Snowbanks and Rink Ranks

by Thomas Smith | Posted on

Table of Contents

“One day, you will wake up and there won’t be any more time to do the things you’ve always wanted.  Do it now.”  

Paulo Coelho​

Do It Now

I spent my early years in Minnesota captivated by names of people I’d never likely meet and towns I’d rarely, if ever, visit. Recent changes in my life afforded the opportunity to travel to hockey rinks in northern Minnesota one more time—or, for several rinks, the long overdue first time. 

It’s been more than 30 years since I lived in Minnesota.  I’m now 62 years old, in the process of moving from Texas to Colorado.  Something about reuniting my wife with her two daughters after nine years in Texas.  I didn’t read the fine print when we married in 2012.  It’s in there.  It clearly states:

“If your wife is gracious enough to move to a different state as part of a job transfer, you must—within a decade, reunite her with her daughters.”

Our move to Colorado was complicated.  Part of the plan necessitated that my wife and I separate.

Temporarily, not permanently. 

Vickie would stay in the Denver area with one of her daughters while I would bring our dogs—Matty and Bella, to Duluth to stay with my mom and stepfather until Vickie found a house worth making an offer on, then hoping a seller would accept our offer.  Eventually, it all worked out.

It was a complicated move from the start with as many surprises as a Steven King novel.  One chilling derivative was that I’d spend 113 days—including a Friday the 13th, in Duluth while the city was setting its all-time record for winter snowfall.  Texas softened me. Life without snow was quite nice.  If Minnesota devised this snow-every-day game plan to entice me to move back home, this was the wrong approach. 

But, as expected, Minnesota did have a handful of captivating lures in its tackle box.

Hockey rinks.  Hockey towns.  Country roads not yet driven.  The perfect series of mouse traps for a guy still trying to find the missing pieces to his childhood puzzle.

My second stop after arriving in Duluth was to drive to Hermantown Arena, five minutes from my parent’s house.  I didn’t go inside. It’s their outdoor rinks that appeal to me.  A few kids on this rink.  A couple of kids on that rink.  No coaches.  Kids having unsupervised fun—just like we did as kids many years ago.  I didn’t stay long but it was fun to watch.

For those wondering—and thanks for asking, my first stop was at Cub Foods to buy a Family Size bag of Old Dutch Ripple Chips and a large vat of “Top The Tater” sour cream.  Colorado has green chili.  Texas has phenomenal barbeque.  I readily admit to my devotion to Minnesota’s two finest delicacies—TTT and Spam. TTT reminds me of visits to my great aunt and uncle’s cabin on Stone Lake back in the ‘60s. It was a Gopher State delicacy then.  It remains one now.  I must shamefully admit I always stop to buy it even before seeing my mom and stepfather.

Other than that, I’m a decent son.

Minnesota possesses something else.  It owns my past.  With that, my corresponding list of unfinished business.

My future is a mystery.  I’ve had too many recent reminders that life can change in a hurry. Everything can end or be taken from you in an instant. Your life, your health, your wealth, your freedom. 

Snap. Flash. Click. Gone.

Unfortunately, it’s unlikely I’ll spend another winter in Bulldog country.  Meanwhile, my Minnesota bucket list had a few glaring omissions. The urgency to check some boxes aggravated like a smoke alarm with a withering battery. 

Now or never.  I knew it. This was go-time.

North Star vs Lone Star

Ask a high school sports fan to identify which states are the hotbeds for various sports.  I contend that two sports and two states rise above them all:

Hockey in Minnesota.  Football in Texas.

I spent my first 30 years in Minnesota—the last 10 in Texas. In other words, I hit the high school sports fan jackpot. I’ve played in, coached or watched hundreds of hockey games in Minnesota. I attended approximately 150 football games in Texas, including 80 during the last four years as a freelance writer for the Dallas Morning News.

Whether it was Friday nights in October, or east Texas road trips in July, I felt compelled, and my wife probably repelled, by my need to stop at every high school football field we passed by. Park the car.  Find an open gate. Walk to midfield.  Envision full bleachers, players playing, bands marching, cheerleaders cheering, moms and dads anticipating. Take a few pictures, then hop back in the car and drive to the next town.

Check.

Done.

Some people collect stamps.  Others, trading cards.  Me?  Visits to sports venues.  No drive-byes.  I gotta’ stop.  Adrian Petersen’s high school field in Palestine?  Check. Kyler Murray’s high school field in Allen?  Check.

For the record, of the 100, or so, high school football fields I’ve seen in Texas, my favorite isn’t the $60 million  field in Allen, or the $70 million stadium in McKinney.  It’s a stadium built in 1938 which originally served as a horse racing track.  The “Puncherdome” in Mason, Texas, population 2,105, home of the Mason Punchers, tops the list for me. This preference for well-worn, generation crossing venues renders later in this story.

 

The Names

Waselovich, LoPresti, Antonovich and Boucha. Names and faces of hockey players chiseled into the granite of my third-grade “Hockey Hero Mt. Rushmore.” Names as renowned to this young hockey fan as Orr, Esposito, Lafleur and Dryden. Big kids—and they were just kids, inspired little kids. Sporting idolatry elevated by age relativity and geographic proximity.

An eternal tip-of-the-hat to legends like John Mayasich, John Mariucci, Frank Brimsek or Peter LoPresti’s dad, Sam, but they were a bit before my time.  The generation of the late 60s thru the 70s made a lasting impression even though I never saw any of the aforementioned quartet play in person. 

There were more:   Sargent, Schneider, Christian, Micheletti, Sheehy, Hangsleben, and “Huffer.”

Iron Range high school hockey rosters were filled with one fascinating name after another.  Unique last names, some with enough letters to span from left shoulder to right on the back-of-the-jersey nameplate.  These names were often found on the rosters of state tournament championship hockey teams.  I’m surprised the kids who learned to spell those names weren’t also perennial National Spelling Bee champs.

Unique names have always captured my attention.  What if my ancestors trudged 70 miles northward from Lake Superior?

I could have been Tommy Waselovich or Tom LoPresti or Thomas Antonovich or Tommy Boucha.

Instead:  Tom Smith. 

Woo-freaking-hoo. 

I can’t let it go.

During the months bookending the Christmas City of the North parade, our attention was predominantly spell-and-snow-bound by hockey.  Sure, we’d pay some attention to basketball, but in our household, hockey ruled. 

The names which captivated us during those weeks and months were primarily of the local variety.  For those who shared teeter-totter and monkey bars time with me, the names we favored were less prominent than Antonovich or LoPresti but more influential.  Names like L’Esperance, Curphy, Hansen, Krysiak, Nyberg, Bolen, Bourdage, and Rask—no not Tuukka, though the same position.

The team pictured below–the 1971-72 Two Harbors Agates varsity, was perhaps the most influential of my childhood.  

FRONT ROW

John Hansen, Mark Krysiak, Roger Rask, Brian Lamo, Bruce Souja, Ray Pirranen, Rollie Bourdage, Ben Croft 

BACK ROW

Don “Art” Smith, Stan Hanson, Bernie L’Esperance, Rick “Milhouse” Johnson, Dave Johnson, Larry Nyberg, Gordy Curphy, Randy Bolen, Mike Halvorson, Coach Jim Krysiak

Gordy Curphy was my Henry Boucha.  Reggie Rask, my Peter Waselovich. 

We memorized the names and jersey numbers of all the guys on the varsity hockey team.  First names.  Last names.  Even some middle names.  We knew theirs and—more importantly to a young boy, they knew ours. 

Small town life exemplified.

The focus of Duluth’s small-market newspaper, television and radio stations was primarily the Twin Ports and adjacent towns. Our awareness of sports scores and personalities from behind the Iron Range curtain was heightened beginning in mid-February when media coverage amplified, coinciding with the start of Region 7 and 8 playoffs. 

Teams were hopping from one step of the bracket to the next before landing on the ultimate step—the one six inches above the ice at the Met Center or the St. Paul Civic Center—the homes of the Minnesota State High School Hockey Tournament.

Names which were unknown in January would become unforgettable by the end of March.

The Places

Some towns had it.  

Yes, it. 

We knew what it was.  And we knew who had it.  

Eveleth? It. 

Grand Rapids? It.  

Coleraine?  Lots of it.

Warroad and Roseau?  Full of it. 

Where did it come from?  The water?  The weather? 

Genetics?  

Culture?

Why is it always them, not us?

I wanted to find out.  I still want to find out.

The Iron Range.  Red River Valley.  Towns on the banks of the Rainy River.  They’d all established disproportionate athletic notoriety compared to the big cities of Minneapolis, St. Paul and even Duluth.

These towns didn’t surface on my radar because of news stories.  Sports did it.  Predominantly hockey. From agate print scores in December newspapers to feature stories in late February into March when media coverage would amplify. Iron Range teams would sneak into the sports reports of Marsh Nelson, Bob Junkert and Bill Stefl on local TV stations. A few District 26 and Region 7 playoff games were broadcast on Duluth radio stations.  

Then, on the second weekend of March our low definition, typically black-and-white televisions, we’d see the faces, the uniforms, the helmets.  From the Twin Cities to our living rooms, WTCN’s coverage of the Minnesota State High School hockey tournament brought these names and towns to life.

Young hockey players in Minnesota spent frigid nights feverishly completing their brackets. Grandpa offered a dollar to the winner.  Kids were so glued to the television that they memorized the name of the third line left wing for every team in the tournament. Only the backup goalies remained in obscurity.

Decades before March became know for madness, these towns would be filled with March sadness if their team lost in the Region 7 or Region 8 championship game. 

No trip to State.

Other towns were collectively ecstatic.

Notable American road trips include the Pacific Coast Highway, Route 66, and the Blue Ridge Parkway. All majestic, though, arguably, none generating more excitement than an early March trip from northern to south-central Minnesota along roads with jersey numbers such as 53, 61, 71, 35, 64, 94, 25 and 169.  Lives would change—rights of passage passed, stories born—some factual, many mythical, during the annual onslaught of farmers, miners, lumberjacks, small business owners and school teachers upon the Twin Cities.

Mild chaos sometimes ensued. 

Can televisions really fly?

