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Authors: Gordie Howe
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“C” form, which really cut down a player’s ability to negotiate early in his career.
Of course, I wasn’t too concerned about contracts and “C” forms at the time. The Rangers also wanted me to attend Notre Dame, a Catholic school in Wilcox, Saskatchewan, that was known for turning out good hockey players. It’s a tradition that has lasted. A long list of current and former NHL players went to school there. As it happened, I’m not one of them. I wasn’t Catholic, so my first thought was that Notre Dame would be a bad fit. My next thought was about home. I’d only been in Winnipeg for a short time, but I didn’t like feeling so alone. The thought of living at a boarding school, and a strict one at that, where I wouldn’t know anyone didn’t sound good at all. The school is about twenty-five miles south of Regina, which felt like a long way from Saskatoon. I didn’t want to go to Notre Dame and I didn’t want to sign anything with the Rangers, so I listened to their offer and told them thank you very much, but that I really just wanted to go home. They pressed me a bit, but my mind was made up. When I left for my return trip to Saskatoon, I remained a free agent. It turned out to be the right move.
That said, my lack of formal education has bothered me ever since. Notre Dame is a fine school and I know I would have learned a lot there. I enjoyed a long career as a hockey player and I don’t have many regrets, but I do wish I had gone to school for a fewmore years when I’d had the chance. As it played out, though, I was happy to leave camp and head home. That fall, I was back in school in Saskatoon, and by winter I was once again skating on hometown ice, playing hockey with my friends.
• • •
D uring the 1943–44 season, scouts began to take more of an interest in what I was doing on the ice. I was still only fifteen, but I guess they started seeing me as a pretty good prospect. A number of teams sent letters and telegrams to our house, wanting to talk about a contract. In the middle of World War II those telegrams weren’t great for a jittery mother with two sons fighting overseas, Norm in the navy and Vern in the army. Every time one arrived her mind jumped to the worst conclusion. My dad eventually put a stop to it. He told the teams to quit writing. If they wanted to talk about my hockey career, they’d have to come by the house and do it in person. That’s how Fred Pinckney ended up in our parlor.
Mr. Pinckney was the timekeeper for the Saskatoon Quakers and a part-time scout for the Detroit Red Wings. He’d been watching me for a few years, and as my sixteenth birthday approached, his interest really began to pick up. Just as Mr. McCrory had done a year earlier, Mr. Pinckney came to the house, but he talked about why I should join the Red Wings. He made good enough sense, but I was hesitant to sign the “C” form he’d brought in his pocket. Two clubs were showing serious interest in me, the Rangers and the Red Wings, and I didn’t know how to pick between them. My memory of the loneliness I’d felt the year before in Winnipeg also didn’t make the thought of another training camp too inviting (added to which, this one was even farther away, in Windsor, Ontario). I asked Mr. Pinckney if anyone I knew was going. He said therewould be a couple dozen guys from the area, including a bunch from Saskatoon. The idea of traveling to Windsor, which is just across the border from Detroit, with my friends seemed more appealing to me than being in Winnipeg by myself. After some more talk, I signed the form and agreed to attend training camp with the Red Wings.
When fall came, I boarded a train that would take me to my second professional training camp. Enough of us were making the trip that we filled an entire sleeper car. I’d say there were about twenty-two players in all, many of whom I’d played with and against for years. The trip took two days and two nights and sharing it
Of course, I wasn’t too concerned about contracts and “C” forms at the time. The Rangers also wanted me to attend Notre Dame, a Catholic school in Wilcox, Saskatchewan, that was known for turning out good hockey players. It’s a tradition that has lasted. A long list of current and former NHL players went to school there. As it happened, I’m not one of them. I wasn’t Catholic, so my first thought was that Notre Dame would be a bad fit. My next thought was about home. I’d only been in Winnipeg for a short time, but I didn’t like feeling so alone. The thought of living at a boarding school, and a strict one at that, where I wouldn’t know anyone didn’t sound good at all. The school is about twenty-five miles south of Regina, which felt like a long way from Saskatoon. I didn’t want to go to Notre Dame and I didn’t want to sign anything with the Rangers, so I listened to their offer and told them thank you very much, but that I really just wanted to go home. They pressed me a bit, but my mind was made up. When I left for my return trip to Saskatoon, I remained a free agent. It turned out to be the right move.
That said, my lack of formal education has bothered me ever since. Notre Dame is a fine school and I know I would have learned a lot there. I enjoyed a long career as a hockey player and I don’t have many regrets, but I do wish I had gone to school for a fewmore years when I’d had the chance. As it played out, though, I was happy to leave camp and head home. That fall, I was back in school in Saskatoon, and by winter I was once again skating on hometown ice, playing hockey with my friends.
• • •
D uring the 1943–44 season, scouts began to take more of an interest in what I was doing on the ice. I was still only fifteen, but I guess they started seeing me as a pretty good prospect. A number of teams sent letters and telegrams to our house, wanting to talk about a contract. In the middle of World War II those telegrams weren’t great for a jittery mother with two sons fighting overseas, Norm in the navy and Vern in the army. Every time one arrived her mind jumped to the worst conclusion. My dad eventually put a stop to it. He told the teams to quit writing. If they wanted to talk about my hockey career, they’d have to come by the house and do it in person. That’s how Fred Pinckney ended up in our parlor.
Mr. Pinckney was the timekeeper for the Saskatoon Quakers and a part-time scout for the Detroit Red Wings. He’d been watching me for a few years, and as my sixteenth birthday approached, his interest really began to pick up. Just as Mr. McCrory had done a year earlier, Mr. Pinckney came to the house, but he talked about why I should join the Red Wings. He made good enough sense, but I was hesitant to sign the “C” form he’d brought in his pocket. Two clubs were showing serious interest in me, the Rangers and the Red Wings, and I didn’t know how to pick between them. My memory of the loneliness I’d felt the year before in Winnipeg also didn’t make the thought of another training camp too inviting (added to which, this one was even farther away, in Windsor, Ontario). I asked Mr. Pinckney if anyone I knew was going. He said therewould be a couple dozen guys from the area, including a bunch from Saskatoon. The idea of traveling to Windsor, which is just across the border from Detroit, with my friends seemed more appealing to me than being in Winnipeg by myself. After some more talk, I signed the form and agreed to attend training camp with the Red Wings.
When fall came, I boarded a train that would take me to my second professional training camp. Enough of us were making the trip that we filled an entire sleeper car. I’d say there were about twenty-two players in all, many of whom I’d played with and against for years. The trip took two days and two nights and sharing it
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