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• • •
After my rookie junior season was over, it was decided that I could handle the grind of Junior A hockey. My mother gave her blessing, and I moved to Oshawa in the fall of 1963. I started secondary school at O’Neill Collegiate and Vocational Institute, but not long into that first year I transferred and eventually settled into R. S. McLaughlin Collegiate. The reason for that move was the programming at O’Neill. In those days, it was a particularly academic school and had programs for things such as the performing arts and for gifted students—programs I was probably not able to handle. I was not a gifted student.
The reality is that I was never very fond of high school, though I understood the importance of education. I just figured that the arena would be the principal place of learning for me, not a classroom. I had a responsibility to go to school, however, and so I attended regularly and gave it the old college try. That was expected of all the players on the team—and it was most certainly expected by my mother. My grades were never top of the class, but I kept up, did my homework, and got by just fine. I never did finish high school, because down the road something else would get in the way.
The first priority we needed to take care of as I left Parry Sound and headed to Oshawa was finding a place for me to stay. I moved in as a boarder with a family, just as most junior players did and still do to this day. In my case, that meant a bedroom in the big house of Bob and Bernice “Bernie” Ellesmere on Nassau Street in Oshawa. They also boarded another Generals player, Mike Dubeau, and we would have some great times together, both as teammates and roommates, during that first year in Oshawa.
Mike came from Penetanguishene, Ontario, which wasn’t very far from Parry Sound. He was two years older than me. Thinking of Mike brings to mind a particular episode we shared during our stay with the Ellesmeres. As a seventeen-year-old, Mike found himself quite in love with a girl from his hometown, which meant that the courting process was often done long-distance. Mike could never wait to get back home during the season to see his girl, Carol. Sometimes that desire got us into trouble.
Every once in a while, whenever we had a stretch of days when the Generals weren’t playing or practicing, we would hitchhike back to our hometowns. The two of us would stand out there by the side of the road, thumbs boldly sticking out, and sooner or later someone would stop and give us a lift along Highway 401. We would eventually get to the 400 and head north together for an hour or so until Mike had to hop out to catch a ride west to his hometown of Penetanguishene, while I would keep heading north on Highway 69 until I hit Parry Sound. In those days, hitchhiking was an accepted way of getting around, and no one gave the practice much thought.
One particular hitchhiking caper stands out in my mind, because it ended differently from the others. It was a Friday night after we had just finished playing a game in Niagara Falls, and things had not gone well on the ice. In fact, the team was on a bit of a slide, and our shoddy play in the Falls apparently really irritated our GM, Wren Blair (who had left the Kingston Frontenacs and taken over in Oshawa). He was so disgusted with our effort that nobody was allowed to go home. That was tough punishment for a bunch of homesick teenagers, because there were no games or practices scheduled that weekend. We were about to have a lot of time on our hands but had been sentenced to house arrest.
It was probably 1 A.M. by the time our bus pulled back into Oshawa that night, and maybe another half hour until we got back to the Ellesmeres’ and the comfort of our beds. Mike and I shared a room with bunk beds in those days. Mike had claimed the bottom bunk because he was older and had seniority. For many players, it isn’t always easy to get to sleep after a game, and you often end up replaying it in your head. When you have a roommate, it might also mean talking, not only about the game but about other important things as well.
This particular night, hockey wasn’t the only thing on my mind, as I was feeling a little bit homesick for Parry Sound. And I knew that the old love bug was biting at Mike as usual. Wren’s punishment loomed over us, but I simply couldn’t resist tempting the poor guy. I leaned over the edge of my bunk and whispered, “Hey, Mike . . . you want to go home?”
Before I had even finished the question, Mike had sprung out of bed and said, “Let’s go!” Our adventure was on. We actually got Bob Ellesmere out of bed and had him drive us down to the highway, where our trip home was to begin in earnest. I wonder if Bob ever got in trouble with Bernie for that bit of chauffeuring. I wonder if she ever even knew why he got out of bed at close to two in the morning. Regardless, we eventually found ourselves on the side of the road, each with a bag and an outstretched thumb, looking for a ride. As fate would have it, our wait was brief, because the very first car stopped and picked us up.
The driver was on his way to Barrie, so luck had dealt us a good hand. I don’t know what time Mike got to Penetanguishene, but I arrived at 24 Great North Road around 9 or 10 A.M., and my mother was shocked to see me. When she learned what we had done, she was beside herself, and made me promise to take a bus back for the return trip. But I had other things to think about. I was soon off to see my buddies and catch up on all the local news. Plus, my older brother, Ron, was playing Junior C hockey in Parry Sound, and his team was scheduled to play a home game that weekend. Naturally, I wanted to head over to the rink and watch my big brother in action.
This is where things got quite interesting and our little scam came back to haunt me. As I sat watching my brother play, who do you think was sitting in the stands scouting the game for the Oshawa Generals? It was our general manager, Wren Blair, the same man who had hours earlier forbidden us from leaving Oshawa under any circumstances. I caught it pretty good for that little bit of poor judgment. I never ratted on my roomie, although I’m sure Wren had it all figured out. It was an experience Mike and I have relived many times and laugh about even to this day. It is worth noting that those trips Mike took back home whenever he could eventually paid off for him in a big way. About eight years later, I would serve as best man at his wedding to Carol, and they have been happily married all these years.
