It's easy to try to control things in your life. There are some things that you can control, such as finances, diet and car maintenance. Then are some things you cannot, like job layoffs, relationships and the end of the world. Oh, and your family. You cannot control how good or bad they can be.
I should know from experience.
You see, growing up in Portage La-Prairie, Manitoba, most of my friends had a normal family. Their parents all had normal jobs, barbecued, and made an ice surface for their kids to play hockey on. They did activities that seemed foreign to me, like had dinner at the table each night, played board games, or made Christmas cookies together.
Why couldn't I have those things? My name is Dan Vigneault. Nice to meet ya.
While I grew up in what would many would say is an English-speaking province, Manitoba has a large French speaking population. They call themselves "Franco-Manitobans". My father Gilles was a native of Granby, Quebec, who moved to the Winnipeg area around 1944. He went to work for Hal Seaton, one of Western Canada's largest wheat suppliers. The problem was: Hal Seaton wasn't bilingual. In fact, he had a natural hatred for French-Canadians. He hated the fact that change in culture was just beginning to permeate throughout Canada, and his conservative way of doing things was falling by the wayside.
While Hal didn't endear himself to the Fleur-de-lis, he noticed my father had experience in agriculture, and was a hard worker. When it came to business, Hal didn't let his ego get in the way. He hired my father, and taught him the ropes of his company, all the while paying for Gilles' English lessons. Dad's English would be, to put it kindly, "broken".
My mother was a former stage singer who toured throughout Canada and the United States. She even formed a singing duo with Jackie Martin Jr., and had some big swing hits in the mid-1940's. They called themselves "Jackie and Jill Martin", pretending like they were brother and sister. After the big swing craze faded, Jackie and Jill's professional relationship went up the hill to catch a pail of water, and fell down, so to speak.
In 1962, during a hockey game in Brandon, my father bumped into Jill at the concession stand, and the two locked eyes. They started dating, and before you know it, Gilles and Jill were in love. Seems like the perfect start to a love story, right?
Soon after I was born, my father developed a condition called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which affected his job performance. Hal Seaton had seen enough, and while he felt for Gilles, he had no choice but to fire him. After that, his desire to work greatly diminished, and he considered moving back to Quebec.
But my mother would not agree to anything like that. To her, Quebec was like a completely different country. Plus, she didn't understand the language nor the culture, so she would constantly nag Gilles to either get a job or leave. Their marriage had become quite strained at this point and time.
Gilles would confide in me in his fractured English, "That woman do not know what love dis all about, ya know?"
While their marriage needed a much-needed makeover, I buried myself in school work, and sports. I excelled in algebra, history and economics at Tommy Douglas High School. Plus, I had become a hard-hitting defenseman on the hockey team, smashing oncoming forwards into the ice regularly. My friends called me the "Portage Python" for my ability to squeeze the life out of the opposing forwards. I was even one of the finalists for the 1978 Canadian High School Player of the year, which went to a famous fellow from Brantford who wore number 99.
When high school was about to end, I had many offers to go to the Canadian Minor Hockey League, which was Canada's biggest place for players to develop and then go on to the big time. Four teams were very interested in my services: the Brandon Buffaloes, Kitchener-Waterloo Warriors, Kamloops Rockets, and Quebec Lumberjacks. While it would be a given that I could just play in Brandon, and be a local hero, I wanted to experience something different. So, I called the owner, Pierre Talbot in Quebec City, and gave him my intent to sign with his club.
My father was very excited.
"You gonna be de neaxt supersdar in the Majurs, ya know"? He liked to say the phrase "ya know" after every sentence. It was almost comical, in a way.
So right after my graduation, Pierre Talbot flew me to his offices to talk about his organization. Since my father was fluent in French, he could negotiate for me. After a second bout of Chronic Fatigue, and case of Bells Palsy, it was the only thing he could do at that point in time.
The Quebec Lumberjacks were filled with a bunch of young guys trying to make it to the big dance, or guys who were on the way down. Regardless, it was a team that had been dead last in their division four years in a row, and a club that seriously needed a culture change.
