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Whitey Stapleton Was One-of-a-Kind

April 10, 2020, 11:04 AM ET [4 Comments]
Paul Stewart
Blogger •Former NHL Referee • RSSArchiveCONTACT
A true friend afar brings distant lands near. If you have a friend who lives far away but who knows your heart, distance cannot break your friendship. True friends, no matter how far they are, are able to fill your spirit.

-- Chinese proverb


Talking with Pat "Whitey" Stapleton was like opening a big jar of common sense. Whether it was hockey advice or life itself, he was practical, witty, perceptive and caring. One of the unfortunate parts about getting older is that we lose more and more of our friends. In the case of Whitey's passing, I feel like I've lost a brother.

I have been fortunate to make hundreds of friends and thousands of friendly acquaintances through my 67 years on this earth; All of whom taught me something or otherwise contributed something positive to my life, whether in a large or small way. But the real number of true lifelong friends is much smaller.

I define that most special of categories this way: Has this person seen you at your best and your worst, and been there for you with unwavering support when you've been at your lowest? Can you go long periods of time where you are not geographically near one another and speak infrequently, yet the very next time you connect, it's like no time at all has passed?

Those people aren't just friends. They're your brothers (or sister) by choice, albeit not by blood. Whitey was one of them to me.

In one of the early ideas for my autobiography, "Ya Wanna Go?", I discussed with my editor, Bill Meltzer, the idea of doing a section of the book in the style of Theodore Dreiser's famous work, "Twelve Men". Dreiser did character sketches of 12 men that he felt were unique human beings or life-changing in some way to him -- some in a positive way, and others (thinly disguised with a pseudonym) in a less-than-positive way. Had I done that, there absolutely would have a section devoted solely to Whitey.

From the hockey side, Whitey had a razor sharp mind for the game and constantly team-oriented. I saw him play for the Bruins when I was still a kid. He was at the end of his playing days by the time we became teammates in The WHA for Cincinnati. Despite his advancing years, he was the most clever -- and accurate -- passer that I ever played with in my career. Almost everything was tape-to-tape.

Stapleton's hockey sense was off the charts. He always knew where to go -- and where the puck would or should be -- one step ahead of his opponents. He was fairly small in stature but was deceptively powerful with a low center of gravity and a sturdy frame. He also did not get intimidated. His idea of playing defense was to "confront" the opponent with the puck, not trying to kill him but concentrate after the "confrontation, to gather the puck, albeit "briefly", and then get it to someone "up and out."

Whitey was the one who gave me the nickname "Stewcat", and was the one who correspondingly started leaving coffee creamers at my locker stall. We lived at the same hotel when we played for the Cincinnati Stingers, and had many good times together. I had fought Gilles Billideau of The Birmingham Bulls in my second game with the Stingers. I had stepped on a stick as we were squaring off. I went down on my back but sprang up and with an uppercut drilled my opponent so that his eyes were spinning in his head. Along with that punch, I growled as I hit "Bad News" and then the fight was done.

In the dressing room after the game, Whitey said, "You came back up and gave that guy the Cat Eye. You are now 'Stew Cat.'" Thus, my nickname was born, and has endured ever since.

One time, I was moved back from forward to defense (my original position) and paired with Whitey on the blueline in a game against Red Army with all of those Legends that we watched in the ' 72 Summit Series. Whitey had sage but simple advice for me.

"Cat," he said, "Just get me the puck, and then go stand behind me."

When I was a player, I often let my emotions lead me. I could get out of control sometimes, and not many people could reel me back in. Whitey could. In all of our years of knowing each other, I only ever saw Whitey openly lose his temper with me once. We were trailing in a game by a goal, and needed to build momentum. He was not happy with me for exiting the penalty box and immediately seeking another fight. That wasn't the time for it, and he let me know in no uncertain terms, telling me to get the hell back to the dressing room if I wasn't there to play hockey.

