Chapter 46: Sleepy Time Down South

Sleepy Time Down South

Well, kiss my grits!  What do Spanish moss, boiled peanuts, bugs the size of small house pets and southern cooking have to do with ice hockey?  Not much, other than me, I suppose.  I have to be the only hockey player to ever come out of the small town of Bonifay, Florida, a tiny hamlet located in the middle of the Florida panhandle.  It was a great place to grow up.  We were the only Jewish family in this small, admittedly, red-neck town.  People found us a curiosity and were most kind and friendly.  

I mentioned this earlier, but after moving to Connecticut and discovering the great game of hockey in my early teen years, I became a big fan of our local minor pro team, the Eastern Hockey League(EHL)’s New Haven Blades.  Old time hockey at it’s best.  Blake Ball, Gunner Garrett, Dave Hainsworth, John Brophy, Murray Kuntz.  These were real men.  Giants upon which to idolize and to devote my every waking moment.  They were gods to us. I ate, slept and dreamed about the fights, the goals, the hits…such a colorful sport with blood and ice, tape, pucks, splintered sticks.  Silver blades and brown leather boots.  There was a sense of watching true gladiators fighting till the death.  My neighbors, Mike McDermott or Mark Steinberg and I would go to games whenever we got the chance.  The next day when skating on the lake, I would always have an extra jump in my step.  Some of the excitement and energy from the previous night's game got into my blood and made me better than I was.  I loved it.

What does this have to do with Florida?  Not much.  Here I was a Bonifay boy who had recently managed to get rid of the northern Florida, southern drawl I’d learned from birth.  I was able to eliminate; y’all, I reckon and ain’t, from my vocabulary.  At the same time I was able to avoid taking on the lingo of my new environs.  I never said, “youse guys!”, even though my new junior high school had a name that sounded more like an Italian restaurant than an educational institution.  Gianotti Junior High…Proudly in our hearts you lie!.  They made great ravioli for lunch.  Every Friday meant fish sticks in honor of the large Italian and Irish Catholic student body and local populace.  Zuppardi’s Apizza was two blocks away.  

I had quickly found and fallen in love with hockey.  As a player and a fan.  To me, this was an entire new world.  I had been deeply and profoundly angry with my father for ripping me from the bosom of my childhood. I was forced to leave all my friends behind.  I lost my place in the world.  It was a wonderful and comfortable place.  Now, I was dealing with acne, shaving and all the awkwardness of adolescence.  Hockey was my salvation.

I never gave it much thought, but I just assumed hockey existed only where there was cold weather and ice…Connecticut, New England, Canada, Minnesota…Russia and Scandanavia.  It wasn’t until years later that I learned that there was indeed pro, or at least semi-pro hockey in the south as well.

One night skating, as an adult in San Diego at my Thursday night pick group, the old pro's, I found myself sitting next to one of my childhood heroes.  I heard the name Rouleau.  I wrote about this encounter in a previous chapter.  Michel Rouleau was one of my favorite pure hockey players for the Blades. I hadn’t heard nor thought of him in many years.  Yet there he was one of my childhood heroes sitting next to me on the bench at the San Diego Ice Arena in Mira Mesa.  Bald, pudgy, nowhere near the player I once considered a deity.  But there we were.  Nearly equal.  He was 50, I was 39.  He had been slowed down by age, me by injury.  We chatted.  I asked and he went on to rattle off four or five NHL teams he said he’d played for.  I checked hockeydb.com and learned he never played in the NHL.  The WHA...yes but, not the NHL.  Once your idol becomes human, what harm can a small fib cause?

I went home and dug out my box of hockey memorabilia.  I had all my old articles and pictures from my playing days at West Haven High and Uconn.  I had professional programs I’d collected from NY Rangers, Hartford Whalers and New Haven Blades games I had attended.  In the box was an old Blade's program.  It was ripped and torn. but mostly intact.  On it was Michel Rouleau’s autograph.  Pretty cool.  I flipped it over and on the back was a listing of the league standings.  There, were the Blades, the Clinton Comets and the Long Island Ducks, along with the New Jersey Devils, Syracuse Blazers and Johnstown Jets.  But then there was a southern division.  I’d never noticed this.  There were teams in Knoxville, Roanoke, Charlotte, Nashville and even St. Petersberg, Fla.  The one that surprised me the most however was the Jacksonville Rockets.  Ice hockey in the Florida Panhandle…in the 1960s? Who knew?

Of course with the NHL expansion hockey found its way all over the USA and then with the huge trade that sent Wayne Gretzky to Los Angeles the sport exploded all across the sunbelt.  

Having had my second life with hockey as a player, dad, coach, ref and fan, all as a resident of Southern California, I’ve enjoyed watching the quality, quantity and level of play increase. It's to a point where it is not uncommon to see Cali kids playing in the NHL as well as through all levels of college, junior hockey and prep schools.  They are right there along with the Canadians, New Englanders, Minnesotans as well as with the Czechs, Swedes, Russians and Fins.  

I’m most proud of having watched and been a part of the development of many of these Socal kids.  But the same thing was happening in Phoenix, Vegas, Texas and Florida, all through the south.

One such player we knew had just moved to San Diego from Florida.  In an earlier chapter I told the story of our miracle peewee year with the La Jolla Jaguars.  One of the best players on that team was a youngster named Rory Hansen. This was a solid team, with the likes of Chad Ruhwedel(now with the Rochester Amerks and Buffalo Sabres) and Jon Parker, also with Rochester.  My son was on this team along with many other fine young players.  Greg Park recently became the all time scoring leader for Northern Arizona University.  There were only twelve skaters.  Coach Joe Noris liked it that way.  

