M.J. Chamberland
{[email protected]}
{207} 754-3616
37 Key Kill Road Greene
Maine 04236
“Hockey Boys"
Christmas Vacation
1958
We had just been released from the second grade at “Our Lady Of Perpetual Guilt” parochial school for Christmas vacation, and the weather was cold.
There was talk of a great pick-up hockey game taking place at the Pearly Street rink. The rink had been built up over the years by my big brother Ray, my cousin Fern and the other boys of the neighborhood. There where bounds, lights, and even a small cabin to use as a locker room for the “TEAM”. You could lace up your skates without the wind freezing your fingers.
The Sabattus Street fire department provided the boys with enough old hose to flood the entire ice surface. They had a large wrench made to open the fire hydrant. With this came the nightly adventure of “flooding the rink”. More of a quest than a task, the challenge was to create a perfect ice surface, and keep your fingers and toes from turning black in the process.
Hockey Boys page… 2
I was eight years old, and being the youngest of the little french immigrant family, I had been allowed to spend very little time at the rink.
My mother, who always let the Christmas season return her to her youth in the farm lands of eastern Canada, was in such a cheery mood, that she not only allowed me to go to the rink but even found my sister's pink figure skates for me to use. I was far too excited about the chance of becoming a real hockey player, like my big brother, to protest the color of the skates.
I had an old, broken Northland Pro hockey stick that I had found in the field next to my house. This I had repaired with the use of some Elmer's glue and two small brass screws found in my dad's cellar workshop.
No pads, no gloves, a Boston Bruins hat on my head and a pair of pink figure skates draped over one shoulder I set out for my first taste of real ice hockey. I saw the Bruins in my future and the glory that would follow.
As I entered the cabin there was much laughter and play as the boys, all older than me where preparing for the game. A pick up team from the inner city was also there. Much playful boasts about who would beat whom!
Being a very lucky kid, and the fact that no one else would take the job, I was given the opportunity of trying out for the position of GOALIE. I was assured that this was a very important position and it was only allowed to one man on the team. I felt special.
Hockey Boys page...3
As I struggled to lace up my skates, the boys began taping scrap pieces of heavy carpet to the front of my legs. There was an old baseball catcher's chest protector that was way too loose to hold up right, and a baseball glove for my left hand.
So there I was perched at the rink's edge, no helmet, face mask or glove for my right hand. I was holding the stick like a walking staff. As soon as I stepped onto the ice I fell full back into the others boys arms. They, finally, carried me to the cage and propped me up against it.
The orders were,” stand here and don't let the puck go into the net, and keep your stick on the ice”!
At center ice the two teams met to iron out the game rules. There would be no rising, and no slap shots on me because, face it, I must have looked quite ridiculous and helpless standing in the cage using it to keep me vertical.
I was feeling rather fine, it was ten degrees and the sun was shinning. With the promise of no rising or slap shots, there would be no chance of my getting hurt in any way.
All was ready and the puck was dropped. Instant mayhem took over. Bodies sped in every direction. Sticks were slapping and poking at the puck. Loud grunts heard as solid body checks were dished out.
The very first shot I faced was a ripping slap shot that caught me squarely in the face just above me nose. That was the first time I ever saw stars during the day.
Hockey Boys page...4
My plastic rimmed glasses broke apart at the bridge and both lenses fell onto the ice, merging in with the sharp skates and hardwood sticks as the puck was still free and the battle raged around me.
Although I was stunned by the shot, all I could think of was saving the new eye glasses I had been given two days before.
I fell on my knees and tried to reach the lens', never thinking that the puck was still in play and the bodies were jamming and checking all around. Suddenly I was struck in the chest by another prodigious drive. In pain and fear, clutching my chest, I fell forward as three or four other boys fell or were pushed on top of me. Sticks where poking me from all sides.
When the whistle finally blew and they pulled the others off me and yanked me back up on my skates, it was noticed that I had the puck tightly clutched in the old baseball mitt.
