Hockey Historical Highlights

By Glen Goodhand

Hockey has had its share of players who were musicians on the side.
Eddie Gerrard of the 1920s Ottawa Senators was an excellent pianist; Frank Frederickson played the violin at the concert level; Andy Aitkenhead was an organist; Dunc Fisher and Glenn Healy conquered the bagpipes; Leo Fogolin blew on the trumpet; and Frank Nighbor, Geoffrion, and Adam Brown were soloists!
So was Charlie Gardiner. Coming over from Scotland with his parents when just a small boy, he settled in Winnipeg. In time he became a featured soloist on radio in his adopted city. When he played for the Blackhawks in the Windy City he was heard on local stations there as well.
According to biographer David Bidini he used to break into vocals while facing shooters from opposing NHL clubs. This especially used to irritate the great Eddie Shore, who called for referees to penalize him for his trouble. He used to say that instead of thumbing him off they would request a tune from time to time.
Chuck was a natural athlete, playing baseball, football, and golf. He learned his hockey in the open air. Because he was small and couldn’t skate well, he was, typically, shunted back into the goal—whatever form that may have taken. He worked his way up through the minor league system in the Manitoba capital, eventually catching on with the pro Maroons. From there he went to Chicago in 1927.
He quickly established himself as an outstanding cage cop. The electrifying Howie Morenz claimed that the “Wee Scot” was the hardest net man he ever tried to outguess.
He had deft hands and lightening-fast feet, and headlines constantly acknowledged his superior work between the pipes.
Gardiner was a fun-loving soul. He enjoyed kibitzing with fans in the rail seats and clowning around. He loved to laugh and joke with spectators and his teammates alike.
During one game against the Leafs, big Chuck Conacher let one fly that caught Charlie in the forehead. He left the game and Wilf Cude stepped to replace him. Shortly thereafter the same thing happened to him. Captain Cage Cop had to return, his head bandaged like a turban. A mischievous fan tossed a bowler hat on the playing surface, which Charlie snapped up and plopped on top of his wounded noggin—wearing it until time ran out. From then on it became a kind novelty for spectators to toss a hat on the ice for the rascally backstop to wear.
When the Hawks won the Stanley Cup in 1934, as his manager, Tommy Gorman, put it: “Gardiner was, without a doubt, the greatest single factor in winning the Cup by the Hawks.” 
If the USA’s Gold Medal triumph in 1980 was a “miracle on ice,” than this championship was pure magic because of the sheer determination of the Edinburgh native.
He was a very sick man when hockey’s ultimate prize was handed to him on April 10th.
Chronic tonsillitis developed into kidney infection, vascular ruptures, and abdominal cramps. Bravely he urged his mates, “just get me one goal!”
Somehow, often leaning on the cross bar to steady himself, he turned aside every shot through four-and-a-half periods. “Mush” March scored against the Wing’s Wilf Cude, salting away the series win.
 Two months and four days later, Charlie Gardiner died of a brain hemorrhage at age 30.