The fact that my son, and Rory Hansen, ended up on the Jaguars was a fluke.  Both were destined to sign with the San Diego Jr. Gulls but as fate had it, the tryouts there went awry and I decided to take my son over to the Jaguars.  I encouraged Rory’s dad, Dan, to come with me and both of our sons ended up playing for and helping the Jags overcome all odds and win the California State Peewee championship that season.

The Hansens were transplants to San Diego, from Florida.  Dan was in the Coast Guard and had been transferred to San Diego.  Midway through the season the Hansen’s had to miss an important weekend with the Jaguars.  Unfortunately, one of Rory’s grandparents passed away and they had to go back to Florida for the funeral.

We lost an important game that weekend.  

CAHA, the governing body for California youth hockey had some very strict rules.  Violating any of these regulations could result in suspension of an offending player or even disqualification of the team.  I mention this because some time later I learned that Rory had actually skipped out to go back to Atlanta for a tournament with his old Florida team.  No death in the family.  How many fake grandpa deaths have occurred in the name of weekend hockey tournaments? How many more have to die?

Today, hockey players coming out of the south is no big deal.  However, I'm pretty sure I'm still the one and only to ever hail from Bonifay, Fla.  I checked and the closest rink to Bonifay is in Tallahassee.  That's only about an hour and a half away.  Easily in range for a devoted player and hockey dad.  But I suspect they are still focused on football, baseball and basketball. 

Chapter 45: The Iceman Cometh

It's been an eventful week here in Connecticut. I finally got to my parents home at 3am. The funeral went smoothly.  It was humbling and enlightening to see how loved my dad was; by his friends, family, neighbors, fishing buddies and fellow musicians. I prepared a speech. I was not particularly sad or emotional about losing my father.  He was not very happy being ill and I know he wanted to go. So I was in pretty good shape knowing he was no longer suffering.  

That was until I stood up to deliver my talk right after my mother spoke. I was a blubbering fool. I had no idea where that came from. My speech include jokes and some funny stories so I had people laughing and crying.  

This story was relayed via email by one of my dad’s fishing friends.  I included it in my talk.  People were doubling over in their seats picturing this:

Red Balaban-Old Man and the Sea

 I always enjoyed fishing with " Red " when he was in Florida. He once hooked into a large Cobia and fought it so hard that his pants fell off . He continued to fight the large fish in his underwear until he finally landed it. By that time his underwear were around his knees and all enjoyed watching his bare ass as he got his prized fish into the boat. I laughed until I was blue in the face. He was a great man who I will truly miss.

If you happen to be fan of jazz, dixieland or otherwise, here are a few links about my dad and his impact on the genre:

Here
Here
Here
and
Here

It was great to see some of my high school hockey buddies and even my high school sweetheart at the service. My cousin, Bob Balaban was there as well as Ted Kennedy Jr. I rented a car for my son and he drove eight hours each way to get to say farewell to his Papa. 

Max and Bob Balaban

Ice on Phipps setting up for a perfect freeze

The day of the funeral the ice and snow on the lake was wet and melting.  We'd just had the big snow storm that covered the northeast. Now the temperature shot up to the high 40s with rain. 

We are not a religious family, but my mom wanted to “sit shiva” so we did that.  I was talking to one of our guests at this occasion.  A fellow named Joel Schiavone.  In one of my very early chapters of this saga I mentioned my introduction to the game of hockey started with my next door neighbor who played for a peewee team at the New Haven Arena named the Schiavone Scrappers.  Joel Schiavone is a dixieland jazz musician, associate and long time friend of my father’s.  I’d known of him for nearly 50 years.  I never knew he was involved with hockey.  At the Shiva I asked him if he was related to the Schiavone’s scrap business which sponsored the peewee team way back when.  He said he was.  He then told me my father had told him my story.

Schiavone Scrappers 1967

I thought I was talking to a nice older jazz man who may have had some familiarity with hockey.  He then told me he’d owned the AHL New Haven Nighthawks.  I couldn’t believe I’d known of this man for all those years and my dad never mentioned he owned a pro hockey team.  The things you learn!  I showed Joel this picture and he got a big kick out of it.

By Monday the “Polar Vortex” came blasting in.  I could tell the lake was setting up for perfect black ice on the lake. I predicted the ice would be ready by morning.

As good as it gets

I, however, would miss out on it because I had a 7:00 am flight up to Buffalo to watch my son's team play Fredonia for their first game after the winter break. I was excited to see Max play defense. 

My original plan was to fly to Buffalo, catch the game and then hang out there until Friday when they would be back to play Buffalo State. Then I would hop on the team bus back to Elmira where the would face Geneseo on Saturday. I would then fly back to San Diego on Sunday out of Elmira. 

I started thinking about what I would do in Buffalo for three days by myself.  I decided to ask my mother if she would like me to come back on Wednesday so I could help her get some affairs in order. She thought it was a great idea.  So I kept my Tuesday flight to Buffalo and my Sunday flight to San Diego and I added a round trip flight back to New Haven on Wednesday and back again to Buffalo on Friday morning. 

I've mentioned before but I have one messed up spine, so all this travel is a killer. 

