Free Mr. Hockey My Story by Gordie Howe Page A

entirely honest with me.
    I was told the club wasn’t able to arrange a transfer from Saskatchewan to the Ontario Hockey Association (OHA), which meant I could play in exhibition but not regular league games. Mr. Adams wanted me to stay in Galt and practice with the team, though. By staying, I’d register as an easterner and be ready to go the next year. I figured that practicing with a junior team every day as opposed to returning to Saskatoon would do more to develop my skills, so I stayed even though it meant sitting out the entire season. I learned later that Detroit gave me only part of the story. At the time, the OHA allowed a club to transfer only three players from the west in any one year. The Galt Red Wings already had two transfers and apparently the third choice was between me and Terry Cavanagh, who was a few years older and a left winger. Terry and I were friends and we ended up living together in Galt in a boarding house. (Years later, he became the mayor of Edmonton.) The club picked Terry over me. I don’t know if my decision would have been different had I known the whole story, but to this day I still don’tappreciate being told a half-truth. What’s more, after I missed an entire hockey season, Mr. Adams still didn’t deliver on the team jacket as promised.
    My sole purpose for being in Galt was hockey. On that score, I guess you could consider my time there a success. Although I did become a better player, to my deep regret I didn’t accomplish much else. I’d planned to attend high school in Galt, but things didn’t work out that way. On my first day in Galt, I walked over to the school to register, but as I approached the building I started to get cold feet. I meant to go inside, but seeing the kids talking to each other on the lawn in front of the school made me feel like an outsider. Meeting new people was awkward for me and I wasn’t the best student, so in that moment I decided to be somewhere else.
    I walked past the school until I hit the railroad tracks. From there I went into the first big factory I saw and asked if there were any jobs available. At the time, Galt Metal Industries was busy with contracts for the war effort, so they had plenty of work. Since I was still a minor, though, they needed to have someone from the hockey club vouch for me. When they called, a team official told them if I wanted to work, they should let me work. That’s how easy it was for me to quit school and end up working in a metal factory. I started out spot welding and grinding parts that were used for the Mosquito bomber. I must have done pretty well, because they promoted me to inspector. Over at Plant 2, I worked on trench mortar shells. I’d put them in a vise and ream out all the burrs. They also gave me a micrometer to take readings. I didn’t know how to use it, so I scratched a line on the glass where the needle should be. I was pretty good at the work and I enjoyed doing it. As an inspector, I’d walk around making sure the machines worked properly. If they were off, it was my job to shut them down. I felta sense of responsibility to do the job well. What if the fins were wrong on a mortar that a Canadian soldier used overseas? I made sure nothing like that would happen on my watch.
    My days in Galt settled into a steady routine. I’d work, go down to the rink to practice with the team, and go home. The job was fine and I enjoyed practicing, but it would be a lie to say I’m not bitter about the Galt club’s lack of care regarding my schooling. It was my choice, but what does a sixteen-year-old understand about the ramifications of that type of decision? Growing up during the Depression, everyone in my family needed to earn money and working was what I knew. I wish that someone in the organization had looked out for my best interests.
    I consider walking away from school that day to be the biggest mistake of my life. Since then, I’ve always advised young people to stay in school for the