Keith Magnuson

by Doug Feldmann

  After being selected by the Hawks in the draft, J.P.—much in the same method used on Magnuson by Ivan—was hastily handed a standard contract from the general manager that he was expected to sign immediately. For Bordeleau, the “negotiation” occurred while he was on his first team flight with the Hawks. Bordeleau had quickly come to trust Mikita in their short time together, so he went to the back of the plane where Stan was sitting and asked him if it was a fair deal. Mikita said it was, so Bordeleau agreed to put his name on it.

  Along with Foley and O’Shea, also departed from Chicago was Gerry Pinder (following his confrontation with Billy Reay in the previous year during the playoffs) and Paul Shmyr. Both of them would cause trouble for Magnuson in the Hawks’ next visit to Oakland on March 3, 1972. As they met in the corner for a loose puck, Pinder gave Magnuson a shot from behind that sent him flying into the boards. When Magnuson got up to respond, Shmyr jumped in between them and dropped the gloves with Keith. It was the first time Magnuson could recall fighting a former teammate, and it did not sit well with him. Shmyr later felt badly about it as well, and while dining in the same establishment later that night, he sent a contrite note to Magnuson at his table.

  A week later, on March 12 in Detroit, another first for Magnuson and his fighting narrative occurred: it was the first (and last) time he could recall a fight in which he and his opponent were permitted by the linesman to punch themselves out until exhaustion. The scrap with the Red Wings’ Nick Libett thus ended with each man grasping the shoulder of each other’s jersey, struggling to stay upright from fatigue.

  * * *

  While the Hawks were marching easily toward another Western Division title in the spring of 1972, on the business side of hockey, storm clouds were starting to form on the horizon, the likes of which no one had ever witnessed before. That same April, Major League Baseball saw its first-ever wholesale players’ strike, which cancelled the first two weeks of the schedule before the owners and the players’ union could come to a new collective bargaining agreement. A different yet equally destructive issue was rearing its head for the National Hockey League, as the upstart World Hockey Association was getting ready to begin play in the fall—and was also readying to immediately raid the rosters of NHL teams to stock its own. No player was beyond the new league’s reach, even those of esteemed owners such as Arthur Wirtz of the Hawks, recently inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 1971 for his contributions to the sport.

  And in the crosshairs of Ben Hatskin, the owner of the Winnipeg entry in the WHA and a former professional football player in that city, was Bobby Hull.

  On March 25 in Boston, Hull scored his 600th NHL goal against Cheevers with 2:26 left in the game (Cheevers had permitted Hull’s 400th goal, four years earlier, as well). After the game, there were congratulations all around for Hull for yet another milestone achieved.Even the crowd at the Garden—normally hostile to the men wearing the Chicago crest—gave him a 30-second standing ovation. “Did Chicago’s management at least buy a beer for Bobby?” wondered Dan Stoneking of The Sporting News. It was even reported that Ivan walked right by Hull in the locker room and said nothing to him; perhaps it was because news had broken in the Chicago Tribune that very same day that Hull and others had been approached by the WHA with contract offers.

  In response to the gossip about his alleged discussions with the other league, Hull was frank and direct. “If Winnipeg makes a sensational offer,” Hull said, “I’d be a fool not to look it over. And I have a feeling the Chicago people might not match it.”

  Stoneking, however, believed that ultimately Hull would be back in a Black Hawks uniform for the 1972–73 season. “To be sure, Chicago owner Wirtz won’t let Robert slip into the hands of the enemy,” the writer assured. “So look for Hull to sign the largest contract ever by an NHLer.”

  An article released by Fischler had listed Magnuson as one of several other NHL stars contacted by WHA agents for the possibility of jumping leagues (a list that also included Mikita, Martin, Dennis Hull, Ken Dryden, New York Rangers defenseman Brad Park, legendary goalie Jacques Plante, and several other notable names). Back in February, the WHA had conducted its General Player Draft, in which they “selected” players already on NHL rosters. The event was mere symbolic saber-rattling, but it also suggested that the WHA meant business.

