Keith Magnuson

by Doug Feldmann

  According to a Chicago Sun-Times report from December 17, the Hawks website had hundreds of e-mails submitted in just the first couple of hours, so many that a discussion board had been opened for fans’ memories of Maggie. Several of the messages offered sympathy to Ramage as well.

  “It’s been a tremendous tragedy since the day of the accident,” Ramage would say later. “Family and friends have been incredible throughout this. My heart and prayers and thoughts, as they have been since the day of the accident, is with Cindy and Kevin and Molly Magnuson.”

  * * *

  More than 2,500 people had withstood the cold for more than six hours, lining up around the block at the visitation in Lake Forest on December 19, and over 800 mourners packed the First Presbyterian Church in town the following afternoon for the funeral service. Of these, 200 had to be placed in a separate room to view the ceremonies on closed-circuit television.

  Mike Spellman was there as a representative of a local suburban paper, the Daily Herald. “Walking by outside the church was Bill Hermann of Lake Bluff and his young son, Liam,” Spellman noticed, “each sporting a Blackhawks jersey and holding a red candle, silently strolling the sidewalk. ‘Magnuson was one of my favorite players; he really gave his heart and his soul on the ice every game,’ Hermann said. ‘You don’t see much dedication like that anymore to the sport or to life.’”

  Moments later, a man and woman approached Molly with a gold medal, won by their son at a Special Olympics event that Magnuson had helped organize. Keith had so much of an impact on their son’s life, they told Molly, that they wondered if the medal could be placed in the casket for the burial. The Magnusons were happy to honor the request. “We didn’t even know these people,” Molly said. “We were blown away.”

  Arriving three hours early, Pat Foley noticed that the church had already begun filling up. The entire 2003–04 Blackhawks team was there, in addition to former players Mikita, Grant Mulvey, Darcy Rota, Chris Chelios, Al Secord, Steve Larmer, Doug Wilson, Dennis Hull, and many others. Also present were several of Magnuson’s old teammates from the University of Denver.

  “I’ll never forget the line around the funeral home, thousands of people waiting in freezing weather to pay their respects,” Mikita said.Chelios said later in reflection, “He was my favorite player growing up, and one of the first guys I wanted to meet when I was traded to Chicago…at the age of 50, he still had the heart of a kid, and his family is a reflection of the kind of man he was.”

  Despite never having played with Maggie, Chelios was well aware of the love and dedication that Keith had for the Hawks. At a 75th anniversary game for team alumni in 2001, Chelios came onto the ice and decided that he would not put on the Hawks jersey, since he was playing for Detroit at the time. Magnuson understood, but was nonetheless disappointed.

  While waiting for the service to begin, Foley and others respectfully shared quiet stories about Maggie while sitting in the nave. “The greatest captain the Hawks have ever had, or will ever have,” Foley said of Magnuson. “He was everything a Chicago Blackhawk should be, and everything your son should grow up to be.” Local writer Barry Rozner agreed. “The ultimate team captain in the only sport where the C means something,” Rozner reflected when learning of the accident.

  Just a month earlier, Foley had joined Hawks followers in mourning the death of one of his mentors—Lloyd Pettit, who called so many of Magnuson’s exciting plays over WMAQ, and who had passed away on November 11. When Foley had his first professional broadcasting job in Grand Rapids in the old International Hockey League, the team played against Pettit’s Milwaukee Admirals. In doing so, Foley had the opportunity to interview Pettit several times; once, in advance of one of those interviews, Pettit was standing behind Foley for the final five minutes of a period, with Foley unaware that he was there. When the period ended and Foley began his interview, the first thing Pettit said was, “You’re doing a great job; keep doing what you’re doing, and one day you’ll be in the NHL.” Pettit’s words meant so much to him that Foley has kept the tape from that interview, which he has to this day.

  As the proceedings commenced, Kevin Magnuson was the first to speak. He read a poem written by a friend of the family entitled “My First Christmas in Heaven,” since the family would be keeping Keith in their hearts through the holiday in the coming week, and forever after. “Kevin talked about how Christmas was always his dad’s favorite time of the year,” Mikita recalled. Then, in a spirit of great forgiveness in the midst of an unimaginable ordeal, Kevin added a final thought: “My mom, my sister, and I would like to ask you to keep my dad’s good friend Rob Ramage in your prayers.”

