THE STORY OF IRVIN "ACE" BAILEY - THE ONE I'VE BEEN MEANING TO WRITE FOR, WELL, DECADES
I EXHIBITED HIS HOCKEY RELICS, HANDLED THEM A LOT, AND ENJOYED EVERY MOMENT, EXCEPT ONE
Just a wee preamble, to let you to know, to fulfill an earlier promise, that I'm full steam ahead, preparing for a short series of blogs, to recognize the 150th anniversary, of the naming of Bracebridge, which will occur on the first of August this summer; all to be published on this site.
I feel comfortable and unchallenged, stating now, that I will be the only one who will highlight this occasion, at least in a public way, and provide a little video-music tribute, as a companion piece. A modest celebration but well intentioned none the less. I have written an editorial piece, about this anniversary, for the August issue of "Curious; The Tourist Guide," that will be in available in Ontario shops soon.
The Town, as you probably already know, was named "Bracebridge," in August 1864, but the citizens' chosen name of "North Falls," submitted to the federal department, that looked after post office applications, was rejected by Postal Authority, William Dawson LeSueur. No reason given. He just didn't like it, but did prefer a name with a little extra character. "Bracebridge," from the book, "Bracebridge Hall." Much more elegant than "North Falls," wouldn't you say? Maybe not! Instead, he afforded the hamlet the literary provenance, of one of the best known authors in the world, even then, by naming the settlement's postal outlet, after the title of the book, "Bracebridge Hall," written by Washington Irving. As an unfortunate twist of its own legacy, the town has had a bone to pick with Dr. LeSueur, the civil servant who gave the post office its name, for all the years since. In the minds of a few loyalists to the old name today, it should be the "Town of North Falls," instead, painted onto the welcome sign, at the municipality's boundary line.
The provenance of the name has never truly been celebrated, or the author given special recognition, which has always seemed strange to me. The memorial tribute to Washington Irving, (because he died shortly before the town was named) was bestowed as a preamble honor, to the hamlet; never intended to be a dishonorable or disrespectful situation, to the population of the riverside settlement. Most who didn't know much about the naming protocol at the government level. LeSueur unfortunately, didn't offer an explanation about this, until shortly before his death in the 1920's. By that time, there had already been an imbedded dislike for what has turned out, all these years later, to be a significant, widely recognized name. Would "North Falls," have been a better choice? Under the circumstances, of how the connection has been under developed, and under utilized for promotion, maybe it was the better of the two names. This is what I plan to analyze in my upcoming series of blogs; which should once again fan the passions, of those who have carried a grudge into this new century, 150 years after the fact. "North Falls rules", they may be heard yelling a century and a half later! Only kidding. I don't think its quite as passionate as that!
IN THE MEANTIME, I'VE GOT MORE MUSKOKA STORIES TO GET OUT INTO THE OPEN
I have a half dozen stories on the back burner. They've been there for far too long. I can't explain why this is the case, but for each one, there is a missing component, that I haven't been able to research successfully, and inevitably, out of frustration, I'd just move on to another story, where there was a more complete file of clippings and related resources. The story of Bracebridge hockey legend, Irvin "Ace" Bailey, one of the finest players, of those early years, of the Toronto Maple Leafs, (re-named after being the former Toronto St. Patricks), is a precious little jewel for this local historian. Maybe it's why I've protected it for so long, waiting for the right time to re-introduce Muskokans, to a legend many citizens today know little about. I've certainly got the nuts and bolts of the story, but I've always wanted a little bit more, to infill it as an international sports story. I don't have the same interest in that objective, today, as I did ten years ago, when I thought it would make a good book. While I do believe it could be made into a book, or even an updated documentary..., to me, it is a solid story about a local lad making good in the National Hockey League; at the same time, as another professional player, Billy Carson, was also making a name for himself in the N.H.L. He was one of two pro-hockey playing Carson brothers. Billy was born in Bracebridge, early in the 1900's I believe, but his brother, Frank, who also played in the N.H.L., was born in Parry Sound, shortly after the family moved north. The reason I bring this up, was that when I began writing a biography of Bracebridge born, Roger Crozier, a goaltender with the Detroit Red Wings, and at the same time, doing some side-stories about "Ace" Bailey, I was publicly chastised in the local press, because I had apparently forgotten the accomplishments of Frank and Bill Carson. I ran into a lot of this stuff, from some of my critics, and in only a few days of follow-up research, I had been able to find out, that as far as the Carson family went, they had moved to Parry Sound shortly after Bill was born, and honestly, this was his only connection to the town. Their farmstead had been located, in what is now known as "Ball's Flats." Both Bill and Frank were talented hockey players, but as I found out, the only real connection to Bracebridge, were those first years after birth, and no provenance to sports recorded, before the family left town. I wrote a rebuttal, with this information, and temporarily at least, silenced my adversaries. Not for long though. I found out, over time, just how easy it was to critique an historian, on just about every front, and yes, it was personal. So I learned early on to wade through the quagmire of opposition, and as long as I was right, everything was cool. If I made a factual error, I felt terrible and corrected it immediately.
