If you follow @CP0031 on Twitter, you’ve seen that he lists his location as “Top of the paint.” His bio there is plain and simple: “Minder of nets — Thwarter of goals — Swatter of pucks.” On the ice last night at Montreal’s Bell Centre, Carey Price was at his unflappable best, turning back 20 shots as the Canadiens defeated the Detroit Red Wings by a score of 3-1. It was Price’s 315 regular-season win for Montreal, and with that he passed Jacques Plante atop the team’s ledger, which includes the names of 83 men. He Plante still holds the Canadiens mark for total wins, regular-season and playoffs, with 373, with Patrick Roy behind him (with 359) and then Price (with 340). Here, Toronto illustrator Dave Murray has #31 bestriding the nation, from the mountains of his native British Columbia to the precincts of his winter home on the St. Lawrence. For more of Murray’s work, visit http://davemurrayillustration.com/
Google Canada has been showcasing Jacques Plante today atop its search page, backing it up (here) a broad overview of his career that’s worth a browse, if mostly for the George Silk photographs that illustrate it. Those, from Life magazine’s archive, depict Plante as he looked (reversed Habs logo notwithstanding), which I’m not sure Google’s daily doodle quite manages. I’m not complaining — even in error (mask and bleu, blanc et rouge aside), Google’s gesture makes for a perfectly adequate salute to Chuck Rayner’s Hall-of-Fame career in the New York Rangers’ net.
Any guesses, based solely on the faces in the photograph, on who was the victor on the night depicted here, and who the vanquished?
If there’s something you’re seeing in Bill Durnan’s smile on the left that suggests that he prevailed at Maple Leaf Gardens on Saturday, April 19, 1947, well, then, um, sorry, you’re mistaken. The triumphant grin is, in fact, Turk Broda’s on the right. And why not? With their 2-1 win over Montreal, he and his Toronto Maple had just won the Stanley Cup in six games.
Many who witnessed the action that night agreed that the rival goaltenders were the two best men on the ice. By no surprise, Montreal’s Gazette chose to focus on the man in the bleu, blanc, et rouge in the aftermath. “The greatest goalkeeper of modern times, and perhaps of all time,” columnist Dink Carroll proclaimed the 31-year-old Durnan, who wasn’t (it has to be said) always so happy in his goaltending gear as he appears here. “If it hadn’t been for his uncanny skill in keeping the puck out of the net, the Leafs might have won by four or five goals.” Broda, Carroll allowed, was good, too — though “the Habitant sharpshooters made his task a little easier by hitting him with the puck when they were all alone with him.”
Durnan did win two Stanley Cups with Montreal, in 1944 and ’46. He also won the Vézina Trophy, as the NHL’s top goaltender, in six of his seven seasons in the league. Born in Toronto on a Saturday of this date in 1916, Durnan died at the age of 56 in October of 1972 — just a week, as it so happened, after Turk Broda’s death at 58.
Toronto had everything, to quote from the local Star: “speed, courage, team play, aggressiveness, and ability.”
No, not the Maple Leafs as they’re currently constituted: they’re clearly snarled in a bit of a mid-season muddle. But a hundred years ago this very night, Toronto was having a very good time of it, quashing the visiting Montreal Canadiens by a score of 11-3, and in so doing (I think it’s fair to assume) souring their goaltender’s birthday. Nowadays, a netminder suffering through such a night would expect, at some point, to be spared further misery, but there was no back-up to relieve the great (and newly 32) Georges Vézina that night, and no mercy from his opponents.
Toronto’s team was the Arenas that season, the NHL’s second, and they were the defending league and Stanley Cup champions. Still, the schedule to date hadn’t been kind so far in 1918-19, and Toronto was stuck in third place, behind Ottawa, who in turn trailed Montreal. That doesn’t sound so bad, I guess, except that the NHL was, that year, a three-team operation. Just ten days earlier, in Montreal, Toronto had been the quashed and Canadiens the quashers. The score that night was 13-4.
This time out, Montreal was missing its captain and star forward, Newsy Lalonde, who stayed home to nurse an injured arm. As Toronto trainer and master of the malapropism Tim Daly assessed it, without Lalonde, Montreal was like Hamlet without the eggs.
And yet manager George Kennedy could still count on a formidable array of talent: the Montreal line-up that night included future Hall-of-Famers in Vézina, Joe Hall, and Didier Pitre alongside the veteran abilities of Bert Corbeau and Odie Cleghorn.