  Keith’s brother, Dale, then walked to the podium, and spoke of their time growing up in western Canada. “In the game of life, Keith was our MVP,” he said. “Very early in life it became apparent that he had a heart that most of us only dream of. He would always come through.”

  Koroll, Magnuson’s best friend and roommate for so many years, added simply and appropriately, “Keith was a guy who lived 100 years in 56 years…he was as compassionate a person as there was. He never said ‘no’ to anyone.”

  While there is never enough in such situations, there seemed to be no shortage of prayers, comfort, and support from the hockey community for the Magnusons. “People say hockey players are the nicest people, and they are,” Kevin had said during high school in 1993 after having virtually grown up at the Stadium.

  Even one of Keith’s most formidable foes lent his support in later years. “I used to wait at Gate 3½ [at the Stadium] for Keith and watch Dave Schultz walk by, and I used to hate him,” Cindy admitted. “And then he sends me this note [after Keith’s death] about how much Keith meant to him and to hockey, and how much he loved him. I mean, where else do you find something like that except hockey?”

  Messages of admiration of Magnuson’s life kept pouring in from around North America, and would for years to come.

  “He was a Hawk,” former New York Rangers goalie John Davidson said simply. “It’s interesting today when you think of certain people. Mike Ditka was a Chicago Bear. Keith Magnuson was a Hawk.”

  Bob Pulford: “His great leadership on the ice was the way he was in ordinary life… As you travel through life, you meet very few people who are a notch above the rest. Keith Magnuson was one of those people.”

  Former Hawks goalie Darren Pang: “He epitomized what heart and soul was all about. He gave everything he had to the good of the team.”

  Former Hawks center Denis Savard: “We lost our chief. With Maggie, it was always, ‘What can I do for you? How can I help you?’ He was always positive, always happy. There’s not too many human beings made that way.”

  Keith Brown: “Reputation is what people perceive you to be, but character is what you truly are. Keith Magnuson was a man of great character.”

  Darcy Rota: “Maggie was the best ‘team guy’ I’ve ever played with.”

  Grant Mulvey: “Keith was passionate toward others, and toward the concerns of others. He had commitment to the game and to life. Maggie was one of a kind.”

  Dale Tallon: “He was the heart and soul of this organization. He loved every second of it. You loved being in his company. It was infectious. He gave everything he had, every minute of the day, to the [Hawks] logo, to the cause, to the players, to his friends, to his teammates. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them, nothing… I never heard him say ‘no’ to anybody. He was just so generous with his time, almost to a fault.”

  John Marks: “Keith was fearless, and showed his heart every night out there on the ice. The world was a better place with him in it.”

  Phil Russell: “He was good a man as I’ve ever been in the trenches with. He took on all comers. And with Keith, it was never about himself—it was about what he could do for the team. There’s an old cowboy saying: ‘Be loyal to the brand.’ The Hawks were always my brand, and they w
ere always Keith’s brand.”

  Stan Mikita: “Everything that came out of Keith’s mouth was positive. He brought so much extra enthusiasm to our team.”

  Jim Wiste: “He had a heart of gold. Everybody loved Maggie. He did more work for charities and for other guys who played the game than any man I’ve ever known. He was a warrior on the ice and a total gentleman off of it.”

  Bobby Hull: “Keith’s parents can be proud of how they raised him; Keith can be proud of his time on the ice and the family man he was.”

  * * *

  The Blackhawks quickly established the Keith Magnuson Blackhawk Alumni Scholarship for three Chicago-area high school students each year—the number was a tribute to Keith’s jersey No. 3. That tradition continues to this day, as Magnuson’s legacy lives on through the lives of the people he has touched.

  “Maggie used to tie his ties in these unbelievable double Windsor knots,” Peter Marsh said. “Once, while we were doing a charity event in Florida, I asked Keith to tie one of those knots for me. To keep Keith in my memory, I never undid the knot, and to this day, I often wear that tie with the same knot.”

  Two days after the funeral, on December 21, the Hawks fought to an inspired 2–2 tie against the defending Stanley Cup–champion New Jersey Devils at the United Center, their new home since the demolition of Chicago Stadium in 1994. “The passion of the fans in the Stadium was unlike any other place,” Bobby Hull said. “That was one of the things I missed so much when I left Chicago.” Now, new memories were being made at the new building.