Some guys I remembered from my hockey card collection at home.
Take for example, Mark Hextall, who was a former All-Star with Pittsburgh. He scored 139 points in 1972-73, and was a huge star in that market. But Mark had a secret obsession: transsexuals.
During the 1976 International Tournament in Saskatoon, Mark went out with some teammates to Burly's, a downtown drinking establishment. There he met "Mindee", a gorgeous thing with some sexy legs and a chest that would drive any man to melt. But she was also had something a little extra, if you know what I mean. With Mindee, Hextall was definitely taking a walk on the wild side.
The front paged headlines all over Canada was that Hextall had cheated on his wife, and that he was a closet homosexual. Since being gay in pro hockey was something that was frowned upon in the 1970's, Pittsburgh immediately had to do damage control. They sent Hextall and a first round pick to Oakland for Jean Minard and Reggie McLean.
"Kid, if I had to do it all over again, I would", Hextall said. "She was the greatest piece I ever had. Mindee rocked my world, and then some".
I often wondered if Mindee was worth losing a pro career over. After the trade to Oakland, Hextall's offensive production dwindled, and he was released after the 1975-76 season.
Then there was Gord Hinderchuk, one of the speediest right wingers in modern memory. I remember a game he had against Buffalo where he had five goals and three assists. He had all of us kids in Western Canada buzzing as he provided much needed excitement to a Vancouver team that had been a disappointment since their arrival.
But unlike Hextall, Hinderchuk's main vice was typical of young adults of that time: marijuana and rock and roll.
He never really was in love with hockey. In fact, all he wanted to do was smoke weed, and play guitar in a power rock band. All he would do was blare Rush in the locker room before games. He would make it a habit to skip games and attend April Wine concerts.
"Last night, I was hanging out with Cheap Trick, right?" Hinderchuk would say in the typical Western-Canadian accent. "Then I would take the stage with Joe Perry of Aerosmith and just play for two hours That dude is a jam-up guy."
Clearly, Mr. Hinderchuk was out to lunch, mentally.
Vancouver GM Harry Lloyd had clearly tired of Hinderchuk's antics, and dealt him to Los Angeles for Francois Rougeau and Lionel MacDonald. But rather than report to the first day of LA's training camp, Hinderchuk claimed he got lost on the I-5, when in fact he was sight seeing in Hollywood. LA cut him immediately.
The rest of the team was made up of guys who were ham and eggers. Guys who had no business
playing badminton, much less minor league hockey. But Pierre Talbot was very tight on money, and considering the late 1970's was a time of major recession, he tried to save as much money as he could. If his team was horrible, he could live with it because he could run it on a shoe-string budget, and still draw hockey-mad fans to his games.
Quebec City was absolutely amazing. The old cathedrals and shoppes were something to behold. It was like I had stumbled upon an old town in France. Quebec should have been it's own country because it was unlike anything I had ever experienced in North America.
Back home in Manitoba, my mother grew tired of my father's lazy antics, and wanted a divorce. She was planning a reunion tour with her old singing partner, Jackie Martin Jr.
Jackie was now living in Anaheim, California, and was relegated to dinner theater. The truth was, he was broke, and convinced my mother that if they could do a little tour together, it would resuscitate their careers.
I was worried about my mother because she was very sad about not having any companionship. I thought maybe if she got on the road and toured a little, it would give her something to do, plus build a very nice nest egg.
"Dat woman doesn't know what she want", Gilles said in his heavy French accent. "Sometime, she drive me loop".
I was excited about the team's first game, against Cape Breton. I figured that if I had a strong showing, the big time would only be a short time away. Making a big impact was key, and if I could do that, any team would be interested in me. Heck, if a expansion team picked me up, I would go wild!
But during the first period against Cape Breton, you could really tell some of the guys were green. Their puck-handling skills were obviously not up to par with many of the major prospects around the league, and the skating prowess was just awful. I felt like we were not giving our fans their money's worth.
