Chapter 39: Junior Hockey Growing Pains(Mine)

A theme was emerging.  Go where you are wanted.  I’d seen so many players try to make teams above their pay grade.  It rarely ever worked out.  Starting with being recruited by Pat Norton at Tilton and then by Bill Flanagan at the Northern Cyclones there were clear signals that the kid was wanted, went where he was wanted and he made the most of both opportunities.  I think all anyone wants is a fair shot and a chance to prove that you are up to the task.  That happened at Tilton and it would also be the case with the Cyclones. This philosophy broke down when he got to his first year of college.  I will cover that issue when we get there.

The other theme, from my vantage point was that I was no longer in the picture.  Except for to write the checks.  Flanagan made it very clear to everyone he wants nothing to do with parents.  I obliged.  I did befriend his team manager, Brandon Barnard.  Brandon, or B as he is known, was great.  I helped him with some scouting and recruiting.  In return he helped me with Max’s housing, job hunts, etc.  We had a good relationship and we still do.  The team also had an advisor who was going to work with the kids to help them get placed.  His name is Brett Carriere.  Brett had played for the Cyclones and was one of the success stories of players who went on to have a decent D1 college career.  He was a borderline D1 recruit who had plenty of D3 opportunities, but held out and ended attending UMaine and had a decent career there.   Brett was very helpful in the first year, but got involved in his own business career and was not available during the second year.

But for the most part, I was now an interested observer.  Junior hockey, more than anything else was a time for my kid to become his own man. I remained his biggest fan, but my role had changed.  I was no longer in the middle of the action.  I was far removed.  I didn't like it.  I experienced growing pains.  It's now his second year in college and I am still missing being a bigger part of things.

Both seasons were very successful seasons for the team.  Max was productive, 44 points in 44 games the first year and 57 points in the same number of games the next, split fairly evenly between goals and assists.  Coach Flanagan was intense.  He hated to lose.  My son responds well to this type of coaching.  He’d never seen anything like this though.  Losing was not tolerated.  It came with trash cans being thrown, sticks broken, people being sat, the team being punished in various ways.   He made it very unpalatable to lose.  The team complied.  They were #1 or #2 all year for both seasons.  

There were a few teams that were competitive and gave the Cyclones a tough time.  They were the Walpole Express, Mike Adessa's Boston Bulldogs and the New York Bobcats.  Any games between these teams could go either way.  Occasionally, one of the other teams would upset the Cyclones, but typically not.  A few top end guys on each team ended up committing to D1 programs.

So from afar I watched and listened.  All the games were available to watch on fasthockey.com.  There was no play by play, but it was better than nothing.  My daughter, Bret, who was a senior in high school at the time decided she would like to look at colleges in New England.  She had gone through her own evolution as an athlete, starting with travel soccer and softball.  She played both sports avidly until she ran into the fact that she too, like her older brother had inherited their late bloomer genes from her mother.  Max was barely 5 feet tall and a hundred pounds while many of his teammates were 6 to 12 inches taller and 50 to 75 pounds heavier when he was 14-16 years old.  His love and passion for the game sustained him through those difficult days.  

His sister, on the other hand didn't so much love the sports she was playing as she enjoyed the friendships and social bonds she'd formed over her young life.  As her sports got more competitive she started getting cut from teams due to her size.  She was every bit as talented and smart at her chosen sports as her brother was at hockey, but she didn't have the love for the game the way her brother did.  She even got cut from her softball team where her best friend's mom was the coach.  These were difficult days.

She made it through her sophomore year playing varsity soccer before she decided enough was enough.  It broke my heart to see her give up.  I enjoyed watching her compete as much as I enjoyed watching Max skate.   The shame was that within a year she had her growth spurt and she would have been an absolute stud-dette. The next year she ran track to stay in shape. And by her senior year she joined a rowing team.  

Zlac Rowing Club

Rowing was a trip.  A whole new world to discover.  Bret was strong and in great shape.  She enjoyed it even though it was a grueling sport and required a lot of work.  I forget what you call the seat, but she was placed in the most important seat on her 8 person crew.  She seemed to have serious potential at this new (to us) sport.

So her request to visit schools in New England, included contacting a number of rowing coaches at the various schools.  The timing of this trip couldn't have been better.  We visited nine schools between Wednesday and Friday.  Then we headed off to Hudson New Hampshire to catch Max and the Cyclones playing in a Columbus Day weekend showcase.  

Those nine schools included; Northeastern, BU, UMass-Lowell, Holy Cross, UNH, Connecticut College, Trinity, Sacred Heart and Uconn.  We were supposed to head up to UMass Amherst but someone wouldn't wake up that morning!  I had a great time and this trip was a great chance to bond with my daughter.  I got to see her interact with the admissions people and the rowing coaches and I was so proud and impressed at her maturity.  It was very cool to see.  We had a blast.

The Cyclones swept their way through their three games of the showcase.  There were a ton of college coaches in attendance.  The league held five or six showcase weekends per season.  These were set up so that all the teams from the league come to one venue and play three games.  The game format for the showcases were two 25 minute periods rather than the normal three 20 minute period games.  Here are a few highlight clips from the weekend.  Here's a game winner vs. New Jersey.   

Max got plenty of ice time.  He did quite well.  I couldn't have been happier.  Here is a highlight clip from another one of his games that weekend.  A hat trick and at least one assist that rung off of both posts and the crossbar.  I apologize for the music on the video. I can't seem to remove it. 

The entire season went very well.  The Cyclones ended up losing in the championship to the Walpole Express, but both teams qualified for the Tier III National Jr. Championships to be held in Rochester, Minnesota.