  Before the game, a three-minute video of Keith’s highlights was shown on the scoreboard; a standing ovation was given to a grateful Magnuson family as the spotlight shone on them. And while Magnuson’s jersey No. 3—shared by fellow former great Hawks defenseman Pierre Pilote—had not yet been retired by the team, current Chicago player Bryan Berard surrendered it and took No. 4 instead. “Out of respect to Maggie, I thought that No. 3 should not be worn,” Berard told the local papers.

  Murray Armstrong was fast approaching his 88th birthday at the time of Magnuson’s death, and on Armstrong’s special day, there was one thing on which he could always count. “Keith called me every year on my birthday, and sometimes a few times in between,” Armstrong said. “He cared about his friends, but also about everybody. He was a very generous man, and we’ll miss him terribly.”

  Armstrong himself passed away on December 8, 2010, at the age of 94, survived by his wife of 68 years, Freda, and his son, Rob, who had become a prominent journalist for CBS News. The man who had helped craft Keith Magnuson into an outstanding hockey player and young man, in addition to so many others, would be missed as well. “Aside from being a great coach, he was a great human being,” Koroll would say in 2012. “He made me believe that I could play in the NHL.”

  Armstrong’s legacy, and that of Magnuson’s, would live on in the Mile High City. On April 10, 2004—just four months after Magnuson’s accident—the University of Denver claimed its first national championship in hockey since Magnuson captained its previous one 35 years earlier. (Additionally, in 1997, The Hockey News named Magnuson the Western Collegiate Hockey Association’s all-time best defenseman.) After Magnuson’s death, the DU players had placed a sticker on their helmets that read km2—denoting Keith’s initials and his jersey number during his college days. In order to get to the championship game, the Pioneers had to overcome being knocked out of their conference tournament; they responded by upsetting top-ranked North Dakota 1–0, then scored four goals in the third period against Minnesota-Duluth for a 5–3 victory in the semifinals before downing the new No. 1 team, Maine, by a 1–0 score for the title.

  In addition to the tales of valor they had heard over the years, the DU players had grown personally attached to Magnuson, after Keith had joined Koroll in attending DU’s homecoming that same autumn in October 2003. Watching a hockey alumni game, the two were unable to help themselves as they jumped into the fray—even while wearing dress shirts and slacks and utilizing only skates, gloves, and a stick for equipment. The scene was loved by all. “Magnuson cross-checked players from the crease, hardly scared of getting hit by a slap shot from the point,” reported Mike Chambers for the Denver Post. “He smiled the entire time. He didn’t just participate in the event. He was the event.”

  As the Pioneers’ 2003–04 season progressed, the impact that Magnuson and Koroll had on the team with their visit was immeasurable. “We had a lot of luck this season, and I’m sure Maggie had something to do with that,” stated defenseman Ryan Caldwell after securing the NCAA championship. Fellow defenseman Matt Laatsch also felt the powerful effect. “Having Keith and Cliff Koroll for the alumni weekend was huge to us,” Laatsch said. Then, Laatsch revealed that he had gotten the same advice Keith had given his own son. “Maggie was the biggest [alumnus] we had. He came in and gave us what ended up being our mission statement for the whole year. He said, ‘When you get to the event, you’ll know it.’ He had been to the Frozen Four and national championship game, and he felt like we had the team to get there.

  “No disrespect to any alumni, but he was larger than life. He was the guy you always hoped would come into the locker room when he was in town. To lose him was a pretty big blow to that team. But we always thought about ‘getting to the event.’”

  Some of the DU players even claim that Magnuson himself was there for the championship, an angel on the Pioneers’ shoulders.

  For at one point in that championship game, with Denver straining to hold on to their 1–0 lead, one of Maine’s top scorers broke free with the puck at center ice and seemed to be on his way to the tying goal. However—with no DU player near him—the Maine player suddenly fell to the ice, inexplicably, as if hip-checked by an invisible force.

  “We were on a bad change and the guy goes in all alone, then trips at the blue line,” Laatsch said. “Explain how that happens.”