  Magnuson, at the time, admitted that the money the WHA was throwing around “gives every decent player in the NHL a little extra bargaining power for salaries” in discussing contractual matters with his current team. Mikita recalled being offered a five-year, $1.5 million deal to join the new Chicago Cougars of the WHA, but made it clear—as did Magnuson—that his loyalty remained with the Hawks.

  Shortly after Hatskin’s pursuit of Bobby Hull went public, Jim Pappin, Martin, and Dennis Hull suddenly got new raises from Wirtz. Now 33 years old and looking for one big payday before he retired, Bobby—as unbelievable as it may have been—was ready to consider playing for a team other than the Black Hawks.

  “When Hull was setting scoring records and featured on the covers of Sports Illustrated in his midtwenties,” wrote Gare Joyce, “he wanted to be the highest-paid player in the league. Arthur Wirtz and general manager Tommy Ivan assured him that he was, though they offered no proof of the fact.”

  In an interview with Sport magazine around that time, Hull revealed to scribe John Devaney that he was starting to lose his love of hockey—in part because of the financial aspects that were becoming more prevalent in the sport. “Ten or 15 years ago I just wanted to play hockey,” Hull was quoted as saying. “I loved hockey…it’s more of a business now, scoring goals to win games. Instead of my legs I use [what’s] upstairs.”

  By mid-April, the amount Hull was offered by Winnipeg was finally revealed. With all the bonuses and incentives thrown in, the total came to $275,000 per season for 10 years for a dual role of player and coach. It was clear to all that Hull would be impossible to replace, both for the Hawks as well as for the NHL.

  “He has been the most glamorous shiny ambassador over the past decade,” Fischler wrote of the Golden Jet, “patiently delivering lengthy interviews with newsmen when a Bobby Orr will hide in the trainer’s room and endlessly signing autographs when a Derek Sanderson will tell a lad to bugger-off.”

  Consequently, the Hawks countered by offering Hull $1 million over five years for him to stay in Chicago and the NHL, something for him to ponder for the coming months as the battle lines stabilized. What was exceedingly painful for Hull’s teammates was knowing they were so close to achieving the Stanley Cup—if only they could keep him. “The players even said they’d give up a little bit of their salary so they could pay Bobby the extra amount,” his brother Dennis revealed.

  Thus, beginning in mid-March 1972, a pall hung over the Hawks for the rest of the season, as the players and fans wondered what would become of their superstar. The team continued to dominate the West, ending the season by tying the franchise record set in the previous season, 107 points. They had lost only three times in the Chicago Stadium all season, and permitted a mere 166 goals—25 fewer than the next-closest team in the league, as Esposito shared his second Vezina Trophy with his backup, Gary Smith.

  In the opening playoff round, they made quick work of the Pittsburgh Penguins in a four-game sweep. In the series, Dennis Hull had one of his sticks confiscated by the officials because it was over the limit in terms of the permitted blade curve; the Hawks momentarily threatened to not play the remaining games in protest, but later relented as Hull agreed to paying a league fine.

  A few years earlier, Mikita had gotten the blade of his stick caught in the swinging door by the bench one day at a practice session. Finally able to free it after several yanks, Mikita noticed that the blade had splintered slightly and had warped, with a curve on the end of it as a result of the tugging. Not wishing to scale down the 21 stairs to the locker room in the Stadium’s basement for another st
ick and then having to climb 21 stairs back up (in the midst of a grueling workout at the hands of Reay), Mikita instead skated over to the steps and banged on the glass to get the attention of the equipment staff and requisition a new stick.

  In the meantime, a frustrated Mikita grew bored and saw some pucks lying near the faceoff circle. He started slapping some shots toward the goal, attempting to pass the time until the new stick was delivered. On the first playful drive, he noticed a strange tailing action to the puck as it was launched from his curved blade. Thinking it was simply an errant strike on his part, Mikita took another shot, and then another, and then another; and soon, like many great inventors, he realized he may have just stumbled upon a tremendous revelation by accident.

