As of 2013, Magnuson still ranked highly on many other career statistical lists for the Hawks; he has the third-best total for plus-minus in team history (170, behind Steve Larmer’s 192 and Bill White’s 176). Furthermore, his Defensive Point Shares from 1971–72—a newer figure kept by hockey statisticians designed to measure the overall value of low-scoring defenseman to a team—is the best in club history at 7.7.
But while the role of the policeman lives on, the debate over the need for fighting in professional hockey continues as well. Long eradicated from amateur levels in the sport, fighting has traditionally been balanced at the pro level between celebrating its existence and punishing its occurrence. In 1992, the “instigator rule”—also known as Rule 56(a)—went into effect in the NHL. The rule gave an extra two-minute minor penalty to the player who incites a fight, in addition to the standard five-minute fighting major (and a second instigator penalty in the same game for the same player results in an automatic ejection).
The rule immediately met with opposition from many NHL players, especially fighters like Marty McSorley. “It doesn’t allow the players to police themselves,” McSorley said, “and that is wrong.”
However, there have also been many prominent voices surfacing in opposition to fighting in hockey—regardless of the scope, cause, savagery, or perceived need of any given fight. “They don’t need fighting today in the NHL. It serves no purpose,” said Lou Nanne, a long-time defenseman with the Minnesota North Stars and later a team executive. “Look at the Olympics or the world championships, or even the playoffs. Look at the college game, too. Why couldn’t the NHL get by without it? I mean, fighting doesn’t exist in any other sport except hockey. Players just have to learn to be disciplined, like in anything else in life.”
The case against fighting in hockey has even had its flag carried by the most unlikely of sources: Dave Schultz himself. “Fighting does not have to be part of big league hockey any more than fisticuffs have to be a part of baseball, tennis, or football,” Schultz wrote shortly after his retirement in the early 1980s. “For too many years, hockey has accepted brawls without questioning their validity or the damage that they have done to its image. The time has come for such questioning.”
As stated earlier in this book, Schultz saw a larger issue with violence in hockey because of the dangerous ways in which the stick was being used as a weapon—not the least of which by Schultz’s noted teammate and captain of the Flyers, Bobby Clarke. Thus, it might be concluded that the vast majority of serious injuries in hockey are the results of cheap shots; in other words, if the Code was followed by all, injuries from fighting would be minimal, and serious injuries extremely rare.
It is apparent that even modern players see the strategic role that fighting can serve in professional hockey. In a poll of 202 NHL players published by Sports Illustrated in March 2012, 99.5 percent of them—or 201—were against the league putting a ban on fighting altogether. “Those who don’t want fighting probably never played,” Phil Russell concluded. “And they don’t understand the game.”
* * *
The late 1960s and early 1970s were a turbulent era in American society, and within the Chicago sports scene as well. An interesting comparison can be drawn between Leo Durocher’s Cubs and Billy Reay’s Black Hawks of the same period. Both teams were mostly stocked with likable, friendly personalities; both teams came up just short of league championships in their respective sports; both teams were filled with talent, including future Hall of Famers; and both teams possessed unsung heroes, a supporting cast of role players who held each team together in the tough times while toiling in the shadows of the superstars.
The Cubs enjoyed the steadying forces of Glenn Beckert, Don Kessinger, Randy Hundley, and Bill Hands among marquee players Ferguson Jenkins, Ron Santo, Billy Williams, and Ernie Banks. The Hawks largely relied upon Magnuson, Koroll, and others who deferred much of the glory to Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, and Tony Esposito.
Of course, it is mere speculation to wonder if holding on to players such as Jerry Korab or Rick Foley would have lightened the fighting load for Magnuson in the 1970s. With few exceptions, he remained on an island as the lone slugger, while opponents often sent more than one fighter after him each night, a new, fresh puncher ready to go against Magnuson in the third period when Keith was already worn down. Maggie took them all on, however, one at a time, and as often as they chose to come at him. “If you can beat them in the alley,” Magnuson liked to say in quoting Conn Smythe, “you can beat them on the ice.”