Junior A Tier III was changing.  The New Hampshire Monarchs and the New Jersey Hitmen of the ECHL were dominant and seemed to always come away with the national title.  The previous season to Max's first year with the Cyclones, the Monarchs lost in the national championship game to the St. Louis Jr. Blues.  By the way, fellow San Diegan, and past teammate of Max's Stevie Terry played defense for the Blues.  Stevie's dad, Steve Terry, and I coached together when the boys were squirts.  Steve and I had also coincidentally attended the same Koho Hockey School together in Finland and Switzerland when were were teenagers, unbeknownst to both of us until we figured it out over beers one night at a hockey tournament.

I made a few more trips and managed to squeeze in quite a few games on each one.  I arranged with Fasthockey to be a camera man for the Tier III Nationals.  They paid me enough to defray much of the travel costs.  I arranged to shoot games, but get breaks so I could watch when Max and the Cyclones played.  

As this was the very end of the junior season, Max and his roommates had all just moved out of the hockey apartment.  I'd managed to limit my liability for this apartment by keeping my name off of the lease.  But the property manager had my phone number.  On the first day of the tournament, I received a call from the property management lady.  Apparently, the boys left the apartment a disaster and they were pissed and wanted someone to pay for the extra cleanup. She emailed me pictures.  Pretty disturbing. I have no idea how it got resolved, but I never heard from them again.

They played the Chicago Hitmen in the first game. After trailing 0-2 the Cyclones came back and Max got the tying goal in the 3rd period.  The game ended in a 2-2 tie.  They then lost a tough one to The El Paso Rhinos in the next game.  Their goalie, Brian Fleming was very good, but he had a rough day.  The Cyclones found themselves down 2-0 early.  Max scored two timely goals to tie it up, but the rest of the game was a tough one for the Cyclones....they scored 5 goals on 61 shots, but it wasn't enough to overcome a poor outing for the Cylcones goalie, giving up 6 goals on 21 shots or an outstanding goaltending effort by the El Paso goalie, Trent Caspar.  The final score was 6-5 El Paso.  Fleming is in his junior year at Manhattanville of the ECAC West.   The final game was against the Granite City Lumberjacks of the NA3HL.  Cyclones won 3-2.   So, 1-1-1 at Nationals.  Not terrible.  Walpole lost to the Helena Bighorns in the semi's and Helena beat El Paso in the championship game.

The second season had it's own stories.  The team, and I believe the

Max, Me and Cassidy April

league, opted not to go to Nationals that year.  Max's childhood teammate, Cassidy April, left the San Diego Gulls and joined the Cyclones for this season.  This was the last season of junior hockey for both of the boys.  Cassidy had a good year and got an offer to attend my buddy, Brad Holt's program at the University of New England where he is now in his sophomore season.

I'll follow up next with some thoughts on the final year of junior hockey and the recruiting and commitment process that developed.

Chapter 5: Uconn-College Hockey

With Bob Blakeslee's support the high school allowed us to throw together a lacrosse team in the spring. It was a gong show.  All the hockey players and the football team got together and formed a mess.  All we cared about was hitting.  It was a big boy version of little kids soccer.  Just a mass of bodies around the ball trying to kill each other.  

I played summer league hockey again.  That summer was kind of cool. It seems like all of the high end players from different schools could be friends.  I hung out with kids who had previously been rivals and bitter foes.  Now we were playing together, hanging out, becoming friends.  It was a great way to transition out of our high school days. 

I went back to Finland that summer. I went alone.  Just as much fun the second time.  We took a ferry across the Baltic and spent a day in Soviet Russia touring Leningrad.  Today it is known as St. Petersburg.  I didn't go into the museums with the rest of the tour.  I hung out in the square, met people and traded away a pair of bell bottom jeans.  I forget what I got in exchange.  FYI they were a spare pair I'd brought for just this purpose, not the ones I was wearing. 

On the ferry ride back to Finland we ate smorgasbord style.  I carelessly got gravy on the table cloth.  The matron in charge of the buffet read me the riot act in some unknown foreign tongue.  While I couldn't tell what she was saying it was obvious she was pissed.   It turns out my ugly American ways were being criticized.  The table cloth I soiled was "the table cloth". My thoughtlessness was not appreciated.  

I made friends with a couple of stoners from Toronto.  When I got back home I took a greyhound bus trip up to visit them.  This was 1973. I was a borderline hippie.  My hair was a little long. I sported what facial hair I could muster.   I traveled with a backpack that had an American flag sewn on it.  Going through customs at Niagara Falls proved to be challenging.  "Purpose of your trip?" 

"Visiting buddies, playing hockey", I replied. They looked me up and down, figured I was a trouble maker and pulled me in a little room for some friendly interrogation.  They were less impressed that I was going to visit Toronto Leafs All Star defenceman Carl Brewer and more interested in the white powder they found in my dock siders.   It was baby powder to fight my foot odor. I was finally on my way.  

I met up with my buddies.  One of them, while living in Canada had dual citizenship with Austria.  He would go  on to be the Austrian goalie in the 1980 Olympics.    He lost multiple games by double digit scores.  No miracle for Austria.  

The first thing we did when I got there was party.  Later that night I played with them in a summer league junior game. Half of the guys played in the OHL, major junior hockey.  At some point in the first period I was forechecking a moose of a defenceman who decided to skate the puck out from behind his own goal.  I layed a crushing body check on this guy.  Only problem was I was the one crushed. He skated over me and through me.  I remember the collision. That's the last thing I remembered.  

The next thing I recall was sitting on the bench. It was the last minute of play.  A French Canadian forward on my team streaked down the right wing and beat the goalie for the game winner.  I looked at the scoreboard.  We led 3-2. 

