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MSG and Big Apple Memories |
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Second in Paul's series of reminiscence blogs about the classic arenas and cities of the NHL's "Original Six" teams.
As a hungry young hockey player auditioning for the New York Rangers, I made my NHL preseason debut on Sept. 27, 1976. The venue: Madison Square Garden. Years later, during my NHL refereeing career, my favorite arena to visit was MSG.
It still is, as a matter of fact.
Forty-one years ago this month, I fulfilled a dream when I played my first NHL game. It didn't matter to me that it was only a preseason game. It didn't matter to me at the time that I only skated 81 seconds worth of ice time before getting in a fight and receiving a match penalty. Later, I looked back with some regret about getting tossed from my first game.
Back then, all that mattered to me was that I got to wear an NHL uniform. What's more, I made my debut at the most famous and storied arena in the world. To top it all off, the game was against the arch-rival three-time Stanley Cup finalist and two-time champion Philadelphia Flyers, and I know most of the guys on their side from my days as a student-athlete sharing the rink at University of the Pennsylvania.
It may have been just another exhibition game to most everyone else. To me, Sept. 27, 1976 was one of the greatest nights of my life up to that point. Although things have topped it since then, it was still a special night to me.
In the summer of 1976, I received a training camp invite from the Rangers. It was a stressful time but I felt on top of the world. The Rangers paid all my expenses to come to camp in Point-Claire, Quebec: gas, tolls, and hockey fees.
What was training camp like back then? The term "training camp battles" back then had much more literal meaning than the ones of today. Unless you were one of the lucky few with a roster spot set in stone, every single day at camp was a fight for survival.
At the Rangers' rookie camp, I fought almost every player there because I knew it was my only shot at making the Rangers' NHL team. Among others, Nick Fotiu, Dave Farrish, Mike McEwen, Don Murdoch, and Danny Newman were at camp with me.
Earlier this year, I had a chance meeting with Fotiu as we walked past each other in Manhattan. Seeing Nick reminded me of our first respective first NHL training camp in '76. Knowing that my only shot at cracking the club was in an enforcer role, I had to find out more about my competition. Nick was my primary competition.
Upon my arrival, I asked who was the toughest player at the camp. I was told it was Fotiu. Nick was not totally unknown to me, although we had not yet crossed paths on the ice.
The Staten Island native had taken a somewhat similar path to mine to even achieve NHL consideration. Like me, Fotiu started out in the lowly NAHL and worked his way up to the WHA and, later the NHL. Nick still briefly played for the Cape Codders in 1975-76, when the team folded mid-season and was coached at the start of the season by Larry Kish (who was my first pro hockey coach with the NAHL's Binghamton Dusters later that same same season).
Also like me, Fotiu had trained in other fighting forms in an era where few hockey tough guys had fighting experience outside of the ice and perhaps some schoolyard or barroom scraps. Nick had been the Police Athletic League boxing champion and could really handle himself. He had good balance and was a huge player for that era at 6-foot-2 and 210 pounds. When he connected with a punch or body check, it hurt.
Wanting to find out a bit more about Nick firsthand, I asked the Rangers if I could room with him at training camp. They said yes.
When I met Nick for the first time, I came up and introduced myself as his roommate. We shook hands. Then I challenged him to fight right then and there in the hotel room. Later, we had two bouts on the ice. I am man enough to admit this: Nick beat me pretty soundly.
There was never any personal animosity between Fotiu and myself. We quickly became friends and still are to this day. At the camp, we were both hungry to prove ourselves and earn an NHL spot with the Rangers. He got the gig and he went on to prove that he deserved it. That's how it goes in hockey.
Forbes Kennedy, who played center in the NHL during the 1950s and '60s, was one of our coaches at rookie camp. Kennedy was extremely friendly, loved puffing on cigars, and maintained a tough-guy persona. By the way, Forbes was also petrified of mice.
Out to dinner one evening, I asked a waiter bring a platter to the table and open it in front of Kennedy. There on the platter, I had planted a rubber mouse. To everyone's amusement, Kennedy yelled in terror, almost jumping out of his pants. Then he realized he'd been had.