To recap: New Haven to Buffalo. Buffalo to New Haven. New Haven to Buffalo.  Bus trip from Buffalo to Elmira. Fly from Elmira to San Diego. Every flight includes a stop in Philly. 

I wake up at 5:30 Tuesday to drive myself in my dad's car to the airport in New Haven. I was planning on leaving the car at long term parking and picking it up the next day when I returned. 

Did I mention it was cold. Below zero with nasty winds. Did I mention my dad’s 1995 Dodge neon is a death trap?  I got to the airport and parked.  I had to walk about 1/4 mile in the the bitter cold to the tiny terminal at Tweed-New Haven.  When I was about 50 yards from the door I had to break into a what I generously call a run because my face was killing me…(I know, it was killing you too). Actually what I call a run is really more of a shuffle. It was way too cold for any animal life.

Once I checked in for my flight I got a call from USair telling me my connecting flight from Philly to Buffalo was cancelled.  Damn.  What now? I needed to get out of Connecticut.  I’d had enough.  I was not going to miss my son’s game.  My mind raced. I’m a pretty good problem solver, especially when it comes to travel problems.  I will find a way.

Hmm.  I had my dad’s rolling wheels of death.  I could chance it and drive it to Buffalo.  How far would that be?  7 hours.  A. That would kill my back.  B. That’s a long freaking drive.  But hey, I was determined to see Max play.  I was going to go for it.  I spent an hour on the phone trying to get refunded for my travel.  That was a mess, but I finally got it done.  Then I headed back to the parking lot to retrieve the car.  Again, through the bitter cold, I made my way.  I got to the lot only to see a sign that said to pay for parking inside…so I turn around and fought the biting wind once more.  There was no one at the terminal to take my payment.  The vending machines were out of order.  I found a time stamp machine behind the counter and helped myself to it.  Success?  Back again to the lot, I got in my car and pulled up to the exit.  I inserted my ticket in the machine where it was promptly eaten.  OK, let’s go! But that didn’t happen.  The arm did not raise, so I couldn’t get out.  I scouted the area and thought the Neon should be able to squeeze through the small gap between the post and a fense, which it did…so I was on my way.

Great, seven hours in a car that probably hadn’t had an oil change in quite a while in sub-zero weather.  Then I realized that the wiper fluid was empty…On my last visit I discovered this and I bought a jug of the stuff.  After I poured it into the washer fluid reservoir cap I watched every last drop leak out from under the vehicle. A hole in the reservoir.  

I started thinking this drive might not be such a good idea.  I searched for a car rental office on my phone and realized my hands were almost numb.  The car had no heat.  I surely would have died.  So I headed for the nearest Alamo office.  I got there and started the rental process but I texted Max and his coach to make sure the game was still happening.  

I also put out a request on the USCHO.com forum for anyone to let me know if they knew anything.

No one got back to me, so I proceeded.  I had not quite completed the transaction when the agent went out to warm up the car for me.  By the time he returned the coach had gotten back to me to let me know the game had indeed been called off.  Later I got a nice phone call from "joecct" from the USCHO forum also letting me know the game had been canceled and not to take the drive.

Back to West Haven.  Back to my parent’s home on the lake where I’d grown up, where I first skated and fell in love with hockey. The ice was amazing..I don’t think I’d ever seen it more perfect.  Again, my back prevents me from doing what I love the most.  I can barely even reach my feet to tie my skates…but the ice was so beautiful.  I knew I would pay for it, but I had to give it a whirl.  I headed to Whitie Bensen’s.  The oldest and arguably best hockey store in Connecticut, maybe New England and possibly the universe is about 3 minutes from the house.

Take your pick

I walked in and Kyle Bensen said to have at it…take whatever I needed.  I grabbed a pair of 8 1/2 Bauer Vapor XXs, some gloves, he let me use a West Haven High hockey beanie, gave me the longest heaviest Sherwood wooden stick I’ve ever lifted and 4 pucks.  He also gave me a pair of skate guards so I could put the skates on in my living room and walk across the stone patio down to the lake.  

Brother and sister

What I lived for as a kid

No words

Painful, and stupid, but worth it.  I was in heaven.  I skated alone.  Then with my sister.  Then my old high school buddy, Dave Hansen and his two sons, Austin and Ryan.  There was Conor Crouse, grandson of my high school hockey coach, the legendary Art Crouse.  The ice was spectacular.  Never better.  We skated to the far end of the lake watching and listening the scary but harmless freezing cracks beneath our feet.

I even inserted myself into the shinny game.  I was horrible. The stick was too heavy to be able to control the puck. My feet did very little of what my ego thought I should be able to do.  I was out there with college kids who could skate circles around me.  It was quite humbling.  I wanted so badly to tell them how good I used to be, what a legend(at least in my own mind) I am in West Haven hockey lore.  They wouldn’t care.  I was just some old fart who could barely skate as far as they were concerned but they were very kind to me.

Conor Crouse, Ryan Hansen and Dave Hansen

It took only minutes for me to realize that this was a bad idea.  I haven’t, can’t and shouldn’t partake in this kind of activity.  But I would not be denied. Even though I’m paying for it.  If there is such a thing as painful bliss, I just experienced it.  

Did I mention it was cold?

