Against All Odds

by P. J. Naworynski

  Simply put, if Sandy Watson was going to do something, he was going to do it well. And just as important, he was a proud Canadian: Sandy had the flag written all over him.

  Sandy immediately got on the horn with George Dudley, secretary-manager of the CAHA. He told him about his plan and got Dudley’s blessing that an air force squad would meet the IOC’s new amateur status rule and would be a welcome submission to represent Canada. Next, Dr. Watson rallied his immediate superior, Air Commodore Dave MacKell, to get behind the plan. As a former elite athlete and lover of hockey, MacKell was an easy sell. Together, they took the proposal to Air Marshal Wilf Curtis, chief of the air staff.

  Lady luck had nothing to do with it all coming together so smoothly and so rapidly. As the air marshal’s personal physician, Dr. Watson already knew that Wilf Curtis was a hockey fanatic and a patriot, so it was little surprise that Watson soon found himself with MacKell and Curtis in the office of Defence Minister Brooke Claxton looking for the final seal of approval. Again, a love of hockey and a love of country made it an easy sell. Claxton was a rabid hockey fan and supporter of the Montreal Canadiens.

  All told, it took Watson less than a day to get the green light to use air force resources to find the men to make up a team worthy of going to Switzerland that winter. But building a world-class team was a massive undertaking. The Olympics were just over three months away, and Watson was racing against the clock.

  Not everyone outside the air force agreed with the concept. Questions circulated in the media and among other branches of the military about making the team an “all-military affair,” or perhaps bringing in some players from the university teams. Sure the RCAF had a number of great hockey players, but why not include amateur players from the army or navy? Why not make the Olympic squad a tri-services team? The Ottawa Evening Citizen headline on October 18, 1947, boldly threw it out there: “All Three Services May Form Olympic Ice Team. Would Improve Chances.”

  But Defence Minister Brooke Claxton stuck to his guns. Although he was a staunch supporter of tri-services activities and agreed that the other branches of the military also possessed a number of fine hockey players, he chose to stay the course. “We have considered the formation of a tri-services team and have come to the conclusion that the original invitation to the RCAF to provide a team will stand. . . . We are going to let them go on ahead on their own.” Truth is, it was the RCAF that had come forward with a plan to ease the headache that had been troubling the CAHA and the Canadian Olympic Association for months. They had the plan and the initiative, and if things went sideways, the makeup of the team could always be reanalyzed. The team representing Canada in the Olympics would be called the RCAF Flyers.

  The decision delighted the air force, but it infuriated the army.

  THE MEN SANDY WOULD ULTIMATELY BE drawing from were accustomed to staring down heavy odds. Those who fought with the RCAF were part of an extraordinary bid by the Allies to cripple the Germans in a massive air war. Canada’s contribution in the air had comprised three main parts, two of which were at home, with the third component being overseas.

  In Canada, the RCAF ran the vital British Commonwealth Air Training Plan, which was created to train air crews from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and Britain. Nearly half of the pilots, navigators, bomb aimers, air gunners, wireless operators, and flight engineers employed in all the Commonwealth air forces during the war—a force totalling more than 130,000—were trained in Canada under the BCATP. The plan was highly successful and regarded as an exceptionally important Canadian contribution to the war. But it was not without its challenges and dangers.

  The second component of the RCAF’s contribution to the Allied air effort was the Home War Establishment, designed for the protection of home turf. By the time the war was over, the HWE had thirty-seven squadrons stretching from coast to coast, to the far reaches of the North.

  The third component was the Overseas War Establishment. Headquartered in London, it comprised forty-eight squadrons serving in western Europe, the Mediterranean, and the Far East.

  The magnitude of the RCAF’s contribution to the war effort was staggering. From its modest beginnings with a meagre pre-war strength of just over three thousand personnel, the RCAF grew and expanded to become the fourth-largest Allied air force by war’s end. Its men and women played major roles in countless battles and operations, among them the Battle of the Atlantic, the high-intensity operations over northwest Europe, the Normandy invasion, the liberation of Europe, and operations in North America and the Mediterranean, as well as maritime patrols and operations in Southeast Asia, North America, Iceland, and the Aleutian Islands.