Kennedy and the other coaches must've liked me for more than my practical jokes. I was invited to the main Rangers training camp in New York. During training camp, I roomed with Danny Newman, who later spent time in the NHL with the Rangers, Montreal Canadiens and Edmonton Oilers.
I dressed in exhibition games against the Flyers and Islanders. The first one was at MSG against Philly. I spent hundreds of dollars for 10 tickets to the game. I invited my old coach from Groton School, my parents, brother, my then-wife and her family.
On game night, Danny and I rode the subway together to Madison Square Garden. Sitting across from each other, I saw white socks under his short dress pants.
"What are you, a farmer?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I 'm a farmer, so what?" he deadpanned.
During warmups for the game, I said hello to Flyers trainer Frank Lewis and some of the players. Nearly all of the Flyers players knew me from my days at Penn. They all asked me how I was doing and wished me luck at winning a spot on the Rangers -- so "we can kick your ass, too." In turn, I wished them good luck with that goal.
During my senior year, at the University of Pennsylvania, it was Flyers player Bob "the Hound" Kelly who suggested I buy a copy of the Hockey News, find the worst team in the lowest professional league and ask for a tryout. That's exactly what I did with the Binghamton Dusters of the NAHL. I worked my way up the ladder from there.
After the warmup, I found out my line was starting. I was on the ice for the national anthem and the opening puck drop by referee John McCauley (yes, the very same John McCauley who later helped me become an NHL referee and for whom I later named my first son).
On my first shift, I fired a shot on net. Then I did battle with Kelly in the corner, knocking the Hound over with a clean body check. Flyers rookie hopeful Steve Short -- who did not make the NHL roster in Philadelphia but later briefly played in the NHL with Los Angeles -- made a beeline for me. I knew what he wanted and cast off my gloves.
Especially for the standards of the time, Short was a big guy at 6-foot-2, 210 pounds. I handled him pretty well, though. I punched Short two or three times, dropping him to the ice, right in front of the Rangers net. I then reached for the back of his sweater and accidentally grabbed the back of his hair in an attempt to pull him up. That was a big mistake on my part.
After Short and I were separated, McCauley informed me that I was being kicked out of the game on a gross misconduct for the hair pull. Accidental or not, it was an automatic ejection under recently passed NHL rules (which were designed to combat a common tactic used by Dave "the Hammer" Schultz to intentionally grab a handful of hair with one hand and punch with the other, as he most infamously did to the Rangers' Dale Rolfe in Game Seven of the 1974 Stanley Cup Semifinals).
The time of the penalty was 1:21 of the first period. As I exited, several of the Flyers players had some parting words for me. In response, I made a gesture at the their bench and yelled out a challenge, which got a rise out of the MSG crowd. In between the first and second periods, I was interviewed by play-by-play man Marv Albert. We talked about my Boston background, my family ties to the NHL and the Flyers.
After the game, I took my large contingent of family and friends to eat at Toots Shor's restaurant and I paid the bar bill. It was an expensive but exciting night. Years later, though, I looked back at the match penalty with some regret and wonder. Might I have been able to show more if I hadn't gotten myself kicked out of the game?
In all honesty, I probably would not have beaten out Nick Fotiu for an NHL roster spot regardless. Nick was not only a hometown kid, he was also a better player than I was. He went on to become a valuable role player for the Rangers and other clubs. He was a good checking role player in addition to being an excellent fighter. He went on to play 646 NHL games.
Shortly thereafter, I was optioned to the Rangers' AHL affiliate, the New Haven Nighthawks. When I learned I was about to be sent to the Southern Hockey League, I chose instead to return to Binghamton. Subsequently, I received a tryout with the Edmonton Oilers for whom I (very briefly) played my first two games in the World Hockey Association.
My next time in uniform at MSG, I was a referee.