So, for three days there was this winter perfection.  The kind of ice we used to live for as kids.  And for the most part there was no one out there but me.  I went out each day a few times for a few minutes at a time.  I found it hard to fathom that no one was taking advantage of the beautiful, amazing  and rare phenomenon.  On the other hand, I would skate around thinking, this is all, just for me.  What a gift.  The people I mentioned only showed up for the last day or so of these three days.

Today I got up at 5:00 am, once more to catch a cab to the airport, to once again try to make my way back to Buffalo to watch my son play tonight.  Problem!  It was snowing. Crap.  Would my flight be canceled again.  Would I be stuck in West Haven again?  And now the great ice would now be covered with snow, so there goes that.  Besides, I’d returned my skates and gear back to Whitie Bensen’s last night.

Other than paying the price for my indiscretion by skating, with the ensuing pain, and the delays due to de-icing the planes in both New Haven and Philadelphia, I got to Buffalo without much of a hitch.  I landed, took a cab to Buff State, found a cute little coffee shop and bakery where I am hanging out until the game at 7pm tonight.  Did I mention pain?  I need a bed!

In the meantime, after all this, I get a text from my son telling me he’s not in the lineup tonight.  Great…sheesh.  I was obviously very sad about my father’s passing and the funeral, but this…this is hard to take.  I’m a hockey guy, what can I say?

Chapter 44: Dear Old Dad

Well, that was quick. I left Connecticut after taking care of my dad for two weeks, on the Sunday before Christmas day.  By the following Sunday morning he had passed away.  It wasn’t a surprise, but it was still something of a shock.  He was 84.  He’d been ailing for much of the year and ill for the past month.  I was with him at his weakest and most vulnerable.  It was a rare opportunity to spend such an intimate time with someone who I had not really been all that close with for much of my life.  

The past week has been filled with all of the details of wrapping up a life; funeral arrangements, sorting out affairs, contacting friends.  

I’m on a flight back from San Diego to Connecticut once again.   This is my sixth such trip in less than ten months.  Getting out of San Diego has been a grind.  A big snow storm has put a crimp in travel across the country.  My flight was originally scheduled for 6:30 am out of San Diego to Philadelphia with a stop in Phoenix and then a commuter flight up to New Haven.  I got to the airport only to wait until my flight was cancelled.  I was told that I would not be able to get to Connecticut until tomorrow.  I then pulled out the “my dad died and I’m trying to get to the funeral” card.  I told the lady I’m sure she hears lots of stories, but if there is anything she could do I’d appreciate it.  Eight hours later and I'm in first class on a direct flight to Philadelphia where I will have to then go to Hartford instead of New Haven.  Oh yeah, and a $200 limo ride down to West Haven at 2:00 am. 

I'm finally about to land in Hartford at about 1:30 am. Johnny "football" Manziel is on my flight. 

Tomorrow will involve dealing with the caterer and wrapping up details for Sunday's funeral. I'm sure my dad would be irked for scheduling his funeral right in the middle of the first round of the NFL playoffs. Go Chargers. 

I'm to give a talk at the service. I'm prepared.  We'll see if I hold up OK but I think I will. 

I rented my son a car. He's driving 8 hours each way.  He will miss practice on Sunday but be back to school in time for the Monday skate. It looks like he's stepped up for his team.  They've lost a few defenseman to injuries and his coaches have tried him out and apparently are pleased. 

I managed to turn my dad's funeral into an opportunity to get to watch my kid play hockey this next week. Tuesday I'll be flying up to Buffalo to catch a game against Fredonia.  Then I'll be there again on Friday to watch them play Buff State.  I'll be heading back to Elmira to watch the game against Geneseo before flying back to San Diego on Sunday. 

My dad was a fairly well known musician and band leader among the jazz crowd of the northeast.  We will be holding a more elaborate musical celebration of life event in Mid-February to honor him and have a good excuse for a party. And yes it will be another chance for me to get back to catch three or four more games. Elmira travels to Manhattenville for a pair of games that same weekend. M'ville normally plays their home games at play land Parkway in Rye, New York but due to damage from last year's hurricane Sandy they currently play in Stamford, CT, about a half hour from our home in West Haven. 

I will be back with an update after the funeral.

Chapter 43: Going Home

Where to start?

Winter break. Other than watching the L.A. Kings continue to have a solid season and a bit of local junior hockey, I’ve been out of the loop.  I booked my son’s flight back to San Diego for the semester recess.  He got back into town last Monday.  Unfortunately, I was called out of town unexpectedly before he arrived, to take care of an ailing parent.  So it turned out I was back in Connecticut when he got back to San Diego.

I’ve spent the past two full weeks being a twenty four hour a day nurse to my dad.  He’s 84, today.  We were not particularly close during most of my life, but after three trips back to help him in the past few months I've gotten to know him pretty well.  Suffice to say, hockey hasn’t been on my mind a whole lot during this time.

Our friend, Chad Ruhwedel got called back up to the Buffalo Sabres last week.  He’s been a healthy scratch for every game since he’s been back up from the AHL.  After watching three games from the press box they sent him back to Rochester.  

Black Ice!

I’m on my flight back to San Diego.  There is a Tilton hockey player on my flight.  I saw his hat and started up a conversation.  He’s a repeat senior and plans on spending one year at Tilton and then most likely a year of junior hockey.

Skates borrowed from Kyle at Whitie Bensen's

While at my folks house I got to watch the lake freeze the way it did back when I was a kid.  We had a couple of days of beautiful black ice but before it was safe to go on, it started snowing.  I visited Whitie Bensen’s and saw my old friend, Kyle Bensen.  This is the first Christmas at the store without Whitie.  I haven’t skated for four years, since my last back surgery.  Despite any pain I might need to endure, Kyle loaned me a pair of Bauers, a pair of gloves and a stick.