Cape Breton really whipped us, 7-1. After the game, the Quebec fans pelted us with trash, yelling in French, and trying to really scold us for a job horribly done.
After the game, our coach just sat there in silence while our owner preceded to tell us that we needed to up the tempo. I thought to myself, "Hey why isn't the coach telling us these things?" Talbot had a habit of being a hands-on owner, and if he felt like he could job-scare our players, he would do so. He also had a habit of short-changing his players.
"Hey Pierre", Gord said. "I was supposed to make $350 this week. But you only gave me $150. What's the deal eh?"
"Tell that story to the fast food restaurant you'll be working at in a week if you don't shape up", Talbot said, almost unrecognizable because he didn't speak English all too well.
Gord hated Quebec and Talbot. To him, it was like playing in Siberia. Despite his liberal views on drugs, rock music, and world peace, he was raised an old-fashioned Western-Alberta farmboy, and it was a chore for him to try to learn another area's culture. In many ways, he reminded me of Hal Seaton, except the fact Hal Seaton probably didn't know who Aerosmith or Led Zeppelin was.
"I'm gonna show this frog what a real hard-working hockey player can do", Gord said, mad as hell. Obviously, it lit a fire under his ass because he played well for the next ten games.
After the first quarter of the season, our record was 7-16-2, good enough for the cellar in the Maritimes Division, right behind Moncton and Charlottetown. And my coach wasn't giving me enough playing time. Sometimes, I questioned his decisions, but never made waves, so I just shut up and did what I was told.
Mark Hextall did all he could to resuscitate his career. But obviously the strains of all the media scandal he had went through had taken its toll.
"Kid, it's not like I killed anybody or hurt anyone physically", Mark said. "I just had an extra-marital relationship, and now I'm like Hitler to all of these people."
What Mark didn't understand was, he was a celebrity to millions at one time, and he no longer had the freedoms that most normal people do. Once you are in that realm of being well-known, your life is under a microscope. He could never come to grips that once you get famous, you are basically fresh meat to the media.
At this point, there were rumors that the Lumberjacks were going to fold or merge with another team in our league. The thought of not having a job took its toll on me. Sure, I knew had some potential to latch on with another club, but it was fear of the unknown. Would I have to move back to Portage-La Prairie and work in a cheese factory?
Then reality hit faster than I ever thought it would.
Since Pierre Talbot doubled as owner and general manager, he was the one to inform players and coaches of their promotions/demotions/firings. So he called me to his office.
"Kid, I have some news for you", he said, in that fractured accent. "You are being sent to the Seattle Space Needles of the Pacific League for future considerations. You leave for them tomorrow. I appreciate your professionalism, but this is something that we had to look at."
After only 25 games, I was being traded. Now I felt like damaged goods.
Seattle is a beautiful city, but it is not known for it's rich hockey history. In fact, the last time a team from Seattle won a major hockey title, it was in the early 1900's. But I figured that I would give it a try.
The franchise had been so-so on the ice, and unlike Quebec City, it could not fill the arena. They had to create promotions, like "Circus Night", where if you dressed like a circus character, you would get in free. Or how about "Check and Slam Night", where they would have a hockey game followed by a night of pro wrestling.
This team had some young talent that just needed to be steered in the right direction. So many young faces filled the locker room, like goalie Cam Jorgensen, defenseman Barry Murphy, center Ken Boschman, and winger Dale Evett.
I immediately got more ice time, checking anyone who wore an opposing jersey. If anyone wanted to mix it up with me, I would be happy to oblige them. No one racked up more penalty minutes than I did, so my reputation was that of a "rough and tumble guy", so to speak.
Even though I had secured employment with the Seattle club, I still had anxieties about my dad moved back to Quebec, and just left my mother without any means of support. It was a cowardly act on his part. And what hurt me more was that he was still working for the Quebec Lumberjacks with Pierre Talbot, even after I was traded. It's like he used me for his own personal gain.