Negative, was the answer.

If only hotels like the Leamington, Curtis and Normandy could talk.

These trips were a big deal for many families who might not otherwise travel far beyond home. Families didn’t tap into their “travel budget” for the trip.  Nobody had one. Instead, they’d “scrape together the money.”  One day they’d watch the police escorted busses depart.  The next, they’d follow the same path in the family station wagons and pickup trucks.

Small towns were left behind. I wanted to see what they left behind.  On television, we saw the Bluejackets.  We didn’t see Hibbing.  We saw the Indians. I wanted to see Grand Rapids.

How did they get from there to here?  How did this happen there?

What did their hockey rinks look like—inside and out?  Did their Main Street resemble ours?  How many outdoor rinks did they have?  Golf course?  Baseball fields?  Where did the locals gather for breakfast to discuss last night’s game? What kind of businesses are in each town?  Did their local bakeries also have the crescent shaped doughnuts glazed with banana flavored icing?  Which local bars were buzzing before and after games? And to appease an obsession held by me and probably no others, what did the local water tower look like?

Yes, water towers.  Long before towns contracted to have tourism-focused logos and marketing campaigns, water towers served as proxy logos of each town.  Two of them appear later in this story.

I wanted to know.  I wanted to go.  So, I went.

Imagine That

Curiosity was king, yet challenging to satisfy.  The term “city limits” held real meaning when exploration propulsion options were limited to the treads of Keds tennis shoes and Schwinn single-speed bicycles.  

Would our family drive four hours to see a high school hockey game, then drive back home?  No chance.  Spend the night in a hotel after the game, then return the next day?  No chance. It just wasn’t plausible.  This era wasn’t for that.  Though, in hindsight, I didn’t encounter much traffic while driving from Duluth to see a high school hockey game in Thief River Falls on Saturday, February 25, 2023.

I studied the maps. I found all of the towns—except Greenway. But I was 10. Too young to drive. Too far to bike.

But I still traveled. The engine started when I closed my eyes. 

“Mom, can we go up to the Range tonight to see a hockey game?

“Sure, Tommy, that sounds like fun.  Ask your brothers if they want to go.”

We piled into the car. I sat in front with Mom, both brothers sat in back.  These trips were the only time I had front-seat territorial rights.  Co-pilot.  Navigator.  Good kid in front, ruffians in back.

Mom drove down 8th Street on the east side of town, slowly creeping over the crest of the hill, car in low gear, pumping the brakes, hoping to not slide sideways on the ice.

Down below, there it was—the local arena.

Adjacent outdoor rinks illuminated the surroundings.  Wooden boards encompassed the outdoor hockey rink. Next to it was a large, irregularly-shaped frozen expanse for open skating. The customary 75-year old gentleman patrolled the rinks—each night at the rink among the youngsters adding a week to his life expectancy.

The arched roof of the arena reminded me of pictures of Williams Arena, home of the Golden Gophers hockey team.  Steam rose from the chimneys, left, right, front and back.

The building seemed alive.

A Hollywood-ish, lighted marquee, just like the Norshor Theater’s in Duluth, served as town crier reminding us why we drove here:

Millions of years of human evolution were displayed in the snow-covered parking lot.  The absence of visible parking space demarcations didn’t stop Mom from properly aligning our small car between two pickup trucks—our front bumper perfect aligned with their front bumpers. Civility at its finest.  Though, there was always that one guy who plowed his truck axle-deep into a snowbank.

The official footwear of winter—our “Pacs,” also known as Sorels, insulated our feet during the  “crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch” march from the car to the front door of the arena.

Once inside, we’d wait impatiently in line while mom prepared to surrender a couple dollars—that’s all that was needed, to buy tickets for the family to enter.

Tickets punched, Mom knew to find her place in the bleachers while us boys climbed the ladder—not the stairs—there were none—to the loft suspended above the south side of the rink. While leaning over the fragile railing, we’d look straight down on the goalie.  A Milk Dud or two may have landed on the goalie, but those were valuable possessions, we’d part with few.

Incandescent lights, appended to steel tubes, descended from the rafters like upside-down matchsticks. They fought valiantly, though not always successfully, the penetrate the blue haze of cigar and cigarette smoke before illuminating the rink below.  There were always dark areas on the rink, usually the corners in the offensive and defensive zones.

Ten rows of sturdy, wooden bleachers encircled the rink, always painted white though rarely seen amid the densely packed shoulder-to-shoulder crowds at the sold-out games I attended.

We were protected by state-of-the-art wire mesh fencing from which we all made the same mistake once.  It seemed like a great idea to stick our fingers between the holes in the fence, grasp firmly, then shake the fence to get the attention of one of the players.  It was great until an off-radar puck hit your knuckles or one of the players used his Koho to shovel a blade full of snow into your face.

Pregame, postgame and between periods, our focus shifted from the ice to the arena underworld.  Fueled by hot chocolate, popcorn, hot dogs and rope licorice, we’d explore the nooks, crannies and secret passageways below the bleachers.

We didn’t need a lot of information at the game.  The primitive, vintage scoreboard kept it simple:

              VISITOR      HOME

                     2                5

                           7:12

                     Period:  3

Penalty time was maintained in the penalty box, not on the scoreboard. Our math skills were enhanced while deducting 90 seconds from the time of the infraction.  Clock stopped at 7:12.  Deduct the minute, we’re at 6:12. Another 30 seconds and he’ll be set free at 5:42.

Tip of the hat to the opening scene of Slapshot.

There was no sensory overload in my arena.  Only three signs existed:

  • Men
  • Women
  • Exit

The high school band resided below the loft, to the right. They’d riff through their set list during each stoppage in play.

Cheerleaders cheered.

“We’ve got the spirit, how about you?”

My rink had one of those mesmerizing devices Frank Zamboni created in 1949.  I assumed it was invented in Canada or Russia. Little did I know it first surfaced, then resurfaced, then resurfaced, then resurfaced in Paramount, California.

That was it.  Same rink for every town. Singular. If Ely was playing at Chisholm, this was the rink I had in mind.  If Moorhead was playing at Bemidji, this was the rink I had in mind.

That’s how I traveled.  That’s where my “road games” were played.  Frontal, parietal, occipital, or temporal lobes?  I don’t know.  Wherever the creative stuff happens in your brain, that’s where those games were played.

Road Trips

All roads lead to something good.  Why else would they exist?  

In northern Minnesota, that means lakes, rivers and waterfalls, cabins and hunting shacks, state parks, forests, hiking trails, golf courses, curling clubs, various Sammy’s Pizza locations—or Do North Pizza in Two Harbors.  There might also be a local, favored bar, or two, or 22, up in The Arrowhead.  

All this and hockey rinks—indoor, outdoor, on lakes, ponds, rivers and backyards.

The schedule of games on minnesotahockeyhub.com served as the menu. 

“What will it be tonight, sir?”

Amid this record setting snowfall winter, my biggest decision after choosing the destination was whether to drive my 2016 Ford Edge with 150,000+ miles on it or rent a Polaris Switchback Assault snowmobile.  The weather app didn’t sleep much during my trips.

Where the Rand McNally road atlas once guided my trips, Waze now looked over my shoulder.  Where I once had to ask Mom or Dad if we were going to stop to eat, I was now empowered to clear the shelves at Kwik Trip.  Peanut butter filled pretzels, Cherry flavored Twizzler bites, and the ultimate version of a Rice Krispy treat—the peanut butter, Karo syrup, chocolate-icing version all faced rapid inventory depletion as I walked in and out the door.   

The marshmallow Rice Krispy treats are highly overrated.

I’ll drop my gloves to defend that opinion.

Names and places provided the inspiration, but a number played a role too.

One thousand, nine hundred, eighty.

Better known in hockey rinks as “1980.”

Herb Brooks sat in his suburban St. Paul kitchen one night and started dialing the phone to invite hockey players to participate in the Olympics tryout camp.  The electrical impulses didn’t race cross country to the big cities of New York City, Chicago or Los Angeles. Like a rock across a placid lake, the majority of those calls skipped from telephone pole to telephone pole across the farmlands and forests of Minnesota.

I graduated from Two Harbors High School in 1979. The timing was right, or so it seemed.  Coach Brooks never called.  He must have dialed the wrong number and Dave Christian answered. 

The best high school hockey players in Minnesota captured my attention in the late 60s and 70s.  The 1980 Olympic hockey team captured the world’s attention.   Twelve of the 20 members of that team played high school hockey in Minnesota.

Seven of the 12 were from northern Minnesota.

  • Bill Baker from Grand Rapids.
  • Neil Broten from Roseau.
  • Dave Christian from Warroad.
  • John Harrington from Virginia.
  • Mark Pavelich from Eveleth
  • Bill “Buzzy” Schneider from Babbitt.
  • Phil Verchota from Duluth.

Simply, and undeniably, stated:

  • Lake Placid, 1980, doesn’t happen without Minnesota. 
  • Lake Placid, 1980, doesn’t happen without northern Minnesota.

Before they were Olympians, one was a Golden Bear, another an Indian.  Add a Ram, a Greyhound, a Blue Devil, a Knight and a Warrior.  Their journeys to Lake Placid started on the roads I’d be driving during my months in Minnesota. Northern Minnesota was the perfect laboratory—America’s hockey greenhouse.

That reality propelled me as much as my gas pedal.

 

It seemed to snow on 110 of the 113 days of my stay in northern Minnesota. Snowfall wasn’t solely a factor in Minnesota, it almost prevented me from getting there at all. I left Boulder, Colorado on Friday, December 16.  The shortest route through northeast Colorado via I-76 wasn’t an option.  Recent blizzard conditions mandated closure from Denver to the Nebraska border.  That spectacularly un-scenic drive was out.  But I still wanted to get going so the detour took me from Boulder, to Cheyenne, Wyoming then east towards Nebraska. 

The Wyoming stretch was treacherous. I thought I’d seen it all relative to driving conditions.  I hadn’t.  I’d never experienced whiteout conditions amid cloudless skies.  Minnesotans know blue skies in winter aren’t always indicative of nice weather.  The cold front had moved in.  Snow which settled softly in one place would now be rustled from bed to swiftly travel to another. Winds gusting from the north at 50 mph threw clouds of once-fallen snow across Interstate 80.  Christmas gifts which survived the journey from the North Pole, now rested in ditches inside Amazon Prime tractor trailers from Wyoming to Iowa.