Used Skate Wall at Bensen's

I went home and waited for the ice to freeze enough to hold my weight.  Like I said, by the time it was safe the snow was coming down, so the beautiful black ice was now just a memory.   I struggled to bend enough to tie my skates, but I managed. I tiptoed on the blades out to the steps down to the ice.  I was walking on a stone patio and I didn’t want to nick the blades.  I got on the ice and shuffled around getting a feel for the ice.  Every stride came along with freezing cracks from my weight on the new ice. Being all alone on the lake and not sure if I would be falling through the ice at any moment was disconcerting.  I wasn’t able to stay out for long, but just the few moments of being able to feel the freedom of skating was pure joy for me.

Well, so much for black ice

While home, I looked into the West Haven High School hockey schedule.  I was able to make it their traditional season opening Jamboree.  It’s a mini showcase, round robin set of games.  Each game lasts only one period.  There are three teams, so each team plays two games.  West Haven played and tied Notre Dame of West Haven and beat New Fairfield Immaculate.  I ran into an old buddy and high school hockey teammate, Dave Hansen, at the games.  We caught up.  He told me something I did not know.  Dave was telling a story about our playing days and he was referring to what would have been my junior year at West Haven.  According to my memory I missed the entire season due to my spleen injury and surgery on the last day of the football season.  Dave swears I played on the hockey team that year.  I have zero recollection.  He told me he had a photo of me.  In the picture, he says he had just passed me the puck. We were playing perennial powerhouse, Hamden High.  I received his pass and one timed it, hitting the post.  He then told me the rebound came right back to me.  I shot and missed a wide open net.  We ended up beating Hamden 3-2. It was the first time anyone had beaten Hamden in years.  The bigger point is that I will have to do some digging and either write a new chapter or go back and rewrite the chapter where I claimed to have missed my entire junior season due to my football injury.  I still don’t remember a moment of that season.  I have spoken to other teammates and they do recall my being on the team but no one has any specifics.  In addition to Dave Hansen, I spoke to Dave Depew, Frank Longobardi and Mark DeGennaro.  I’ll be back at some point with an update on this.

Getting out of Connecticut was an ordeal.  This home care nursing was taxing.  Yesterday my sister and brother joined me in Connecticut to celebrate my dad’s birthday a day early.  As far as I knew, I was scheduled to fly out of New Haven last night at 6:30pm.  I was more than ready to go.  Taking care of an ill parent is one thing, but toss my mom, who is also 84 into the mix, and I had my hands full.  It’s best you not know how frantic things can get around the two of them.

Sunset on a melting Lake Phipps.  Setting up for the next freeze?

So, I was free at last. My sister drove me to the airport at the end of our time together yesterday.  She dropped me off and I went to the counter to check in, only to discover that I’d booked my flight for the next day, today instead of yesterday, as I thought I’d done.  Noooooooooo…..Another night thrown back into the soup.  I thought I was done.  I missed my wife.  I missed my dog and my kids.   I missed my life.  I just wanted to go home.  

I called home to let them in on my mistake.  The plan was then to have my sister and her husband come back to the airport in two cars, theirs and one of my parent’s.  That way I would be able to drive myself home and they could continue on their way back home to Rhode Island. My sister, Rachel had a party to stop at on the way and she invited me to come along.  I had been so cooped up with my parents that I jumped at the chance.  This was not just any party by the way.  It was at the home of one of Rachel’s best friends, Kiki, from college.  They both graduated from Brown University in 1980.  I last saw Kiki at Rachel’s wedding in 1986.  In the meantime, Kiki became a doctor, a psychiatrist at Yale New Haven.  She also married some guy named Ted Kennedy.

So I went to a Christmas Party at the home of Kiki and Ted Kennedy.  It was pretty cool.  Before I knew it, the party was over and it was just me, Rachel and her husband, John, with Ted and Kiki and one other friend of theirs.  At one point my sister mentioned something about having grown up on a farm in  the Florida panhandle.  Everyone seemed to be intrigued and started asking questions.  Somehow I ended up sharing our family’s history, including my grandfather’s background as a movie studio head back in early part of the last century.

Ted (yeah, I call him Ted, we are close like that) mentioned something that I was aware of but that had escaped me.  He mentioned that his grandfather(Joseph Kennedy) was also involved in the film business way back..

I realized in that moment that his grandfather and mine were probably what could be considered “bitter enemies”.  My grandfather was involved with Paramount Pictures in their early days.  These were difficult time for Paramount and they were facing a possible bankruptcy.  There was a proxy fight for control of the company and it was between one group led by Joe Kennedy and the other group which included my grandfather.  My grandfather’s side won the fight for control of the company and my grandfather was named president, a position he held for over thirty years.  He and Kennedy never spoke again.

Ted pulled out a biography of his grandfather entitled, The Patriarch.  He looked up and found my grandfather’s name in the index and then read the passage.  It covered this exact corporate battle which I’d just mentioned to everyone.

Then I had to laugh and told Ted that I had a story to tell him but he had to promise not to get mad.