  Bobby Hull was watching from a distance, and noticed the pronounced dips, slices, hooks, and tails that the puck displayed off Mikita’s curved blade. Soon, both men were either ordering their sticks with a curved blade built in, or did it themselves by softening the wood with a blowtorch and then forming it to their liking. They also liked the fact that the curved blade allowed for better handling of the puck, as well as helping to conceal it from defenders. But when goalies began complaining of the erratic, unpredictable movements of the puck from the “innovation,” the NHL imposed a limit on the blade curve to no more than one inch.

  In meeting the Penguins in the first round of the playoffs, it was expected that Magnuson and his 201 penalty minutes that year would lead him to Pittsburgh’s Bryan Watson, who had topped the league with 212. But instead it was Eddie Shack whom Magnuson sought out, a 14-year veteran of the league but a player not widely known as a frequent fighter. By now, Magnuson felt he had proven and himself and gave no heed to an opponent’s tenure, be it Shack nor any other elder player. So when Shack got his stick up on Magnuson—again, one of the methods that he hated the most—Keith felt the need to return a message. (Magnuson and Watson would not cross paths for another few seasons, at which point an ugly scene would alter the latter years of Magnuson’s career.)

  After walking over the Penguins, the Hawks suddenly made a disappointingly quick exit in the next round, the Rangers returning the favor from the previous year by downing Chicago in four games.

  Many were worried the flat performance and rapid ousting from the postseason would hasten Hull’s deliberation in signing with the WHA—a feeling shared by some in the locker room as well. Many had fully expected it to finally be the Hawks’ time, but the Cup instead went to the Bruins. In winning, Orr once again ran off with a bunch of hardware in capturing the Norris, Hart, and Conn Smythe Trophies.

  As the lazy summer months came upon the lonely Stadium, the ice went away and Elvis Presley appeared to give two sold-out performances in the building on June 16 and 17 as part of his 15-city American tour.

  Around the time of Presley’s appearance, the announcement was made official regarding the local star. For the first time since 1957, Bobby Hull—the king of hockey—would not be in a Chicago uniform.

  Magnuson—whom Hull had long favored and had nicknamed “Man O’ War” in honor of the toughness that Keith had brought to the team—was understanding of the reasoning for Hull’s departure to Winnipeg and the new league.

  “For a true professional, the decision is as clear as black and white,” Magnuson reflected. “We’d all have done the same thing in his lucky shoes. More power to him…but what I’ll remember most about Bobby is his endless generosity to everyone.”

  Magnuson recalled many instances of Hull’s good-heartedness, but pointed in particular to the time when trainer Skip Thayer joined the team. Thayer had gotten an apartment in Chicago for his wife and two children just as the Hawks were scheduled to immediately go on the road for a couple of weeks. Thayer’s first paycheck would not be coming for a while, and with little money in the bank, he was worried that he might not have the deposit money ready for the apartment. The day before the team left for the road trip, Hull waited until everyone except Thayer was gone from the training room. He then handed Thayer an envelope with money inside—the exact amount needed for the deposit. It was the very kind of thing, Magnuson remembered, that Hull would do with no one watching, without any fanfare, done with “that irresistible wink and magnetic grin. Skip will never forget the moment,” Keith recollected fondly. “Hope this helps a little,” Hull said to Thayer while slipping him the envelope.

  Another time during a brutal Chicago winter storm, Hull gave his only overcoat to Pinder when the team’s travel plans had suddenly changed to an earlier flight and Pinder had already sent his own coat to the cleaners, thinking there would be plenty of time to get it back for the trip.

  Just like with his own teammates, the fans always wanted to be around Hull as well. “Bobby is like that wherever we play,” confirmed Maki. “People want to be near Bobby and he obliges. And we hold the bus for him.” Added Tony Esposito, “I’ve never seen him turn his back on a kid.”

  As expected, the Hull signing unlocked a floodgate of others who followed in suit—players who were afraid to make the move to the WHA until Hull went first. Boston’s Sanderson was one; after leading the NHL with seven shorthanded goals in 1971–72, he signed for $2.65 million over 10 years with the new Philadelphia Blazers. The image of Sanderson in any kind of Philly uniform was indeed hard to imagine, given the brewing rivalry between the two cities in hockey circles; nonetheless, as with Hull, few could blame him for accepting the offer.

