Hockey Towns

by Ron MacLean

  Digging with a snow shovel was not working. All they managed to do was scrape through the top layer of the ground. Leaving the officers tied up, Hutchison and Ambrose drove into Moncton and, at about 8 a.m., as soon as Lockhart’s Hardware at Mountain Road and MacBeath opened, they went in and bought picks and spades. The clerk found that odd. In December, why would you want to dig?

  What Hutchison and Ambrose didn’t realize was that a hunter and his brother-in-law had rabbit snares located all around the trees where Aurèle and Mike were tied up. Every day that week, they’d been out checking them but had had no luck. Friday morning, the hunter looked out at the frost-covered trees and decided to wait until Monday before checking them again. It was too cold for rabbits.

  Aurèle and Mike were tied up less than a kilometre from a small community of about seven to ten homes. Around seven thirty that morning, some of the children were standing on the side of the road near their houses, waiting for the school bus. They heard somebody yelling for help. After several hollers, one of them went inside to get his mother. She came out and listened, but there was only silence. And so she thought it was just kids playing.

  Meanwhile, someone was pounding on Nick LeBlanc’s door. It was one of his co-workers, another policeman. “Nick! You’d better come in!”

  Nick was grumpy. He’d been planning to sleep in and then get up and have a leisurely breakfast. “This is my goddamn day off,” he said.

  The officer shook his head. “Cy Stein’s young fellow was kidnapped, and Mike and Aurèle booked off and are missing!”

  “Holy jeez, give me one minute.” He got dressed and headed over to join some other police to look for them by the school on Coverdale Road. They searched both sides of the road but came up empty. Back at the station, Nick and another guy came up with a plan. “Let’s get on the radio. Dave Lockhart has a talk show at nine o’clock. We’ll ask him to put on the air if anybody’s seen a dark blue Plymouth parked in an unusual place to please call the police station. We don’t have to say why.”

  Around 9:10, a listener called in, saying there was a dark blue Plymouth parked at the old railway station in Salisbury, about twenty kilometres west of Moncton. Nick and John Miller and Dale Swansburg, two RCMP officers, went together to investigate. Nick thought a lot of John and Dale. Dale was quiet but deep, and John was a drug man, very intelligent. They reached the car and waited for a private helicopter sent by a local company to land with the keys.

  Mike O’Leary’s brother Blake, another good policeman, waited with them. As they went to open the trunk, Nick said, “Blake, you’d better move back and I’ll let you know.”

  Blake said okay and walked back about fifty feet. Miller opened the trunk and found pieces of yellow fisherman’s rope, all cut up. They studied it a moment and then put the trunk down. Nick looked at John and Dale and said, “Listen, I don’t know about you guys, but I haven’t got a goddamn clue about what we do here now.”

  Dale sucked on his pipe for a moment and then said, “I’ve got an idea.” They all agreed to meet at the station to discuss it. Dale and John got into their RCMP vehicle and drove back toward Moncton up the Old Fredericton Road and then turned onto the Trans-Canada Highway.

  Just past a trailer park on their way in to Moncton, driving in the other direction, was Ricky Ambrose in the Cadillac. Neither officer had been told a Cadillac was involved in the kidnapping. All they knew was it was a big car, but John Miller recognized Ambrose—he was a scumbag.

  He said, “Let’s pull him over.”

  Dale said, “No, no, we haven’t got time to fool around with Ambrose.”

  But John had a feeling in his gut, and good police will go with a gut feeling over a computer any day. “He might know something.” Dale nodded and turned the car around.

  They pulled Ambrose over and got him out of the car. A quick search pulled up Chuck Kenny’s car keys, $5,500 of the marked ransom money and a pair of blood-stained gloves.

  They took him back to the station, where he was questioned. At first, he refused to talk, but they sent for his dad, Ernie, who was a local bootlegger. Ernie was a pretty hard man himself. He went upstairs to talk to his son, and when he came back down, Ernie had tears running down his cheeks. He looked at the policemen there and said, “Those no-good sons of whores killed them.”

  Later, when they questioned Richard Ambrose further about the whereabouts of Aurèle and Mike, he said, “Don’t worry about them, they’re gone.”