This was the precursor, foretelling the fate of several canceled trips to games after my arrival in Minnesota. Though often delayed, better late than never was never better than subsequent road trips to places like International Falls, Warroad and Roseau. 

Mental health.  A closed-door word pairing once welcomed only while lying on Bob Hartley’s couch in downtown Chicago. Covid delivered one–and probably only one, positive. Expressing our thoughts that “I’m a bit overloaded right now” has been normalized. Mainstreamed. It’s OK to talk openly, to seek help.

Ups and downs.  Like many, I’ve done a bit of riding on that mental health roller coaster in recent years. I can’t complain much. I’ve been on the coaster at the kiddie park.  I feel for those who can’t get off “The Cyclone” at Coney Island.  My coaster traversed the rickety corners faster than normal during the second half of 2022.

Few things sedate me more than driving.  Sure, exercise helps. But that’s hard work.  Counseling helps too. Bob Newhart proved that during his 142, 30-minute episodes on national television back in the 70s.  Whether it’s a country road with the pups in the back seat, wife beside me, or a 17-hour, stop only for rest rooms and tacos, single-day cross country excursion, the therapeutic effects of paved or dirt roads are undeniable.

My road trip travel companions included audio books, music, and the multitude of incessantly chatty voices in my head who, while passing Lake Winnibigoshish and Upper Red Lake, pondered what life must have been like for my Ojibwe ancestors.

My conclusion?  It couldn’t have been easy.

While they once traveled familiar shorelines, riverbanks and forest trails, I relied on collaboration of vintage navigational instruments of the Minnesota Department of Transportation and modern iPhone technology to keep me on the right path.  Rote road signs chaperoned the route.  Speed limit higher, speed limit lower.  Curve to the left ahead.  Winding road forthcoming.  Red lights, green lights, yellow lights, all requiring a bit of extra analysis for a driver who bullshitted his way through the Ishihara tests in elementary school. Roseau this way, International Falls that way.  This dream comes true over here, that dream over there.

The person who labored in obscurity to dig the sign post holes, then perch the town name atop, had no clue of the happinesses they’d one day deliver to me.  How do I thank them?

I passed more than 2,000 mile-marker sign posts during my excursions. My goal of focusing on every single one of them ended after 47.

During my childhood—which has seemingly yet to end, my Mom often asked, “What are you thinking about?” My reflex answer was always one of three things:

  • Cookies
  • Ice Cream
  • Nothing

Two of those answers are typically true.  One was always a lie.

“Nothing” was never my reality then, nor is it now.

My feet enjoy downtime on the ottoman.  My fingers sometimes appreciate a break from serving as a popcorn bowl shovel.  My brain?  Relentless restlessness. Go, go, go. Absent an “off” switch, faced with lengthy hours from Point A to Point B during my excursions, my brain had plenty of programming time to fill.  

The final road trip was winding down.  The Thief River Falls to Roseau segment of the road trip commenced as 14 hours of “The Last Boy” biography of Mickey Mantle concluded. 

“Thank you for listening. Audible hopes you have enjoyed this program.”

Sixty four Red River Valley miles to decipher how the Red River can flow northward to Lake Winnipeg and beyond while adjacent headwaters gather to plot their southward route to the Gulf of Mexico as part of the Mississippi River.  The serene flood plain of the ancient lake bed of Lake Agassiz provides the literary etch-a-sketch blank slate for thoughts to be scribbled.

The administrative side of my brain kept the car on the road, the creative side—also known as the bored, bossy side, drifted like the river.

 

“A pair of frogs—Ernie and his sister Emily, teetered on a log in central Minnesota on the ridge separating the Hudson Bay and Mississippi River drainage basins. Ernie, always drawn to the warmth of the morning sun hopped to the east side of the log towards Lake Itasca. Emily, never wanting the day to end, sprung towards the western sunset.  Ernie would eventually meet a girl from Baton Rouge and they’d raise their tadpoles in Belle Chasse, Louisiana.  Emily met a Canadian man in Winnipeg and would become a great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother before her passing near their homestead on the upper side of the bend of the Red River in East Selkirk, Manitoba.

Ernie and Emily’s grandchildren would never meet.”

It’s as if my brain has a mind of its own.

Nearly 600 single-day miles behind the wheel chasing two checkmarks on a list. Three hundred seven miles following the bread crumbs my imagination laid down from the North Shore to Roseau.  Then, during the drive back to Duluth,  273 miles of gratitude for a dream that eventually came true. 

Another line to draw on a map, another box to check on a list.  Finding the missing puzzle pieces and completing the picture by pushing them into place.  Unfinished business finished.

This Rink or That Rink?

The inevitable question:  Which rink was my favorite?  

“Top 10” lists dominate the internet.  Today, we unveil the internet’s first—and if this flops, last, “Top 17” list.  

The towns I visited in alphabetical order are:

  • Baudette
  • Cloquet
  • Coleraine
  • Duluth – Heritage Center
  • Duluth – MARS Lakeview Arena
  • Eveleth
  • Grand Rapids
  • Hermantown
  • Hibbing
  • International Falls
  • Proctor
  • Roseau
  • Superior, Wisconsin
  • Thief River Falls
  • Two Harbors
  • Virginia
  • Warroad

My criteria for ranking the rinks is likely different than yours. 

  • Old
  • Cozy 
  • Wrap around seating
  • Upstairs viewing area
  • Small town environment
  • Prominence in Minnesota hockey history & preservation of history.
  • Good concession stand – though only one rink from the past separates from the rest in this category
  • Nice scoreboard
  • Well maintained
  • Did some of my favorite hockey players play in that building?

I’ve been to some of these rinks many times.  The rinks I visited for the first time were in Thief River Falls, International Falls, Baudette, Warroad, Roseau and the Iron Trail Motors Center in Virginia.

Before I play judge and jury, I should offer that if I’m at a sports venue, I’m probably a very happy guy.  I like all of these rinks.  I love most of them. 

I also mention some of the names that were notable in each town during my childhood.  I’ve intentionally omitted some of the prominent players from the current era. 

Out on a first date?  This is a great conversation starter.   

Here we go! 

#17 Wessman Arena - Superior, WI

We start with the only rink on this list outside of Minnesota.  

Wessman Arena in Superior, Wisconsin is so old that I played here back in the late 70s.  It was always “nice” but had one significant shortcoming. Many years ago, “Let’s Play Hockey” published a list of the coldest rinks in Minnesota.  The rink in my hometown of Two Harbors was appropriately on the list.  Two Harbors is comparable to an igloo, Wessman a toaster.  Too warm for hockey.  The only rink worse was my least favorite rink of all time—Pioneer Hall in Duluth.  The Duluth Arena was also too warm but it was the home of the Bulldogs so it was always special to play there. 

There are some strong positives about Wessman.  The building has been well maintained. It’s a comfortable place to watch a game.  The paint job on the Zamboni is great. And when it’s 30 degrees below zero outside, that warmth I complained about will be tempered and appreciated.

I have to give Superior Senior High School credit for leading the state of Wisconsin with 13 state championships.  

My favorite thing about Wessman is that it’s close to “The Hammond Steak House” in Superior, Wisconsin.  If I ever end up on Death Row—hey, anything’s possible, my choice for a final supper will be their broiled walleye, house salad w/French and blue cheese, Old Dutch Ripple Chips, Top The Tater and a hot fudge sundae from Bridgeman’s.  For beverage, it will be a tough choice between an A&W Root Beer and a Hamm’s beer.  Why not both?  I don’t return home to the North Shore without at least one visit to The Hammond.

Prominent names from the past:  Santori, Dammer, Wiitala

#16 MARS Lakeview Arena - Duluth

MARS Lakeview arena seems to have been designed by the same architect as Wessman Arena, with seating only on one side of the rink, though MARS does have an upstairs viewing area.  

Another strong positive is that MARS makes Duluth Marshall the only high school hockey team in Duluth to have a rink right next to their school.  

  • There’s some nice preservation of history going back to the Duluth Cathedral days, as well as for the College of St. Scholastica.  
  • The environment during the St Scholastica vs Augsburg Div III playoff game was outstanding.  It was loud.  It was fun.  It’s a nice rink for a small college hockey team like the Saints.
  • I also saw a high school girls game at MARS between Marshall and North Shore.  Once again, it was a fan-friendly environment.  
  • One shortcoming is that parking is a bit chaotic if the event is well attended.

PROMINENT NAMES:

Pokey Trachsel, Phil Hoene, Kevin Hoene, Mike Randolph and, more recently, the 2012 Hobey Baker winner as college hockey’s best player, Jack Connolly.

#15 Hermantown Arena

Upset alert.  Hermantown doesn’t win.  The Hawks are accustomed to siting atop the Minnesota high school hockey rankings.  On this list, they are near the bottom.  This utilitarian building lacks charm. Perhaps I’ve been here too offen.  While it’s not among my favorites it was more than adequate to support the growth of one of Minnesota’s most prominent high school hockey programs. 

Hermantown Arena delivered an amazing return on the community investment.  Stick taps for that.  Meanwhile, local voters recently approved construction of a new rink along with other recreational investments.  With sports venues, I tend to prefer old ahead of new.  I’ll make an exception for Hermantown.  It’s time for a new rink and I have no doubt it will be outstanding.

I’m guessing they’ve taken notes regarding the new rinks in Proctor and Virginia, then build something equally special.

It will certainly help with their recruiting.  😉

Some positives:

  • While the indoor rink doesn’t excite me, their outdoor rink setup is perfect.  Large rinks.  Smaller rinks.  Immediately adjacent to the indoor rink.  Kids can exhaust themselves outdoors, take their skates off in the warming house, then 30 seconds later enter the arena to watch the high school teams play.  It can’t get much better.  This setup has undoubtedly contributed heavily to the Hawks success in recent decades.
  • Great lighting
  • The press box looks like a fun place to watch a game from.
  • I like the display of jerseys worn by Samberg, Pionk, LeBlanc and Biondi

Negatives

Too much visual noise.  It feels like I’m approaching Wall Drug in South Dakota. Banners galore and too many billboards from local sponsors.  Banners for Section 7 championships—great.  Banners for State Championships—great.  Banners for Lake Superior Conference championships?  Hard pass on those.  One more thing:  all of the banners look the same.  A State Championship banner should look significantly different than an LSC banner.