A loud cry went up woos and hollers. I heard someone shout we have finally got a goalie!!!
Limping home an hour later, there were dried blood stains under both nostrils. I had several deep bone bruises on one leg. I could not feel my fingers or toes. As I pulled the two halves of my new glasses out of my jacket pocket, I had nothing but happy thoughts in my heart, for the day had turned out to be quite an epiphany for me. I was part of a TEAM. Not only a team but a real ice hockey team. And, I was the GOALIE!
Hockey Boys page...5
Five minutes later I was sitting, hunched over the kitchen table with my inflamed French mother picking and cleaning and bandaging. All the time haranguing me with all the French words I didn't know at that age. “You, she admonished, will never see that hellish hockey rink again young man”. Then came the worst part,
“ You wait till your father gets home”!
I sat applying ice to my knee that was puffing up and stuff, when my dad climbed the twelve stairs leading to the boy's bedroom. His ears were still ringing from my mother's verbal attack which began even before he could get out of his “48” Plymouth. “Your boys are going wild”, she would say.
Now, my dad was a working man and a true fan of the “Montreal Canadians”. “ Viva les Canadians” he would expound as we listened to the games on his transistor radio.
“Beebe” he said. Here I was all of eight years old with all kinds of worldly knowledge and he still called me Beebe. Beebe, “ you played hockey today?” Yes and it was great! “ Well your mom is upset because she does not want you to get hurt. I cowered a little thinking the worst was coming when he looked me squarely in the eyes and with a big open tooth smile he said, “, are you really the goalie? Great job we are going to have to get you some equipment. Then he asked, knowing what the answer would be, “ is it going to be the Bruins or the Canadians? Definitely the Bruins!
Arm in arm we walked down to supper. My future was clear in my mind. And I followed the dream, as far as it took me.
Remember that kid, in your past, with the black rimmed plastic glasses taped together at the bridge with a little duct tape? That was me for a short time.
In 1968 I played as a goal tender for the New England Team at the Junior A.H.A Olympics in Colorado Springs….
{[email protected]}
{207} 754-3616
37 Key Kill Road Greene
Maine 04236
“Hockey Boys"
Christmas Vacation
1958
We had just been released from the second grade at “Our Lady Of Perpetual Guilt” parochial school for Christmas vacation, and the weather was cold.
There was talk of a great pick-up hockey game taking place at the Pearly Street rink. The rink had been built up over the years by my big brother Ray, my cousin Fern and the other boys of the neighborhood. There where bounds, lights, and even a small cabin to use as a locker room for the “TEAM”. You could lace up your skates without the wind freezing your fingers.
The Sabattus Street fire department provided the boys with enough old hose to flood the entire ice surface. They had a large wrench made to open the fire hydrant. With this came the nightly adventure of “flooding the rink”. More of a quest than a task, the challenge was to create a perfect ice surface, and keep your fingers and toes from turning black in the process.
Hockey Boys page… 2
I was eight years old, and being the youngest of the little french immigrant family, I had been allowed to spend very little time at the rink.
My mother, who always let the Christmas season return her to her youth in the farm lands of eastern Canada, was in such a cheery mood, that she not only allowed me to go to the rink but even found my sister's pink figure skates for me to use. I was far too excited about the chance of becoming a real hockey player, like my big brother, to protest the color of the skates.
I had an old, broken Northland Pro hockey stick that I had found in the field next to my house. This I had repaired with the use of some Elmer's glue and two small brass screws found in my dad's cellar workshop.
No pads, no gloves, a Boston Bruins hat on my head and a pair of pink figure skates draped over one shoulder I set out for my first taste of real ice hockey. I saw the Bruins in my future and the glory that would follow.
As I entered the cabin there was much laughter and play as the boys, all older than me where preparing for the game. A pick up team from the inner city was also there. Much playful boasts about who would beat whom!
Being a very lucky kid, and the fact that no one else would take the job, I was given the opportunity of trying out for the position of GOALIE. I was assured that this was a very important position and it was only allowed to one man on the team. I felt special.