  Geneviève Bourgeois had been married to her husband Aurèle for twenty-four years, since she was eighteen. He proposed by writing her father a letter because her family didn’t have a phone. Aurèle was living in Ontario at the time and had come to Memramcook, where she lived, to see a friend. Like many New Brunswickers, they both spoke Chiac, a mixture of English and French.

  They met on a double date—Aurèle’s friend came to take her out, and he was with another girl. The next day, Aurèle dropped by and asked her out, and that’s how their romance started.

  When they were newlyweds, Geneviève moved with Aurèle to Toronto, where he worked in construction. His brother was a policeman in Montreal, and that’s what he wanted to do too, but he and Genevieve planned to have a family, and Aurèle thought that to be on a big-city police force was too dangerous a job. So they moved home to Moncton. With only about 40,000 people, it was a nice-sized place to live in, quiet and safe.

  Eighteen years later, Aurèle was working the night shift. At about 11:30 p.m Genevieve gave him a kiss and said goodnight, and when the kids got up the next morning she fed them and sent them off to school. She was cleaning up when two officers came to the door and told her Aurèle and Mike O’Leary were missing.

  Her first thought was to protect her kids from hearing about it from their friends, but she didn’t drive. Guy was only eleven, so the officers went to get him and Charlie from class. Geneviève called their priest, and he went to fetch Patricia from business college. Joanne was twenty-two and married to police officer Paul Deroche. They had a twenty-month-old baby named Chantal. The kids came over and so did Geneviève’s sisters, brothers and in-laws.

  They had the radio and TV turned on so they could monitor the news. Joanne’s husband, Paul, was with the search party, so he reported in every couple of hours. Everyone was hopeful. Surely the kidnappers would not kill police. Aurèle and Mike must be locked up somewhere.

  Genevieve’s friends arrived and took over the kitchen, and the children’s friends came over too. Aurèle had bought a house next door to a public skating rink and he’d built a smaller rink in their backyard. Charlie and his friends would go out and skate for a while and then come in for updates, but the youngest, Guy, stayed close to his mother.

  All day Friday, they searched for the officers, concentrating on the Riverview side of the river, where the money had been dropped off. The whole city got involved. Mayor Wheeler met with the chief, along with the Local 490 of the Moncton Police Association. They posted a five-thousand-dollar reward for information on the whereabouts of Aurèle and Mike. The Moncton paper reported, “Raiding parties staged lightening [sic] swoops at several points at dusk and this city of 58,000 looked more like Montreal during the 1970 kidnap crisis. Police cruisers blocked off all areas where raids were staged. Officers were tired, tense and determined.”

  Geneviève got the kids to bed and sat with her sisters. They were staying the night. They talked for a little while and then they sent Geneviève to bed. They knew how tired she was. She had been so strong all day. Determined not to show the kids how worried she was, she hadn’t shed a tear. But alone in bed, when she ran her hand over the cold, empty sheet beside her, she wept.

  On Saturday, as soon as it was light out, the search parties picked up where they left off. Midafternoon, a guy named Buzz Casey who owned a small convenience store on Pacific Avenue walked into the police station and slammed $20 onto the front desk. “That’s for the policemen’s kids,” he said.

  Geneviève awoke
with hope. She was sure that Aurèle would soon be found. Their parish priest had returned to the house and he led intermittent prayers, beseeching God for Aurèle and Michael’s speedy and safe return.

  As Paul joined the search again, Joanne brought little Chantal over. Everyone doted on the baby. She was adorable, and they all adored her. For Geneviève, the little girl was a godsend. Without Chantal there to distract her, she thought she might go mad.

  Later that evening, at about 5:10 as it was getting dark, an old hermit named Mr. Fontaine called in. He’d been cutting Christmas trees when he came across a bit of paper. It was a piece of Aurèle Bourgeois’s driver’s licence. Mr. Fontaine said he found it about thirty-five kilometres from Moncton, beside a covered bridge over the Shediac River. It was an area across the river from where they had been searching. So the search party moved to the site and found a pick and shovel, but it got too dark, so they cordoned off the entire area and postponed the search until Sunday morning.