  * * *

  If selflessness is the true measure of a team player, as it should be, then Keith Magnuson was the ultimate one—there has never been anyone better in any sport. He did not score many goals, but that did not matter to him; he absorbed punches that others on his team would not, never minding making that sacrifice. Everything he did on the ice was for the betterment of the Chicago Black Hawks, and everything he did off the ice was for the betterment of his family. Yes, Magnuson was known as a fighter—but he fought with more than just his fists. He fought daily for all the things he loved and valued.

  Bob Verdi, who has seen it all with the Hawks, encapsulated it best in a piece written the day Maggie retired as a player, on November 1, 1979.

  “How Keith Magnuson wanted to lug that jug [the Stanley Cup] around the Stadium ice just once. He won’t ever be able to now, but a guy doesn’t need a trophy case to be a winner.”

  The decisions on who “wins” and “loses” a hockey fight are always subjective. There are no weigh-ins, no judges, no points, no standing eight counts, no official knockouts, and no title belts. Those NHL followers who ponder such decisions are often of the opinion that Keith Magnuson lost more hockey fights than he won.

  Even if that is true, it is of no consequence; as Theodore Roosevelt said, “The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood—not the critic.”

  Magnuson himself seemed to agree. “I’ve thought about it since I retired,” he said in 1996. “And I think I probably won more than I lost.”

  Other Magnusons also know the importance of standing up for one’s teammates. “When you fight in hockey, 90 percent of it psychological,” says Mark Magnuson, in the same words one could picture his uncle Keith using. “I fought guys where I knew I was likely to lose. You show up, try not to get hurt, and try to give your team some courage and energy. Your guys know they don’t have to fight the other team’s tough guys, because you will.”

  Or, as Keith
once said, “I can’t play it any other way.”

  Keith Magnuson’s most lasting legacy, however, went far beyond the ice of Chicago Stadium. His qualities will continue to echo in eternity through the lives of the family he left behind.

  “He was such a great son to his mom and dad, a great brother, a great husband, a great father, and great friend,” as Cindy put it. “That says it all.”

  Epilogue

  Even though he did not score touchdowns like Walter Payton, points like Michael Jordan, or even goals like Bobby Hull, Keith Magnuson was as recognizable walking down Michigan Avenue as any athlete in Chicago. And while many great athletes are long-forgotten after their playing days, Magnuson is long-remembered—doubtlessly due, at least in part, to his tireless work for Chicago’s charitable needs.

  “The public hears about a few of the good things Keith does, like visiting a hospital to see a sick kid,” Bill O’Rourke said back in 1977. “But that doesn’t even scratch the surface. Keith can hear about some problem in some family of a friend of a friend, and before you know it, he’s on the phone. He’s too good to be true.”

  As one example, that year Magnuson initiated a Black Hawk Roast to benefit Mike Schwass, a Chicago-area boy who had been partially paralyzed in a hockey game. “I thought maybe two or three players would show up,” Magnuson remembered, “but they were all there.” When the Hawks finished making light of themselves at the microphone, Maggie handed the Schwass family a check for $15,000 to assist with their medical bills. “Mike, we are all your friends and we are behind you,” Magnuson encouraged the youngster at the end of the night, as Mike’s long rehabilitation lay ahead of him. “Now it is up to you to climb the mountain. We know you will.”

  This was only one of the many instances in which Magnuson shifted the center of attention from himself to someone else.

  It is ironic that Pioneers was the college team nickname for Magnuson, Cliff Koroll, Jim Wiste, Craig Patrick, and the many others who played for Murray Armstrong at the University of Denver, for they indeed blazed a trail into battle in the National Hockey League for other college players to follow. But Magnuson was also a pioneer in the development of the contemporary idea of a “policeman” in the sport, a player willing to check the intimidation that opposing players attempted to lay on his teammates. In doing so for such a long time, Magnuson remained the Hawks’ career leader in penalty minutes for decades until Chris Chelios passed him in 1999 by a mere 53 (1,495 to 1,442). Moreover, the league records for single-season penalty minutes which Magnuson and Dave Schultz set in the early 1970s have been rarely approached in subsequent years. Daniel Carcillo’s 324 minutes in 2007–08, in fact, is the most in the past 10 years in the NHL, and only two other players—Zenon Konopka and Peter Worrell—have surpassed 265 in a season since 2000.