A lot of folks who read these blogs, wonder how acceptable it is, that an active Bracebridge historian, could live in Gravenhurst, and feel comfortable cross pollinating; considering that the two towns, have had many adversarial moments since the 1860's, especially in sporting competition. Of course there's the "Bracebridge always got what it wanted," opinion, still shared by some older residents of Gravenhurst, still angry after all these years, about the location of the hospital, regional government offices, the Board of Education administrative centre, the Provincial Court House, Land Registry Office, Canada Manpower, and the list goes on. There is a lot less adversity between the towns today, because Gravenhurst can boast having the large and expanding Correctional Services penitentary, the Muskoka Airport, and even the Re-Store. When I was growing up in Bracebridge, during the 1960's and early 70's, especially as relates to sporting encounters, it was a bitter rivalry between the two towns. Always. I am told, that before this, it was even more aggressive in hockey especially. Even though there was only ten miles between us, it might have been the distance of a million miles, when it came to hospitality between the two sides, whatever competition was underway.
I should footnote this, for the posterity of local history, that when it has come to emergency services, it has been a secure tradition, that the towns help each other when crisis presents. The sharing of emergency services, between the two towns, goes back to almost the beginning of settlement. Put hockey skates and sticks to work, chasing a puck down the ice? That's a totally different kettle of fish.
I remember playing hockey at the old Gravenhurst, arena beside the former Rubberset plant, and boy oh boy, were those fans hard on us Bracebridge lads. There was no question, they were faithful to the home squad, and you couldn't help being a little unsettled, when they suddenly roared to life, after a heavy check or a goal for the good guys. I had first hand experience with this, because I was the goaltender, and when a puck hit the mesh, the building shook like an earthquake, with the noise of fans cheering, and thumping on the steel mesh behind me, and of course the boards. I remember skating behind the net once, to stick handle the puck to the right side defence, and being grabbed at the back of my sweater, when a fan stuck his hand through the mesh. I fell back in the corner, but considering the referee couldn't award a penalty to a fan, he just blew the whistle, which at the very least, saved a goal; because the puck had left my stick, and been picked-off by a Gravenhurst forward. The crowd cheered when my ass hit the ice.
So, as a matter of considerable historical fate today, (forgive my sense of the ironic), I have been writing Bracebridge history, from Gravenhurst, for more than 25 years now. The only exceptions, were the rough drafts I wrote, of my original Bracebridge Sketches, for the "Muskoka Advance," back in the early to mid 1990's, which I did compose, while tending the counter of our Bracebridge Antique Shop, in between customers. Here I am today, doing the same thing, and I suppose it might be perceived, by some of the historical purists, as a sort of sacrilage, to the chronicle of both towns, that I foray with regularity. I consider myself a Muskoka historian, regardless, so it's how I explain my capability of remaining neutral, unlike those days wearing a Bracebridge Kinsmen Club hockey sweater; and playing in that neat old Gravenhurst arena, where by the way, we most often lost.