I turned to my buddy on the bench and asked him if I had been playing.  I had. Although he said I was playing pretty tentatively. Especially in the corners. I didn't remember anything from the moment I got run over by the freight train in the first period.  It wasn't the first and definitely not the last time I got my bell rung. We didn't care about concussions back then. You played if you could. 

I don't know if you've been keeping track, but in my young life I'd ruptured my spleen, cracked my coccyx, broken my collarbone, had a number of concussions and oh yeah I broke my hand.   Later that summer I would pull my groin.  That groin injury was the one that hampered me the most.  Oh yeah, we didn't play with shields or cages, so I had my share of cuts and stitches.  Never lost any teeth though.   Oh, and all through college I had terrible back pain that I ignored. 

Frank and I arrived at Uconn after Labor Day to start our freshmen year. We dormed together at Belden Hall in the brand new Alumni Quad.  

Frank knew from even before he got to college he wanted to be a CPA.   I had no clue what I wanted to be or to study.  I'll get to the hockey shortly, but first i have to tell you I ended the first semester with an atrocious GPA.  Should I say?  Ok. I'd never gotten less than a B in my life, except for the D in Algebra that earned me my earlier discussed punishment my freshman year in high school. Ok, so my  GPA was 1.6. 

I freaked out.  I went to my counselor. I realized I never learned to study in high school.  

Two things came out of the meeting with my counselor.   First, I discussed my lack of direction and my envy of Frank and his focus.  His advice: hardly anyone ends up working in their field of study.  Study what interests you.  Frank became an incredibly successful CPA and is now the CEO of a major accounting firm.  I majored in Anthropology.  

The other thing that came out of that meeting was that I became a serious student. I spent many a Friday and Saturday night in the library.   I made the Dean's list every semester for the next three and a half years.  But I majored in Anthropology.   I should have studied accounting.  But it was interesting. 

My girlfriend, Debbie and I lived at opposite ends of campus.  Her dorm was called " the Jungle".  It was the beginning of our end. We went through a typically painful separation and breakup after going together for 4 years.  We are very good friends today. 

The hockey team started training in late September. The training, at least at Uconn was definitely not what it is today.  All we did was run cross country through the woods and we ran the stairs at the football stadium.  

Coach John Chapman, we called him Chipper, was a huge disappointment. He had founded the hockey team about twelve years earlier.  He was also the tennis coach.  He seemed to be content with his job but had no commitment to excellence.  His inspirational pregame speech had the same theme every time: on any given night any team can win(maybe even us if we get lucky).  

Uconn Hockey has always suffered from Title 9 and being the red headed step child to the basketball and football teams.  The school never really committed to the hockey program. Even when they went D1. That tide seems to have turned. Next year they are joining Hockey East and it appears the university is finally getting behind hockey. I just saw that Uconn's new head coach, Mike Cavanaugh just hired Joe Pereira formerly of BU and from West Haven as one of his assistant coaches.  But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Pre-season training came and went. My groin injury continued to hamper me.  I made the varsity. Frank did not.  He played JV that year.  And he honed his accounting skills.  It was a bit awkward rooming with him that year.  I felt badly but I enjoyed my season.  I ended up on the 3rd line. I played a regular shift getting a ton of ice time.  

I was one of two freshman on the varsity.  The other was Tom "Little Duke" Dyroff. His older brother was a senior.  He was "Duke". Even though Tom was bigger. They studied pharmacy.  Little Duke was a monster. A freak.  He had a thick beard, hair down to his shoulders and the hardest slapshot I'd ever seen.   His nephew, Brooks Dyroff, played for Phillips Andover prep and Boston College with Chris Kreider who is now with the Rangers.   My son's Prep school Tilton, beat them and Andover 3-2 in overtime a couple of years ago.   Just sayin.  

By the end of our senior year I had 37 goals, 64 assists for  101 points.  Tom had 71 goals, 52 assists and 123 points.   Both of us were in the top ten all time scorers when we graduated.  36 years later I'm still 24th and he's 13th. My Facebook friends Bryan Quinn and DJ LeBlanc are 6th and 7th. Bryan and Todd Krieger are 1 and 2 with over 200 points each. 

I had a good year as a freshman.  My groin injury was an issue. It definitely slowed me down for the first half of the season but I ended up with 7 goals and 16 assists.  I hated Chipper. He was no Artie Crouse.  It's one thing to hate a coach because he pushes you.  This was not that.  We didn't respect Chipper.  He didn't challenge us. 

We ended the year with a record of 15-10.  I think it was the best record of my four years.  The team never improved. My production never improved.  Frank made the varsity the next year and while I stayed at the same production level of approximately 25 points per season, Frank worked harder than me and outscored me  each of the next three seasons.  Our senior year Frank had 6 goals, 24 assists and 30 points. Me?  12 goals and 13 assists.  Frank was an Assistant Captain that year. Not me.  He worked hard and it paid off. I got complacent.  

Ours was a strange team.  Nearly half of the team, not me of course, would huddle in the back of the bus on long road trips and smoke pot.  I sat up near the front.  The smell was obvious. The coaches never said a thing.  This was a time of open rebellion.  The Viet Nam war was bring protested everywhere.  Colleges across the nation were dealing with protests and sit-ins.