  Signing up for a war fought in the clouds meant staring down a plethora of dangers and heavy odds. Thirteen thousand RCAF airmen were killed in operations, and another four thousand died in training. For those serving with Bomber Command, survival rates were shockingly low. Those who took to the skies in our bombers had a one-in-four chance of surviving their first tour of duty, and a one-in-ten chance of surviving their second. Fifty-five percent of the men who climbed into the lumbering metal beasts that flew night after night in Bomber Command would never come home. But for those who survived—like the men trying out for the RCAF Flyers—a bond was created that could never be broken.

  It was little surprise on October 19, 1947, when Air Commodore Dave MacKell formally announced that Squadron Leader Alexander “Sandy” Watson, senior medical officer at air force HQ in Ottawa, would be the RCAF Flyers’ team manager. It was time for the RCAF machine to kick it into high gear. Rumours and speculation flew off the pages of sports columns about who would get the nod to coach the squad. Would the RCAF get a big name like Mervyn “Red” Dutton to helm the bench? As the former president of the National Hockey League, Dutton certainly had the ability to put together a fine team. He had also lost both of his sons while they were serving in the RCAF, and there were no rules against having a professional on the bench.

  Another name being bandied about by reporters was Frank Fredrickson. An illustrious RCAF flying ace and hero from World War I, Fredrickson had been a phenomenal hockey player in his youth. As captain of the Winnipeg Falcons in 1920, Fredrickson led his team to the Allan Cup championship and to the gold medal at the Olympics that year in Antwerp.

  Although Red Dutton and Frank Fredrickson might have looked like odds-on favourites for the posting, Watson and MacKell had their eyes set on another man for team coach, RCAF corporal Frank Boucher.

  Sandy and Frank had become friends during the war while they were both stationed in London. But it wasn’t just this closeness and personal connection that made Frank Boucher Sandy’s first choice. Frank was also a tremendous defenceman who had shown incredible prowess as a player and as a playing coach with a number of RCAF hockey squads at home and overseas during the war.

  While serving at RCAF HQ in London, Boucher and Watson had worked together organizing, arranging, and coaching hockey games for Canadian armed forces personnel stationed at various bases waiting to be repatriated to Canada. Together they were part of an organization that strived to keep the boys who were killing time before heading home active and busy, playing hockey against the army, navy, and local players from the English league.

  In 1946, Watson and Boucher took a team made up of RCAF and army men to Zurich and Basel to play the Swiss national team. They beat them. Later that same year, their squad defeated a Czech team at Wembley Arena in London. Next, they defeated the Canadian army team to win the inter-service championship. The pairing of Boucher as a playing coach with Watson as a team manager was smooth and natural, each man complementing the other’s qualities.

  Known for his calm, soft-spoken yet direct style, Boucher never raised his voice, never swore, and never spoke unkindly of anyone. He was the quiet in any storm. As a coach he was regarded as a kind man who earned heaps of respect from his players. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of hockey and treated all players with respect as long as they toed the li
ne. If anyone got out of turn, Frank was not the kind of coach who would ever embarrass a player; rather, if he had a terse word to deliver, he would pull the bloke aside, set him straight, and then get back to business.

  As the only son of legendary NHL player and coach George “Buck” Boucher, Frank Boucher came into the world in 1918 with hockey embedded in his DNA. Frank was born into a powerhouse of hockey royalty. His father was a tough defenceman who throttled opponents over thirteen seasons with the Ottawa Senators, three seasons with the Montreal Maroons, and one season with the Chicago Black Hawks. When Buck tapped out of playing professionally he took to coaching for the Maroons, the Senators, and the Boston Bruins in the NHL.

