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Major Learning -- and Fun -- in the Minor Leagues |
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Follow Paul on Twitter: @PaulStewart22
Both as a player and as a young referee, some of the best times I ever had were in the minor leagues. The most fitting motto for life in the American Hockey League and other circuits: Expect the unexpected. When you came to the arena -- whether it was as a player, and official or even as a fan -- you know anything could happen on a given night and it would sometimes get pretty bizarre.
As an official, I developed a unique relationship with the minor league team owners, GMs, arena employees and regulars at the games. In terms of the team management, people often wore many different hats in their job descriptions. Everyone had to hustle to make a buck, since none of us were going to get rich in minor league hockey. As such, in the AHL, we tried to do whatever we could to help each other out.
For example, the New Haven Nighthawks perpetually had problems drawing fans to the aging and decrepit Coliseum. One year in the mid-1980s, team owner Joel Schiavone -- the New Haven team had quite a few different owners over the years, by the way -- got so desperate to sell tickets that he informed the local newspapers and broadcasters that he was going to live on the garage roof at the Coliseum until he sold something like 1,000 season tickets.
Schiavone took up residence on the roof, as promised. Finally, as a spell of cold and rainy weather hit shortly before opening night, people took pity on him. He sold the tickets and was able to move back down from his makeshift new home.
At any rate, one time I was refereeing a game in New Haven. Shortly before my linesmen and I were about to go out on the ice after the pregame warmup, management knocked on our door.
"Stewy, we're having a big walkup crowd at the box office. It could be our biggest gate of the season, but there are still a lot of people outside. Is there any way we can hold off on starting the game til 7:30? Please!"
"Well, here's the thing," I said. "We're under pretty direct orders from the league about when to drop the opening faceoff."
He was crestfallen but said, "I see."
"I'll tell you what, though," I continued. "I have no idea how we're supposed to start this game on time with that brozen zamboni at center ice. How did that thing run out of gas, anyway?"
By some strange coincidence, the start of the game was delayed 30 minutes that night due to zamboni equipment failure.
Over in Springfield, Teddy Shore (the son of hockey legend Eddie, who owned the Indians for many years) ran the concession stands. Somehow, the intermissions seemed to take just a bit longer and there was a patch of ice that needed repair or a loose pane of glass when we got the signal that there were long lines at the snack bar.
In return, our meager AHL meal money seemed to miraculously stretch just a bit further at the establishments owned by friends and relatives of the acquaintances we made at the rinks. Officials are like most old-time hockey people when it comes to parting with a dollar, so those sorts of gestures were greatly appreciated in return.
Ah, the hockey life in those days. The town-to-town rides were interminable, the money was lousy but the conversations in route, the game nights at the area and going out afterwards was when we truly came alive.
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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.
Today, Stewart serves as director of hockey officiating for the ECAC.
Blogger •Former NHL Referee • 
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