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Authors: Gordie Howe
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right shin pad. I’ve dressed the same way ever since.
Once I stepped onto the ice, I was able to calm down. You often hear athletes talk about the playing field being a refuge from anything else that might be going on. That might sound like a cliché, but it’s the truth. It was certainly never truer for me than it was at the Rangers’ camp. Everything else around me was foreign—the city, the players, the equipment—but hockey was still the same, and I remember the relief I felt when it was time to play. I also recall thinking that I was capable of skating with everyone in camp. That realization was a boost to my confidence that I took with me after I left. I wasn’t the best guy there, but no one was doing anything that was beyond me. For a raw fifteen-year-old, everything at camp that was hockey related went as well as could be expected. Well, everything except for one incident, that is. During a scrimmage, an older player—Billy Warwick, if memory serves—was coming down the wing. I went low, stuck out my hip, and sent him for a ride almost into the seats. He ended up straddling the boards and he wasn’t too happy about it. Lester Patrick, the Rangers’ general manager, called me over and said, “You don’t do that here.” In the heat of the moment, I thought he was talking about how they played in Winnipeg. I replied, “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve never been here before.” It wasn’t until later that I realized he meant you don’t hit your own teammates like that during practice. Looking back now, I’m not sure my answer was half bad. It was the truth, after all.
When I wasn’t playing hockey, Winnipeg didn’t treat me that well. On the ice, I knew what I was doing. Off the ice, I missed home. For a kid who’d never really been away from Saskatoon or his family, nothing was easy or routine. I think about how shy I was then and wish I could go back to that time, put my arm around a young Gordie, and give him a few pointers. Even basic things like getting something to eat could cause me trouble. I remember that the Rangers had a training table set up at the hotel. Players would grab a plate and line up to eat buffet style. I was so nervous and awkward I couldn’t bring myself to go to the buffet table. All of the big players from the team were there and I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I just stood back and watched. No one was rude or shoved me out of the way, but we had only a short amount of time to eat and everyone needed to get down to business. As it happened, it was Alf Pike who realized I could use a hand. He pushed a few guys out of the way and told them that the kid needed to eat something as well. After I saw how things were done I felt more comfortable getting in there myself, but when you’re shy, doing something for the first time can be especially tough. I’ve always thought it would be easier to be one of those people who doesn’t worry about things like that, but that’s just not me.
If I had been more outgoing at fifteen, there’s a good chance I would have become a New York Ranger instead of spending more than a quarter of a century with the Detroit Red Wings. It’s hard for me to imagine a different life, one in which Colleen and I raised our kids in New York City. A moment that almost made that a reality came later in camp, though. Frank Boucher, the team’s coach, and Lester Patrick called me to their hotel room to talk about what came next. They liked enough of what they’d seen to sign me to a “C” form. At that time, the NHL had three typesof contracts for prospects, known as “A,” “B,” and “C” forms. They were a sweet deal for the teams, but not so great for a player. A “C” form essentially gave your rights to the club that signed you. They told you where to play and they could renew the agreement every year for as long as they wanted. If you eventually did sign a proper contract, your salary and signing bonus were already determined in the
Once I stepped onto the ice, I was able to calm down. You often hear athletes talk about the playing field being a refuge from anything else that might be going on. That might sound like a cliché, but it’s the truth. It was certainly never truer for me than it was at the Rangers’ camp. Everything else around me was foreign—the city, the players, the equipment—but hockey was still the same, and I remember the relief I felt when it was time to play. I also recall thinking that I was capable of skating with everyone in camp. That realization was a boost to my confidence that I took with me after I left. I wasn’t the best guy there, but no one was doing anything that was beyond me. For a raw fifteen-year-old, everything at camp that was hockey related went as well as could be expected. Well, everything except for one incident, that is. During a scrimmage, an older player—Billy Warwick, if memory serves—was coming down the wing. I went low, stuck out my hip, and sent him for a ride almost into the seats. He ended up straddling the boards and he wasn’t too happy about it. Lester Patrick, the Rangers’ general manager, called me over and said, “You don’t do that here.” In the heat of the moment, I thought he was talking about how they played in Winnipeg. I replied, “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve never been here before.” It wasn’t until later that I realized he meant you don’t hit your own teammates like that during practice. Looking back now, I’m not sure my answer was half bad. It was the truth, after all.
When I wasn’t playing hockey, Winnipeg didn’t treat me that well. On the ice, I knew what I was doing. Off the ice, I missed home. For a kid who’d never really been away from Saskatoon or his family, nothing was easy or routine. I think about how shy I was then and wish I could go back to that time, put my arm around a young Gordie, and give him a few pointers. Even basic things like getting something to eat could cause me trouble. I remember that the Rangers had a training table set up at the hotel. Players would grab a plate and line up to eat buffet style. I was so nervous and awkward I couldn’t bring myself to go to the buffet table. All of the big players from the team were there and I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I just stood back and watched. No one was rude or shoved me out of the way, but we had only a short amount of time to eat and everyone needed to get down to business. As it happened, it was Alf Pike who realized I could use a hand. He pushed a few guys out of the way and told them that the kid needed to eat something as well. After I saw how things were done I felt more comfortable getting in there myself, but when you’re shy, doing something for the first time can be especially tough. I’ve always thought it would be easier to be one of those people who doesn’t worry about things like that, but that’s just not me.
If I had been more outgoing at fifteen, there’s a good chance I would have become a New York Ranger instead of spending more than a quarter of a century with the Detroit Red Wings. It’s hard for me to imagine a different life, one in which Colleen and I raised our kids in New York City. A moment that almost made that a reality came later in camp, though. Frank Boucher, the team’s coach, and Lester Patrick called me to their hotel room to talk about what came next. They liked enough of what they’d seen to sign me to a “C” form. At that time, the NHL had three typesof contracts for prospects, known as “A,” “B,” and “C” forms. They were a sweet deal for the teams, but not so great for a player. A “C” form essentially gave your rights to the club that signed you. They told you where to play and they could renew the agreement every year for as long as they wanted. If you eventually did sign a proper contract, your salary and signing bonus were already determined in the
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