When I began writing some of my "Bracebridge Sketches," stories about several of these Bracebridge-connected athletes, I was stopping regularly, at the Bracebridge arena, where the Ace Bailey collection was on display. I'd close-up, our Manitoba Street antique shop, for lunch, and wander over to the arena to do some basic research, for a series of these sketches I hoped to write for The Muskoka Advance, in the future. This is when I found out that there wasn't even a picture of Roger Crozier, anywhere in the arena lobby, that, at the same time, had a large number of vintage hockey teams, framed, complete with names of the players, and the year they won league championships. I asked the caretaking staff, if there was any reason, why there were no photographs on display, of Roger, amongst all the images hung in the large arena lobby. One of the arena staff, "Butch," told me to wait a moment, as he remembered there was a picture on top of a box, in a store room. He brought a framed picture of Roger in his Detroit Red Wing uniform, that at one time, was hung in the former arena lobby, that had been condemned in the late 1970's. I remember looking at the same one, that hung in the grand hall, when I used to attend all the intermediate and junior hockey games with my dad, or my new mates in town. It was an elegant two story lobby with built-in phone booths, and there were vintage hockey photos hung throughout. After several serious architectural problems, under stress of snow-load, with Ontario's older arenas, back in that period of the mid to late 1970's, structural issues were found at the Bracebridge arena, and the lobby had to be torn down. A new one was built, before the end of the 1970's, but many of the images that had hung in the former lobby, had been placed in storage by a previous manager, and never re-hung in the smaller lobby. The second story was built, but it was made into a rental room above the lobby.
What Butch had discovered, was a box of photographs, Roger's included, that had been packed away when the original lobby was leveled, and had basically been forgotten. One of the great treasures that would be found, later, after I became curator of the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame, was the small wooden showcase, with the sweater, stick and skates, of former intermediate hockey star, Garth "Butch" Brazier, who had drowned with several other hunters, when their boat capsized in rough weather on a local lake. The glassed display case, was donated by family, and was hung soon after his death, in the former lobby. By time arena staff found it again, in the late 1990's, it had been in a musty, damp environs. for almost twenty years. The fact that the box was still sealed, kept the relics from suffering moisture related damage, but the wood work was completely rotten by this point. Suzanne and I, as stewards of these artifacts, at this time, on behalf of the Crozier Foundation, and the Town of Bracebridge, spent weeks airing the materials, after a thorough cleaning, yet inside two weeks, after re-discovery, the Brazier display was back up in the arena lobby, again under glass, and carrying the original message; that he had been known for his expert capabilities on the ice, but mostly, for his sportsmanlike conduct. So it gave us great pleasure, let me tell you, to have been able to re-introduce a former Bracebridge hockey star and role model, back to a new generation of hockey fans and players. I remember the day news hit, that he had been drowned with his mates. The community was staggered. I remember the day the display case was mounted on the lobby wall, and the tributes made in his honor, at the next "Husky's" Game. I remember how speechless I was, when the arena staff brought out the dust covered box, it had been placed in, for those several decades in storage. I was told later, that the Brazier family had been asking about its whereabout for years, but the arena staff then, had no idea where it might have been stored. I was so happy to inform family, that what they had donated, as a memorial tribute, was once again, officially back in its place of honor at the Bracebridge arena. This was all done, by a Bracebridge historian / curator, living in Gravenhurst at the time. It only became an issue to a few locals, and I didn't waste my time entertaining their objections, that I might be tampering with history, by being too close to one side of the South Muskoka story. The critiques still buzz by my ear on occasion, but nothing has really changed, except now, I'm returning to some unfinished business, and it involves the biography of "Ace" Bailey in particular.
To my Gravenhurst critics, I just point out, rather feebly I suppose, that I don't have the same actuality in this town, as in Bracebridge, where I spent much of my young life. And indeed, hanging around the arena, as a rink rat for manager Doug Smith, my other, much louder, less patient father figure. To write about such heritage situations here, would require a lot more research, just to get a platform, on to which to build an accurate biography, or historical accounting. There would be a lot of mistrust locally, if I was writing about something I hadn't lived through, or had passed down as a family chronicle, to entitle me the right and privilege to make local assertions. I hate when this happens, such that an author begins writing about local heritage, even to the extent of full community histories, without any serious connection with the past, in that precise vicinity. I don't buy them, and I would not use them as reference. I have fly-by writers, use my material all the time, as reference for their paid-for stories, and the only way I find out about it, is when a reader emails me, to let me know they liked my contributions contained in the subject book. "What book? I didn't give them permission to use my material!" Now I just respond, "Is that right?" And carry-on because I can't seem to stop it. As for then, using these books, as reference, that at best, just dust over the history that should be written, and get away with it, I resist temptation, quite easily truth be know. It's just the way I am. So there are a lot of limitations as to what I will write about, in the historical vein, when I have no reliable nurturing root of information, to benefit, from beginning to end. The last thing I want to do, is anger the good citizens, of the community, by doing a half-ass job. I have respect for Gravehurst historians, so I know my limitations. They have an archives of significance at their beck and call. I don't!