He was right, as usual. I calmed down. That was no small feat, because once I got worked up, there weren't many people who could get me refocused at the proverbial snap of their fingers. Such was my admiration and respect for Stapleton that he could do just that.

When Whitey was the player/coach of the Indianapolis Racers, the WHA team had a 16-year-old wunderkind by the name of Wayne Gretzky. It was my ex-teammate Whitey who first introduced me to Wayne before an exhibition game against the Cincinnati Stingers.

"Hey, Cat. I want you to meet someone," he said. "Wayne, this is Paul Stewart. Paul, this is Wayne."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Stewart," the shy and frail teenager said.

"Mr. Stewart is my dad," I replied. "Call me Paul or Stewy. Besides, from what I've heard, I'll be calling you Mr. Gretzky pretty soon. By the way, do you have a note from your parents to be out this late?"

Nowadays, whenever I think of Wayne, my thoughts always go back to Whitey introducing me to him for the first time all those years ago. I've never talked to Gretz about it, but I'm sure if you asked him, he'd say that he learned a lot in his short time with Whitey.

I used to tell Whitey that he looked like a rabbit with his fuzzy shock of hair so blond that it was almost white even before it turned even lighter with age. He always laughed, with that gleam in his eyes that stayed with him throughout his life.

Over the years, I visited Whitey and his family many times, breaking bread together more times than I can count. He visited me as well. One of my fondest semi-recent memories was the Summit Series reunion in Russia, coinciding with the time period when I was working for the KHL. It was great to see Whitey's and his wife, Jackie. Always a classy guy, Whitey wore his Team Canada crested blazer well and with tremendous pride. The Russian people loved having Whitey, Espo and the rest of the team visiting Moscow and dining with Vladimir Putin. The "87 Canada Cup Team was there as well.

One story, still legendary in Whitey's story to his posse, is that Whitey scooped up "The Puck" after Paul Henderson scored. This puck is allegedly "The Greatest Goal" in Canadian Hockey History. He was there and why wouldn't we believe him. After all, he showed Bill Gilligan, Jamie Hislop and me the great taste of horseradish on an end cut of Victoria Station's Monster Prime Rib, ordered and eaten, "BLUE" which I had never heard of.

Ladies and gentlemen, that meat was served practically still mooing.

When I found out yesterday about Whitey's death, I ran through a gamut of emotions. There was sadness, of course, but also laughter. I chuckled to myself about the story of the game against the Russians. I laughed out loud about the memory of a stark naked Stapleton angrily chasing a burglar, who had broken into his room, down a hotel hallway; a sight both horrifying and hilarious at the same time.

I brushed away some tears as I thought about times that Whitey was there for me when I sought out his advice. I thought about how wonderful his family is. I thought about refereeing games in which his son Mike played. Shuddering in knowing the family's pain when two daughters were lost to cancer. I thought about how, even if we later went entire years with limited or no contact, there was never a second of doubt in my mind or his that the other one would be there in a heartbeat if needed. I thought about how joyful my next meeting with him inevitably ended up being.

For someone who was far from the tallest man in the team picture, Pat "Whitey" Stapleton was a giant in my eyes. That he was so kind and caring, so droll but fun.

Whitey, a legend, and me, usually a 4th liner, earning and keeping his respect was something that I never wanted to lose. I never wanted to let him down.

My "Brother Whitey" is gone. He's is in a better place being with his two lost daughters, his Mom and his Dad, "Big Frank."

I will miss him greatly. "Whitey" Save me a piece of that "end cut". Keep an eye on me like you always did. I may need a word or two from you to the "Big Guy." Until we meet again, fast ice and quick passes.

*********

A 2018 inductee into the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame, Paul Stewart holds the distinction of being the first U.S.-born citizen to make it to the NHL as both a player and referee. On March 15, 2003, he became the first American-born referee to officiate in 1,000 NHL games.

Visit Paul's official websites, YaWannaGo.com and Officiating by Stewart.
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