Grumpy old writer complaining about championship banners.  The intention is actually the opposite.  They’ve certainly earned the right to honor their past.  Prominently celebrate the big ones.  I’d make them more special.  Give them space to stand out.   

Notable names: 

The aforementioned quartet of Samberg, Pionk, LeBlanc and Biondi is a good place to start.  Don Carlson was a great goalie from my era.

This was one of my favorite sights/pictures from the trip. As I was driving into the parking lot at the Hermantown Arena on December 26, these kids were walking home after skating on their outdoor rinks.

#14 Lake of the Woods International Arena - Baudette

Baudette and Lake of the Woods high school delivered far more than I expected.  This arena might have been my the biggest surprise.  I just wasn’t expecting such a beautiful rink.  I loved it.

Wally Olds and Keith Ballard may be better known but it’s hard to top the story of former Bear, Alex Lyon.

“Alex Lyon was born on December 9, 1992, in Baudette, Minnesota. For the first seven years of his life, Lyon and his older sister Sam grew up on an island in Lake of the Woods, and he attended school for one year at a small schoolhouse. His parents were fishing lodge managers on the island, while their children took a rowboat to school. The Lyons moved back to mainland Minnesota in 2000, at which point Lyon began playing hockey.  Of the 25 male students in Lyon’s graduating class at Lake of the Woods High School, 15 played ice hockey for the varsity team, including Lyon.[4] During his senior year in 2009–10, Lyon served as the goaltender for all 26 Lake of the Woods high school games.[5] In those 26 games, he posted a .948 save percentage (SV%).”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alex_Lyon_(ice_hockey)

I loved growing up on the shore of Lake Superior.  But to spend your formative years on an island in Lake of the Woods?  Row-boating to school?  Lyon’s mental scrapbook of memories likely occupies more brain space than mine.  Stories galore.  Precursors to his outstanding career at Yale followed by stints with the Philadelphia Flyers, Carolina Hurricanes and Florida Panthers.  Alex’s story symbolizes the essence of this story—a blue collar, small town environment idyllic for producing hockey players.

Someone should write a story about him.  Can’t think of anyone.  But someone should.

FAVORITE ASPECTS:

  • Upon entering Baudette, everyone is greeted by “Willie Walleye,” the giant statue on the east side of town.  I’d hardly taken a nibble, then the town set the hook.
  • Next, and more prominently, was the special memory I drove away with.  My first real job after graduating from UMD was selling typewriters—yes, IBM typewriters in St. Paul.  My grandparents and Mom were born in St. Paul.  I was a past member of the St Paul Curling Club and I am Cossetta’s most loyal customer who their owners have never met.  I’ve always felt a strong connection to St. Paul.  What were the chances that during my first visit to a rink just about as far away from St. Paul as a Minnesota hockey fan can be, that St. Paul Johnson was the opponent?  Of course, my thoughts immediately went to Johnson’s most famous graduate—Herb Brooks.  I’d never seen either the Lake of the Woods Bears or St. Paul Johnson Governors teams play in person.  This was a goose bump matchup.  And I love the Governors jerseys.

The Bears.  The Governors.  Herb Brooks.  Willie Walleye. The story of Alex Lyon. A beautiful rink.  The town which hosted the inaugural Hockey Day in Minnesota.

Can’t ask for much more. 

Thank you Baudette.

#13 Engelstad Arena - Thief River Falls

Can a hockey rink be too nice?

Yes.

Ralph Engelstad Arena is a gem.  It’s perfect.  But it’s only #13 on my list.  It’s just too darn nice.

But I can’t ignore the highlights, and there are many.

I loved the collection of international and local hockey jerseys.  The collection of pictures framed around the building were fascinating.  After I arrived home, I realized I was so caught up in looking at the pictures that I didn’t take take pictures of the pictures.  In other words, the arena compelled me to put my iPhone in my pocket for a few minutes and just absorb the surroundings. 

Hats off to Engelstad for that.  

The picture of all the youth hockey teams on the ice at the same time at the old arena is fantastic.  The concourse is as wide enough for two Zamboni’s.  No bleachers—all comfortable chairs.  

My low ranking is adversely impacted by my imagination.  I was there for a Section 8 semifinal game between the host city’s Thief River Falls Prowlers and the top seed, yet visiting, Warroad Warriors.  When Section 8 was Region 8, I’d have imagined a sold out, standing room only, parking lot jam-packed environment.  On this afternoon, it appeared that 90 percent of the tickets were still sitting behind the box office window.

Earlier in this story I compared high school hockey in Minnesota with football in Texas.  What separates them?  I attended numerous football games in Texas which were far from sellouts.  But not playoff games. Semifinal playoff football games in Texas involving schools with the pedigree of Warroad would be held at sold out stadiums.  That part of the Engelstad experience was a bummer.

To be completely fair, times have changed.  The once recreational activity known as hockey had advantages over the modern day business of hockey. Demographics and economics have had adverse impacts. The list of high schools whose names and logos no longer appear on jerseys is long:  Eveleth, Virginia, Silver Bay, Burnsville, North St. Paul, Duluth Central, Richfield, Aurora Hoyt-Lakes, Morgan Park, Babbitt and Two Harbors.  Minneapolis Edison, Roosevelt, and Southwest no longer field teams.  One hockey team remains–“Minneapolis Hockey.” Obviously, none of this is the fault of Thief River Falls or Engelstad Arena.  

One other significant advent has impacted game-day sporting experiences–streaming video.  Folks can now sit on their couch at home–even in states as far away as Texas and Colorado,  to watch games instead of driving to the arena.

As a multipurpose building, Engelstad Arena undoubtedly serves Thief River Falls well. It’s a jaw-dropping building.  Wonderful.

#12 Iron Trail Motors Events Center - Virginia

I drove to Virginia subliminally wanting to dislike the new Iron Trail Motors Event Center.  It symbolized the abolishment of the Eveleth Golden Bears or Virginia Blue Devils. 

The new arena sure knows how to win a guy over.  It’s fantastic.   The only knock I can possibly have is that its presence led to the demolition of Miner’s Memorial Building and diminished the prominence of the Hippodrome at the high school level.  But the positives outweigh the negatives.

They seemed to take the best aspects of Proctor’s new rink, then went bigger and better with a second indoor rink, though they lack the adjacent outdoor rinks found in Hermantown and Proctor.  The outdoor rinks give Proctor a slight edge.

I regret that I didn’t see a high school game here.  Hopefully, that will happen in the future.

FAVORITE ASPECTS

  • Display honoring the Carlson brothers
  • I’d never previously seen on bumper cars on ice.  Looks like fun!
  • Hockey penalty artwork

NOTABLE NAMES: 

Former UMD Bulldog and 1980 Team USA team member,John Harrington, Matt Niskanen, the Carlson Brothers

#11 St. Luke’s Sports & Events Center - Proctor

The rink-ranking of a building can catapult above others if an arena built in this century evokes memories of one of the NHL “Original 6” buildings—either the Montreal Forum, Maple Leaf Gardens, Boston Garden, Madison Square Garden, Olympia Stadium or Chicago Stadium. 

I was approaching the apex of the northwest corner of walking track at the St. Luke’s Sports & Events Center in Proctor when boom, I was transported back to Chicago Stadium and a North Stars versus Blackhawks matchup in 1981.

Secord Sucks. Dino Ciccarelli. Sinclair dinosaurs. Bobby Smith-Tom McCarthy-Neal Broten. Murray Bannerman.  Tony Esposito.

This retro transport was provided courtesy of the Baldwin organ overlooking the home of the Proctor Rails boy’s teams and the Proctor/Hermantown Mirage girl’s hockey team. 

It’s traditional that our National Anthem is played before sporting events.  No venue executed this traditional better than Chicago Stadium, home of the Blackhawks.  While the Baldwin can’t match the horsepower of the Barton theatre pipe organ at Chicago Stadium, this is a heck of a tip-of-the-hat to an era when fans at sporting events were afforded a few relatively dull moments for contemplation, interrupted only by the event itself or a soft-toned organ clapper or charge.

This Baldwin organ was my single-favorite feature of any arena I visited during these road trips. 

Rink designers included a nice feature just a few feet from the organ.  Large windows overlook two outdoor rinks and a recreational skating rink.  Clearly an expression of reverence from Proctor to their longtime rivals, and next door neighbor, Hermantown. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gE-zvh81J8

https://icehockeycentral.com/did-you-know-the-unexpected-reason-behind-hockeys-iconic-organ-music/

When I think of northern Minnesota high school sporting powerhouses, the list of familiar names would never include Proctor.  That makes their investment in this new building—and therefore, the investment in kids growing up in Proctor, even more admirable.  This building set the northland precedent for multipurpose recreational and community hybrids.  It’s a massive upgrade from their old rink which served the community for several decades. 

#10 Northwoods Community Credit Union Arena - Cloquet

I’ve never met him but this entire trip might be one northern Minnesota hockey player’s fault.  I was an 11-year old sitting in the upstairs viewing area of the Two Harbors arena watching the local “Pony” hockey team play Cloquet.  One boy was making things look way too easy.  

Somehow, I learned his name:  

Corey Millen.  

I’d seen high school hockey players like Boucha and Antonovich dominate on television.  I’d never seen an 8-year old do it. Millen’s performance sparked an interest to see others, and perhaps coach others, as I did for many years. Indelible moments of watching Zach Praise, Auston Matthews and Matthew Barzal as Bantams.  Phil Kessel as a Pee Wee would follow.  I had a front row seat to watching Troy Terry do Corey Millen-like things on his way to becoming an NHL All Star.