Medals & Ribbons from the Pope

The story goes like this; At the end of World War II, the fighting was over in Europe.  It was still going on in Japan.  All of the movie studio heads, including my grandfather were flown to Europe to survey the damage and get ideas for making war/propaganda films.  At one point they were in Rome and my grandfather ended up having an audience with the Pope, Pope Pius, I think the XII.  I will stay away from the politics of the day, but suffice it to say that the Pope was very fond of Joe Kennedy.  During his meeting the Pope asked my grandfather if he would do a favor and deliver a gift, a set of medallions and ribbons to, “the Ambassador”.  That was the nickname for Kennedy at the time.  He had been the Ambassador to England.  My grandfather obliged. After all who says no to the Pope.

My grandfather concluded the trip, went back to New York City where his offices were and had his secretary contact Kennedy’s office to inform them of the Pope’s gift.  Kennedy did not respond.  Another couple of attempts were made.

With my grandfather and big brother

Now I’m telling this story to Ted Kennedy and I only know of the story because my Dad only recently pulled out a little case and opened it and showed me the medallions and ribbons which were intended for Joe Kennedy but now reside in a drawer in my folks house in Connecticut.  I told Ted Kennedy he could not have them, half joking.  When I went home and told my dad the story he said Ted Kennedy was welcome to them if he wanted.  I think I’ll keep them!

Unfortunately, as we were in the middle of this holiday frivolity and the walk down this historical memory lane, my mom called me.  She told me dad had a fever and I needed to get home.  Remember, I was supposed to be on a flight back to be with my family in San Diego. But, being the good son that I am, I immediately dropped everything and drove back to their house.  By the time I got there, they’d calmed down, spoken to their doctor and decided a trip to the e.r. was not necessary.

I went to bed, only to be awoken at 3am and we hopped in the car and drove to the e.r. at the hospital in Milford, CT.  I was there with my dad from 4am until about 11am waiting.  I finally left him to go help my mom at home.  We came back at around 3pm and I left at 4pm for the airport.  I got the hell out of Dodge before I got stuck there for another two weeks. I wish them the best.  I’m outta there.

Christmas with the family, back to my routine.  I hope to get to watch my son play some men’s league or pickup while he’s here.

Rocking the Czech Jersey

Scripps Ranch HS Roller Alumni Game

....Well, back for two days.  There was a special Christmas eve morning skate organized by Sandy Fitzpatrick.  Sandy coaches at the SDIA rink in Mira Mesa.  He used to play in the old pro’s thursday night pickup session I’ve mentioned previously.  He had a decent pro career, playing a handful of games in the NHL for the Rangers and North Stars.

I made a couple of calls and got Max invited to the skate.   When I woke him to go he decided he was too tired and
didn't want to skate.  I bugged him until he relented and I got him there.  He ended up having a blast.

Greg Park and Evan Schmidbauer

While home he also got a lesson from Craig Carlyle, Randy Carlyle's son.  In addition to Max, his buddy Jonny Neal who plays at Hobart, Kai Frankville of Colby and Austin Ortega from the University of Nebraska Omaha participated in the lesson with Craig.

Christmas is over, another skate with my old Thursday night group and then back to school in a couple of days.

Other than my dad's health issues, it's  been a good holiday.

Home for the holidays

Session with Craig Carlyle

Chapter 42: Brushes With Fame

I could not care less about celebrities.  I live a different world.  We seem to live in a culture obsessed with fame.  Not me, nope, no sir.  I’m not particularly impressed by someone just because they are famous.  

I spent the week before the weekend before Thanksgiving at Elmira.  I got to watch a game and a couple of practices before heading up to Rochester to pick up my daughter. She was flying in on the red-eye from San Diego via a 4 hour layover at JFK.  She didn’t sleep a wink.  We watched Elmira come from behind that night to beat Nazareth College by a score of 6-3 on 5 late second period goals.  The next morning I went back to pick up my wife at the Rochester airport after she made the same exact red-eye flight as my daughter.  She slept, thank god!

We drove down to Elmira, met up with my son and took him out for a pre-game lunch.  Later Elmira faced Nazareth again, this time beating them 3-2 on a last second goal in regulation time.  They’d scored a go ahead goal 8 minutes earlier but it was disallowed. You decide.  I think it was the right call.   

After spending the night in Horsehead, NY, we got up and had breakfast with Max before heading down to New York City to spend Thanksgiving week.  The plan was to hang out, shop, enjoy ourselves and have a family Thanksgiving at my brother’s apartment on the upper west side.  My dad has not been well and ended up going into the hospital on Monday.  Things quickly turned for the worst and we nearly lost him.  Needless to say my folks didn’t make it down for our family gathering.

Back to the celebrity thing.  My wife is a big fan of the Today Show.  She and my daughter decided we would get up early on Tuesday Morning and head down to 30 Rock and try to get on the show. We arrived at 7 am, but apparently if you want a good spot you have to get there by around 6 am.  My wife made a sign and some little fake beards and mustaches to represent No-Shave November, or Movember.  We actually got on TV for a few brief moments.  The cast, Matt Lauer, Al Roker, Savannah Guthrie, et al come outside twice during the program….at 8am and at 8:30am.  Crew members come out ahead of time and try to jack the audience up to be excited when the stars arrive.  It was actually quite fun.  

The cast of The Today Show..Kyle and I are to
the left with Bret holding the San Diego sign behind

After the 8:30 segment was over, the crowd dissipated pretty quickly.  We walked around for a bit and then found ourselves walking through a crowd of paparazzi just as Richard Dreyfus exited the building. He had been a guest on the show and was heading to his “car”.  I nearly bumped into him.  I had time to say something but I didn’t. 