When I became curator of the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame showcases, at the Bracebridge arena, financed and built by the Crozier Foundation, as a memorial tribute in Roger's honor, we were finally able to get a decent display set up, for not only Roger, but a bigger exhibition space for Ace Bailey; which prior to this, was housed in a smaller case, generously donated by local resident and businessman, Murray Dauphin, which by the way, was relocated, to the opposite lobby wall, and used instead, to house the Butch Brazier memorial. Which, I'll tell you, is of almost iconic significance, to the the town's sporting history.
I was the Hall of Fame curator for twelve years, but I was eventually forced out, and abruptly so, by a new administration at town hall, and new plan for the showcases, that I had helped establish. Showcases, by the way, the town didn't pay to construct, or fund, to have maintained as exhibits, to their general advantage for all those years. I wasn't without emotion, going out the arena door, for the last time. The four Curries, who had given so much time to the Foundation, and toward the upkeep of the exhibit, felt connected in a way that is hard to explain. It all goes back to Roger Crozier I suppose, and the initial agreement to build the display cases.
I don't suppose I will never lose the feeling of betrayal, from a group of town officials, who had claimed their full support for the Crozier Foundation, and my volunteer services, some from the very beginning; but yet, there wasn't any point being associated with a group that felt I had outstayed my welcome. I had no choice but to hand over the security keys, and stewardship of the artifacts. Especially when I didn't have the support of the Crozier Foundation, at that point, which had awarded me the curatorial job in the mid 1990's. The problem was two-fold. The Crozier Foundation ceased its Muskoka and Canadian Foundation work, and moved it back to Delaware, where it had also been founded, by Roger, in the mid 1990's. I remember the day Roger asked me, what I would like most, as an installation at the Bracebridge arena, if I had a wish as a future curator of archives material, and I asked, without hesitation, for a large display case, to go with what presently existed. The wish was granted, but Roger had passed on before it could be built. The showcases, beautifully crafted by Muskoka contractor, Mike Thompson, were installed as a memorial to the former N.H.L. goaltender, the next spring, with considerable fanfare. I was in the middle of this, and it was a great feeling, to see something so positive happening, that would showcase the athletic legacy of my former hometown. I say former, because I was living in Gravenhurst at the time. The Foundation, even paid to have the arena lobby re-painted, to compliment the new showcase units, and in addition, all the vintage photographs were copied, and an archives binder established, to preserve the images for future generations. All paid for by the Crozier Foundation, yet few would know about this fact. The reality I was imbedded as the first curator, did unsettle some in the community, and for twelve of twelve years, they would let me know their chagrin, whenever a picture was missing, or something in the display case was not what they felt was appropriate, based on historical record. The biggest fight I had, was when I offered a local minor hockey team, that had won some tournament that month, a little space in the exhibition case; which would have been approved by Roger, as a reasonable amalgamation of the old and the new, as relates to sportsmanship and accomplishment in local athletics. It came down to an issue of jealousy, amongst other hockey coaches and parents, and they accused me of facilitating something that gave one team more credit, than all the other teams of minor hockey. They actually started telling me what the showcase was for, and gosh, I couldn't believe how ridiculous the whole situation became. So the coach came to gather-up the team photos and trophy, although I had told him it wasn't necessary, as I was the curator, and I could weather anything they wished to toss at me, including pucks.
When all the old photographs had been copied, it was decided by the arena administration, at the time, that there would only be a small portion of the arena lobby, dedicated to these old images from that point. A sporting goods room was set up for free enterprise, which later became an office for staff, and with a pop machine, and some arcade games, there was a lot less wall space to utilize. So many of the original hockey photographs, were stored in the basement of the former town offices, on Dominion Street. Suzanne and I helped carry dozens of the big format framed photographs into the basement. They had previously been stored in our house, because the town couldn't afford the space immediately, to house them safely. This became a necessity, the day the Mayor, at the time, interrupted my dinner, to inquire, politely of course, where all the hockey photos had gone. It was for me, the last straw, because I had been explaining the storage problem for a year after the showcases were constructed. So I demanded the town accept them back, and gave them a week to find storage space. Or, we were prepared to deposit them in the reception area of town hall. We were tired of the brow-beating, about where the pictures were being kept. Well, this was another mistake, because they were lost once again, making about four occasions in twelve years, they couldn't be found by town staff, in their own building. The real issue was when the town offices were re-located, and the old photographs were shuttled once more, back to the arena, I believe, without telling any one at town hall, where they were being stored. I had to confront one person, who had made an off-hand comment, about me selling them on ebay, explaining I suppose, at least to some insiders, why they couldn't be found.
