Fischler recalls 1st hockey stick being best Christmas present

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.

Keeping with the holiday spirit, Fischler shares this story about his first hockey stick, which he got for Christmas exactly 80 years ago.

We were a poor, Jewish family in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, circa 1943. Those were tough times since The Great Depression had ended but World War II was raging. As if that wasn't horrid enough, the New York Rangers were in last place and the New York Americans had folded.

But I enjoyed a fortunate double dip during the holidays that December. I got presents at both Hanukah and Christmas. Granted, money was scarce but there were still enough dollars for a few presents.

My mom knew I'd be disappointed at Hanukah because of the necessity "gifts” that she stuck in a large stocking next to our Menorah. It was the usual annoying collection that included a T-shirt, underpants, socks and, if it was a really cold winter, mittens.

What I wanted more than anything was a hockey stick since, for 10 years of my life, I never owned one. What's more, I had just finished reading the 1943 edition of Jim Hendy's Hockey Guide and was particularly mesmerized by the full-page ad on Page 23.

In full Rangers uniform, their iconic right wing Bill Cook seemed to be staring right at me, holding a captivating hockey stick ready for the next face-off. Cook was saying 'ITS A LOVELL'

I, in turn, did what needed to be done to get that coveted hockey stick. I introduced the ad to Molly Fischler.

"That, mom," I said, pointing to the hockey stick advertisement, "is what I want for Christmas!"

"That can be your gift," mom replied, "but I wouldn't know where to get it. And I wouldn't know what to pay for a hockey stick to begin with."

Well prepared, I told mom that the store in question was Alex Taylor's on 42nd Street across from Grand Central Terminal in Manhattan.

"If you give me two bucks," I said assuredly, "I'm sure that would be enough for the stick."

I knew that mom would go as high as three dollars if I had the nerve to ask for that much, but this was no time to take perilous chances. When she reached for her purse, I knew that I had just won the first period. Now for the middle frame.

Firmly clutching two singles in one hand and Hendy's Hockey Guide in the other, I skipped down the steps of the Myrtle-Willoughby subway station, took the GG Local to Hoyt - Schermerhorn and grabbed the A Express to 42nd Street.

All the while I'm thinking all kinds of questions such as will Alex Taylor stock Lovells and the real tough query: would two bills be enough to cover the cost of a Lovell?

I left the subway at Eighth Avenue and 42nd, heading East at an energetic trot, all the way worrying what if it cost $2.25, even $2.50? Oy Vay! Then what? Go home without a stick? Perish the thought.

Crossing Fifth Avenue, I could see the big ALEX TAYLOR sign looming over the 42nd Street sidewalk. The pre-Christmas scene featured shoppers galore, plus a shoeshine guy and a crusty Salvation Army bell-ringing Santa. I wanted to drop a dime in his bucket, but knew I had only two bucks and not a nickel of change.

Taking a right, I turned into Alex Taylor's grand entrance and was greeted by that inimitable aromatic sporting goods odor. To the right was a display of oxblood-colored Joe Medwick-autographed outfielder's gloves. Competing for attention on the left were a dozen Ace Parker-autographed footballs.

Hockey sticks were lined up on separate racks in the back and there were plenty of Lovells, not to mention a lot of promos about buying them. One sign advised that they were "made from selected, second growth Rock Elm." Impressed no end, I read on. "correctly seasoned to insure extra strength and stiffness. Entire stick grain-sealed, moisture resistant, and highly polished."

Now, I'm really worried. With all those "extras," no way I get the coveted stick for just two bucks. Lovell sold a high-end one called HM Extra Special Hand Made. I guessed that it cost no less than 10 dollars. Then there was a Bill Cook Autograph Model. Finally, in the corner sat a bunch of Pattern Made Sticks that just might meet my budget.

I was trying out a Pattern Made models when a salesman ambled over. By this time, I was clutching a 53-inch Lovell with a 5 lie and ready for outdoor play in the rugged Long Island City YMCA Roller Hockey League.

"Is that the one you want?" asked the salesman, who could tell by glowing eyes that it was.

Softly, I muttered, "Yes, it is." Then, a pause; and barely a whimper, "How much?"

"A buck-and-a-half. Want it wrapped?'

Nah!" I replied, so overjoyed that I felt like doing handstands out of Alex Taylor's after I handed in my two bills and got the half-dollar in return.

On the subway ride home, I stared at my new Lovell as if it was the Hope Diamond. That night I did what I thought was the proper thing, I took my Lovell to bed with me.

My magnificent hunk of second growth rock elm finally made it to the ice a few weeks later when my mom and I visited relatives in Albany, New York. The Lincoln Park baseball diamonds had been flooded and now were frozen solid with new, glistening ice.

Mom, who was a good skater, spent an hour with me on the frozen rink, watching me stickhandle like Bill Cowley of the Boston Bruins. The Lovell was as good as Bill Cook had advertised, the perfect Christmas gift from mom's purse to Alex Taylor to Albany's Lincoln Park.

My beloved Lovell survived four seasons with the two roller hockey teams that would tolerate me on defense. The first was Woodside Whippets -- my partner Fred Meier covered for me -- and then the Bed-Stuy Wizards, where buddy Carl Glickman made me look good.

By 1951 -- thanks to endless wear and tear -- my Lovell looked more like a large toothpick. One day, before a game at Fort Hamilton Park, our Wizards center Jack Ferraro took a look at the beaten-up Lovell, shook his head and sadly wondered, "What the heck is that?"

"Jackie, boy," I replied, "you couldn't possibly understand, but this once was the best Christmas gift I ever got!"