Gretzky Posing with the SD Gulls Bantams

I’ve had quite a few celebrity experiences in my life.  I have some show business background in my family so I can often bring up one of those relationships and strike up a conversation with said famous person.  For example, Richard Dreyfus starred in Close Encounters of the Third Kind with my cousin, Bob Balaban.  I could have easily said, "Hi Richard, I’m Steve Balaban, you worked with my cousin Bob".  I’ve done this on numerous occasions if it seemed appropriate.  I did this once when I bumped into Jerry Lewis in the Gaslamp area of San Diego years ago.  I introduced myself and told him my who my grandfather was. My grandfather, Barney Balaban, was a movie executive.  So he was Jerry Lewis’s boss during much of his career.  He was very friendly and told me what a great man my grandfather was and how he was one of the few men in show business with integrity during those days. That was the time of blacklisting and my grandfather was in the middle of having to deal with Joe McCarthy.

Kyle and I with Michael Richards on the set of Seinfeld

So, as you see, I’ve had my share of brushes with fame.  It’s not an everyday thing, but it’s happened.  I’m not shy about striking up a conversation if it seems convenient and appropriate.  I’ve never had a negative experience. I don’t want to be a jerk and impose on their privacy.  At the same time, we talk to everyone so why not say hi to someone just because they are famous.  

My Uncle Jay Kantor, out with some
Blonde

As a kid, growing up in the Florida panhandle, this kind of thing never happened.  As an adult though, I’ve had more than my share of encounters.  I spent a week interning on the set of All In the Family in the late 70s.  I met a guy through my business in the early 90's who happened to be the brother of Larry David, and we went to a couple of tapings of Seinfeld.  I got to meet and hang out with the entire cast before and after the taping.  Being related to my cousin Bob came in handy because he’d been a guest star on a few episodes of the show.  On those episodes he was the head of NBC who fell in love with Elaine and then went off and joined Greenpeace.  Of course, I’ve met many NHL’ers including bumping into Wayne Gretzky at a youth travel game at the rink in Simi Valley.  I asked him if he wouldn’t mind taking a picture with the team.  Through my old Uconn team mate, Glenn Adamo, I met broadcaster Gary Thorne, sat in the Pittsburgh Penguins box with the owners during a game at Madison Square Garden

My Aunt Judy(far right) in Princess Grace's Wedding

Mike Bolt-Keeper of the Stanley Cup

and I met Mike Bolt the Stanley Cup protector.

At weddings and Bat Mitzvahs of cousins from my entertainment biz side of the family I had the chance to meet Marlon Brando, Timothy Leary, Gene Kelly and Jody Foster.  I was at my cousin's wedding in Beverly Hills back in the early 80's.  My girlfriend and I were at a table with the some of these folks.  Gene Kelly accidentally bumped into my girlfriend and spilled his drink on her.  He apologized profusely and was extremely embarrassed.  He asked if there was anything he could do.  My girlfriend said, “Sure, you can dance with me”. And he
did.

Basically, I’m nobody, but I know a few people who are somebody and they have been an avenue to meet some pretty cool peeps.

That leads me to Wednesday evening, the night before Thanksgiving.  My sister and her family were arriving into the City and we arranged to meet them for dinner downtown near Union Square at an Italian Restaurant named Morandi’s.  We had 8:30 reservations.  There were nine of us.  Dinner was great.  At one point, my daughter’s friend, Lucia, nudges her and says “Look, that’s Cameron Diaz”.  And so it was.  She was standing about fifteen feet away, talking to someone then gave him a big hug and sat down with her table of friends. 

The best I could do getting Cameron Diaz's
Pic

My daughter, who would never do such a thing was plotting her approach to go over to her table.  My wife has been told for years that she looks a lot like Cameron Diaz.  My daughter wanted, very badly, to get a picture of the two of them together.  I stole a quick picture with my iPhone when she hugged the aforementioned man.   We discussed whether or not, and how to approach her.  My brother , a New Yorker, said to leave her alone.  It’s proper etiquette in NYC to not bother celebrities.  We should just leave her alone.

And leave her alone we did.  There was no graceful way to make our way to her table and interrupt her with her friends.  So we dropped it.  Soon, we finished up and were all getting ready to leave.  At that point we noticed the restaurant manager actually standing guard to protect her table from us or any other of the unwashed masses who may try to disturb their dining experience.

I headed for the restroom, so I missed what happened next, but apparently as everyone was heading toward the front of the restaurant, my daughter stood up and was putting her coat on.  She looks up and suddenly Cameron Diaz was heading straight for her.  She was actually probably heading for the restroom herself, we don’t know, but she walk right up to Bret.  Bret then says “Excuse me, I never do this, but my entire life people have told my mother she looks like you.  Would it be possible for you to say hi and we could take a picture.”  Her response was “Well, I have a policy of not taking pictures, but I would be more than happy to meet her”.

I walked out of the restroom to witness my entire family standing near the entrance to the restaurant all gathered around Cameron Diaz who was holding court with them.  I joined the group, standing right next to her.  She was as sweet, genuine and authentic as though she were our best friend.  She is, after all an actor, so it was quite convincing, but she made us all feel like we knew here.  She thanked us, wished us a happy Thanksgiving, rubbed my shoulder and said goodbye.  Yep, Cameron Diaz touched me. 