Unlike some of my colleagues, I actually liked the closeness of the Rangers fans to the ice, and the level of interaction that created. I loved the whole electric atmosphere of big-time hockey in Manhattan. I enjoyed walking into the arena, kibitzing with the fans, and just basking in the history of the venue in its all its many incarnations.
What a history it was, too. Think about it: Tex Rickard, epic boxing matches, the world's greatest musicians, Willis Reed, Clyde, Earl the Pearl, the Ringling Brothers circus, Ching Johnson, Rod Gilbert, Eddie Giacomin, Brad Park and Emile "the Cat" Francis. I think also of my pals Sam Rosen and Marvelous Marv Albert. Oh, and lest I forget, the rough and toothless "Duke of Dorchester," Pete Doherty, counting the arena lights in the monthly curtain jerker while the crowd was still filing in and waiting impatiently to see Bruno or Pedro or Andre take on the villain du jour in the headliner.
I always thought I was destined for Broadway, anyway. Even being from Boston, when my first chance to wear an NHL uniform came at MSG in a 1976 preseason game as a member of the Rangers, it was a monumental night for me. Madison Square Garden will always held a special place in my heart.
The hockey games usually ended at 9:30 p.m. By 10 o'clock, I was on 7th Ave with a full day's meal money and New York stretched out in front of me. When I think of my nights refereeing at MSG, I think of stopping of to see Mike Cosby at Gerry Cosby's. I think of the outdoor vendors with the pralines and chestnuts. Once my work for the night was done, it was off to to Il Vagabondo for a bocce ball and an Amaretto di Sarrano!
New York is truly the city that never sleeps and there are great restaurants and nightspots in just about every borough. During my refereeing career, I did my share to contribute to the local economy.
One night, linesmen buddies Brian Murphy, Mike Cvik and I wanted to grab dinner one night at Peter Luger Steakhouse. Players, coaches and fellow officials raved about the place. I called and asked for a reservation after the game.
"Sorry, we are booked up solid for the next week," said the voice on other end. "We can fit you in for a 10 o'clock a week from Thursday."
That wasn't going to do us any good. We wouldn't be at MSG or Nassau Coliseum in Long Island the following week. Ah, but I was nothing if not persistent.
A few minutes later, I called back.
"Hello, this is National Hockey League commissioner Gary Bettman," I said, impersonating Gary's voice to the best of my ability. "I need a table tonight for myself, my best referee Paul Stewart and two of my linesmen. We will be there 90 minutes after the game tonight."
"Absolutely, Mr. Bettman," they said. "See you tonight."
The steak was delicious. Too bad Mr. Bettman had a last-second change of plans.
I've told this final story before, but it's one of my favorites: Years before the "Bettman reservation," I took Cvik around the Big Apple. Mike hails from Alberta. Early in my officiating career, he drove me around western Canada. I returned the favor his first time in New York.
I told him we'd go all around the city -- a bit by public transit to cover long distances but mostly by walking around in various areas. I wore a trench coat as we walked down 42nd Street.
Keep in mind that this was back in the days before 42nd Street was revitalized. In that era, the locale was truly close to what was depicted in the movie "Taxi Driver." Mike had never seen anything quite like it. He wasn't afraid, but he was astonished.
As we walked along, one particularly shady character said hello to me. From his over-the-top manner of dress -- furs, big hat, jewelry, etc -- he was clearly a pimp, a dope dealer or both.
"Hey, how ya been, brother?" he says.
"Not too bad," I said. "How's business?"
"Aw, real good, real good," he said.
"Well, you have a good night, OK?" I said.
"You, too, brother!"
As we walked on, Mike turned to me with an incredulous look.
"Do you really know that guy?" he asked.
"No," I said. "He thinks we're cops."
No one else disturbed us as we walked onward. We looked the part. The psychology of law enforcement and hockey rule enforcement are actually rather similar. That's true from coast to coast, on any street or any rink.
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Follow Paul on Twitter: @paulstewart22
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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. After his retirement, he began a long career as a collegiate hockey officiating director, officiating trainer and supervisor, and an officiating and supplemental discipline consultant to the KHL.
Blogger •Former NHL Referee • 
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