“They might just as well have left their skates home,” said The Toronto Daily Star’s correspondent of those Canadiens who did suit up at the Arena on Mutual Street. Though it’s unbylined, the dispatch that appeared in the next day’s Star has a wry ring to it that could be Lou Marsh’s. He was a sportswriter on the paper at the time, though I suppose it’s unlikely that he would have been writing up the same game that he was working — his other job, of course, was an NHL referee, and he was manning the rulebook that night. Whoever it was who contributed the copy, he kept it light and laughable — just like the hockey itself. Canadiens, the Star’s man wrote, appeared to have no more use for hockey “than a goldfish has for a tenderloin steak.” Throughout, the speedy Arenas made the “weary Frenchmen look like tanks floundering around in the Somme mud.”
Harry Meeking led the way for Toronto with three goals, while Alf Skinner and Jack Adams each added a pair. On the question of whether or not it was right to be running up the score, Toronto manager Charlie Querrie apparently told his players to help themselves. “Go on in and get all you can,” he’s quoted as recommending. “They’d beat you 16-1 in Montreal if they could, so pile it up.”
Canadiens Suffer A Complete Failure was the headline with which La Presse cheered its readers the following day. The Gazette’s was a drowsier Toronto Team Beat Canadiens, with a subhead that seemed almost self-diagnosing: Flying Frenchmen Played Far Below Their Form and in a Listless Manner.
Back in Toronto, if the Star was mostly merry,the rival World was all in a temper. “The Montrealers played as if they didn’t care how soon it was over,” ran the peeved narrative there. Canadiens “lost a lot of local admirers,” who were decidedly “not taken with what was offered by the Frenchies.”
“The game left a bad taste in the mouths of the fans.”
An outraged column that ran alongside the World’s aggrieved game report went further, suggesting that the game had been fixed by gamblers. “Fake hockey,” the World charged, without offering no specifics or indeed anything in the way of positive proof. Nothing came of this charge, so far as I can determine — it seems simply to have drifted away. It doesn’t sound like the newspaper expected anything different. “The World mentions these things because it is the function of a newspaper to do its best to protect the public. Even on a race track a horse showing a performance like the Canadiens last night at the Arena would be ruled off the track. But not so in the National Hockey League.”
“Eleven goals against Vézina is something to talk about,” the World’s hockey reporter wrote. The again: “The Canadiens’ defence opened like a picture album, and everybody who asked had a peek at Vézina unmolested.”
“Vézina did not appear to advantage,” decided The Globe. “The Chicoutimi wizard, however, was given little or no opportunity to save the majority of the goals tallied against him and towards the close of the game grew rather careless.”
This 1919 debacle, I have to report, was only one of Vézina’s worst NHL showings. In 1920, he would twice allow 11 goals in a game. On two further occasions, in 1921 and ’22, he would see ten pucks pass him by.
Vézina’s NHL career spanned nine seasons, from 1917 through to 1925, and during those years he played six times on his birthday. Including the 1919 trouncing, his record in those games was a discouraging 2-4.
Fans in St. Louis sang “Happy Birthday” on this day in 1970 as Blues goaltender Jacques Plante celebrated his 41stwith a 20-stop 3-1 victory over the Los Angeles Kings. Playing in his 16thNHL season, Plante had been named earlier that same week to the roster of the Western team for the NHL’s upcoming 23rdannual All-Star game. While that was a match-up that his team would lose, 4-1, to the East, Plante’s performance was immaculate: in relief of Bernie Parent of the Philadelphia Flyers, he stopped 26 shots in the 30 minutes, allowing no goals.
Plante would leave St. Louis that summer, signing for the Toronto Maple Leafs, but not before he’d steered the Blues to their third successive Stanley Cup finals. The man who’d introduced the goaltender’s mask to regular NHL duty in 1959 only played a part in the first of the four games the Boston Bruins used in 1970 to sweep to the championship: a shot of Fred Stanfield’s hit Plante square in the mask, which broke. He was down and out and — soon enough — on his way to hospital, leaving Ernie Wakely and Glenn Hall to finish the series in the St. Louis nets.
“I feel great,” Plante said in June, up and at ’em and strolling around at the NHL’s annual summer meetings in Montreal. “I’ve had no dizzy spells, no headaches, I don’t see double.”
“But the doctor in St. Louis told me not to be afraid to tell everybody that if it wasn’t for the mask, I wouldn’t be here now.”
Even so, Plante had a new mask in hand, one that he’d been developing with the help of — well, as The Windsor Star had it in 1969, “moon workers” from the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration.
Plante been involved in the mask-building business for as long as masks had been mitigating the impact of the pucks that were finding his face in the NHL. Mostly he’d worked with Bill Burchmore, the young Montreal sales manager from Fibreglas Canada who’d designed Plante’s original mask.