  Later, it was discovered that both Aurèle and Mike O’Leary had been leaving bread crumbs. Aurèle ripped up his licence and dropped pieces along the ground as they were led into the woods. A year later to the day, Don Larson, one of the policemen and the trial’s exhibit man, walked down the trail and noticed something shiny. He scooped it up and saw that it was Mike O’Leary’s wedding band. It had “Mike and Carol Anne” engraved on the inside.

  At about nine o’clock on Sunday morning, they found the officers’ revolvers and a radio downstream in the river. And under the covered bridge they found the two points where ground had been disturbed when Ambrose and Hutchison tried to dig with snow shovels. Around noon, two freshly dug shallow graves covered in light snow were found near some spruce trees. They were about ten feet apart. The men carefully uncovered Aurèle and Mike. Both were face down with a handcuff dangling from one wrist.

  At the trial, the pathologist testified that there was dirt in Aurèle’s lungs, which indicates that he must have still been breathing when he was buried. Each had been shot in the back of the head with the other’s revolver, which told the police that Ambrose had shot one officer and Hutchison the other.

  Charlie and his three best friends were playing shinny in the backyard when the police cars pulled up. He saw his brother-in-law get out and walk toward him. He could see Paul’s face and knew it was not good news. He followed Paul into the house, where his mother and the others were sitting at the table, eating lunch. Paul told them as gently as he could that they had found the bodies of both Aurèle and Mike. They all fell into each other’s arms. Charlie closed his eyes and began tumbling down a long, dark, deep tunnel. He had lost not only his father but also his best friend.

  Hutchison gave himself up at eleven fifteen that night, and in March 1975 the New Brunswick Supreme Court found both men guilty of first-degree murder. On June 13, 1975, they were sentenced to hang. Both men appealed, but in July 1976, the Supreme Court of Canada upheld their convictions. Two days later, Canada abolished the death penalty and their sentences were commuted to life.

  For a while, Charlie couldn’t bring himself to skate on the backyard rink without Aurèle there. He was a quiet kid, but his heart was filled with anger, bitterness and fear. It was a difficult time. Geneviève could see him suffering, but he would not open up to her. Charlie was planning to play hockey for the Aigles Bleus (Blue Eagles) at the University of Moncton. Geneviève called up their head coach, Jean Perron, who would later go on to coach the Canadiens. She said, “Mr. Perron, would you talk to Charlie? His world has been destroyed.” Coach Perron showed up, but when he began speaking, Charlie left the room. He walked up to his bedroom and quietly closed the door.

  Geneviève continued to encourage Charlie to return to the ice. She thought it would be good for him to rediscover the joy of playing hockey. In his own way, Charlie listened, and one day he found himself back on the outdoor rink his dad had built. He felt Aurèle watching him again and his father’s love lifted him up.

  Charlie went to university in Moncton, and at the 1981 Canadian university hockey championships in Calgary, where the rugged defenceman helped lead his team to victory, he was scouted by the Calgary Flames. He called Geneviève, and outwardly she shared in his happiness, but in secret, the idea of losing him to somewhere out West broke her heart. She cried for two days.

  On a Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks after the Flames lost against Vancouver in the 1981–82 Clarence Campbell Conference final, Nick LeBlanc’s oldest daughter, Louane, called to him, “Hey Dad, there’s a red Corvette in our driveway.”

  Nick said, “Oh, it’s probably just somebody turning around.”

  She looked out the window and said, “Oh no. God! It’s Boo-Boo.” Charlie had bought a new car. Nick walked out to meet him. Charlie reached into the car, pulled out a stick and handed it to him. Written on the blade was, “To Nick. A guy that works so hard in the background so guys like us can have fun playing a game.” It was signed by Charlie, Lanny McDonald and the entire Calgary team.