Hockey Boys page...3
As I struggled to lace up my skates, the boys began taping scrap pieces of heavy carpet to the front of my legs. There was an old baseball catcher's chest protector that was way too loose to hold up right, and a baseball glove for my left hand.
So there I was perched at the rink's edge, no helmet, face mask or glove for my right hand. I was holding the stick like a walking staff. As soon as I stepped onto the ice I fell full back into the others boys arms. They, finally, carried me to the cage and propped me up against it.
The orders were,” stand here and don't let the puck go into the net, and keep your stick on the ice”!
At center ice the two teams met to iron out the game rules. There would be no rising, and no slap shots on me because, face it, I must have looked quite ridiculous and helpless standing in the cage using it to keep me vertical.
I was feeling rather fine, it was ten degrees and the sun was shinning. With the promise of no rising or slap shots, there would be no chance of my getting hurt in any way.
All was ready and the puck was dropped. Instant mayhem took over. Bodies sped in every direction. Sticks were slapping and poking at the puck. Loud grunts heard as solid body checks were dished out.
The very first shot I faced was a ripping slap shot that caught me squarely in the face just above me nose. That was the first time I ever saw stars during the day.
Hockey Boys page...4
My plastic rimmed glasses broke apart at the bridge and both lenses fell onto the ice, merging in with the sharp skates and hardwood sticks as the puck was still free and the battle raged around me.
Although I was stunned by the shot, all I could think of was saving the new eye glasses I had been given two days before.
I fell on my knees and tried to reach the lens', never thinking that the puck was still in play and the bodies were jamming and checking all around. Suddenly I was struck in the chest by another prodigious drive. In pain and fear, clutching my chest, I fell forward as three or four other boys fell or were pushed on top of me. Sticks where poking me from all sides.
When the whistle finally blew and they pulled the others off me and yanked me back up on my skates, it was noticed that I had the puck tightly clutched in the old baseball mitt.
A loud cry went up woos and hollers. I heard someone shout we have finally got a goalie!!!
Limping home an hour later, there were dried blood stains under both nostrils. I had several deep bone bruises on one leg. I could not feel my fingers or toes. As I pulled the two halves of my new glasses out of my jacket pocket, I had nothing but happy thoughts in my heart, for the day had turned out to be quite an epiphany for me. I was part of a TEAM. Not only a team but a real ice hockey team. And, I was the GOALIE!
Hockey Boys page...5
Five minutes later I was sitting, hunched over the kitchen table with my inflamed French mother picking and cleaning and bandaging. All the time haranguing me with all the French words I didn't know at that age. “You, she admonished, will never see that hellish hockey rink again young man”. Then came the worst part,
“ You wait till your father gets home”!
I sat applying ice to my knee that was puffing up and stuff, when my dad climbed the twelve stairs leading to the boy's bedroom. His ears were still ringing from my mother's verbal attack which began even before he could get out of his “48” Plymouth. “Your boys are going wild”, she would say.
Now, my dad was a working man and a true fan of the “Montreal Canadians”. “ Viva les Canadians” he would expound as we listened to the games on his transistor radio.
“Beebe” he said. Here I was all of eight years old with all kinds of worldly knowledge and he still called me Beebe. Beebe, “ you played hockey today?” Yes and it was great! “ Well your mom is upset because she does not want you to get hurt. I cowered a little thinking the worst was coming when he looked me squarely in the eyes and with a big open tooth smile he said, “, are you really the goalie? Great job we are going to have to get you some equipment. Then he asked, knowing what the answer would be, “ is it going to be the Bruins or the Canadians? Definitely the Bruins!
Arm in arm we walked down to supper. My future was clear in my mind. And I followed the dream, as far as it took me.
Remember that kid, in your past, with the black rimmed plastic glasses taped together at the bridge with a little duct tape? That was me for a short time.
In 1968 I played as a goal tender for the New England Team at the Junior A.H.A Olympics in Colorado Springs….
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