I had a lot of fun, on the occasion, when I had to remind administrators, exactly where these images were being stored at the arena, as put there by the town staff. My only regret, is that Suzanne and I hadn't got a signed receipt, when we turned them back over to the town, after that brief hiatus in our family room, after being re-photographed for the archives. If any one should think that this past generosity of the Crozier Foundation, which founded skating and hockey camps, and purchased needed equipment for a decade, could possibly be misconstrued, it most certainly was, and probably still is. I was its poster boy for those years, and it was a controversial image, of a rogue curator, flogging Bracebridge hockey heirlooms on ebay. Keeping in mind, that a majority of the display items, in the showcases, belonged to our family anyway, because I didn't have enough donated to me, to fill the cases with locally relevant sports artifacts. It cost us a lot of money, out of our pockets, to afford items like vintage skates, and hockey equipment, to support our subject exhibits, to showcase alongside the displays belonging to Roger and Ace Bailey. This was our choice, but it always hurt, to find out that some critics, were certain we had disposed of the original images from the arena lobby, for personal profit. It's one of the major reasons, we don't volunteer to assist local municipalities today, especially loaning any of our antique pieces for town exhibitions.
I stayed on as curator for almost two full years, following the end of the Crozier Foundation, which had been a volunteer job, by the way, and never asked for a penny from the Town of Bracebridge, to continue curatorial duties for the final two years. I had wanted to do more research on the career of Ace Bailey, and that was to be my next project for the exhibition space. I had some differences of opinion, with my overseers, and it became obvious, there were others who wanted to take over the showcase, and change it, to what they believe had been neglected. Admittedly, from a frustration perspective, I was ready to move on, regardless, but I couldn't help chuckling to myself, that it had ended like it started, with critics popping up, to suggest I was too preoccupied with the biography of Roger Crozier, and not treating the history of town athletics evenly and fairly. The last time I tended the display case, to clean-out our materials from the exhibit space, after being replaced, largely because of a political shift of opinion, I handled Ace Bailey's skates and trophies one last time, vowing to re-visit his story, some time down the road; as I had once promised his daughter when the showcases were first dedicated. I thought about the day Roger asked me what I wanted, to assist with promotion of Bracebridge Sports Archives, and when I asked for a honking big showcase, he didn't say yes, but he didn't say no either. But what he did do, was put it on a list of things, for the new foundation to consider funding, and unfortunately, he never lived to see it constructed or operational. It was certainly the proudest day of my life, and I was so impressed, that Roger had remembered my request, as sick as he was at that point.
Times and attitudes change. After twelve years, of our family tending the showcases, at no gain other than the pleasure of association, and belief in what we were doing to promote these stars of the past, I was ready, in many ways, to retire; so while I felt upset at my dismissal, I suppose as being yesterday's news, it did seem the perfect time none the less, to be free from an old responsibility, that we had taken seriously, based on the commitment to Roger, to be part of his fledgling foundation. I offer this, then, as one of the reasons, I have kept the story of Irvin "Ace" Bailey in the wings, so to speak, because it has taken some time to reconcile, with what happened back then, and gaining back the reason, to re-visit a story, I was intimate with for so long.
Like the day, we were called in to rescue all the artifacts, and old paper, from the showcases, because of a flood spilling over, from the bathroom upstairs in the arena, that had over night, drained indirectly, down into the glassed-in compartments. We were told, a youngster, at a wedding reception, in the upstairs hall, the evening before, had shoved a large bun into the toilet, and then flushed. This supposedly was at the end of the night, so when we arrived, early that Sunday morning, there was a pool of water in middle of the lobby, and water still draining down the glass shelves of the display case. It was a major blow, because it meant that everything had to be cleaned thoroughly, because the water had come from, of all things, an overflowing toilet. All the framed photographs had to be taken out of the glass, cleaned and dried, then re-framed. It took weeks. I remember Suzanne holding up both of Ace Bailey's skates, each full of toilet water. Talk about a national story, we kept under wraps. It was one of numerous water-related incidents. Each occasion required conservation of the contaminated pieces. Fortunately, at least in my term of office, there was only one serious toilet incident. As for getting thanks for our work, to recover from this catastrophe, not a word from the mayor or councillors. Not one word of thanks. Just comments like, "when will the display-case be full again." But we weren't looking for recognition; just a way of stopping this kind of water contamination in the future. I did get some press coverage for this, in the local media, and I don't think the town liked the way it looked to readers; that a volunteer, not knowing his place, was being quoted, when it was supposed, I should have refused to talk at all. I've never colored within the lines.