What was it about these small towns that produced a Millen or Antonovich?  Cloquet has quite a history.  Derek Plante and Jamie Langenbrunner, whose last names were once on the back of a Lumberjacks jersey, now have their first and last names permanently engraved on the Stanley Cup.

As a youngster, all of my hockey experiences in Cloquet were at “The Barn.”  Prevailing memories are of subzero temperatures, the nooks and crannies behind the bleachers and the adjacent ski jumping site.  On the rare occasions I’m in Cloquet, it’s always nice to step inside this Time Machine where some of my oldest memories of a rink outside of Two Harbors still persist.

FAVORITE ASPECTS:  

  • The wooden arched ceiling.  
  • The upper walkway around the rink.  I don’t think it was constructed as a community walking path which have become en vogue.  It succeeded as design feature to provide great vantage points for hockey games.
  • Nice scoreboard
  • It does have a bit of Wall Drug vibe with so many banners and advertisements.
  • The presence and preservation of “The Barn” next door.  The backstage, behind the bleachers maze at the barn is unrivaled.
  • When I was coaching Bantam, Pee Wee and Squirt hockey teams in Denver, we’d travel each year back to Minnesota and often played in Cloquet. We were always welcomed and the kids, parents, and coaches, enjoyed the experience.
    • I should add that our Squirt, Pee Wee and Bantam teams from Denver also played in Duluth, Grand Rapids, Bemidji, Hibbing, Hermantown, North St. Paul, Minnetonka, Edina, Apple Valley, Stillwater, Osseo, Maple Grove, and even a game at Mariucci Arena against Edina.  We also skated on my favorite venue of all–Lake of the Isles in Minneapolis.  Feedback from the players and their parents was typically very positive about their Minnesota hockey experiences.
  • A favorite childhood memory was sliding at Pinehurst Park when we had a few hours to kill between our tournament games at “The Barn.” 

SHORTCOMINGS:

  • Northwoods Community Credit Union Arena is a long name for a hockey rink.  I miss the days of “The Barn.” 

Memorable names:  Warren “Bun” Carlson, Todd Hennemuth

#9 Bronco Arena - International Falls

Sometimes a sports venue just feels right. A high school hockey rink in the self-annointed “Icebox of the Nation” seems like a can’t miss proposition. Resting 1,836 feet from the southern bank of Rainy River with Canada on the northern bank, Bronco Arena hits the target.

My favorite aspects of Bronco Arena: 

  • The wooden benches which circle the rink are gorgeous.
  • Their various displays of honoring their past with banners and sign boards inside the rink is outstanding.  
  • The upstairs viewing area is nice, including their preservation of historical hockey information, which is exceptional.
  • This was the one trip when I brought the dogs–Matty and Bella.  They like road trips as much as I do. I had to monitor the weather throughout this trip. There was constant rain in Duluth that day. Snow had started falling to the west, near Warroad and Roseau, as I approached International Falls.  Then, as soon as I passed the “International Falls Welcomes You” sign, sleet started pelting the car. But it only lasted a few minutes.  I explored Bronco Arena, watched the first period then went to the car to check on the dogs.  They were fine. Weather radar looked OK.  I watched the second period then checked on the dogs. An “oh shit” moment followed when I stepped outside.  During the 17-minute second period and inch, or two, of snow had fallen and it was coming down hard. Matty, Bella and I agreed that we better skip the third period to begin the three hour drive back to Duluth. The first hour of the drive was treacherous but warmer temperatures prompted the snow to change to rain and we made it home safely.  Bronco Arena made the stress worth it.

As I wrote in “Greatest Assist of 2023,” I’d never been to International Falls until Valentines Day, 2023.  It was fun to drive around town, seeing it all for the first time.

  • I not only stop to see football fields, I stop for water towers.  Their “Icebox of the Nation” water tower is one of my national favorites.
  • The state bird of Minnesota is the Common Loon.  I nominate the “State Scent of Minnesota” to be the smell sawdust emanating sawmills.  International Falls has that covered like a cloud. (I’d settle for the smell of pizza as a compromise).
  • The Smoky Bear statue is a fun feature
  • Nice outdoor rinks in town.  I saw a couple but I’m guessing there are more.
  • Kerry Park Arena is a nice supplemental rink
  • The vintage facade of their high school football field i.e. “Sports Stadium,” immediately made me think of Bronco Nagurski.
  • The “Walgreen Systems Drug” mural with the Native American prominently featured is outstanding.

Prominent Names:

Huffer Christensen, Peter Waselovich, Mike “Lefty” Curran, Kevin Constantine, Dave Brown, Paul Brown, Buzzy LaFond, Jim Knapp, Neil Sheehy, Tim Sheehy, Bill Mason, Dave Laurion, Bob Mason

One of my favorite hockey moments happened in Bronco Arena on February 14, 2023.

https://smalltownsbigstories.com/reece-radtke/

#8 Hibbing Memorial Building

This was one of the few rinks I traveled to during my high school years to actually watch a sporting event, instead of participating in it.  Oddly, it wasn’t to watch hockey.  Half the town of Two Harbors ventured to Hibbing in March of 1975 to watch our high school basketball team take on the Hibbing Bluejackets, including a guy named Kevin McHale.

Hibbing Memorial is bright, clean and reeks of history.  It’s hard to find a shortcoming—perhaps a lack of wrap-around seating behind each net, but that’s all. 

Beyond hockey, is there another rink on Earth which hosted concerts from Johnny Cash and Hibbing’s own, Bob Dylan, along with a campaign appearance from John F. Kennedy one month before he was elected President on November 8, 1960, one day after I was born.

As I think about how to describe this rink, the following thought persists:

“This building makes me happy.”

It truly does. 

Very happy.

PROMINENT NAMES

Joe Micheletti, Don Micheletti, Mike Polich, Scott Sandelin, Pat Micheletti, and, more recently, Scott Perunovich, the 2020 Honey Baker Award winner.  

In this story, I focused on names from long ago but need to update this section with Adam Johnson, the Hibbing and UMD standout who died tragically in 2023 while playing hockey in Europe.  Saddened for his family, friends and all who knew him.

#7 Heritage Center - Duluth

Combine the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto with the Hippodrome in Eveleth and you’d get the Duluth Heritage Center.  Arrive early on your first visit—there’s plenty to absorb before the opening face-off.

This rink delivered perfectly on a challenging dichotomy.  Design and build a modern building which exudes an authentic, vintage vibe.  Heritage isn’t just a token word on front of the building.  Amor Towles wrote a book titled “A Gentleman in Moscow.”  While reading it, I’d have bet he wrote it 100 years ago.  It was published in 2016.  Built in 2008, the Heritage Center exudes the same “old soul’ character. From the selection of building materials, to the color schemes, they nailed it.

Preservation of Minnesota’s hockey history is worthwhile.  Many hockey associations do it well.  Nobody has done it better than the planning committee of the Heritage Center.  The designers and architects allocated at least 30 display areas around the perimeter of the Sill Rink. The committee did a magnificent job of gathering artifacts.  Those who put the finishing touches on the displays scored at every opportunity.

If I see a display of youth hockey jackets or jerseys on a wall, I’ll be unavailable for a significant amount of time.  Go ahead.  I’ll catch up. 

Maybe. 

Duluth’s collection of 33 jackets and jerseys is unrivaled, almost all tapping into a long-stored memory of playing against those teams in our home rink or theirs.

Every jacket represents a significant coming-of-age moment for the young athletes who wore them.  They’d made the team.  A stepping stone from neighborhood gang to community.  For many, the nicest—and surely, most favorite, article of clothing they owned.  The weakest player on a formidable team could swagger into the opposing rink with their bad-ass, game-face on and feel important.

Until he spent most of the game on the bench.

This building is a perfect example where downsizing is rightsizing.  High school games at the Heritage Center are more intimate than, for example, Engelstad.  Grand Rapids faced Duluth East on Friday, January 6.  Attendance was similar—possibly a bit more, than Warroad at Thief River Falls, but the atmosphere was far better in the Heritage Center than Engelstad.  It’s also nice to have Amsoil Arena next door for Sectional semifinals and finals.

The only “get off my lawn” moment I can think of for this rink is the lack of seat backs on the spectator’s benches.  That’s a trivial complaint from me since I’m always roaming around.

Oh, by the way, the Seitz Rink is very nice too. 🙂

The Duluth Heritage Centers is a 9.9 on a scale of 10.  Yet, it’s ranked #7 on my list.

The story of hockey in Duluth can’t be told without reference to what was once the most popular sporting goods store on the north shore. The perimeter of the Sill Arena rink at the Heritage Center, is lined with countless pictures of youth hockey players.  Their Mom’s, Dads and/or grandparents likely bought the skates and sticks at 1502 E. Superior Street, the former home of “Stewarts Wheel Goods.”  If ever two buildings belonged side-by-side, it’s the current version of Stewart’s and hockey’s new epicenter in Duluth, the Heritage Center.  Peas and carrots.  If only there were a Mr. Nick’s Charburgers restaurant next door.

Their proximity is a perfect salute to the memory of the late Dick Stewart. Intentional or not, these two buildings belong together. 

Far better than these few paragraphs, Mr. Stewart was honored late in life in a reverential manner afforded to few. This excerpt appeared in the Duluth News Tribune on June 5, 2012 story following Mr. Stewart’s passing:

“Stewart, who owned and operated Stewart’s Wheel Goods in eastern Duluth for decades, died peacefully Monday evening, according to his family.

Stewart is perhaps best known in recent years for his devotion to the UMD men’s hockey team and his regular appearances at home games where, nearly blind and confined to sitting in a wheelchair, he would proudly wave his UMD windsock for every home-team goal.

In recent years Stewart has been honored at nearly every home game he attended with a standing ovation and rousing cheer from the student section and band, who would clap until Stewart stood up and waved back.”

https://www.duluthnewstribune.com/sports/duluth-hockey-legend-dick-stewart-dies-at-92

NAMES FROM THE PAST:  Team USA’s Phil Verchota, Rob Stauber, Sean Hill, Clayton Kerr, John Slonim, Dave Spehar, Mike Castonguay, and, for some reason, Duluth Central’s agitator, Tom Doig.   One more:  Mark Daniels of Denfeld. The only opponent of ours who made me think, “Where the heck did he learn about to skate like that?”

