back and forth between the two men before he found his voice. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure,” both men answered.
“Well,” Billy began, “what kind of . . . equipment do I have to wear?”
Angus frowned. He could see his son was way past any conditions he might have to respect. “Mr. Labelle’s the coach. He’ll tell you about that.” Then he added, “But don’t worry about paying for it, right away. I’ll loan you the money, and you can pay me back from your wages.” Then he nodded at Labelle to take over.
“Well, then, you won’t need much more than what you’ve probably got already. You need a good pair of skates — skates that fit proper. That’s important. As for socks and sweaters, the team will provide that. Of course there’ll be a registration fee, not too large. And you’ll have to pay for your own sticks, mind you. Then you’ll need your own shin pads, hockey pants . . . and gloves.” He paused and tried to visualize the next piece of equipment. “Now, let me think, what else? There’ll be elbow pads, and you should have shoulder pads, but they’re not mandatory. And that’s all I can think of . . . and, oh yeah, you’ll need a jockstrap. You’ve already got most of that, don’t you? Is there anything else you can think of?”
Billy shuffled his feet, staring at the floor for a moment before answering, “I don’t got — I mean — I don’t have the shoulder pads, or the hockey gloves . . . or, the hockey pants. But, is it really true, what Brian Weir said? That if you wear real hockey pants . . .
you gotta wear . . . a lady’s garter belt, to hold your stockings up? Is that true?”
The two men grinned at each other, trying hard not to laugh. They had been wondering what secret fears prompted such concern about equipment. Labelle focused on responding to the boy’s worries. “It’s hockey socks you wear, not stockings. And don’t worry about the garter belt. Real hockey players wear them, and nobody laughs at them. Do they?”
Billy shook his head. “I guess not.”
“Besides,” Labelle added, “some kids don’t bother with fancy equipment like garter belts. They wear their jeans under their hockey pants, and use elastics to hold up their socks.”
Billy was smiling again. That’s what he had hoped to hear. He wasn’t ready to leave his pants in the dressing room.
“Is there anything else you want to know?” Angus interjected. “Mr. Labelle hasn’t got all day — he’s got a business to run.”
Billy had questions galore, but sensed he should limit himself to a few crucial ones. “Will I be able to play on the same line with Brian?”
Paul Labelle smiled. That was a question he was more used to dealing with. “I can’t guarantee that. We’ll have two, maybe three forward lines, and at least two sets of defencemen. But I can’t say who you’ll get to play with. I have to try and match up players with the same speed and skill level. So we’ll just have to see. Sorry, but that’s the way it is on a team. Think you can get used to that?” He waited for Billy’s reaction, hoping to understand him a bit better.
Billy’s solemn face didn’t volunteer much. He just nodded. “How many games do we play?”
“One game a week, sometimes two, mostly on weekends. The ice in Maxville should be ready by November.”