So, that was kind of cool and gave us something to talk about for a few days.  

The next night was Thanksgiving.  We all met up at my brother’s apartment on West 70th St. for our Thanksgiving dinner.  There were supposed to be about thirteen or so of us, but since my dad was still in the hospital and some of their friends would not be coming there were just nine of us; my wife and daughter and I….my sister, her husband and two of their three daughters and my brother.  That made eight.  The ninth was Lois.  Lois was a childhood friend of my dad’s.  She is 86.  Just about the coolest 86 year old you'll ever meet. 

My Grandfather, Barney Balaban, with Audrey Hepburn

We started talking about the celebrities we'd each run into over the years. My sister was once in an elevator with an older woman. They had a brief exchange. As the woman got off the elevator my sister told her she looked just like Audrey Hepburn.  The woman looked back and winked, just as the doors closed, smiled, winked and said "I am". 

Lois was the maid of honor in my Aunt Judy's wedding to Jay Kantor. Jay's best man was Marlon Brando. I never met her, but my Aunt Judy was a bridesmaid for Grace Kelly on her marriage to the Prince of Monaco.  Judy later went on to marry a movie star of the 60s, Tony Franciosa.

Next Lois told us she was recently dining at a restaurant near her West Side apartment.  Two men in suits were standing near the cashier. They kept looking right at her.  She was feeling uneasy about this.  She asked her waiter if he could move her because those men were making her uncomfortable. He said, "Ma'am, they aren't looking at you. They are looking at the next mayor of New York City."  It turns out the men she thought were staring at her were bodyguards for Bill DeBlasio who was sitting at the table directly behind her. 

There were more of these fun little stories we all shared. The evening ended and we disbursed. 

The next night, Friday after Thanksgiving we, my wife daughter and I, were heading to Grand Central station to catch the train to Connecticut. We were going to visit my dad in the hospital. Just before we bought our tickets my mom called and said he wasn't doing well and suggested we not come. 

So Instead, I called my buddy and college linemate, Paul McCormick. Paul lives in Brooklyn with his wife.  They

Left to Right: Henri Langevin, Me and Paul "Corny"
McCormick

have two kids, Terry and Charlie. Charlie plays D1 lacrosse at Georgetown.  We took the subway to Brooklyn and got to their loft apartment.  Charlie had gone out so it was just Paul, Dorothee and Terry. We hung out, had some wine and talked about old times.  My daughter asked Paul to talk about  what he remembered most about me from our days at Uconn. In his own funny way Paul recounted how I would pull him aside and tell him there was just one thing we needed to work on....arm strength!  I was totally into strengthening my forearms by curling weights on a rope with a cutoff hockey stick.  

Having grown up near New Haven, Ct I consider myself a bit of a pizza aficionado.  A few years ago, Paul took me to Lombardi’s in Manhattan.  Lombardi’s is apparently the oldest pizza restaurant in the U.S.  At least that’s their claim.  I found it to be a tourist trap. The pizza wasn’t that special.  I felt like I’d been there before because the restaurant chain, Bucca Di Peppo must have been modeled after this place, where you walk though the kitchen on your way to your table.   

This time, Paul suggested since I’d already been to Lombardi’s he would now take us to get the best pizza in NY, or at least in Brooklyn.  We called and made 8:30 reservations to go to Lucali’s.  Lucali’s is an interesting business.  They are open 6 days a week from 6-10pm only.  They only serve one size pizza with a limited selection of toppings.  The only other item on the menu is a calzone.  You bring your own wine or beer. They sell no alcohol.  The owner makes every pie.  He and his dad are the only ones who know the recipe.

A poor pic of Jay Z. Beyonce was across
the from him

Even with our reservations it took almost another hour before we got a table.  Once seated, we ordered and enjoyed some scrumptious NY pizza.  It lived up to its billing.  Truly delicious.  

As I said, the place closes at 10pm.  It was going on 10:30 and the waitress was starting to hint that she would like us to leave.  She said she needed the table, which made no sense since they were closed.  We looked around and there were two other parties still eating.  I’m not sure who noticed it first, but all of a sudden my daughter was nearly hyperventilating.  I didn’t catch on at first, but then I realized everyone at my table was aware that sitting about three feet away from us were Jay Z and Beyonce.  They were just sitting there enjoying a late night pizza in peace.  We badly wanted to say hello, but we left them alone.  My daughter said she made eye contact with Beyonce and got the clear message…yeah, you know who I am…don’t say a word. 

That was that.  The end of our celebrity tour.  The next morning we drove up to Saratoga Springs to watch my son have a career high in penalties in a 3-0 loss to Buff State.  The next afternoon we watched the game sitting in the stands with him.  That was their last game before winter break.   It was a bit of a sour note to end the first half of the season on, but I’ll take it.

A few other pics I found in my files.

Brian Leetch

Randy Carlyle

Max with Pro Baseball player Xavier Nady
in our living room

Martin Brodeur-NHL Awards in Vegas

Sidney Crosby-NHL Awards in Vegas

Martin St. Louis-NHL Awards in Vegas

Jonathan Toews-NHL Awards in Vegas

Our Friend and Neighbor from San Diego-Chad
Ruhwedel making his NHL debut

Willie Geist and Savannah Guthrie

Willie Geist and me

America's Cup Captain-Dennis Connor

CNBC(now Fox) host Maria Bartiromo