by Willie O'Ree
The entire Hall of Fame weekend was such a marvelous experience. All the inductees were given private receptions with our families, as well as a meet-and-greet with the media and fans. The feeling was one of celebration from beginning to end, and it made me think of the long journey I’d made to get to this place.
And since each new Honoured Member is expected to make a speech, I’d had to prepare mine. I was given five minutes, which I think is about the right amount of time to talk to any group without letting them talk back, but my speech was clocking in at eight minutes. So I asked the NHL for help, and Mike Sullivan in the New York office rode to the rescue. We worked on the speech together, timing it with a stopwatch, until finally, with Mike’s surgical wisdom, I had it down to five minutes and sixteen seconds and was ready to deliver it to the people gathered in the Hall of Fame’s auditorium on Monday, November 12, 2018.
I was sitting with Deljeet, Chandra and Talib, Gary Bettman and his wife, and Bryant McBride, the man who’d brought me back to the NHL. By that time I’d gone over my speech and rehearsed it a dozen times—I wanted to make sure I delivered it well for all the people who’d helped me make it into the Hall of Fame.
Even so, I was nervous. Much more nervous than I thought I would be, but when the great Edmonton Oilers goalie—and fellow black hockey player—Grant Fuhr summoned me to the stage and handed me the plaque honoring my election, my nerves passed and I was once again on the ice, doing what I do. And this is what I said:
At the age of fourteen I had set two goals for myself. To play professional hockey and to one day play in the NHL. All I wanted was to be a hockey player. All I needed was an opportunity.
To be here with you tonight is simply overwhelming. There are no words to express how humble and grateful I am to be part of the Hockey Hall of Fame.
I thank the Selection Committee for the incredible honor and offer heartfelt congratulations to my fellow inductees.
To my wife Deljeet, my daughter Chandra, I am thankful to share this special moment with you.
Believe it or not, on January the 18, 1958, when I stepped on the ice with the Bruins, it did not dawn on me that I was breaking the color barrier. That’s how focused I was on making my dream come true.
I did not realize I had made history until I read it in the paper the next day.
I have spent sixty-seven years of my life in hockey. Now, as the NHL’s ambassador, I travel across North America introducing boys and girls to the game I love. We also focus on life lessons hockey teaches us, and most importantly, setting goals.
My mission is to give them the opportunity like the one I was given.
Years ago I was doing an event in Los Angeles. Snoop Dogg was there. We know he loves the game. But when I got him out there on skates, he said, “Willie, I hope I don’t fall.” I told him what I tell the kids. “If you fall, just get back up.”
As a teen, I looked up to Herbie and Ossie Carnegie and Manny McIntyre. They paved the way for me; they just never got the opportunity I did.
When I lost the sight in my right eye playing junior, the doctor told me I would never play again. I refused to accept that. His words did not discourage me. They fueled me to try harder, to never give up.
Three years later, I broke the color barrier.
In life and sports, there are people who assist you along the way. My brother Richard was one of those people for me. When playing hockey together, he used to check me so hard that tears would come to my eyes. He wanted me to be ready for the pros.
My sister Betty encouraged me, too. She was there only when I told her about losing sight in my right eye. She believed in me and kept it a secret.
I would like to thank Lou Vairo from USA Hockey for recommending me to the NHL in 1996. I am grateful to Bryant McBride, who was the vice-president of the NHL’s diversity program at that time. Many thanks to Ken Martin Jr. for your support and courage. Thank you Eustace King, my agent and friend. I would also like to thank the people of my hometown Fredericton, especially David and Brenda Sansom for spearheading my induction submission.
A heartfelt thanks to all the players and coaches I had the pleasure of playing with.
Finally, I would like to thank Commissioner Gary Bettman for trusting me with his vision for the future of the NHL, that hockey is for everyone.
We’ve made some substantial progress over the past twenty years. Lives are being changed thanks to your leadership, and your continued support allows us to make the game more diverse and inclusive each day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity you have given me, and congratulations, Gary, on your well-deserved induction tonight. I am honored to share this with you.
True strength comes from diversity and inclusion. It makes kids better, families better, it makes the game better. We know that because of players like Mike Marson, Jarome Iginla, Grant Fuhr, and so many others who have also broken barriers.
Tonight I am here to tell you we are not done because the work is not done. We have barriers to break and knock down, opportunities to give.
I leave this with you: When you return to your communities, take a look around, find a young boy or girl who needs the opportunity to play hockey, and give it to them.
You never know, they may make us dream.
Almost a year later I went back home to Fredericton for the premier screening in my hometown of the documentary film about me. I got to see all my old friends again—like Gus Mazzuca and Louis George and Junior Doherty and David and Brenda Sansom—along with so many other friends at the Cabin restaurant. I also got to talk to the media and tell my story all over again.
I was even invited back to my old high school, Fredericton High, to talk to the students. When I looked out on the crowded auditorium, I was astonished and delighted to see the diversity of the faces in that school. It seemed as if the whole world was there.