Looking back now, I do feel a lot better about the circumstances of my departure. I enjoyed my days as curator, and the town greatly benefitted from the generosity of the Crozier Foundation, specifically Roger Crozier, who was paying back his hometown, for all the kindnesses shown him, when local residents, and former teammates, helped him out, during the early years of his budding hockey career. That's what it was all about for me. The display cases, at my request, are still in use today, and hopefully visitors to the arena, will occasionally think about Roger, when they look at the heirloom pieces exhibited within.
In the coming weeks, I will be putting together a basic template, of a future biography, I have promised to put together, for long and long, about Ace Bailey, who I got to know better after his death, than I got to know, during his lifetime. It won't have much to do with an arena showcase, or Roger Crozier, or the Carson brothers, as mentioned earlier. But it is an interesting story that deserves to be told, and celebrated.
FROM THE COLD, COLD, COLD, ARCHIVES
THE HOCKEY I KNEW - AND THE ARENAS WITH NATURAL ICE - OH BOY
WHEN WE CRIED TOGETHER, SUFFERING FROM FROZEN TOES AND WHITE FINGERS
AT LEAST THREE TIMES A WEEK, SOMEONE I KNOW, WILL ASK ME POLITELY, WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY LEFT LEG. I SHOULD BE FLATTERED THEY CARE TO ASK, BUT MY RESPONSES CHANGE DEPENDING ON THE SITUATION. SOMETIMES IF I'M FEELING FULL OF BEANS, I ANSWER THAT I WAS "GORED, DURING THE RUNNING OF THE BULLS IN SPAIN." I'VE BEEN KNOWN TO ANSWER THAT, "I WAS IN A CAR WRECK WHILE RACING IN THE DAYTONA 500," AND EVEN, "MY PARACHUTE DIDN'T OPEN." THEY KNOW I'M KIDDING, AND THEY HALF SMILE IN RETURN. "WRITERS! THEY CHORTLE, WHILE THEY EXIT OUR CONVERSATION. THE FACT IS, I HAVE HAD SO MANY BODY ABUSES, FROM WORK AND SPORT, I REALLY DON'T HAVE AN ACCURATE ASSESSMENT, OF JUST WHAT INCIDENT IT WAS, THAT GAVE ME A PAIN IN THE ASS.
YEAR'S AGO, WHEN I WAS GOING FOR ASSESSMENTS OF MY JAW, (AS I SUFFER FROM A SEVERE JAW DYSFUNCTION) WHICH INVOLVED SOME CHIROPRACTOR ASSISTANCE, RE-ADJUSTING THE SKELETON THAT APPARENTLY WANTED TO LEAVE THE REST OF MY BODY BEHIND, I WAS TOLD THAT ONE LEG WAS LONGER THAN THE OTHER. I MAY HAVE BEEN PANIC-STRICKEN FOR THAT MOMENT, THINKING, "MY GOD, I'M REALLY OFF-KILTER, AND SHRINKING TOO." I THINK QUITE A FEW OF US HAVE THIS KIND OF SITUATION, ONE LEG A TAD BIGGER AND LONGER THAN THE OTHER, AND FOR MOST, IT DOESN'T ADD UP TO MUCH OF A CRISIS. MY HOBBLING HAS BECOME A LITTLE WORSE THESE DAYS, AND SUZANNE BELIEVES IT'S ALL THE TIME I SPEND AT THE COMPUTER. SHE NOTICED THE OTHER NIGHT, HOW I HABITUALLY TUCK MY LEG UNDER THE CHAIR, POSSIBLY FOR SAFE KEEPING. I THINK RATHER, IT HAS BEEN A LIFE OF PHYSICAL STRESSES, AND NOT THE RESULT OF ONE TRAUMATIC, OR RECURRING INJURY. I DON'T HAVE SWELLING, OR ANYTHING, ANYWHERE, THAT EVEN LOOKS LIKE A DISORDER…..UNTIL YOU SEE ME COMING DOWN THE GROCERY STORE AISLE, LIMPING AND GRUMBLING, AND TELLING SHOPPERS TO GET OUT OF MY WAY….."CRANKY OLD BASTARD COMING," I YELL AS FOREWARNING.