  Frank’s uncle Billy and uncle Bobby both played for Montreal in the NHL, and his uncle Frank, also known as “Raffles” for his ability to deftly steal the puck from opponents, was a trailblazer with the New York Rangers over twelve seasons as a player and five as a coach. Raffles was also instrumental in instituting game-changing rules to NHL hockey, such as the introduction of the red line. Known for his sportsmanlike conduct, Raffles won the Lady Byng Trophy seven times in eight years. After his seventh win they gave Raffles the original trophy and commissioned a copy. Even young Frank’s grandfather had been a professional athlete, playing rugby football in the late 1890s. It seemed everybody in the Boucher family was involved in professional sports, especially hockey.

  For young Frank, hockey was the fuel that made him fly. Countless hours of his Ottawa childhood were spent walking miles in the wintertime with his skates slung over his shoulders to play on outdoor rinks or bumpy frozen ponds. In his later years he’d say how spoiled and soft kids of today were for playing on indoor heated rinks.

  Frank shared a passion with his father, Buck. Both of them loved playing defence. Frank grew to be a gifted player with a hockey mind that was as sharp as his blades slicing along the ice. At just thirteen he was on the Ottawa team that won the city midget title. By his mid-teens he was rising in the hockey ranks playing in the Eastern Hockey League for the Bronx Tigers and then the New York Rovers, a farm team for the NHL’s New York Rangers that was coached by his uncle Frank. By the age of twenty-two, Frank had moved up to the American Hockey League and was on the highest-scoring line in the league. In his prime, and poised for a jump to the big leagues, Frank’s NHL career halted in its tracks once war broke out and he enlisted in 1940.

  When Sandy Watson first got it in his bonnet to put together a team, Frank was his number-one choice for coach and one of the first people he bounced the idea off. With Sandy running the team as manager and Frank running the operations on the ice as head coach, they could make for a powerful combination. As a bonus, and in order to appease those who wanted a big name behind the bench, they could see if Frank’s father, Buck, would be willing to lend his expertise to help with the initial selection process and whittling down of the recruits.

  It all came together perfectly and a plan was set in motion. Although Buck was coaching for the Ottawa Senators in the Quebec Senior Hockey League, he agreed to offer his services free of compensation and was given carte blanche in the selection of players. Buck would build the machine, his son Frank would take over the reins and coach it overseas, and Sandy would manage the entire operation.

  There was one dark cloud for Frank Boucher—it was killing him not to be able to lace up as a player for Canada’s Olympic hockey team. He was certainly young enough, talented enough, and strong enough to take to the ice for the entry. But as a previously paid professional player, he was ineligible under the IOC rules to qualify as an amateur. Nonetheless he saw it as a great privilege to be a part of the team as its coach, representing his country from the bench. Now they just had to roll up their sleeves and pull it off.

  Flying Officer Hubert Brooks when he joined the Missing Research and Enquiry Service.

  Ralf Brooks

  THE GAMES

  02

  When the ball got rolling that mid-October, Air Marshal Wilf Curtis assured team manager Sandy Watson that he would have the full support of the force. Every resource the force possessed would be at his disposal. That is, every resource except for money. It was one thing to take up the torch to represent the country on the world stage and win. But if the Flyers were to bomb out and perform miserably in St. Moritz, the RCAF brass and the defence minister had no interest in facing a torrent of questions from the media and the public about squandering taxpayers’ money on a hockey team.

  So with cap in hand, Sandy and Frank went knocking on doors, scrounging for donations of gear and supplies to outfit the RCAF Flyers hockey team. When Sandy called upon Conn Smythe, owner of the Toronto Maple Leafs, to give a hand with some equipment, Smythe turned him down. Some sources say the Leafs laughed him out of the room. Undeterred, Sandy, the consummate optimist, and Frank forged ahead, hitting up every supplier, manufacturer, and outfitter they could think of in their efforts to gear up for the Olympics.

  Canadian supplier Northland pitched in with a donation of three hundred hockey sticks. CCM chipped in with new top-of-the-line Tackaberry skates for every player. At sixty-nine dollars a pair it was a generous donation. The Tackaberries didn’t come with sewn-in tendon guards. Knowledge of the European players’ predilection for slashing inspired Watson and Boucher to have tendon guards sewn into the skates for an added layer of protection. Sandy convinced Hackett’s Shoe Repair in Ottawa to do it free of charge.

