Black Hawks had subdued celebration after winning Stanley Cup in 1961

Legendary hockey reporter Stan Fischler writes a weekly scrapbook for NHL.com. Fischler, known as "The Hockey Maven," shares his humor and insight with readers each Wednesday.

This week Fischler reports about the subdued celebration after the Chicago Black Hawks won the Stanley Cup in 1961.

When the Chicago Black Hawks defeated the Detroit Red Wings in six games to win the Stanley Cup in 1961, the winners expected to be gloriously hailed as conquering heroes after a quick flight back from Detroit to Chicago. Considering the long wait between championships, the Black Hawks expected a rousing celebration.

The Black Hawks had not won the Stanley Cup since 1938. They missed the Stanley Cup Playoffs six consecutive seasons from 1947-52.

But an infusion of talent, led by Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita, began to bear fruit in the late 1950's. By the 1958-59 season, the Black Hawks finished in third place and gave the Montreal Canadiens a run for their money in the playoff semi-finals before losing the best-of-7 series in six games. However, the Black Hawks served notice that they were a championship team in the making.

Led by Glenn Hall's exceptional goaltending, Chicago defeated defending champion Montreal in a 1961 semi-final series. The Black Hawks then defeated the Red Wings in six games in the Cup Final, winning the finale 5-1 at Olympia Stadium on April 16, 1961. After 23 seasons without winning the Cup, it was time for a gala homecoming.

But true to their tradition, the team's response was as zany and contrary as anything in Chicago hockey history. After Game 6 in Detroit, instead of exploding into one of the loudest victory celebrations in sports, the Chicago dressing room was so quiet it was possible to hear a puck drop (I was there and can vouch for that).

Only an occasional whoop was heard when the Stanley Cup was placed on a massage table in the middle of the cramped room. Reg Fleming, the utility player whose goal for the shorthanded Black Hawks helped knock the sting out of the Red Wings, had an explanation.

"I guess it's been so long for these guys, they just don't know how to celebrate," Fleming said.

Lantern-jawed defenseman Jack Evans, who previously had suffered through many lean years out of the playoffs with the New York Rangers, had never played in a Stanley Cup Final before.

"I'm 35 now," Evans said. "I was beginning to think I'd never get my hands on that Cup. Now that I've got it, I just don't know what to say."

Slumped in a corner, almost hidden by a rack of overcoats, was Hall, the playoff hero. He not only wasn't shouting, his voice was almost inaudible.

"I'm a tired hockey player," said the goalie who had played 82 consecutive games. "Too tired to scream, but awfully pleased about the whole thing."

A man with a gnarled face approached Hall.

"Congratulations," he said. "I'm Mike Karakas."

Hall smiled, not realizing that Karakas was the Black Hawks goalie in 1937-38, when they last won the championship.

It was a Cup-winning room that not only was the quietest but also the driest hockey has known. Nobody was drenched with beer and nobody popped a champagne cork.

"There's no champagne because I didn't order any," Black Hawks owner Jim Norris said. "I was afraid of jinxing the boys."

Actually, the champagne was awaiting the champions at a posh Chicago hotel. Norris planned to immediately fly his winners home where a magnificent dinner celebration awaited them. But before anyone could leave Olympia Stadium, a rare spring blizzard hit Detroit so hard that all flights were cancelled. Norris told his players that a more modest Plan B fete was in order at the Leland Hotel in Detroit.

Once back at the hotel, the Black Hawks were further frustrated because half of the Leland was closed for renovations. That meant that there was no beverage room service. In other words, neither champagne, beer nor soft drinks could be ordered. Alerted to the latest challenge, Norris' partner Bill Wirtz swung into action.

"I got some of my hockey people together," Wirtz remembered, "and we drove all around Detroit, picking up six packs of beer wherever we could and then brought them all back to the hotel for a modest party."

I can vouch that the party was "modest." The high command managed to rent a plain suite. Eventually, the beer and soft drinks were supplied by Wirtz and toasts were made. Moving among the celebrants, I was surprised by the unusual calm among the winners, either sipping a beer or a soft drink.

Since I was on assignment to write a magazine story about Hall, I noticed him standing alone in a corner of the room nursing a beer. Unable to curb my enthusiasm, I sauntered over and practically bubbled, "Glenn, this is Chicago's first Cup in 23 years -- and your first one; how do you feel about it?"

Naturally, I expected to receive a few paragraphs worth of jubilation. Instead, Hall took a sip from his beer can, and then reflected on the subdued feelings of his quiet chums.

Finally, speaking softly, he replied, "I'm enthused!"