We look like Ken dolls without proper anatomy! :-)

Streaking was in.  Disco and the Allman Brothers were everywhere. It was easier for Chipper to ignore what was going on in the back of the bus. On any given night.…

Anyone who remembers Uconn Hockey from those days will know we played in an "outdoor" rink.  Actually it had a cover, but like many prep school rinks of the day it was open all sides.  It could get damned cold out there too.  Often with the wind whipping through from one end.  This gave us home ice advantage.  Most of us had beards.  We practiced in this nasty cold.  Visiting teams dreaded coming to our barn.  It was miserable for them.  Not only did they have to deal with the wind and the cold, but to add insult to injury, their locker room was in "the warming hut".  At the end of each period they would have to walk a path from the rink to the warming hut while our shirtless, painted brandy soaked fans would hurl snowballs at them.  It was pretty funny.  To this day when I run into people who played for teams that visited us, that's their only memory of playing at Uconn.

One of my most appreciated benefits from my days at Uconn have been the handful of lifelong friendships. First and foremost has been my friendship with Frank Longobardi.  We've stayed in touch and he's been a great help on numerous occasions.  I've visited Frank and his wife, Pat many times. Frank is still the best looking man in Connecticut.   I love Longo.  Even if he is a Yankees fan. Did I mention Frank is a verrrrryyyy successful CPA.  

One of my fondest friends is Glenn Adamo.  I graduated and lost contact with Glenn for years. When we reconnected Glenn was VP in charge of Broadcasting Operations for the NHL.  He worked his way up the latter starting as a receptionist. He's such a great guy that people couldn't help supporting and promoting him. He's since moved on and is VP for Media Operations for the NFL.  He had a brief stint as head of marketing for the Jersey Devils the last time they won the Stanley Cup, 2003 I think. 

My favorite Glenn Adamo story was from a visit I had with him right after Gretzky retired.  My wife and I were sitting in his office at the NHL headquarters in New York. I asked Glenn if he was at Gretsky's last game at Madison Square Garden. 

He proceeded to tell me how he choreographed the Great One's final curtain call following the end of his last game.  Yeah, he told Gretzky exactly what to do after the end of the game.   Take a bow, exit into a locker room where Glenn instructed him, back and forth a few times.  At one point Gretzky was alone with Glenn in the locker room.  He grabbed both of Glenn's hands and staring deeply into his eyes saying ; "Glenny, thank you so much…I couldn't do this without you!"  

And I'd asked if he was at the game.   Yep. He was there.   

I continue to stay in close contact with my team mate, Paul McCormick. Paul lives in Brooklyn. He's in advertising for a company that's makes great commercials.  His son Charlie is tearing it up on a lacrosse scholarship at Georgetown. 

I was playing senior league hockey at Mira Mesa in San Diego on the mid -90s.  There was a scuffle in front of the net.  Everyone paired off. I found myself clutching my opponent who turned out to be Tim Bensey. Tim was an outstanding freshman defenseman during my senior year.  He was also on the football team.  He ended up transferring to San Diego State where he played quarterback.  We've played Thursday night pickup together for years.  Now that I no longer play, he skates with my son when he's in town. By the way. This Thursday night skate is legendary.  It's been going on for nearly 40 years.  Chris Chelios skated in it when he was a teenager.  My good friend and fellow hockey player, dad, coach and referee, Jaye Park was a little older than Chelios.  They were strict about keeping it at ten players a side.  Chelios was a punk rink rat. and they never let him play.  He was younger than most of the guys.  Jaye took Chelios under his wing and let him dress and shared shifts with him.  They are best friends to this day.  He used to come out and skate with us every now and then.  

During my senior year at Uconn, we had another talented freshman defenseman show up. His name was Brad Holt.  Brad's father was the legendary hockey coach at the University of New Hampshire, Charlie Holt.  Charlie Holt played on the U.S. National Team with my high school coach, Art Crouse in 1948.  Also on that team were Army coach Jack Riley and BU Coach Jack Kelley.  Brad played one year at Uconn then transferred to UNH for his final three. Brad has been an invaluable friend and guide in helping me navigate junior and college hockey with my son.  I've helped Brad out by scouting for him in the Western States Junior Hockey league.  Brad is the head coach at the University of New England in Biddeford, Maine. One of my son's teammates from youth hockey, Cassidy April,  just finished his freshman year at UNE.

Again, a fun part of my college playing experience was the press.  Nearly every game resulted me getting my name and often picture in the paper.  We had the Uconn Daily Campus that followed us closely as well as the Hartford Courant and the New Haven Register.

A couple of years ago I was rummaging through an old box of all the articles and pictures and I came across a game program from a WHA Hartford Whalers game.  On the front cover was a couple of autographs.  One was a Scandinavian looking name that I did not recognize.  The other signature was Bobby Hull's.  Wow, that was cool.  But I had no idea where or when I got it.  I had no recollection of ever seeing Bobby Hull much less getting his autograph.

A little deeper in pile of articles and pictures I found a newspaper article from the New Haven Register.  It was about Lyman Hall.  Lyman Hall was a mid-level high school team in the greater New Haven area.  I was wondering why in the world I would have saved this article.  I turned it over and it turned out it was a feature article on me.  Local boy makes good kind of piece. It focused on my upcoming junior year at Uconn and my experience of coming out of West Haven High and playing college hockey.  Again, I vaguely recall being interviewed.

So I proceeded to read the article.  It was very cool.  At one point in the article the reporter asked me what NHL teams I followed.  My response was that I was too busy with my hockey and school to follow pro hockey and besides, Storrs, Connecticut is out in the boonies.  We only got 3 channels and it was hard to get any hockey on tv even if I had the time to watch.

I proceeded to tell him that I did however, have a chance to go to Hartford to catch a Whaler's game.  They were playing the Winnipeg Jets.  I told him that during the warm-ups I recognized one of the Jets players as one of the Finnish National players I'd met at hockey school in Finland.  I got his attention and was able to talk to him during warm ups.  He invited me back to the locker room after the game where he introduced me to Bobby Hull and I got both of their autographs on my program.  Mystery solved.  Don't forget it was the 70s.  A lot was forgotten from that decade.  