• • •
The team had billeted me with the Ellesmere family because their home was situated close to O’Neill high school, where I started out in Grade Nine. When I made the switch in schools that first year, it led to a bit of a transportation problem. Going to my new school, R. S. McLaughlin, meant I would have to find some form of ride to and from classes every day, because McLaughlin was a hefty distance from the Ellesmeres’ house.
The obvious solution was for me to take the bus back and forth every day. But if people think I am shy and reserved as an adult, I must tell you that as a fifteen-year-old, I was even more retiring. Talking to strangers was difficult, and riding a city bus became very uncomfortable for me. Sometimes I’d get a ride from the Ellesmeres or guys on the team, but I usually ended up walking the three kilometers each way.
As I began my third year as a player with the Generals, and my second year as a boarder in Oshawa, we all decided it would be best if I changed houses so I could be closer to my chosen high school. As a result, my new parents away from home became Jack and Cora Wilde, and that move to the Wilde house also meant I would have a new roommate. Again, hockey is a small world. Amazingly enough, one of the original members of our pack of wolves from back in my minor hockey days ended up becoming a teammate in Oshawa. Jim Whittaker from Parry Sound would become my new roommate.
It is hard to exaggerate how much this meant to a couple of homesick kids from the same town. Hockey players are supposed to be tough guys who will go into corners against bigger opponents, play with injuries, show no fear. It is easy to look at a young boy who might be big and physically more mature than other kids his age and imagine he is more grown up, too. He might look like a man on the outside, but inside he is still just a sixteen-year-old kid. Coaches and fans sometimes need to remember that.
I can tell you, some players don’t
move up the hockey ladder not because they don’t have the talent or character for the game. Some of them don’t get through because they just get homesick. I would imagine that most successful junior organizations today are more aware of that fact and more responsive to players in that regard. The people who run those teams need to have strategies for these types of issues, since you don’t want to end up losing a player because he would rather be at home. In the case of a junior player, it is a lot to ask of a sixteen-year-old boy, his parents, and everyone else involved, to have him pack up and leave for a new home. But that is the formula for most hockey players who have serious aspirations for the National Hockey League, and it hasn’t changed in a very long time. I don’t see that formula changing anytime in the near future, either.
There is one important saving grace for the player in all of this. When you join a team away from home, there is an almost instant bond with your new teammates. They become, by necessity, your new pack of wolves. Those new friends help get you through the early rough patches. That Jim Whittaker was a member of the old pack as well as the new one made life a lot easier for both of us.
At the time, we both thought our billets were far too tough on us. If either of us ever missed a curfew, Jack or Cora would immediately call our coach and report us. We felt that was a little harsh, but looking back I realize it was the best thing they could have done for us. They took their responsibility as billets very seriously, which is exactly the way it should be.
• • •
The first season I lived in Oshawa, the Generals played primarily out of a small rink in Bowmanville. We were waiting for the new Oshawa Civic Auditorium to be completed, which it was in December 1964. I would play the remainder of my junior career with the Generals in that facility on some very productive teams. During my time in Oshawa, I was pretty oblivious to all the hype that had started to swirl around me.
All I really cared about was my goal as a hockey player—that was where my attention was focused. I just wanted to play good hockey. If I needed some space to get away from everything, there were always places to go, but at that time in my career, privacy was no big deal. If someone recognized me and wanted an autograph, it was no problem—kind of fun, actually. Of course, with time and more celebrity, I would come to appreciate the privacy I’d had in the past. But as a member of the Generals and throughout my junior career, I never gave the idea of stardom a lot of thought. If it happened, I would handle it, and if it didn’t, no problem.
We had some wonderful characters in Oshawa, and some of my teammates became lifelong friends. Because we were all Bruins property, I would end up playing with some of those same players in Boston, including people like Wayne Cashman, Nick Beverley, and Barry Wilkins, among others. Some teammates, such as Jimmy Peters, wouldn’t get to the Bruins, but Jim would go on to have a very successful career in Oshawa with General Motors of Canada. He was a teammate in 1962, yet over all of these years we have stayed in touch and remained friends. That is one of the great things about sport in general, especially team sports. Friendships you make along the way often turn into lasting relationships and a link to the past. Jimmy has always been, and always will be, a great friend, and it all began as teammates in Oshawa.
I was extremely fortunate to be with a really good group of guys on that team. Every step of the way, they looked after me, especially the older players, although there weren’t many veterans that first year with the Generals. Because we were a new team in the league, we were made up of a pretty young bunch of guys. We were just like any other group of kids our age, with perhaps one big exception. Everybody on that team believed he was getting closer to his objective of reaching the next level in hockey. Most of us, probably unlike other kids our age, were very focused on the course our lives would take. For many teenagers, that’s not the case. There comes a time when many kids in their teens kind of slip into neutral. By that I mean they have no idea what they are going to do with their lives. It can be a troubling time, a time of uncertainty.