  American sporting giant Spalding coughed up the vast majority of the rest of the equipment, kitting out the players with shin pads, elbow pads, jocks, cups, garter belts, braces, shoulder pads, pants, gloves, sweaters, and socks.

  Traditionally Canada’s hockey entry at the Olympics would sport a red maple leaf on a white background as the official team jersey. But this being an all–air force team, Air Marshal Wilf Curtis was interested in seeing if the Flyers could feature the distinctive RCAF roundel on a jersey that showcased the powder-blue colours of the air force. Watson mocked up a jersey and took it to a meeting of the Canadian Olympic Association. COA president Sidney Dawes came from a background in construction and was tough as nails. When Sandy presented the prospective jersey to the table of representatives of the sixteen sports Canada would be fielding at St. Moritz, it was resoundingly rejected. Nobody at the table was interested in the RCAF showcasing their logo and colours on the Olympic stage. But Sidney Dawes was a fan of the Flyers from the get-go. He stunned the room by accepting the jersey and decreeing it the official team sweater sanctioned by the Canadian Olympic Association. The deal was done. The Flyers would be wearing a pale-blue jersey with the RCAF roundel and a red maple leaf in the centre and the word Canada underneath.

  In the ensuing weeks, Dawes went one further for the Flyers. He called Sydney Dobson, president of the Royal Bank of Canada, and asked if the bank could open up its purse strings to help pay for the team’s tickets to Europe. Dobson agreed, and the Flyers became the first team of Canadian athletes to kick off the Royal Bank of Canada’s commitment to supporting Olympians in their hunt for medal gold.

  With ten weeks to go before the Olympics, time was ticking down for the trio of Sandy, Frank, and Buck to pull together a worthy team to represent Canada in Switzerland.

  MEANWHILE, ALMOST FOUR THOUSAND MILES east of Ottawa, preparations were well under way in St. Moritz to accept the world in peace at the V Olympic Winter Games. The impact of World War II was still front and centre. These Winter Games were designated “the Games of Renewal” in hopes that this joining together of athletes in competition would serve as a symbol of a new beginning for the participants and for sport at large. It had been twelve long years since the last Winter Olympics, held at Garmisch-Partenkirchen, in Germany, in 1936. Both the 1940 and 1944 Games had been cancelled as the world was thrust into hell when war raged across the globe, and amateur sport and goodwill were put on the back burner.

  At the upcoming Games of Renewal in St. Moritz, athletes from twenty-eight nations would be joining tog
ether in peace to showcase their best over a period of ten days between January 30 and February 8, 1948. Japan and Germany were ostracized for their involvement in the war and would not be attending. Interestingly, Italy was invited to attend. Chile, Denmark, Iceland, Korea, and Lebanon would all be making their Winter Olympic debut. The Stalinist Soviet Union had chosen not to participate but was sending ten delegates to observe the performance of other countries’ athletes.

  The Games would involve twenty-two events in nine disciplines: bobsleigh, skeleton, ice hockey, figure skating, speed skating, alpine skiing, cross-country skiing, Nordic combined, and ski jumping. Military patrol, now known as the biathlon, would be a demonstration sport that year. Fully 669 athletes would be attending—two hundred more than the last time the Winter Olympics had been held in St. Moritz, in 1928, but a far cry from the 2,780 athletes who would compete at Sochi in Russia in 2014.

  For many European countries the impacts of World War II were still very present in 1948. Merely putting a team together was a daunting challenge because of a lack of athletic training during the war, a loss of athletes through injury and death, post-war food shortages, and a lack of resources. All of this was clearly evidenced in the once-dominant Norwegian Nordic ski team. It had lost many of its best athletes to the war, and those Norwegian skiers who did make it to St. Moritz had to borrow equipment from the Americans in order to compete.

  In 1948, news from the Games would be broadcast to the world predominantly through newspaper wire services, theatre newsreels, and limited radio broadcasts. Over five hundred journalists from thirty-two countries would be coming to the Swiss Alps to document the pinnacle of amateur sport.