It was also around this time that I became panicked about my spot on the team. Everybody was jockeying for position and trying to become a star. I became very insecure, and had anxiety attacks over these petty little things.
It didn't help that one night we were informed that one of the players from Spokane had contracted Hepatitis C before the season, and had bled and fought with some of the players on our team. I immediately freaked. Why hadn't he told anyone, and why wasn't he tested in some kind of physical? I had fought with this guy before, so immediately went to the doctor for a test.
The test results wouldn't be back for another week and a half or so. My anxiety attacks began to become more frequent. At that time, before AIDS, Hepatitis C was like a death sentence. It was primarily caused by unprotected sex , drug use, or even accidentally by blood transfusion. I would lock myself in my apartment, and just worry myself to death. I was only 19 at the time, and didn't want to die.
While I was waiting to find out the test results, I was not allowed to participate in any practices or games. It seemed unfair to me, but I guess they just needed to be safe than sorry.
Finally the results came back.
"Negative", the doctor said. I felt a sense of relief.
Now I could get back on the ice and do what I do best, and that's intimidate the opposing offenses. But then, I got another crazy surprise.
Rick Brophy, who was the commissioner of the Pacific League, had sent out a memo to all of the teams that the league would be shut down! I couldn't believe it.
I guess since the league had let the Spokane player play with Hepatitis C, they were in violation of some sort of health code, and had their license suspended indefinitely. This was like a nightmare that wouldn't end.
So most of league's rosters were put in some sort of dispersal draft for the other minor leagues across the United States and Canada. I was hoping to go back and play in a Canadian city, like Winnipeg or Saskatoon.
The the announcer took the podium at the draft.
"In the first round of the North American Minor League Draft, the Louisiana Crescents select DAN VIGNEAULT!"
Louisiana? What the hell did I do to deserve this?
First off, do the people of New Orleans, Baton Rouge and their neighboring cities even KNOW WHAT HOCKEY IS? And secondly, if they do, who came up with the awful nickname of Crescents? Why not just call us the Louisiana Jumbalaya or the Louisiana Crawfish. Anything but Crescents.
The story behind that was the owner, Jimbo Bryant, was a former country music singer for the band Deep South, and had some hits in the 1970's. But by 1975, his country music career had soured, and was forced to do something else. So since he was somewhat of a cult icon in his home base of Louisiana, he created a company called "Jimbo's Biscuits", which specialized in oven-ready frozen biscuits, muffins and breakfast sandwiches. And when his company took off, he decided to invest in a hockey team.
He tried to draw fans and promote his food business by dressing up his players in god-awful purple jerseys with the "Jimbo's Biscuits" logo on them, and since helmets were not being worn by everybody in hockey in those days, he made us wear Mexican Mariachi hats with Zorro masks. I kid you not.
It turns out Zorro was a childhood hero of Jimbo.
"I tell you what man", he said in his thick southern accent, also accompanied by a huge Cuban cigar, "When Zorro would draw that Z across guys' chest, that was AWESOME man! I still get a kick out of that. I wonder if they had to do some kind of special choreography to get that done man!"
It was clear with this hockey team, that the blind was leading the blind.
Our outfits were truly revolutionary, but that doesn't mean they looked good. I felt like a horse's ass just skating out there, being jeered by people who thought J. Edgar Hoover was a kind of vacuum.
I was hoping at least one pro hockey scout would come out and see what I could do. But then again, why would they hurt themselves by traveling to a dump of an arena and a ignorant fan base. They would be doing themselves a better service by staying where they were at.
The Crescents finished the 1979-80 campaign with a 25-30-7 record, good enough for second place in the Sun Belt Division, and a berth in the Handler Cup Playoffs. Somehow, if we won the Cup, maybe a scout would throw me a bone.
But it was not to be. We lost in the first round to Marietta, and then in the wake of his company going bankrupt, Jimbo Bryant's biscuit company and hockey team went titty up.
I don't think many hockey fans noticed. But he did make one hell of a bacon egg and cheese biscuit.