  Photo Section

  Babcock and the 1993–1994 University of Lethbridge Pronghorns, who were national champions. Mike told me that the most important thing is that the player leaves with more respect for the game than he had when he arrived. COURTESY UNIVERSITY OF LETHBRIDGE ARCHIVES

  Pronghorns players John Curran, Trevor Ellerman, Colin Baustad and Corey Hastman. Ellerman said that when the team first started winning, Babcock was happy, but he wasn’t satisfied. COURTESY TREVOR ELLERMAN

  Trevor Keeper, coach of the Red Deer College Kings, March 2014. When he was a young coach and high school teacher, Trevor met Mike Babcock to talk about assisting him with the Pronghorns, but he had no idea what he was getting into. COURTESY TONY HANSEN

  Regarding Sochi 2014, Babcock told me he likened going to Russia to sending your kids off to university. In surroundings where it was easy to get derailed, Babcock created an environment within the team of looking out for and protecting one another. This photo was taken at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. STEVE RUSSELL/GETTY IMAGES

  Gerry James played for the Leafs and Blue Bombers simultaneously. When he was injured while playing hockey, his football teammates stopped passing him the ball and were surprised when he caught it. HOCKEY HALL OF FAME

  When Gerry was invited to try out for the Bombers, he couldn’t believe it. He’d only played high school football. WINNIPEG FREE PRESS

  With Lanny McDonald in Fort McMurray, Alberta. It takes Canada’s finest moustache to cover the greatest smile. Lanny makes everyone and every event better. ROGERS MEDIA

  Brantt Myhres and sister, Cher. Brantt said that as a ten-year-old boy watching HNIC, he admired Dave Brown, Tony Twist and Bob Probert, but until he landed in the WHL, he never fully understood what their jobs meant. COURTESY BRANTT MYHRES

  Brantt Myhres with the Atlanta Knights circa 1993. Brantt made it to the Show but struck out five times, leading to a lifetime ban. Today he’s eight years sober and running Greater Strides Hockey Academy in Edmonton. CUNNINGHAM/HOCKEY HALL OF FAME

  With Chicago, Bobby Hull scores his 600th goal—on Gerry Cheevers. Mike Walton is shot blocking. Gerry and Mike “Shaky” Walton were roommates on the road in the early ’70s. ASSOCIATED PRESS

  Gerry Cheevers, May 20, 1978. Gerry was known for his mask, but he says he was more attached to his glove. ASSOCIATED PRESS

  This game of shinny and a visit to Science North was a highlight. In Sudbury, kids are born wearing skates. RGERS MEDIA

  Big Zee and Little Zee circa 1989. Big Zee took his son everywhere—baseball, hockey, roller hockey. Whatever it was, he was by Little Zee’s side. COURTESY THE KONOPKA FAMILY

  Big Zee, Arlene, Cynthia and Little Zee at Celeste’s first communion. The family was really proud of their Polish heritage. COURTESY THE KONOPKA FAMILY

  Zenon using his childhood boxing lessons on Dale Weise. ASSOCIATED PRESS

  Steve Bozek with the Northern Michigan University Wildcats circa 1980. COURTESY CENTRAL UPPER PEN
INSULA AND NORTHERN MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY ARCHIVES

  The Castlegar boys were the nucleus of the Northern Michigan University Wildcats in 1979–80: Gordie Pace (top row, third from left), Bruce Martin (top row, fifth from right), David Kanigan (top row, fourth from right), Brian Verigin (centre row, seventh from left), Steve Bozek (centre row, sixth from left) and coach Rick Comely (centre row, first from right). COURTESY CENTRAL UPPER PENINSULA AND NORTHERN MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY ARCHIVES

  Coach Terry Crisp circa 1980, nine years before his Stanley Cup win. COURTESY TERRY CRISP

  The Hound Line. Gary Leeman, Russ Courtnall and Wendel Clark revived the Leafs in the mid-eighties. They were a joy to be around. FRANK LENNON/GETTY IMAGES

  This photo of Russ is very fitting. Anyone who saw him play knows he had an extra gear! FRANK LENNON/GETTY IMAGES

  Père Athol Murray at Duncan McNeill Arena in Wilcox, Saskatchewan, 1968. COURTESY ATHOL MURRAY COLLEGE OF NOTRE DAME

  Acknowledgements

  Ron and Kirstie would like to thank two writers who worked with us, Kaitlyn Kanygin for her tireless research and writing assistance and Julie Folk Woldu for her files and writing on the Bill Hicke, Doug Wickenheiser and Jordan Eberle stories.

  A special thank you to Cari MacLean for her unwavering support and guidance.

  Thanks to our hard-working researchers, transcribers and facilitators from www.pyramidproductions.tv, headed up by production manager Steve McLellan—Conor Samphire, Alex Sinclair, Cory Jones and Evan Adlington.