#6 Hodgins-Berardo Arena - Coleraine

They threw the blueprints away when they built this rink.  I haven’t seen anything like it. Hodgins-Berardo exemplifies northern Minnesota hockey.  It’s perfect.

The goal judge’s nests above the nets on each end of the rink are not just a throwback to the old days, but I wonder how many rinks ever had this design.  Sitting in either one would have been the ultimate place to write this story, as long as someone regularly delivered hot dogs and hot chocolate from the concession stand.

The press box, announcer’s booth, scorekeeper’s roost offer a great vantage point of the rink.

The tunnel leading from the concession stand to the visitor’s bleachers provides an enjoyable “what the heck is this” experience.

Nice scoreboard too.

When I was young, “Greenway of Coleraine” held as much mystique as any team in the state.  Greenway?  Coleraine?  Which is it?  What does “Greenway of Coleraine” mean?  That, and the fact that they always had formidable teams.

How do they do it?  They have a population of less than 2,000 but they continue to generate outstanding hockey players.

Seems like the formula is firmly in place:  Genetics.  Culture.  Environment. Opportunity.

Greenway entered my life, so to speak, at an age when I was starting to become aware of the world beyond my hometown.  My seventh birthday was on the seventh day of November, 1967.

Big things were happening.  Memories were etched:

  • The Gemini and Apollo space missions
  • Walter Cronkite reporting nightly on the status of the war in Vietnam
  • The NHL playoff games in spring of ’68 between Minnesota and the St. Louis Blues concluding the inaugural season of the North Stars.
  • The first human heart transplant by Dr. Christian Barnard
  • The assassination of Martin Luther King
  • The assassination of Robert Kennedy
  • Faking illness in October to skip school and watch the World Series between the Tigers and Cardinals
  • The first Super Bowl between Green Bay and Kansas City. Then Green Bay beating the Oakland Raiders in Super Bowl II.   The Ice Bowl on New Year’s Eve in 1967.
  • The indoor hockey rink opening in Two Harbors

Add Mike Antonovich and the newsmakers known as the Greenway Raiders.  They put hockey beyond Two Harbors firmly on the map for me while winning the state championships in 1967 and ’68, while earning the consolation title in ’69.  Greenway and the Vikings had something in common during my impressionable sporting years.  It seemed that both would be playing annually for championships in their respective sports.  Greenway has done a better job of holding up their end of that illusion.

Antonovich and his teammates were first to appear on our TV sets.  When did we stop calling it a “TV set?”   Boucha and his Warroad teammates would follow.

GREENWAY was on the front of their jerseys.  I probably spent hours studying the map, trying to find the town named “Greenway.”  I eventually learned the high school is named after John Campbell Greenway, a mining engineer and former United States Senator. 

 

Prominent names:  Mike Antonovich, Tom Peluso, Ken Lawson, Mike Peluso.  Ken Gernander. 

#5 The Hippodrome - Eveleth

“Honey, we’re moving.”

“Where to this time?”

“Eveleth, Minnesota.  You’re going to love it. Trust me.”

The Hippodrome in Eveleth is special.  Hockey’s equivalent to baseball’s “Field of Dreams” in Iowa.  They say “a picture is worth a thousand words.”  My pictures serve this building better than my words could.

The Eveleth Golden Bears were the first in a long line of Minnesota high school hockey superpowers—or, as today’s generation might say, “the OG’s of Minnesota hockey.” The Hippodrome is a grand old building for the town to celebrate their lofty place in State of Hockey history.  

Eveleth has a hat trick of other prominent hockey landmarks around town:

  • When the United States Hockey Hall of Fame opened decades ago, it was a bit underwhelming.  That is no longer the case.  It has evolved into a great exhibit.   
  • North America’s best hockey themed town square is centerpieced by a Paul Bunyan sized, giant hockey stick, along with a wall full of exhibits.
  • Murals on the side of buildings are popular in small towns across Texas.  None are better than the outdoor hockey mural across the Monroe Street and Grant Avenue in Eveleth. I’ve stood face-to-face with the Mona Lisa painting in the Louvre in Paris.  Ho-hum. This mural is better.  Virginia also has some great murals.

I wish I’d seen Mark Pavelich play at the Hippodrome during his high school years.

I saw Zach Parise as a Bantam with Shattuck St. Mary’s, Phil Kessel as a Pee Wee with the Madison Capitols.  Coached against Auston Matthews with Phoenix Firebirds and Matthew Barzal with the Burnaby Winter Club when they were Bantams.  During my last stint in Colorado, I had a front row seat to several years of Troy Terry’s childhood maturation from Squirt to NHL All Star.  There’s something special about witnessing greatness before it’s unveiled to the rest of the world.  

Seeing Pavelich on Hippodrome ice would have been a privilege.

“How much is admission?  Ah, heck with that, here’s a blank check. Just fill it out, I gotta’ get inside.” 

I watched him at UMD, with the Olympic team, and when cable TV connected us to Madison Square Garden via Al Trautwig, Gary Green and the USA Network when Pavelich was playing for the New York Rangers. The consumate northern Minnesota outdoorsman seemed right at home while playing 40 nights each year on Broadway in New York beside Ron Duguay and Barry Beck. 

Great memories from Mark.  But “Pavelich at the Hippodrome” is a road trip I wish I’d taken in my 1973 Ford LTD. 

One of my high school coaches, Jack Curphy, grew up in Eveleth.  Until writing this story, I wasn’t aware of another connection between Two Harbors and Eveleth:

“The first recorded game of hockey in Eveleth was played January 23, 1903 between Eveleth and Two Harbors. Teams in Duluth and Two Harbors had been playing the game for a few years previously. 

“The first game of the season was played last evening at the Eveleth Rink between Two Harbors and the local seven. The local team was defeated 5-2. The game was hard fought by both teams, as it was the first match game that either team had played in during the season. The visiting team did good team work and played a fast game. There was a great deal of off-side playing by both teams. Hockey is practically a new game on the Range. With proper support, Eveleth can put up a good team, as there is plenty of first class material here. A return game will be played with Two Harbors.”

https://history.vintagemnhockey.com/page/show/788346-eveleth-hockey-first-50-years-1903-1952

#4 IRA Civic Center - Grand Rapids

Perfection.  I can’t believe I’m putting any rink ahead of IRA Arena.  This rink has it all.  It crosschecks, backchecks and poke checks all 10 boxes on my Rink Rankings list of criteria.

Our family considered moving to Grand Rapids.  Dad graduated from UMD and a teaching job was available in Grand Rapids.  We explored the town but remained anchored to Lake Superior’s shores. We would have been Indians instead of Agates.  Indians seemed fitting as the blood dripping from the unstitched chins, cheekbones and noses of the Smith brothers on the outdoor rinks of Two Harbors dripped with a healthy dose of Objibwe heritage.  

One benefit of the move would have been that I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life explaining what an agate is.  

The closest we’d get to those orange and black uniforms was when my brother, Steve, caught Rapids’ coach Gus Hendrickson’s attention when he scored twice in the first period against the Indians at the Duluth Arena in the Region 7 quarterfinals.  Unfortunately, Grand Rapids pumped eight goals into the Agates’ net on their way to the state championship.  

My favorite aspect of my most recent visit to IRA wasn’t the building, which I adore.  It was captured in this picture.  What’s so special?  There are approximately 134 people in this picture—yes, I counted.  This group of counter-culture, revolutionary bad asses all have something in common. Hockey devotees of the highest order.  It’s 2023.  It’s a high school hockey game on a Saturday afternoon between Minnetonka and Grand Rapids. 

What’s the big deal?

Look closely.

Nobody is looking at their cell phone. 

Not. One. Person.

Hockey instead of technology.  2023’s version of the Miracle on Ice.  The cultural gravity of the sport is exceptionally strong here.

NOTABLE NAMES

Team USA’s, Bill Baker, Jon Casey, the Rothstein brothers, Jim Jetland, Dan Lempe, Don Lucia, the Mason brothers, Mark DeCenzo, Alex Goligoski and one of my favorite skaters of all time, Gary DeGrio. 

#3 The Gardens - Warroad

WARROAD:  There can be no better name for a hockey town.

Imagine being eight years old.  Your first hockey “away game.”  Road trip to Warroad. Referee is ready for the opening face-off.  Snowplow stop while approaching the center red line.  Your opponent arrives, announcing his/her presence with authority, gracing your skate laces with an indoor Warroad snow shower.  You don’t notice that while staring at the black, white and gold jersey emblazoned with WARROAD.  He, or she, is smiling.  You are shaking.  Scan the bleachers for grandma and grandpa.  They wave.  You shrug your shoulders, palms open to the heavens, body language screaming “what the heck am I supposed to do now?” 

Most often, you’d find out that it’s best to compete like crazy but prepare to lose.

Reputation.  Intimidation.  

State of Hockey consternation. 

Surely destined to be playing for consolation.

McDonalds or Culver’s contemplation.

There you have it.  The Warroad Hockey Riff for all visiting ice mites.  

The Gardens is bucket list worthy for every hockey fan—not just Minnesotans—every hockey fan. The building presents itself with a shoulders back, chest forward swagger.  Right sized. Great scoreboard. History preserved perhaps better than any other rink, outside of Duluth’s Heritage Center.  This place is all about pride.  Massive extra credit points to the town for holding firm with their logo and team name—Warriors.

Notable Names:

Henry Boucha, Team USA’s Dave Christian, Alan Hangsleben, TJ Oshie, Gigi Marvin.

Long before the “All Hockey Hair Videos,” Warroad’s Henry Boucha made the Minnesota state high school hockey tournament famous.  Heck, Henry invented hockey “flow” with his trademark head band and exhilarating style of play.  In his era, Henry was the coolest guy in an ice cold sport.

I wish I’d seen Henry play in the old building in Warroad.

#2 Roseau Memorial Arena

Two of hockey’s prominent components—snow and ice, served as formidable opponents to a pair of early February trips to Roseau.  Roads were bad, trips were canceled—it was best to stay in Duluth.  I was running out of time. Playoffs had begun. I gambled that Roseau wouldn’t stumble in a Section 8 quarterfinal game against Bemidji on Tuesday, February 21. 