I'll always cherish my college hockey days.  I graduated from Uconn in May of 1977. I was qualified to do. anthropology.  But none of the big anthro firms came knocking.  So I had to figure out a new plan.

I'll get to that next.  Something would happen within the next year that would change everything.  

Chapter 7: All Roads Lead to the Beer Leagues...and Then To Hell

All Roads Lead to the Beer Leagues

This entry is not so much about hockey.  There is some, but it is a more a story of crashing, burning and rising from the ashes. I hope you will bear with me.

So that was that.  My college hockey career was over.  I wasn't sure what was next.  I graduated in May.  I ended up moving down to New Canaan, Ct where my girlfriend, Mo, was a school teacher.  Mo and I dated for two years, my last two.  She was a year older than me and graduated the year before me.  But we were together often during my senior year, nearly every weekend.   I'm pretty sure she was more serious about our relationship than I was.   You may recall Frank married Pat. I did not marry Mo. 

After graduation I got a summer job as a live-in counselor/mentor in an at-risk youth home in New Canaan.  The ABC House, A Better Chance!   I also worked at the hockey school in Darien.  While there, I made some extra cash taking photo's of the little tykes posing in their hockey gear. Once their mom's saw their toothless little smiles on the black and white 8 1/2 x 11" mounted poster board, they couldn't buy them fast enough.   I took some photography classes during my last year at Uconn.  I had a dark-room and a Hasselblad camera.  

The way I remember it, Mo had been nudging me to be "more committed" than I was in our relationship.  Later that summer she went to Northern California, Mill Valley, for a vacation.  When she returned, she was a changed woman.  She had fallen madly in love with California.  She couldn't quit her job and move there fast enough.  What didn't make sense to me was why she moved to Southern California, San Diego to be specific.

It turns out that what she fell in love with wasn't so much California, but the life guard in Mill Valley who happened to attend San Diego State University.  This never occurred to me and it took a while to dawn on me that she decided not to wait for me to come around.  It was mid autumn when I finally realized I'd been jilted and oddly enough, I suddenly fell madly in love with Mo and I had to have her.  Every love song on the radio sounded like it was written just for me.  I set out to win her heart back.  I started writing letters, poetry, journaling....my heart was in pieces....What an idiot.   

I finally accepted my fate and told Mo that I was ending my quest.  I told her not to call me unless she was interested in getting back together....she called.  I don't think she had any intention of reuniting, but that's not how I saw it.  So I hopped on the next flight I could and flew to San Diego.  Oddly, I'd never thought much about California.  I'd never wanted to visit.  I had no interest.  I knew it was there, but if not for Mo, I don't know if I would have ever gone there.

So, I got to San Diego.  I got to see Mo.  I met her boyfriend.  It was immediately obvious that we would not get back together...but I was fascinated with San Diego.  So what did I do?  I went home, packed up and drove my beat up old Peugot cross country and moved there.  I secretly kept hope that somehow it would work out with Mo, but I faced reality and started to build my own life.  

By the way, my career plans were not as whacky as you may have gathered from my earlier description of how I decided to major in Anthropology.  My grandfather was a pioneer in the movie business.  He and his family built a theater empire in the Chicago area called Balaban and Katz Theaters.  They were bought out by Paramount Studios in 1926.  My grandfather was named president of Paramount Studios in 1936 and was there until 1964.  He remained as chairman of the board until his death in 1971.

I wasn't interested in "Hollywood", but I did have a interest in film.  It was my plan to get my degree in Anthropology, attend graduate school for film and then head off to travel and make documentary films.  That was the plan.  I was accepted to the University of North Carolina Grad school for film before I made the same mistake I'd made when I decided to follow my high school girlfriend to Uconn.   

So I was in San Diego.  No job.  No School.  No girlfriend.  Lot's of hope and naivete.  I got a job at a TV production company working on making commercials.  I was playing senior league hockey in a checking league in Mira Mesa.  I was in great shape.  I kind of tore it up there.

My room mate at the time was a really nice guy named Jeff.  Jeff was a guy I met through a classified ad in the San Diego Reader.  We lived together at an apartment in Pacific Beach.  Jeff was a bit of a coke-head.  He worked as a "bar-back" at Crystal T's Emporium in Fashion Valley.  Crystal T's was San Diego's version of Studio 54.  

Jef'f dated a really nice gal who was a reporter for a paramedic magazine.  I remember her talking to us one day about an article she was working on dealing with how often times accident victims would walk away from a car crash only to wake up paralyzed the next day because they didn't get proper treatment.

That same night I had a senior league game.  It was fairly early in the game, I recall skating in one direction at the center red line, then stopping quickly to go the other way.   Bam!!!  It felt like a hand grenade exploded in the middle of my back.  I limped off the ice and got to the bench.  A few minutes later, I took my next shift.  Ka-pow!!!  Again with the excruciating pain.  My back was on fire.  In a lifetime of pain, it was the most intense agony I'd ever experienced.   I was helped off the ice and to the locker room.  I couldn't reach my feet to remove my skates.  One of my teammates helped me unlace and take my skates off.

My first inclination was to say I was fine.  I'd be alright.  Then I remembered Jeff's girlfriend's conversation about spinal injuries...You know what, maybe I should go to the hospital.  I was driven to Sharp Hospital, still wearing my hockey gear.  I walked in and was admitted to the e.r.  They got me out of my equipment and laid me on the table.  By the time I was examined, I could no longer feel or move my legs.  Oh crap.