And the Fredericton High students gave me a gift: a black and gold jersey, same as the Boston Bruins, with my name and number 22 on the back. But this was no Bruins jersey, it was a Fredericton High jersey. More than seventy years after I’d been kicked off the school hockey team for breaking the collarbone of the coach’s son, these students had put me back on the team. They even formed an honor guard, standing in two rows and tapping hockey sticks on the floor to celebrate me as I walked between them and on out of the room to my next rendezvous with hockey, and with my fellow humans.
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So that, so far, is my story. But as I tell it, I see that it’s not just about me. Not really. The name O’Ree appears in so many places, on so many places. But as much as I’ve been honored, it’s not my name that appears in halls of fame or on public buildings. You can’t own a name. It was there before me, and it will be here after I’m gone.
I’ve just tried to treat it with respect, by living up to the standard set by my ancestor. For as much as this is my story, it also belongs to Paris O’Ree. He achieved freedom for the sake of future generations. And he was vindicated by history, which has been made in his name. He was a pioneer whose legacy was further pioneering in his name. By taking up the challenge history issued him, he changed the future. So much would have been different without him. And in that sense, he is the author of this story.
But in the end, it’s not about names, is it? It’s not about taking credit. That’s something else I can learn from Paris O’Ree. He’s not asking for credit. Credit is beside the point. What his story shows, it seems to me, is that history lays a challenge out before each one of us. We all have the opportunity to do the right thing for the generations that follow. Even when it’s hard. Even when there’s reason to doubt that it will all work out. There is always risk. But when future generations are at stake, the greater risk is doing nothing.
I’d like to think I may have inspired others. That would be a fine accomplishment. I would
be proud of that. But when I think of Paris O’Ree and what he went through, I’m reminded that whatever I’ve been able to do was possible only because of what he had the courage to do. If he’d done nothing, I could have done nothing. But courage begets courage. Good begets good. When courage and goodness wither within us, they wither in the future. When we nurture them, we nurture the future. We nurture generations to come.
I was given freedom, and because of that, I can help offer it to others. And while I offer it to others I gain more of it for myself. Because generosity frees us. Courage frees us. Much has been given to us. It falls to us to pass it on.
And I will.
Wherever I played, I was usually the first black player fans had ever seen, and that usually made things harder—sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. There were times when I considered quitting. But I’ll never forget one afternoon in Kingston, Ontario, where I was playing for the Frontenacs. I bought lemonade from a stand set up by a couple of little boys. As I walked away, I heard one say: “That’s Willie O’Ree!” Something in his voice told me that while I often stood out from the other players, there was admiration and respect, more often than there were uglier things, and that kept me going.
No one ever made it to the NHL without a strong family making sacrifices and offering support. I was lucky in that regard. At the top, that’s my niece and me in a rare moment when I wasn’t chasing a ball or puck. In the middle, that’s me outside the house I grew up in. And at the bottom, those are my parents Harry and Rosebud in the middle. They were strict but fair, and my friends just adored my mother. That’s my sister Margaret and her husband on the left, and my brother Richard and his wife on the right.
I always give my brother Richard special credit for helping me make it to the NHL. We would practice together, and he would play as rough and tough as any brother in the history of hockey. If I ever complained, he’d just say, “They hit harder than that in the NHL!” When I got there, I was ready. That’s him in the upper left of the top photo. And that’s the two of us sharing a laugh years later. As you can see, he was a pretty big guy.
I got into my fair share of trouble as a kid, but no one can say I wasn’t a choirboy. That’s me in the school choir in the back row of the top photo—though I also sang at church. And I worked hard at school too. My parents saw to that. The rule: whatever you do, do the best you can.
There’s more to life than hockey. Like rugby and baseball, for example. I would play any sport there was to play (with the occasional break to go fishing). I got good enough at baseball to be invited to the Milwaukee Braves training camp in 1956. Camp was in Waycross, Georgia—deep in the Jim Crow South. That trip really opened my eyes to the grim realities of segregation. When I left Georgia I had to sit at the back of the bus. By the time I got home, I was sitting at the front. I decided that day to focus on hockey.
I still have the telegram that changed my life, and turned me into a professional hockey player. I was thrilled to head to Quebec City to join the Aces. I loved the city, the hockey was fast and tough, and it proved to me that I belonged. The fact that superstars like Jean Béliveau had played there made the move that much more exciting, as did the fact that black superstar Herb Carnegie had played there with him. Béliveau said that Carnegie was one of the best he had ever played with, but Carnegie never made it to the NHL.
My time in Quebec changed not only my life, but also my family’s. I was putting up the kind of numbers that showed NHL decision-makers that I had what it took to play in the world’s best league. And I was making enough money to send a little home to my parents, who were able to buy their first house.