Just like the schoolteacher who is there for his or her students every day, Magnuson was always there for his teammates, as reliable as the sun rising in the east. Even after injuries had perforated the later years of his career, Magnuson would hobble on crutches down to the locker room to urge on his teammates in between periods. As Magnuson was fond of saying, “Whether you win or lose, it’s all about showing up.” Or, as Barry Rozner put it, “He lost more fights than he won, but he always showed up for the dance. If they had a Hall of Fame for showing up, Maggie would have his own wing.”
On November 12, 2008, Magnuson’s No. 3 jersey was retired by the Hawks, an honor he would share Pierre Pilote, another Chicago defenseman who preceded him in wearing it. A banner in Maggie’s honor was raised to the rafters of the United Center before a standing- room-only crowd of 21,000. With his mother and his sister by his side, Kevin Magnuson walked to the microphone to speak at center ice on behalf of his father, and even though it was a packed house, Kevin felt an unexpected comfort. “It was as if I was sitting in my living room, having an intimate conversation with a few friends,” he would say.
Just two weeks after Keith was honored at this ceremony, tragedy befell the Hawks family yet again. On November 30, 2008, Pit Martin was snowmobiling in rural Quebec. Following behind a friend’s snowmobile, Martin’s craft plunged into the icy waters of Lake Kanasuta. He was pronounced dead in the early hours of the next morning.
* * *
When the Blackhawks finally won the Stanley Cup in 2010—their first championship since 1961—many felt that a posthumous weight had been lifted off the shoulders of Magnuson, perhaps the most popular player ever to score only 14 goals in an 11-year career. Rozner was one of them, as he posted a magnificent summary of the many near-misses of the past decades, and how justice had finally been done.
It’s [the 2010 championship] for the great players of the late ’60s and early ’70s, who came along too late for 1961 and only remember the pain of 1971, like Pit Martin, Jim Pappin, and Dennis Hull, Whitey Stapleton and Bill White, Doug Jarrett and Doug Mohns, Cliff Koroll and Phil Russell.
It is for Tony Esposito, perhaps the most underrated Hall of Fame goaltender in history, a man who never got the credit he deserved for making the playoffs every one of his 15 seasons in Chicago, about half of those years in his prime with some horrible teams when he did it entirely on his own.
But more than anyone, this is for Keith Magnuson, who wore his heart on his sleeve and the crest on his chest until the day he died, and no one would have taken greater pleasure in seeing his sweater stand last.
Maggie was the one who never left, not for any reason or anyone. No matter how much he may have hated what was done to his beloved team, and the men who did it, he never walked away.
He never wavered.
The man who bled for his team more than any player in Hawks history would have given anything to see this day, to see his boys dancing with Lord Stanley’s sacred bowl.
He would have felt like he was part of it, because, well, he would have been.
Maggie wasn’t just a legend of the fall and winter, and he didn’t show up when paid to wave to the cameras.
He was always around the team, even in the worst of times, and he came to symbolize what love for the uniform meant.
Lord, how he would have loved this moment.
It is not the same
without him, but of this we are certain:
You can rest in peace now, Maggie, for the ghost of Henri Richard is never more.
Your Chicago Blackhawks are Stanley Cup champions.
Appendix: Keith Magnuson’s Career Statistics
Acknowledgments
The graciousness of the Magnuson family in embracing this project has been overwhelming to me. Cindy, Molly, Kevin, Mark, David, Trystan, and the many more of you whom I have not met— I am honored that you opened your hearts and homes to me, and I will never forget it.
My attempt to capture the full spirit of Keith’s life could not have been possible without the perspective of Cliff Koroll, his best friend from their grade-school days through their time with the Hawks and beyond.