It was already late at night.  Our game was at 10:00 or 11:00 pm.  By now it was already the middle of the wee hours of the morning, probably 2 or 3 am.  They gave me a mylogram.  Nasty procedure.  Dye is injected into the spinal canal and you are tilted on a table while they read  the results on an x-ray machine.  Massive headaches follow.  

Dr. John Cleary visited me at about 5:00 am.  Well, it wasn't good.  He told me there was damage to my spinal cord.  There was less than a 50% chance I'd walk after the surgery.  My parents were informed and were flying out from Connecticut.

The injury was at a unique level of my spine.  It was a massive ruptured disk at t-12.  Dr. Cleary informed me he had never seen this type of injury at that level in his career.  And he was no spring chicken.  Oddly enough while I was in the hospital he ended up having another t-12 laminectomy.  This one was from a woman who worked at a casino in Las Vegas.  She injured hers picking up a bucket of coins.

It was clear that my "accident" was the result of ten years of not taking care of my original injury when I was a 13 year old bantam.  Then playing with the pain for all those years.   It was no mystery what had happened..

So the surgery was performed.  I recall waking up, pretty groggy from the anesthesia and hearing the nurse tell me that there was good news.  They applied "pain stimulus" to my feet.  In other words, they stuck my feet with needles and I responded.  I would not be paralyzed.  

There was no way to know how much damage had been done, nor how permanent it would be.  What was clear, according to Dr. Cleary, was that I would never skate, lift cameras, ride horses or jump up and down.  I'm not exactly sure what that left, but I did appreciate the fact that I would not be paralyzed.  Thank you Jeff's girlfriend.

Thus began about of decade of discovery and life without hockey.  I recovered from the surgery.  I was able to shuffle, then walk.  I lived near the beach where I spent a lot of time, swimming, stretching, doing yoga and just hanging out.  The surgery happened in March.  I applied to graduate school at San Diego State University for Telecommunication and Film for the fall.  That summer I got about the worst possible job any one recovering from back surgery could imagine...I got a job bussing tables at the Vineyard Wine & Cheese.  It was a really cool, gourmet wine and cheese store and deli.  Way ahead of its time.  We were one of the only places in San Diego where you could get an espresso and a frozen banana dipped in chocolate. 

I also started jogging in the sand at the beach.  I'd spent my entire hockey based youth exercising "in order to" get in shape for hockey. Our training runs at Uconn were three miles long.  I'd never run more than that distance.  I worked up to a three mile run on the beach.  Of course, when I hit three miles I was done.  That was my limit.  One day, as I started to approach the end of my run I remember thinking that this was the first time I exercised just to exercise, not to get in shape for hockey.  I recall nearing the three mile mark and wondering to myself what would happen if I just kept going.  So I got to the end and I took one more step.  It felt like I'd stepped through a door.  I suppose it was what is known as a runners high, but for the first time ever I experienced effortlessness.  It was a dance.  Pure joy.  Nothing but me, my breath and the wind.  I kept going.  By the time I was finished I'd gone eight miles.  

I was hooked.  I ran everyday.  By October, I finished my first and only marathon in just over 4 hours.   I ran the entire time.  I never got tired.  I never thought of quitting or even walking.  Sorry, Dr. Cleary. 

Graduate school was awful.  It was academic, theoretical and really boring.  I quit and worked my way up from bus boy to deli worker, to manager of the deli and soon I would be offered the position of store manager.  

This will get back to hockey soon, I promise....but this was a time in my life of no hockey whatsoever.  I do recall having some interest in following the 1980 Olympics.  But besides that, I don't think I gave hockey a second thought for nearly 13 years.  I went the entire 80's without knowing who Wayne Gretsky was.  I couldn't play, I didn't care.  

At the time I was offered the job to manage the Vineyard, I had the opportunity to go up to Los Angeles and spend a week on the set of All In The Family.  I still have a fun polaroid picture of me sitting in Archie Bunker's easy chair.  I have family in the entertainment business in L.A. and I'm sure I could have gotten some kind of gopher job if I wanted.  I considered it, but when I got the offer to manage the store I opted for that instead.  The Vineyard held weekly wine tastings on Saturday's and once a month we hosted a winemaker from Napa or Sonoma for a big event.  I was invited to sit on a tasting panel for a national wine magazine  called the Grapevine.  It wasn't film or anthro but it was a lot of fun and great business experience.  

I did that for a few years then moved on to a few other careers before I finally settled on the financial services business.  I was a registered rep, stock broker, bond broker, commodities trader, Certified Financial Planner and Wealth Management Advisor.  All fancy ways of saying I was an investment guy.  I had a career. 

In 1989 I had client whose son was an anesthesiologist.  He always bragged about his son's practice which was in the, then newly emerging field of pain management.  I could use some of that.  Ever since my surgery in 1978, eleven years earlier, I continued to have pain at the site of my injury.  I would describe it as having a hot ember constantly poking on my spine in the middle of my back.  Every once in a while, it would spasm and flare up into a full on raging immobilizing blaze.  In those instances I would be flat on my back until it subsided.  It usually lasted the better part of a week.

After my second visit to Dr. Amundson, I was home zenning out(zoning out?) on my couch.  The procedure was what is commonly known today as a steroid epidural. This was the early days of this kind of therapy.  They injected cortizone and morphine into the area of the pain.   There I was on my couch drifting off into la-la land.  I felt my body relax and then I could feel the knotted pain in my back actually melt away.  It has never returned.  I was healed!!  Well not really, but at least that pain was gone.