SO WHEN NICE FOLKS ENQUIRE ABOUT MY WEE HOBBLE, I SELDOM HAVE THE TIME OR PATIENCE, TO GO BACK TO WHERE IT ALL BEGAN. IN THE FRIGID, NATURAL ICE ARENAS WHERE OUR MINOR HOCKEY TEAMS HAD TO PLAY, IN MY VINTAGE OF ORGANIZED SPORTS. I WAS AMONGST THE LAST OF THE MINOR HOCKEY KIDS, WHO GOT TO PLAY IN THOSE BARN-TYPE STRUCTURES, THAT WERE ALWAYS COLDER INSIDE THAN IF WE HAD BEEN PLAYING OUTDOORS…..EVEN CONSIDERING THE WIND CHILL. THEY WERE RUSTIC AND WONDERFULLY TRADITIONAL, IN THE CANADIAN SENSE OF ROUGHING-IT-FOR-SPORTS. IT WAS THE CANADIAN WAY. TO FREEZE YOUR BODY PARTS FOR THREE PERIODS OF FRIGID HOCKEY, WHEN EVEN THE PUCK WOULD DISINTEGRATE WHEN SMACKED AGAINST THE GOAL POSTS. AH, THOSE WERE THE DAYS. I ACTUALLY HAD ONE SPLIT IN TWO, WHEN I GOT HIT WHILE WEARING MY NEWLY ACQUIRED JACQUE PLANTE MASK. THE REF DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL TO DO.
IT STARTED OFF WITH LEG DROPS AT THE RED WING HOCKEY SCHOOL
Roger Crozier gave me a free pass to join the annual summer Red Wing Hockey School, at the Bracebridge Arena, in 1968 I believe. Roger told me many years later, that I was considered a rising star as a netminder……which would have been useful information at the time. I just thought they had some extra spots to fill, and that someone from town had mentioned that, short of going to reformatory, I should be put into the program for the town's well being. This is exactly what happened, because it was thought by local coaches, I could be all star goalie material by the time I made it to Midget age. So during this camp period, I had a goaltending coach, and with outside supervision from Roger and his partner, Ron Ingram, they had me doing leg drops, kicks, flops, the butterfly save (legs pushed out flat on either side), and quick jump-ups, from being flat on my face. For days, I never saw a puck in my crease. I just did these leg exercises, to improve my agility in the net. I hobbled home every afternoon. I enjoyed the camp, and I continued thanking Roger, from the time of the camp, to the mid 1990's, when I actually began working for his newly formed charity, the Crozier Foundation of Muskoka. I was public relations director for Muskoka, and curator of the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame, which the Foundation financed at the Bracebridge Arena. I think he got the message, eventually, that I appreciated his support way back when……and it was a nice break for a poor kid, from a family that could never have afforded to send me. I'm not saying that the leg drops and splits and all the other exercises hurt my leg and hip joint. I do think, that after many years, even through university and mens recreational hockey, I continued to beat on the same bones and tissue, that bother me today…..especially if I feel the urge to stop a puck coming my way…..or bad weather approaches. I'm like a human barometer. Cold damp weather adds to the discomfort, that's for sure. Doesn't happen too much these days, that I might face someone taking a snapshot, unless I run through a road hockey game, on the way to get the mail across the road, here at Birch Hollow.
I think a lot about those old arenas though, and how many games I backed-up Tim Morrison (father of rising star comedian, Tyler Morrison), riding the frozen pine, in those incredible, frosted-over, tin-roofed, barns they called arenas; and when I get a little pain down south, it's the first thing that comes to mind. Frozen to the bench, or frozen stiff in the net. It could be brutal at thirty below. The ice itself would explode when we skated over it, and the puck was like a disc of lead, when it hit you in the groin…..which for me, was pretty typical…..the pain on top of pain thing. There are nights, here at Birch Hollow, when I step outside to walk the dog, that I get a whiff of frigid Muskoka air, and the scent of woodsmoke, from neighboring chimneys, and I think back to those hundreds of games, we played in the rustic ice palaces, in villages like Port Carling, Bala, MacTier, Baysville, Sundridge, and Powassan. The better appointed arenas of course were in Gravenhurst, which was definitely a step up from the others; Huntsville and Bracebridge were very nice rinks with normal heaters in the dressing rooms. I loved the game so much, that I never thought about the temperature prior to the game. That would have been distracting.