It was also a great pleasure to speak with the many other interviewees for this book, who shared their admiration of Keith as a teammate and friend. They include former players and personalities such as Keith Brown, Chris Chelios, Pat Foley, Bobby Hull, John Marks, Peter Marsh, Stan Mikita, Grant Mulvey, Darcy Rota, Phil Russell, Paul Schrage, Dale Tallon, Doug Wilson, and Jim Wiste.
Adam Motin and Mitch Rogatz at Triumph Books have also been incredibly helpful; additionally, Adam Rogowin in the Blackhawks public relations department assisted tremendously in providing resources as well.
Finally, a word of thanks to the writers at the Chicago Tribune who covered the Hawks in the 1970s and early 1980s—including Ted Damata, Neil Milbert, and particularly Bob Verdi, who captured the magic of the old Stadium and all of its sights, smells, and sounds.
Sources
CHAPTER 1
“Fists that resembled a bunch of bananas”—Robert Bradford, Signature magazine, March 1973.
“On Saturday nights there, I remember”—Bob Verdi, Chicago Tribune Magazine, 11-20-77.
“I loved morning Sunday school”—Paul King, Canadian magazine (Toronto Star insert), 12-11-71.
“Where the rats hung out”—Magnuson and Bradford, pp. 63–64.
“A person’s toughness must come from somewhere”—ibid., p. 47.
“There was a potbellied stove in the middle”—Dave Feschuk, Toronto Star, 12-21-03.
“Keith always had a checklist”—Dan Ralph, Toronto Star, 12-17-03.
“To my little friend, Keith—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 43.
“Because I was big when I was little”—ibid., p. 72.
“We don’t want any farm boys”—ibid., p. 73.
“His ears stuck way out from his helmet”—ibid., p. 75.
“I remember this little redhead”—Dave Feschuk, Toronto Star, 12-21-03.
“He would always try to hit me in the corners”—Cliff Koroll, interview with author, 9-2-12.
“We played on different teams”—Chicago Blackhawks Magazine, 11-12-08.
“He was a small kid”—Neil Milbert, Chicago Tribune, 12-17-03.
“I was Blades property”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 77.
“I’d cut two-by-fours”—ibid., p. 76.
“Juniors taught me the hard facts”—Schultz and Fischler, p. 30.
“There was no letter of intent”—Jim Wiste, interview with author, 9-5-12.
CHAPTER 2
“I wanted to become a hockey player”—Dan Moulton, The Sporting News, 12-19-70.
“Armstrong ran practices under NHL rules”—Norman MacLean, The Sporting News, 2-7-70.
“We often practiced from 1:00-4:30 pm for several days at a time”—Jim Wiste, interview with author, 9-5-12.
“I remember our freshman games”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 91.
“By the way, Joe, the car’s almost fixed”—ibid., p. 96.
“You know, if you play it right”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 106–107.
“Maggie was very gullible at times”—Cliff Koroll, interview with author, 9-2-12.
“He would always screw up the punchline of jokes”—Dan Ralph, Toronto Star, 12-17-03.
“Jimmy, I’ve just hit six races in a row”—Jim Wiste, interview with author, 9-5-12.
“Maggie, can you eat 25 hard-boiled eggs?”—ibid.
“In a game against Air Force Academy”—Cliff Koroll, interview with author, 9-2-12.
“You never, ever worried about Keith being ready to play”—Adrian Dater, Denver Post, 12-17-03.
“It appears, Magnuson”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 125.
“Sure it got monotonous”—ibid., p. 127.
“That really bugged me”—Canadian magazine (Toronto Star insert), Paul King, 12-11-71.
“A lot of times I’d be down to my last quarter”—Bob Verdi, Chicago Tribune Magazine, 11-20-77.
“Harry still felt that one hole remained in my training”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 129.
“Wait ’til you get to Chicago”—ibid., p. 130.
“We’d get a bucket of pucks”—New York Times wire services, 4-3-71.