Roseau   9

Bemidji  3

The Section 8 semifinal game between Roseau and Elk River on Saturday, the 25th, would be the Rams’ final home game of the year.  This was my last chance.  Forever memories hinged on this now or never road trip.

My rink ranking for Roseau flew above many others even before I walked in the building. 

I’ve lived in and traveled around modern America suburbia where they build “Town Centers” and “Town Squares” in an effort to manufacture a small town feel amid metro gridlock.  Forgive me for not becoming overcome by nostalgia while visiting a modern town square, gazing upon the Apple Store next to The Cheesecake Factory. 

Authentic town squares were once been surrounded by dirt roads, railroad tracks, the local VFW and American Legion clubs, and a locally owned diner where today’s four-year olds sit on the same chairs as their great grandmothers and fathers once sat for a slice of pumpkin pie the day after Thanksgiving.  It helps if the water tower is part of the downtime skyline.  Built in 1949, Roseau Memorial Arena—a hockey rink, feels like the epicenter of town.

Generations of townspeople entered.  Generations of hand-me-down memories were generated.  Much of the legacy of the town happened in that building. 

My high expectations were too low.  Roseau Memorial Arena is the box-checking superpower.  Aside from the modern lighting and scoreboard, this felt like the best of 1970—the ultimate compliment I can offer. The Hippodrome and Roseau’s Memorial Rink are the closest renditions of the barn of my youthful dreams coming to life.  Hibbing Memorial made me happy.  Roseau Memorial made me emotional. Tears?  No.  Goose bumps?  Throughout the night.

Roseau is also known for the “North Rink” where the doors remain unlocked 24/7.  That fact alone merits the North Rink for consideration on this list.

How many towns with a population of less than 3,000 in the history of hockey have had three high school linemates each play more than 350 in the NHL? 

Neal Broten–1,099 games, Aaron Broten–748, Butsy Erickson–351 games, did it. Paul Broten was a great player too 322 games in the NHL.

I’ve never had more fun watching a high school team play than when Roseau regularly participated in the State Tournament.

Particularly memorable was a quarterfinal round against Rochester John Marshall in 1978, when while shorthanded, Neal, Aaron, Butsy and defenseman Brian Vatnsdal played keep-away from a talented RJM team.  This was long before the tactic of penalty killers passing the back to a defenseman in your own zone to kill penalty time became fashionable.  These guys were ahead of their time.

Credit to Roseau for opting to play in the Class AA division against the biggest schools in Minnesota.

FAVORITE ASPECT: 

Roseau Memorial was the 17th rink I visited during my pit stop in Duluth.  My northern Minnesota High School Hockey Rink Road Trip ended at 2 am, Sunday morning—five hours after the Elks and Rams were done locking horns. The drive home was like a hockey rink All Star Tour.  Roseau to Warroad to Baudette to Grand Rapids past Cloquet and Proctor to Duluth. 

I didn’t visit these rinks with the intention of writing a story.  If I had, I’d have taken more consistent pictures of each.  But I couldn’t refrain from writing a story after visiting all these rinks. Formulation of this structure of this story began on the drive home.  Which rink was the best?

Roseau County: The Rams and Warriors

Roseau County, 350 miles from the state’s largest cities, where 25 miles of east/west blacktop connect perhaps the State of Hockey’s two most revered hockey towns.  It’s plainly evident the cultural roots of hockey are deeper here than most anywhere in Minnesota.

Small town folks have historically looked to the big cities with awe.  In Minnesota—at least as it relates to hockey, it’s the opposite.  Big city folks look northward to these two Canadian border towns with reverence.  The game is more pure, less business.  Big city cultures across the country are bouncing off the walls.  Outstate towns aren’t immune to problems.  They never have been. But they seem to have a better chance of maintaining a bit more serenity.

According to censusreporter.org, current population totals are:

Minneapolis  425,338

Roseau 2,724

Warroad  2,052

Despite, the population disparities, each town has the same number of high school hockey teams—one each.  Fifty years ago, who could have possibly imagined that hockey teams would no longer exist at Minneapolis Roosevelt, Minneapolis Southwest, and Minneapolis Edison?

More impressively, the schools from those small towns would have easily beaten the unified “Minneapolis” team this year if they’d played.  Furthermore, if Warroad and Roseau consolidated their best 17 players against Minneapolis, it would be a blowout.

While they are rivals, I’m guessing most of the citizens are thankful that they have each other.

End of the Road

We all have to decide what to fill our brains with.  I chose hundreds of miles of snowbank lined icy roads and scenic views of the hibernation version of the northern Minnesota countryside.  I’ve made some bad decisions in my life.  Trips to these locations were good decisions.  Long overdue decisions that will be treasured forever.

The towns I visited are still located in the same places on the map as they were in 1970 but they’ve all moved forward. Gone are the Rexall Drug and Ben Franklin stores.  Towns have changed.  Visiting those towns in 2022 and 2023 was obviously a different experience than if I’d visited half a century ago. The towns have aged, as have I. 

Completionists will disagree, but it’s good to have unchecked boxes on your list.  I’ve visited 35 Major League Baseball stadiums.  I’m hesitant to see games in the final two cities—Tampa and San Diego. I don’t want the chase—the adventure—to reach its dead end. 

I checked a lot of boxes on this trip, but not all of them. I didn’t have time to find and visit—let alone skate on, all of the outdoor rinks.  I didn’t have time to stay overnight, see high school games in every rink, visit the most popular locally owned restaurant or bar in each town.  

One of my favorite story tellers, Anthony Bourdain, put it well:

“Eat at a local restaurant tonight.  Get the cream sauce. Have a cold pint at 4 o’clock in a mostly empty bar. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Listen to someone you think may have nothing in common with you. Order the steak rare. Eat an oyster. Have a Negroni. Have two. Be open to a world where you may not understand or agree with the person next to you, but have a drink with them anyways.  Eat slowly. Tip your server.  Check in on your friends. Check in on yourself. Enjoy the ride.”

I would add: visit every hockey rink—indoor and out. Explore every inch of the arena.  Stand in the snowbank at the outdoor rink.  Watch the carefree boys and girls having pressure-free fun, trying to perform for Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, or having a good time with their buddies.

Thank a coach.  Thank a referee. Thank an arena manager.  Tip the person serving you that hot dog at the concession stand.

Then, while driving home, plan your next trip.  I do plan to live forever but someday, my traveling days will end.

I want more time.

Did He Forget Something?

“Wait,” you’re thinking.  He forgot to identify the #1 rink on his list.

1967

My linemate tried to pass the puck to me but missed by 20 or 30 feet. The pass went directly to the Silver Bay defenseman. 

The defenseman panicked, then fell down.

This was my chance.

I skated clumsily towards the puck on the Silver Bay blue line.  Each stride was an adventure.  

“Don’t fall down.  Get the puck. Don’t fall down.”

I arrived at the puck, pushed it towards the Sliver Bay goalie with my Christian Brothers hockey stick.  

“Don’t fall down.  Don’t fall down.”  

My first breakaway in a real hockey game was underway.  A few strides later, I caught up with the puck.  I pushed it forward again.  

“Don’t fall down.  Skate towards the goalie. Don’t fall down.”

“Do. Not. Fall. Down.”

I hadn’t looked towards the goal. I couldn’t take my eyes off the puck.  I was finally so close to the net I had to look up.  

When I did, the goalie fell down.

He was flopping around over towards to left post.  I veered towards the right, tucked a backhander into the vacated net for the first goal of my life.

I raised my hands and pumped my stick above my head like goal-scorers do. As I skated past the right side of the net, I noticed a woman on the other side of the wire fence, adorned in horn-rimmed glasses, a gray winter coat with large black buttons. She was clapping her hands. I scored my first goal.  She was there to see it. I had never seen, nor would I ever see, a bigger smile on her face.  

The woman was my grandmother—Bernice Davis.  That was 57 years ago.  She died 37 years ago. Grandma remains very much alive in my childhood, hockey rink memories. 

There's No Place Like...

We all have it.  The rink where we learned to skate, fall, get back up and try again.

The rink where we’d experience the highest highs, lowest lows and spend so much time being part of the fabric of the building.  That one rink which delivered a lifetime supply of fond memories to tap into.

I couldn’t ignore the obvious shortcoming in my “best rink” ranking criteria. I added #11. 

  1. Old

  2. Cozy

  3. Wrap around seating

  4. Upstairs viewing area

  5. Small town environment

  6. Prominence in Minnesota hockey history & preservation of history.

  7. Good concession stand – only one rink separates from the rest in this category

  8. Nice scoreboard

  9. Well maintained

10. Did some of my favorite hockey players play in that building?

11. Nostalgia

The rink which emerged atop the rankings isn’t Hippodrome old, but old enough.  It’s more cavernous than cozy. There’s no wrap around seating. The scoreboard is nothing special. It’s held virtually no significance in the history of hockey in Minnesota—never hosting a Region 7, or Section 7, Championship game. The only banner hanging from the rafters is of the star-spangled variety.

Based on my grading system, the mystery rink seems to have endured more shutouts than hat tricks. 

Can the lower seed pull the upset?

The rink does have plenty of small town appeal.  It was the go-to destination back in the late 60s and 70s when all the Duluth youth hockey teams wanted to travel a half-hour to play in this new weather-sheltered, yet frigid building with ice as hard as granite. 

It does have a great upstairs viewing area, one of the few with several rows of bleachered seating.

It’s very well maintained—seemingly nicer now than back in 1975, thanks to arena manager, Jesse Lundgren.  Jesse’s commendable engineering skills are surpassed by his willingness to entertain the kids as he pilots the Zamboni wearing one of his ensemble of costumes.

After the first period, he might be dressed as Batman.  After the second, Spiderman.  Overtime, Chewbacca. Postgame, the Incredible Hulk, a police officer, Prince or The Grinch.

This was the rink where I stood in line in November of 1967 to be given my first pair of shin pads to wear over or under my Sears corduroys. I cherished the two-piece, egg-shell sturdy plastic CCM helmet, non-descript game jersey and, more importantly, my very first it’s-very-uncomfortable-to-skate-with-this-protective cup.  The local hockey association provided these prized possessions at no cost to my parents.