But I never really went through that phase, because I always knew where I was going to be, or at least I always knew where I wanted to be. I had a specific goal and was very dedicated to achieving that goal. In my case, the time of uncertainty wouldn’t be in my teens but rather as a thirty-year-old man, when my goals suddenly slipped through my fingers. I guess, sooner or later, at some time or another, everyone faces their own moment of uncertainty.
Some players don’t avoid it for long. It is a reality of junior hockey that as the seasons pass, some players will start to realize they are not going to make it in the game. Their dream of the NHL takes a hit, and it begins to lose its pull. If you aren’t careful, it is easy to get pulled off track, too, if those players start to lose focus. They have nothing to lose and can get into all kinds of mischief. If you don’t watch out, you can get dragged into some of that. Maintaining your commitment is extremely important at such times for any player who has the skills to make it to the next level. Keeping the end goal in mind is vital—and not always easy for a teenager. I was lucky to have had the teammates I did.
In fact, I was surrounded by some great people in Oshawa. We freely give credit to our coaches for their help, and they are certainly deserving of our thanks. But they aren’t the only ones who chip in when it comes to developing a young person who is trying to make it in the sports world. There are many others who play important roles, such as our trainers, the guidance counselors at school, or the teachers who go the extra mile to help make up missed schoolwork. For me, it was people like Bill Corella, who managed the arena in Oshawa. I couldn’t wait to get to the rink every day after school for practice, and so my routine was to get there as quickly as I could. Bill would open up the facility and turn on the lights for me and anyone else who showed up early so we could get in some extra skating time. We loved the game so much we would hurry to the rink just to have fun. Some afternoons I would strap on the pads and play net—and I learned pretty quickly that was not the position for me. It’s not a bad idea to be on the good side of the person who runs the arena.
Then there was Joe Bolahood, who owned a sporting goods store in town. Often on a Saturday afternoon, some of the Generals players would head over to his store and, with Joe’s blessing, try on all the brand-new hockey equipment. It was always a special feeling to see and then be able to put on the newest types of equipment available. You could grab a stick, lean on it, and see what kind of flex you could expect in the current models. It was downtime for us, and maybe a bit of team-building time as well. People like Joe helped facilitate that. There was a little restaurant next door to his store, and sometimes a bunch of us would slide over and have a hamburger and fries if somebody had money in his pocket.
But it’s not just Bill and Joe, not just the Ellesmeres and Wildes, not just hockey people like Stan Waylett and Wren Blair. When you’re part of a team, and part of a community, you’re surrounded by people helping out in small ways, making things a little easier, maybe offering encouragement in ways they hardly even pause to think about. You can never thank everyone, but I know how much the people around me contributed to my well-being and success at different times and in different ways.
• • •
Just before I was scheduled to begin playing my fourth and final season for the Generals, my dad decided I wasn’t being properly compensated. He got it in his mind that it was time for the Generals to contribute their fair share for gas money and other expenses. If memory serves me correctly, I think we received ten or twelve bucks in pocket money per week. Dad was probably holding poor Wren hostage for about another two bucks.
It was a Friday night, and we were scheduled to open our season that evening, but I had not yet signed my player’s card. The rule was pretty simple: if you weren’t signed to a card by the time the season started, you simply could not play. I was extremely nervous as I headed to the rink, because I wanted to start that year on time with my teamm
ates, and it wasn’t looking good. When I arrived, I went to the dressing room and sat in my stall. My seat was very close to the general manager’s office door, and I was getting increasingly anxious as game time approached.
Suddenly the door opened and out came Wren, shouting, “Come in here!” He ushered me into his office, stuck out a card, and said, “Sign this thing.” Wren knew when to use charm, but he could be forceful, too. My first and only holdout had come to an end. I did what I was told, and my final junior season started up on schedule after all. To the best of my knowledge, Dad never did get that extra few bucks out of Wren. I was just glad to get on with the business of playing hockey. It would be my last season as a General, and it would be a memorable one.
Like all seasons in sport, my fourth and final year in Oshawa would have some highs mixed with some lows. The highs can be found in our team record and the fact that we had a championship-caliber group. The low for me would be the way in which our season ended. It was difficult for me to swallow, both from a team perspective and personally. We had assembled a pretty solid combination of youngsters and veterans, and as the playoffs approached I sensed we would have a shot at a long run, despite having finished fourth in the league. We won the Ontario Hockey Association (now the Ontario Hockey League) championship by beating some good teams in the playoffs, including a great Montreal Junior Canadiens team that featured the likes of Jacques Lemaire, Serge Savard, and Carol Vadnais. That is a pretty solid talent base for one junior roster. And who do you think was coaching that particular team? None other than Scotty Bowman. It seemed like some kind of hockey destiny that our paths would cross again. And it wouldn’t be the last time we would square off in a hockey arena.