“We walked in Gate 3½ and stood by the opening”—Mike Spellman, Arlington Heights (IL) Daily Herald, 12-21-03.
“Keith Magnuson is a defenseman from Denver University”—Ted Damata, Chicago Tribune, 9-15-69.
“Be the best of them all”—ibid.
“Though I was still a naïve, gullible, red-haired western Canadian kid”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 2.
“Dad always said that if you work for something”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 8.
CHAPTER 3
“Here Come the Hawks”—Barry Rozner, Arlington Heights (IL) Daily Herald, 12-17-03.
“Right from our first exhibition game”—Mikita and Verdi, p. 114.
“Most guys skate rather easily at the start of practice”—ibid.
“After watching him for two days”—Stan Mikita, interview with author, 1-5-13.
“Talk about spirit—have you watched that Magnuson”—Bob Strumm, Saskatoon Star Phoenix, 10-17-69.
“Some of our best friends”—Cliff Koroll, interview with author, 9-5-12.
“When we hung our elbow pads and shin pads up”—Peter Marsh, interview with author, 10-29-12.
“When I was a rookie with Vancouver, it was an intimidating place to play”—Dale Tallon, interview with author, 11-2-12.
“Adjacent to the dressing room was a lounge”—Cliff Koroll, interview with author, 9-5-12.
“As soon as we came up the stairs”—Peter Marsh, interview with author, 10-29-12.
“With his fire-engine red hair flapping in the breeze”—Chuck O’Donnell, Hockey Digest, December 1996.
“His weight is forward, stance wide for balance”—Robert Bradford, Signature magazine, March 1973.
“We all file up that long, dark basement stairwell”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 149.
“That building was a small structure with brick walls”—Pat Foley, interview with author, 10-19-12.
“I have been all over North America and Europe”—Bobby Hull, interview with author, 12-17-12.
“You can never be sure about players”—Dan Moulton, The Sporting News, 12-19-70.
“All of a sudden the puck became invisible”—Schultz and Fischler, p. 204.
“One of the bitterest cases of player-management friction”—Gary Ronberg, Sports Illustrated, 11-3-69.
“He asked me if there was anything he could be doing better”—Stan Mikita, interview with author, 1-5-13.
“Magnuson, the young pugnacious Hawks defenseman”—Ted Damata, Chicago Tribune, 11-22-69.
“I must say it was the worst beating I ever saw a player get”—Cheevers and Frayne, p. 65.
“Fighters are there to keep the peace”—Bernstein, pp. 32–33.
“If a guy like Gordie Howe”—ibid., p. 35.
“I stopped mouthing off to referees”—Mikita and Verdi, p. 82.
“I guarantee you, if you had placed a wager”—ibid
., p. 83.
“Howe cuffed Magnuson’s ears and turned away”—Mark Mulvoy and Gary Ronberg, Sports Illustrated, 4-6-70.
“Right in my face”—Bob Verdi, Blackhawks.NHL.com, “The Verdict: Brown Feels Truly Blessed,” 3-10-10.
“I just can’t hit a guy if he’s turned sideways”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 26.
“If a man goes down”—ibid., p. 32.
“Keith was not a bully”—Bobby Hull, interview with author, 12-17-12.
“To me, blood doesn’t mean anything”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 26.
“There’s nobody who can quite hit like him”—ibid., p. 13.
“He could skate backward like the wind”—D. Hull, p. 70.
“Practice was at 10:00 a.m.”—ibid., p. 67.
“Whitey always steps on the ice with just a few seconds left”—Magnuson and Bradford, p. 161.
“Without out a doubt he was the No. 1 practical joker”—D. Hull, p. 83.
“At least Bill got his skates back just before the game”—Bob Verdi, Chicago Blackhawks.NHL.com, “The Verdict: Bill White Was a Defensive Stalwart, Prankster,” 12-22-10.
Keith Magnuson Page 25