During one of my several visits to the rink during my three months in the northland, I was standing rinkside when I looked upstairs. Much to my surprise, people were waving at me. I’d have guessed that 30 years of life in Colorado and Texas would assure a stealthy entry and exit. I was wrong. These buildings aren’t just wood, cinder blocks, an ice plant, and windows.  They are also the people who frequent them. This arena’s welcome mat will seemingly be forever unfurled for me.

If I shared every memory, you’d either tune out or we’d end up in a virtual game of memory-lane ping pong.  My memory. Your memory.  Back at you.  Back at me.

My rink-ranking criteria were not listed in order of importance.  Yes, I like old sports venues, as evidenced by my fondness for the Puncher Dome in Texas.  But the two most important criteria weren’t at the top of the list, they were at the bottom.

“Did some of my favorite hockey players play in that building?”

We didn’t have any Gary Sargents or Huffer Christensens. But we did have two players who had far greater influence on me.

My favorites wore jersey numbers I still remember.  One was #4, the other #8.

They both had common first names, just like me.

Like me, they both had boring last names.

They had another name—brothers. 

My brothers—and my favorite hockey players of my childhood: 

Better known to most as Steve Smith and Larry Smith.

From table hockey—Canadiens versus Maple Leafs, to floor hockey in our living room played with paint can stir sticks and cotton balls encased in white athletic tape, to boot hockey in the alley, to pickup games at the outdoor rink beside Highway 61, then to watching them play as Pony’s, Pee Wees and Bantams then as varsity players for the Two Harbors Agates.

They led, I followed.  They stumbled, I learned.  They opened the heavy doors, I strolled in behind them.  I walked a smoother path because of their courage and success.  When allowed, I followed—and I was almost always allowed to follow.

I wanted to be as good as them. I rarely was. Certainly not as a hockey player.

The top ranking goes to the rink were my two favorite hockey players of all time played.  The players who most stimulated my interest in the game, who I most wanted to emulate, who I most wanted to impress. 

Every town had the families. We weren’t Neal, Aaron and Paul Broten.  Is there yet another Michelleti still playing in Hibbing?

We were just the Smiths of Two Harbors.

 

 

 

 

 

PARENT’S NIGHT – FEBRUARY 1976

Brother Steve – his Senior year

My Dad – Richard “RL” Smith

Brother Larry – his Junior year

My Mom – Carol Healy

Me – my Freshman year

My aunt and uncle, Roger and Eileen Johnson are in the upper left corner.

Shirley Anderson, ever present at sporting events in our era, is to my right.

The towns I once—and still, revered had “it.” 

Two Harbors didn’t have the same successes as some other towns in northern Minnesota but it was a great place to learn to play the game, both indoors and out.  Our arena, and its twin in Silver Bay, were great additions to the north shore.

In a major upset, the rink residing on the top of my rankings is the one I never had to leave home to see. The arena in Two Harbors hops through the bracket to beat Grand Rapids in the quarterfinals, Warroad in the semifinals, then Roseau in the finals to become State Champions.

Raise the banner.

There’s plenty of room for it in the rafters of our humble arena.

Blessings

When we were kids, we didn’t know where life would take us. My Rand McNally Road Atlas showed the roads and towns in Colorado and Texas, but it couldn’t forecast I’d live in the former for 18 years and the latter for 10, then return to Colorado for Chapter Two.  

It also couldn’t foretell of the detour which would allow me to spend the winter of ’22-’23 in Duluth.  My Mom is 83 years old. My stepfather, 86.  Three months with them at this stage of our lives was one of the greatest gifts of my life.  That, and the morning coffee and stone-cut oatmeal Dennis prepared daily for me and Mom. Eternal appreciation to my Mom and Stepfather—Carol and Dennis Healy, for watching our two dogs—Matty and Bella, thereby giving me the free pass to check a few boxes.  

They didn’t see me at my best.  I just want them to know how much I appreciate them now, just as I have forever.

I had something else great waiting for me at Mom’s house. Matty and Bella welcomed me home each night.  They are road trip dogs.  It doesn’t matter if I’d driven 700 miles that day, they’d insist on their five or 10 mile nightcap roadtrip, followed by their bedtime treat before dreaming of squirrels.  I’ve got more “dog miles” on my car than “commute to work” miles.

I’ll close the longest” Top 17 List” in internet history back where I started.

“One day, you will wake up and there won’t be any more time to do the things you’ve always wanted.  Do it now.”

Paulo Coelho

One week after I finished writing this story, news spread across Minnesota that Henry Boucha died. 

It’s hard to believe.

Photo Credit:  Minneapolis StarTribune

Dedicated to Justin Waldron and Dave Fromm

The quote which opened this story epitomized why I wanted to visit all those rinks.  As I started writing this story in late February, those were the first words I typed. 

Within the past year, five good–and relatively young, friends of mine passed away.  Their ages were 44, 44, 50, 54 and 64.

Two were hockey coaches.

Justin Waldron and Dave Fromm, were as dedicated to kids, and the sport of hockey, as anyone I’ve ever known.  From a coaching perspective, they were cut from the same mold.  The best of the best with coaching resumes beyond compare.

They were also best friends.  

Justin coached admirably at every level of youth hockey in the Denver area.  Even as an adult, he was a rink rat. He lived hockey.  Always at a rink somewhere in North America.  Justin died of cancer on September 10, 2022 at the age of 44.  

Dave Fromm delivered a heartfelt, powerful eulogy at Justin’s funeral.  

Dave grew up in Minneapolis and was a goalie for Minneapolis Roosevelt and recently became the Head Coach at Owatonna High School.  Dave died on August 26, 2023 at the age of 54. 

Legends is a strong word but appropriate for both.  Hockey doesn’t happen without coaches like Justin and Dave. It’s hard to process losing either of them, let alone both in such a short period of time.  Too young.  Too sad.  

These road trips would have far more fun if both guys were riding along with me. 

In the picture below, Justin is on the left, Dave on the right.

Sonju Motors Arena - Two Harbors

Bella and Matty - Park Point Beach - Duluth

 

 

 

I’ve changed a bit–check that, A LOT, since this picture was taken of me in 1979. 

We did have great uniforms in Two Harbors.

And that Christian Brothers hockey stick was manufactured up in Warroad. It would have been fun to tour that plant back in those days.

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About the author

Just a guy who loves sports, travel, food, and writing. I've lived in Two Harbors, MN, Minneapolis, Fort Worth, and my current location of Denver. Trying to visit every sports venue on the planet before I die.

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Kevin Morsette

Tom, thanks for the story, completely enjoyed it. Your hometown dedication is commendable!

Kevin M.

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Thomas Smith

Thank you Kevin!

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Mac

Awesome morning read, I’m a hooper and all those players names, towns, rinks& arenas ring a bell and memories, especially your 1975/76 Hibbing arena. The activities I participated in THHS arena Phy Ed hockey, Phy Ed skating,Phy Ed class flag football, Phy Ed tennis,Varsity indoor track meets, Minnehaha & JohnA Johnson track & field day ( Mr Keeler) & Punt, Pass & Kick. Great story/article.

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Thomas Smith

Thank you Jim!

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Larry Smith

Excellent story of northern MN hockey, Thomas. You have been dedicated to the sport over your whole life. This review of arenas was extremely interesting to us hockey fans. During a winter with a record 12’ of snowfall, you drove to some of the most remote places in the lower 48. You are highly dedicated to the game and its history. Reading your story brings back great memories, playing against some of the greatest high school players in a very strong hockey era, the 1960’s and 70’s. We were lucky to have experienced this. You have taken it to the next level, with your decades of coaching and desire to share your experience and hockey history.
Thanks for the kind words. We were fortunate to be a hockey family!
Brother Larry

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Thomas Smith

Thank you Larry!

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Brother Steve

Awesome job Tom…Your compassion and determination to share your rendition of the northern Minnesota hockey culture through your life experiences is outstanding and from the heart…the amount of time and energy and work you put into this is exemplary…reminiscing about our childhood and all the memories we had together if you think about it we had a wonderful time together playing hockey 🥅 🏒 baseball ⚾️ golf ⛳️ football and playing knee hockey and stick ball .. hours and hours at the outdoor rink…pickup games of whatever sport that was in season …and on an almost a daily and nightly basis were riches most kids wish they had…it helped hone the skills we had and gave us the confidence to succeed …and I am grateful to have had brothers like you and Larry to grow up with and experience all this together… we sure made the best of what we had no doubt and I wouldn’t change that for the world…another life story told through your life experiences and once again a job well done Tom.

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Thomas Smith

Thank you Steve!

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Thomas Smith

Hi Doug – Front row, far left is John Hansen.

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Tim Graupmsn

Tom- I’m slow to the rink. Your writing just continues to get better. Creative, interesting, painstakingly researched, captivating and funny. Always a wide range of emotions and experiences shared so expertly.
A great romp through hallowed, hockey, history names and many of my childhood favorites were yours as well.
Loved “The Last Boy!” Mickey was my first baseball hero and the book is wonderful.

If only Bemidji could’ve beaten Roseau it would’ve been a perfect story. 😜
Look forward to more!
Tim Graupman

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Thomas Smith

Thank you Tim! I appreciate your continued support of my writing. The support truly helps motivate me to keep writing. And Bemidji had a pretty good run back in the early 70s!

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Art Anderson.

I finally got around to reading this. It was on my to do list for awhile, but as we all know, life happens. I just finished this while sitting in my car outside of a grocery store and I will have to say that this was an excellent story. Although I was never a hockey player, I grew to love the game watching my nephews play for the Duluth East hockey program. All the nuances of the game that I honestly didn’t know existed. Your story made me remember all the outdoor rinks they played at as Pee Wees and all the tournaments traveled to. Thank you again for such an outstanding story. You have a gift and I can’t wait for your next story.

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Thomas Smith

Thank you Art! Much appreciated. I took a bunch of outdoor rink pictures and videos but didn’t add them to the story. Might change that soon. Working on a couple of other stores–football and baseball.

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