When we get upstairs to the dressing-rooms, some of them had stove-pipes running right up through the floor, and positioned in the middle of the tiny room. Very few of our players, left these natural ice arenas, without being branded, on assorted parts of our bodies. I used to back into the sucker just about every game, usually with a bare back. We all left a lot of skin on those red hot stove pipes. Back in those days, I played on minor hockey teams with chaps like Wayne Sander and Paul Duff, and every time I run into these lads today, I automatically think about being piled into one of our father's vehicles, half frozen, driving through snowstorms around the lakes, just to play that "good old hockey game."
I can remember in the dressing rooms, after the games, when most of us began crying, because of the immense pain, from the stove-pipe heat, that was thawing out our toes. It was excruciating pain. The same with our white-frosted finger-tips. If Tim Morrison and I split the game, I always wanted the second shift, because if you were wet with sweat, and had to sit on the bench for long, you were going to become a popsicle before the final buzzer. The trick, while riding the pine, was to never stop kicking your feet, back and forth, and up and down, to keep warmth generating within…..and blood circulating. The iced bench was a little rough on the behind, but that's a story we won't delve into. But I had many games that my feet were so cold, while playing net, that I wouldn't be able to feel a snapshot to the toes. I often got to the dressing room, to find out, after removing my skates, that my sock was bloody because of an injury. Back in my day, the second string netminders didn't get team issued goalie skates. The town provided the pads, but not the skates. Goalie skates have steel toes made to withstand shots. Ordinary hockey skates then, didn't have much protection at all. Even my goalie pads were too small, so I took a lot of shots and sticks to the upper leg, when I was in a slide, and my pants bunched-up a tad. My mask was too small, so I got hit in the fleshy part of the head a lot. This however, doesn't explain my limp.
Over the decades, I was injured a lot playing Canada's national sport. The biggest cut I ever had, was on the forehead, when I got into a fight with an opposition forward, and he yanked my helmet off, and started beating me with it……the steel mesh….which left an interesting grid on my face. The near-death injury, was a slap shot to the throat, and no one connected with the team knew what to do, other than tell me, 'Come on Currie, you bum, shake it off." So when I'd take a slap shot on the inside of my leg, or a stick slash to the hip, where there was absolutely no padding, I gave up hobbling to the bench, because most of the time, I was the starting and only goalie. As I've written about many times in the past, minor hockey was brutal back in my vintage of the 1960's onward. I can remember a kid having his front teeth knocked out by high stick, and the coach yelling at him, for falling out of the play, while trying to pick up the remnants scattered on the ice. "But coach…..my teeth…..they're all over the ice." You know, I've watched the movie "Slapshot," about a half dozen times, because there are certain scenes in the film, that remind me of my younger days in hockey, with lads like the Hanson Brothers, that were rough even in the dressing room. Our coaches liked "tough," and "never say die," attitudes, and so did my parents; thus there was no point complaining to them, that a brawl broke out in the dressing room, over the disposal of someone's underwear down the toilet.
When someone asks me why I limp, I try to come up with something anecdotal, because to get into the decline of my body, in the pursuit of sports excellence, isn't something I can consolidate into a couple of sentences. So I just offer explanations like, "I fell off my horse at the Kentucky Derby," or "I twisted my knee, while climbing Mount Everest." It seems that by limping, I've created quite a stir around here, and there may even be a pool, or bet, about how it happened, that I became suddenly injured. Maybe it was caused when Suzanne finally threw me out of the house, into the hedge, for being argumentative……one too many times. Or maybe it's just the result of playing too hard, in too many extreme conditions, for way too long. So we'll just leave it at that. So the next time you spot me, dipping and doodling all over the place, between the bananas and the turnip bin, just whisper amongst yourselves…….it was hockey that felled the man. God bless him for playing Canada's National Sport…..till he finally could play no more.
Thanks so much for joining today's blog, written from "close to the hearth," here at Birch Hollow……on a dark and stormy night. Geez, it looks like a night that my dad would have had to drive five or six of us hockey lads, to MacTier, through white-outs, in a rickety old car, with failing windshield wipers, and an intermittent heater. But we survived. Just a little worn around the edges. See you again soon.
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