Now Plante was launching a company of his own, Fibrosport, to develop and market face-protection for goaltenders of all sizes and skill-levels. That’s one of the junior models pictured above: they retailed for about C$12–$15 (about $75—$100 in 2018 money). Come the new season, the president of the company would be sporting the revolutionary professional model himself. One of those would set you back about C$22.50 ($150ish).
At the league’s June meetings in Montreal, Plante was ready to do some selling. While previously he’d been talking about NASA scientists — “They are experimenting with some new, lightweight material that can be poured right over your face,” he said in ’69 — the word now was that this new model had been developed in cooperation with the engineering department at the University of Sherbrooke. It weighed just nine ounces, he said, and fit the face better than any previous model known to goaliekind. Most important, it was superstrong. The secret? Resin and woven fibres. That was as much as Plante was revealing in public, anyway.
“We’ve been making tests with it,” he told reporters, “to see how much it can take and it didn’t even budge with shots at 135 miles per hour. That’s pretty good when you consider the hardest shot in the NHL is Bobby Hull’s. He shoots 118 miles an hour.”
The mask he’d been wearing when he was felled in St. Louis had resisted shots up to 108 mph, he said. The helmets astronauts wore, Plante happened to know, could withstand up to nine Gs of force. “After that, they can go unconscious. When I got hit with that puck, it was something like 12 or 14 Gs. That’s why I was knocked out.”
To prove the point (and sell the product), Plante arranged an exhibition of the new mask’s superiority. He’d brought along what the papers variously described as “a short-range cannon,” “an air-powered cannon,” and “a machine that fires pucks at 140 mph.” Set up in a conference room at a distance approximating Phil Esposito in the slot, it fired away at Plante’s newest (uninhabited) facade, which was firmly fixed to a stout backboard.
The Futuramic Pro was what Plante was calling the mask that Leaf fans would get to know over the next few years. (He’d don it, too, for subsequent short stints with Boston and WHA Edmonton.) It didn’t disappoint in Montreal that June, withstanding the hotel bombardment no problem at all.
Not so the pucks fired in the demo: in the press photos from that week, they appear misshapen and more than just a little ashamed.
With their regular goaltenders indisposed, Toronto’s modern-day Maple Leafs will look to 28-year-old Michael Hutchinson to defend their goal in tonight’s game against the Vancouver Canucks. Main man Frederik Andersen has a faulty groin, we’re told, while back-up Garret Sparks is concussed, so Hutchinson, acquired a week ago from the Florida Panthers is, of a sudden, the Leafs’ new number one. Asked whether the team might seek to trade for yet another goaltender to reinforce the Toronto crease, coach Mike Babcock took the arboreal view in a conversation reported by The Toronto Sun today. “Well, there is no tree,” Babcock divulged. “You would like to have a tree in your backyard and you just pick them off, but there is none of that. We’ll see what happens.”
To be clear, there was never a goaltender orchard in Toronto, which means that in, say, 1954, the Leafs had to harvest their goaltenders more or less the same as they do today, either developing their own youngsters or via trade. Harry Lumley, seen here on the left, arrived that way, from Chicago, and in his second year as Leaf earned a Vézina Trophy as the league’s best goaltender along with a place on the NHL’s First All-Star Team. That 1953-54 season he played all but one of Toronto’s regular-season games, with homegrown Gil Mayer stepping in for the game Lumley missed to nurse a badly bruised hip. That’s not Mayer here, it should be emphasized: can’t say for certain, but Lumley’s enthusiastic sapling apprentice might possibly be a son of his own.
For the cover for the 1960 Official National Hockey Annual, artist (and former NFL lineman) Tex Coulter painted Montreal’s Bill Hicke scoring on Chicago’s Glenn Hall, and while you can’t really see the expression on either man’s face, the sense of their mutual surprise is strong, as though the last thing either man expected to see was that puck find the back of the net. I wrote in my 2014 book about the journalist and pro tem goaltender George Plimpton and his suspicion that his failure as a netminder was largely a problem of acquaintance: he’d never really gotten to know the puck. “One would appear with the abruptness of a bee over a picnic basket,” he wrote in Open Net (1985), “and then hum away, all so quickly that rather than corporeal it could well have been an apparition of some sort. A swarm of them would collect in the back of the net during the shooting drills without my being sure how they got there.”
From the veterans of the crease Plimpton apprenticed with during his stint with the Boston Bruins he learned that you never bother with a puck that ends up behind you in the net. A bee no more, that puck has become your mess and your shame — “like dogshit on a carpet.”