On January 18, 1958, my dream came true. I was called up from the Aces to play against the Canadiens at the Forum in Montreal. There could hardly be a better stage for the most exciting moment of a young man’s life. I found out only later that The New York Times had been watching the Bruins’ moves, and had announced my first game before it even happened: “O’Ree will be the first Negro to play in a National Hockey League game.”
Hockey is a team sport, and whether you win or lose depends a lot on how well you play together. Good teams stick up for each other, too. Hockey can be rough, but it can also bring the best out in people. It meant a lot to me to be part of that Bruins team. In the photo below, that’s me with my line-mates, Tom McCarthy and Charlie Burns.
A lot of guys’ careers were shaped by Milt Schmidt, who was a legend in his own right. He was an NHL All-Star, a bona fide war hero, a coach, and later a Stanley Cup-winning general manager. He was also a consummate gentleman. When he was asked about dressing the first black player in NHL history, he would say “He’s not black. He’s a Bruin.” Though we might not phrase things the same way today, I knew what he meant—that the colour of my skin didn’t matter. All that mattered was my role on the team. That was all I asked for, and I appreciated it. I did face some ugly racism while I was wearing a Bruins sweater, and Schmidt always had my back.
I don’t think any hockey player’s wife would say the constant travel is the best way to keep a relationship strong and stable. But I met Deljeet while I was playing on the west coast, and we’ve been together ever since. She’s had my back just as bravely as any linemate.
My time in the NHL was shorter than I’d hoped—likely because of an injury to my eye. But I had a lot of hockey left in me, and a lot of goals. I was traded to the Los Angeles Blades, and later went to the San Diego Gulls. Life in California was so good that I’ve never really left.
One of the reasons I think it is so important for kids to have the opportunity to play hockey is that sport is the beginning of so many friendships (whether you’re wearing the same sweater or not!). Friendship is not just sharing a laugh, it’s also going the extra mile for each other. One guy who was both a teammate and a friend was Bruins great Johnny Bucyk, who was always a leader, and always made me feel welcome. In the middle photo, that’s Neil Henderson with Lou Vairo, Sam Greenblatt, and me. And in the bottom photo that’s me with old Fredericton pals Johnny and Gus Mazzuca—that’s my nephew Stephen O’Ree between them. After all these years, they’re still not Bruins fans.
It was a long time ago that I listened to “Hockey Night in Canada” on the radio with my family. I dreamt of being out there on the ice with my heroes, but I don’t think I ever imagined being in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Some of those heroes, like Maurice Richard and Jean Beliveau, are there now. And as of November 2018, I am too, along with incredible players like Martin St. Louis, Martin Brodeur, Russian legend Alexander Yakushev, and Jenna Hefford, and a man who made a big difference in my life, Gary Bettman. Here we all are at the induction ceremony.
Hockey has given me a lot in life, and many, many people have helped me along the way. I believe that if you’ve been lucky enough to have people give you a hand, you need to extend that hand to others. That’s what I have tried to do over the years. Here I am with some young high school students as part of Black History Month. And in the photo below, that’s me in front of the sports complex named after me in my hometown. It is an incredible feeling to know that my name, and the name of my ancestors, will be part of young athletes’ lives for many years to come.
After my playing career was over, I always wanted to find a way to get back into the game. When Bryant McBride was putting together an NHL program to make hockey more inclusive, my name came up, and we’ve been working together ever since. This is a program from a weekend we put together to give kids who might not otherwise be encouraged to play a chance to try it out. We really enjoyed the weekend, but there was a cloud hanging over it, because the KKK threatened to bomb it.
When I was a kid, I dreamt of making it to the NHL. Now I feel as though I made it to the NHL twice—I made it once as a player, and I made it back as an executive. I am incredibly proud of both accomplishments, and I am particularly happy that I have tried to make a difference in young people’s lives. As I’ve said, no
one makes it without a helping hand, and I would be thrilled if I helped a young person or two along their paths in life. Here I am with a couple of pretty good hockey players—Anson Carter and Ray Bourque, who are presenting me with my old Number 22 Bruins sweater. It was a long and fantastic road back.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have been lucky to receive help along my journey from many people, and it would take another book to thank them all. So, I would like to thank the people who made much of the story I tell within these pages possible, beginning with my mother Rosebud, and father Harry, who gave me all the love and support a guy could ever want. They made it possible for me to pursue my dream. I am grateful to all my twelve brothers and sisters, but especially to my brother Richard, who taught me how to play the game of hockey, and much about how to live my life, and to my sister Betty, who kept my secret because she believed in my dream as much as I did. In the hockey world, there are many to thank, but I am especially grateful to Stan Maxwell, my teammate for so many years; to Punch Imlach, who brought me up to give me a shot at the NHL, and to Milt Schmidt, who gave it to me. My Boston Bruins teammate, the great Johnny Bucyk, was always encouraging, and really, I thank all the wonderful teammates I had on every team, along with NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman, and the NHL family.
