Passion

n: a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept

The Detroit Red Wings versus the Minnesota Wild in St. Paul, MN

My husband and I recently had the opportunity to attend an NHL game, our hometown Minnesota Wild versus the visiting Detroit Red Wings. I’ve lived in Minnesota for 13 years, but I proudly wore my Red Wings sweatshirt. I had to represent for my dad Harry, the biggest Red Wings fan I know.

My dad was influenced early on by hockey. He always told me that he had been a “rink rat” at the Pullar during his youth in Sault Ste. Marie, Mich. He said that the Red Wings trained there and that he got to watch some of the greats, including Gordie Howe and Ted Lindsay, play the sport he loved.

Indeed, according to the Sault Ste. Marie Convention and Visitors Bureau, the Detroit Red Wings did use the Pullar as its training headquarters, from 1948-1958. During those 10 years, my dad would have been 7 to 17 years old.

The website notes that at the time, the Pullar was “one of the few rinks in the world to have summer ice.” It further notes, “The Red Wing players were housed at two local hotels and many friendships between local fans and players were made, which remain wonderful memories for some to this day. Sault Ste. Marie, MI is known as the ‘Original Hockey Town, USA.’”

It was definitely a memorable time for my dad and made him a devoted Red Wings fan for life, the biggest fan in his family.

My dad Harry was a real "Wing Nut"

I talked to two of my cousins about our family’s love of hockey. Both agreed that our grandparents really weren’t the biggest hockey fans, but the kids were.

My dad’s sister, my Aunt Marilyn, was more of a general hockey fan, according to my cousin Percene.

“My mom was a big hockey fan, maybe not so much for watching the Red Wings but all of my brothers played the sport until high school,” she said. “As a kid I remember watching the old Indians Junior team play at the Pullar and, before she passed, we would watch the Eagles play in the same league.”

My dad’s brother, my Uncle Bill, was involved in hockey in another way, instilling a love for the sport in his son and grandsons. According to my cousin Charlie, my uncle played semi-organized outdoors hockey as a kid, and later served as a Junior B and college hockey referee when the Lake Superior State University Lakers were a team in the National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics (NAIA).

Charlie himself played hockey at Michigan State University and for the Des Moines Buccaneers, a Tier I junior ice hockey team in the United States Hockey League (USHL). His sons, Brendan and Connor, both played hockey as kids.

Brendan began his career in the Tier 1 Elite league as a 16-year-old with the Phoenix Jr. Coyotes and spent two years with the Milwaukee Jr. Admirals. He played in the Northern Ontario Junior Hockey League (NOJHL) for the Soo Eagles, in the North American 3 Hockey League (NAHL3) for the Lacrosse Freeze, in the Eastern Junior Hockey League (EJHL) for the Philadelphia Jr. Flyers and for the Northern Jr. Cyclones in Nashua, N.H.

He now plays Division 3 college hockey for Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter, Minn.

My dad would have loved that, seeing another generation of Elliotts play the sport he loved. He always kept up with Charlie’s career and was thrilled to see our name on the back of a hockey jersey.

What I wonder about now, though, is why my dad never played. I’m guessing he probably played with his brother as a kid, but I don’t think he ever played in any organized way. He dropped out of school in eighth grade and I don’t think his family had a lot of extra money, so he may not have had the opportunity. But he certainly knew everything about the sport and it was one of the few things that brought him genuine joy.

My parents and I got to see the Stanley Cup when New Jersey Devil Randy McKay brought it to Michigan Technological University in 1995. The Devils had actually beat the Red Wings to win the Cup that year.

In our house, my dad watched games in our lower level rec room. He was perfectly content with his small TV and his recliner. And when we bought our first VCR when I was a kid—a Zenith that probably cost a lot of money—it was a game changer for my dad.

He was an early riser his entire life, so he often went to bed around 7:30. However, that was also the time that most of the Red Wings games started. With the VCR, he could tape the games and watch them early the next morning, sometimes more than once.

I remember buying him hockey “greatest hits” videos as Christmas gifts. His favorites were the best fights of all time. He always used to lament that the refs never let the game play out when they broke up the fights too early.

My dad wasn’t much of a betting man, but he loved making all sorts of bets—not all with money—when the Stanley Cup playoffs rolled around. He and our neighbor Sherry, also a huge hockey fan, always made some sort of bet and they engaged in good-natured trash talking until the last team hoisted the Cup.

I raised a beer to my dad, as I watched his beloved Red Wings beat the Wild 5-2.

As my dad’s health declined and he moved into the VA facility, he never lost his passion for hockey. Coincidentally, Sherry was the nursing supervisor there when my dad moved in, so they continued their trash talking when she had some free time. The wonderful nurses there also acknowledged my dad’s passion; they would always remind him to turn the games on and they sought him out to talk about the sport.

So when the Red Wings took the ice during their game against the Minnesota Wild, I got a little teary. My dad never saw an NHL game and I know how much he would have enjoyed it—and how much I would have enjoyed seeing it with him.

I’m not the biggest hockey fan, but I was the biggest Red Wings fan that night. And when they beat the Wild 5-2, I felt my dad cheering right along with me.