There was one hockey experience I had in the 80's that is worth sharing.  Apparently, and this is a little known and long forgotten fact, San Diego was actually home to a Division I college hockey program. It was a school called United States International University or USIU.  Other than Alaska it was the farthest west D1 program in the country.  It was around for around seven or eight years in the 80s.  Chris Chelios was cut from the team and nearly quit hockey.  They were an independent team.  Uconn came out to play them. I went to the games.  Ben Kirtland was coaching Uconn at that time.  We lost by scores of 8-1 and 9-1.  I watched USIU beat the Minnesota Golden Gophers.  They beat that year's national champion North Dakota for their only home loss of the season.    The story behind this program is that there was a student, the son of a Saudi prince who was a big hockey fan.  So his father funded the program and the rest was history.  The kid must have graduated or lost interest and the team folded. 

This cleared the way for the next chapter of my life which would see the birth of my children and the return of hockey to my world in a huge way.

Up next. The birth of my son, the return of pro hockey to San Diego and my wife suggesting I start playing hockey.  Coolest wife ever!

Chapter 38: The Journey Continues-Coast to Coast

The Journey Continues

A quick note.  Again, I'm recounting our (mine, my son's and my families) journey through our love affair with the sport of hockey.  I'm again going to jump out of sequence to update you on the most recent development.

The other day we got word that my son made his new team.  I will tell the full story when the time comes, but for the moment, let me say that his freshman year at his previous school didn't go as well as hoped so he decided to transfer.  The decision came quite late, mid-July.  There were lots of hoops to jump through.  He needed to get a conditional release, contact athletic directors at all the schools he was interested in and then talk to coaches to find out if they would have an interest.

Last year when he chose his initial school it was a very close decision and a toss up between that program and his new school.  The new school was at the top of his list when considering where to transfer.  Problem was, the coach had fulfilled his recruiting quota and couldn't guarantee my son a spot.  He chose to transfer there anyway, knowing he would need to tryout and earn a roster spot.

As of this year the D3 hockey teams could officially start skating with coaches on Oct 15th. The past month has been filled with the team skating in "captain's practices".  At the strike of midnight on Monday, the 14th, as the calendar turned to October 15th, his new school could "officially" skate together.  They kicked off the season with a an intrasquad game.  I got a call at 2:30 a.m. east coast time from my son telling me he felt good and was optimistic.

The next day they had a 1pm practice and then another scrimmage game at 7:30pm.  That would pretty much conclude the tryout period. The coach told them the roster would be posted at noon that day. The scrimmage happened and again Max said he felt good.  He played half the game as a forward and the other half on defense.  His choice.  I think he felt he would get more ice time due to the number of forwards present.

I got word the next morning that he made the cut.  I'm not surprised.  But I am certainly relieved.  I hate tryouts.  The season starts in a week with the first game on November 1st.  Now I get to wait in anticipation to see how that turns out.  I hate waiting to see how things turn out.

Back to Junior hockey.

I was not thrilled with my son committing to play in the Atlantic Junior Hockey League. (AJHL) I figured, if he was to stay in the northeast he would be better off with an Eastern Junior leage team. (EJHL).  There were opportunities and calls to go to a number of North American League(NAHL) main camps.  We had our eyes on the British Columbia Hockey League(BCHL).  Since this time, the AJHL and the EJHL have merged into the Eastern Hockey League(EHL).  I haven't followed it very closely, but I suspect it is the best of the best of these two leagues.  

I'm not sure why I had this in my head and it was faulty thinking, but I figured he'd be better off on a top rated AJHL team than a lower level EJHL team.  Again, If I could do it over again, I would have encouraged him to sign with any EJHL team he could and there were plenty of opportunities.

But in the meantime we had bigger fish to fry.  Beer league in San Diego.  Working out nearly every day. Signing up for a couple of more showcases.  He got invited to skate in Denver at a camp for the Langely Chiefs(now defunct) of the BCHL.  He and his buddy Johnny Neal attended.  Johnny was one of Max's best buds growing up in San Diego Youth Hockey.   He's also one of the funniest characters I've ever met, in addition to being a great skater and a skilled defenseman.  Here's Johnny in one of his finer moments playing "Blastoff" on the laptop.  And here he is having a chat with some geese.

We all headed for Denver at the invitation of the Langely Chiefs head coach, Barry Wolff....Wolffy.  This would be the first time Max would be skating in a competitive situation without a cage protecting his face.  He went with the halfie.  Here's the result. 

In the first game/scrimmage of the camp, near the end of the session, Max had the puck. He stepped around the defender and was cutting hard to the net, without a lot of room.  As he neared the crease, the defender crosschecked him from behind.  He went head first into the crossbar.  Nothing serious but it was good for a laugh and a few stitches.

Both of the boys, Max and Johnny were invited to the main camp in Langely that would be held at the end of August.  I flew up with Max to Bellingham, Washington where we stayed with my wife's aunt for a day or so before borrowing her little camper van, Lulu and driving up to Langley.

Holding the main camp at the end of August puts everyone in an awkward situation.  If you make the team, you stay and the season starts. You need to be ready to stay and play.  If you don't you scramble to find another team at this late date.  There is always a filtering down from the upper level leagues to the tier 3 leagues as players are cut from these tryouts.  We were banking on his making the Chiefs, but had the comfort of knowing he was expected to show up at the Cyclones camp in New Hampshire the following week if things didn't turn out.

Max was set up with a billet family in Langely.  They lived a couple of miles from a very impressive arena where the Chiefs played.  I slept in the camper and hung out at Starbucks, Tim Horton's or any place with wi-fi.  I'd learned my lesson from using cell phones in Canada on too many occasions.  

The Canadian billet family was very nice.  I’ll only reference the mom, Julie and her kids, Connor and Kaylee, because her ass of a husband ended up getting kicked out a couple of years later.  They were excited to host Max. They’d never done it before and they were all thrilled.  The little ones loved him.