  “A year ago,” Damata of the Tribune observed in October 1972, “Sanderson held out for $40,000 and settled for $37,500. Today the National [Hockey League’s] $12,000 minimum is even a laughing matter in the minor leagues.”

  In what Blazers officials hoped would be a gala spectacle on their opening night the following autumn, they instead selected Sanderson to be the bearer of bad news. Sanderson proceeded out to the arena to inform the crowd that the team’s very first game would have to be canceled, because the Zamboni had crashed through the ice at the old Philadelphia Civic Center—at which point Sanderson was pelted with souvenir pucks the team had distributed in commemoration of the inaugural. (As it turned out, Sanderson would play in only eight games for the Blazers before getting injured, and he came back to the Bruins in February 1973 with his hat in his hands.)

  As the WHA defections continued through the summer of 1972, Damata mentioned a topic in his Tribune column that was haunting Major League Baseball business negotiations at the very same time. “The World Hockey Association is banking on the premise that the reserve clause is illegal.” It was an idea to which NHL president Clarence Campbell replied, “The reserve clause is quite valid in National Hockey League contracts and it will be enforceable by injunction…we are not going to be [in partnership] with the World Hockey Association.”

  The WHA was equally and undauntedly pursuing prospects and established stars in its roster raids. For example, after three years with the Philadelphia Flyers and one season in 1971–72 with the Hawks, the gifted Lacroix became one of the new league’s highest-paid players; he certainly earned his keep, winning two scoring titles in his time in the WHA. Joining Hull in Winnipeg would be Christian Bordeleau, after spending just half of one productive season in a Hawks uniform. Chicago also lost center Bryan Campbell to the Blazers as well as Gerry Desjardins, a valuable second-string goalie behind Esposito. The departure of Desjardins, however, could not be blamed on the WHA. He was picked up by the New York Islanders in the NHL expansion draft. The new team began play in Uniondale, New York, in the fall of 1972 in their sparkling new arena, the Nassau County Coliseum, adjacent to the campus of Hofstra University.

  Despite lucrative WHA contract offers being thrown about like peanuts on an airplane, many stars chose to remain with the Hawks, including Magnuson, Pappin, Martin, and Dennis Hull. The latter three continued to comprise the “MPH” line, which Reay would purposefully undermine in the press for a strategic reason.

  “Billy made sure that n
obody thought the best line Chicago was Martin-Pappin-Hull,” Dennis once revealed. “He always said the best players were Stan Mikita and Bobby Hull. ‘If you stop those two guys, you stop the Black Hawks,’ he said, time and time again.”

  It is hard to estimate how many scoring chances Reay’s words opened up for the MPH line, but the statistics bear out the group’s immense worth to the Hawks of the early 1970s. Similar to the way the scoring statistics of Scottie Pippen suddenly rose with the (temporary) retirement of Michael Jordan from the Chicago Bulls in 1993, the MPH line enjoyed its greatest season ever in 1972–73 with Bobby Hull removed from the Black Hawks lineup.

  Bobby finished his NHL career with 604 goals, second only to Gordie Howe’s 786 at the time. However, Stoneking also pointed out that Hull had averaged 40 goals per season in his 15 years in the league, while Howe averaged 31.2 in his own first 15 seasons. While many people reading the newspapers decided that Hull’s decision to go to the WHA was purely because of money—something which Hull himself admitted was a large factor—it also had to do with being respected, at least in the player’s mind. “In the NHL, they treat you like cattle; in the WHA, they treat you like a human being,” Bobby would tell Verdi later that summer.

  After Hull left the Chicago Stadium dressing room to remove his personal belongings for the final time, Maki moved into his locker—not because it was better real estate, but because he wanted to maintain the dignity of the space by keeping it orderly. Maki, who enjoyed smoking a pipe while strumming a guitar in the clubhouse, would miss playing the country tunes for Hull that Bobby loved so much.

  “[Cliff] Koroll thinks that if we had won the Cup in 1971,” Mikita once stated in a wishful tone, “we would have begun a run of several Cups and that Bobby would never have left.”