Langley Event Center, Langley, BC Canada

There were a number of San Diego kids attending the camp.  The San Diego Gulls goalie, Jason Campbell was there, as was Johnny Neal.  We knew a few other skaters from around Southern California Including Chris Blessing. Chris was an opponent we played against from Valencia, California.   I knew his mother.  When the boys were peewees and bantams his mom was an entertaining presence on the Socal-hockey.com website message board.  She seemed to have a lot to say about everyone and she took a lot of abuse over those years.  She and I actually became friends after a while and we’ve stayed in touch to see how our boys are faring.  Her son, Chris was fresh off of a midget national title with one of the Chicago teams and he was expected to make the Chiefs out of this camp. He did make it even though he suffered a shoulder injury during the tryouts. He played in four games before being traded to the Quesnel Millionaires, also in the BCHL.  The following year he played for two BCHL teams and then the Fresno Monsters of the NAHL.  Last year he attended the University of Wisconsin-River Falls where he had a less than positive experience with the coach and is now playing D1 ACHA at the University of Arizona.  Before you know it he will be in the beer league with the rest of us.

Jason, the goalie, played well.  But there were a shit-ton of goalies all competing for zero openings.  On the last day of the camp the coaching staff held evaluation interviews with each player.  I spoke to Jason as he was coming out of his meeting.  He said the coaches told him he was one of the best goalies at the camp, but that a Major Junior goalie from the QMJHL in Quebec had decided he wanted to play for the Chiefs so there were no openings.  Multiply about forty goalies times $250 bucks and the Chiefs took in a cool $10 grand for just the goalies.  My math says they raked in another $50,000 from the skaters, less the $250 I never paid.  Nice business model.  Again, from the looks and feel of things the team was pretty much pre-selected.  Here's a little peak at what I call "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Goalies".

Max ended up with 16 points in 4 games.  Every time he stepped on the ice good things happened. Here are a few clips of his play, here and here  I couldn’t have been happier with his performance and production.  The camp was structured such that each team played four games, then players were selected to stay to play in an intra-squad game.  One more cut would be made and then the team went right into their exhibition game season vs. the rest of the league.  Here's a clip of the quietest hockey fight I've ever seen.

Given Max’s performance I would have been shocked if he didn’t at least make it to the intra-squad scrimmage.   I ended up getting shocked. He went in for his evaluation interview and was basically told thank you very much.  Perhaps if I’d payed the $250? (In all honesty, I never thought about it at the time and no one ever asked. I figured at some point someone would ask for money.  Never happened.)

I will never forget the look on my son’s face as he emerged from that meeting.  Heartbreaking. Julie, the billet mom and her kids had come to watch the last game and we were all anxiously waiting for him in the lobby.  It was not one of our finer moments.  The air was thick with disappointment.  

Max’s buddy, Johnny Neal, did make the cut and a stayed.  He’s a defenseman.  He got to the exhibition games and ended up making the team, but there were paperwork problems with his release from USA Hockey and he sat for a few weeks before finding his way to the NAHL Wenatchee Wild in Washington State.  He sat for another few weeks as he was a late addition to the team and they didn’t have room for him there.  He ended up playing in the EJHL for the Rochester Stars and in the Ontario Provincial Hockey League(OPJHL)  for the Trenton Golden Hawks.  He’s entering his freshman year at Hobart College in New York.

Randy Carlyle and me

One of Johnny's coaches at Rochester was Craig Carlyle.  Craig played hockey at Brockport in the SUNYAC.  His dad is Randy Carlyle, the head coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs.  Johnny introduced Craig to the WSHL Gulls owner, Bruce Miller in San Diego.  Craig ended up moving to the San Diego area to take over coaching the Gulls.  He's currently in his third season.  

Chuckanut Bay in Bellingham, WA

So, we left the rink in our camper van, Lulu and headed back to Bellingham to regroup and figure things out.  We hung out with Aunt Barbara at Chuckanut Bay.  Beautiful country.  After that we started with arrangements to get Max to New Hampshire so he could report to the Northern Cyclones.  With the anticipation that Max would be staying in Canada, I never made billeting arrangements with the Cyclones.  They had a billeting coordinator, but we passed on the chance.  In lieu of that, I had made loose arrangements with a client of mine who had moved to New Hampshire and lived not far from Hudson, where the Cyclones played.  He had offered to let Max stay with his family.  There would be details to work out such as transportation.  Max didn’t have a car so would need to rely on teammates in the area for rides to and from the rink.

My client’s name was John.  His wife is Lisa.  I called them on the drive back to Washington, once we got back into the the U.S.  “Hey Mark, It looks like Max will need to stay with you after all.  Will that still work?”.  Mark decided it would be best if he put Lisa on the phone, so I started discussing the situation with her.  This was the first she’d heard of any of this.  And she had no idea what “billeting was all about.  So I explained.

“So, you mean Max will need his own room?”, was her response to my explanation.  Yep, pretty much-he could probably use his own room.  Well they didn’t have an extra room.  They had two kids, and John had an office with a fold out bed/couch, but that is where he worked. This was not going to work, but they would be able to let him stay there for a week or so while he got acclimated and found another housing situation.

So we scrambled and after a week or so we decided on probably the worst possible option…the “hockey house”.  No billet family.  Nobody watching.  Just a small group of 18-20 year olds learning to live on their own, probably without a mother or other responsible adult in the house for the first time in their lives.  It wasn’t pretty and I already know way too much about the lifestyle, so I’ll leave it at that for now.  Let your imagination run wild.

Up next, preseason showcase at the University of Vermont, the Woodchuck Classic, and then the start of the season.