So, once again, I was unemployed. Soon, thoughts of working for the LaCrosse Cheese Factory in Portage-La Prairie didn't seem that bad. Hell, it probably paid better than what Jimbo Bryant was paying me.
The problem was, I had no money to move back to Canada, and my mother was not in a financial position to help me. Her supposed "Big-Time" tour with Jackie Martin Jr. had gone awry after Jackie was caught smoking crack with a hooker in Santa Monica, California. So without Jackie as the ying to her yang, mom was broke.
Until I could get back on my feet, I got a job working at a bowling alley in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Between smelly feet and people leaving half-eaten french fries and ketchup all over, I seriously thought I was in hell. Seriously. I thought Satan actually had a residence here.
So, with my $75 a week paychecks, I opted to stay at the local YMCA. It wasn't the best place in the world, but it was a roof and a home cooked meal each night. I roomed with an elderly African-American fellow by the name of Jerome Henderson, a former athlete who played college football, but injuries cut his career short.
When I told him I was a hockey player, he asked to see my teeth so he could find out if any were missing. I confided in him that hockey was my passion, but a series of unfortunate events had left that dream in limbo.
"Never give up on your dream", said Jerome, who at 75 years of age, and with the ravages of diabetes, had left him moving very slow. "Look at me, I'm old now, and I can't do what I once did. You still have your health and are a kid. Man, take that dream and run with it! If you don't, I'll beat your ass with this here crutch boy!"
Jerome had become my life coach. I suddenly realized all along that I had been playing hockey for all the wrong reasons. I was doing it because I wanted to move up the ladder. The truth is: I needed to do it because I loved it.
So the next day, after the manager at the bowling alley scolded me for not spraying all of the returned shoes, I told him to kiss my Canadian ass. I took all of my savings I had hid under my bed at YMCA, thanked Jerome for his stern threat to beat my ass with a crutch, and decided to go to the bus station.
There were no bus routes to Winnipeg, but I figured that if I could somehow get to Duluth, someone could pick me up there. So I bought a bus ticket to Minnesota, and embarked on a four day journey.
I wish I could say the bus ride was a momentous occasion, but in reality, I was sitting next to a man who smelled like he hadn't showered in days, and to top it off, he had sleep apnea, so he was snoring like a bear. I had to restrain myself from killing this guy.
When we stopped in Jefferson City, Missouri for a bathroom break, I decided to take a shower, since I hadn't bathed in days. Unfortunately, I had a miscalculation of time, and the bus rolled on without me. Everything I owned was on that bus. How could I be so stupid as to think that we could stop and shower? I wanted to punch myself in the nose at that point.
So here I was. In a city I had never been to. No money. No job. No nothing. I was pretty much a drifter.
As I wandered through Jefferson City looking for the nearest bus station to tell them my mistake, and to see if they could somehow bring the bus back to pick me up (fat chance), I noticed that there was an arena right across the street where I was standing. I was desperate. I needed to do something.
I knocked on the window to see if there was a ticket vendor or some sort.
"Please! Anybody!" I screamed with utter desperation. "I'm stranded!"
I think for the first time in my life, I found myself bawling.
Then something happened. A familiar face appeared. Right near the corridor, my eyes turned to a person I had known for a short period of time.
It was Gord Kinderchuk!
I immediately ran over to him. "Hey Man, it's me.....Dan Vigneault. Ya know, from Quebec! How are ya?"
He saw me and laughed. "Hey man, how are ya? Are ya still playin'?"
I told him that I had been on quite the rollercoaster ride since my minor league career started.
"Seems like you have been everywhere man", he remarked. "I'm now a coach for the Jefferson City Pioneers of the American Conference. We need a bruiser like you. Are ya in shape?"
The truth was, I wasn't. I hadn't worked out in weeks, and the lack of food had weakened me somewhat. So I did what anybody would do in that situation.
I lied.
"Yeah man, I've dropped like 15 pounds! I feel like I'm more sharp puck-handling wise, and I'm more aware of the opposing offense coming at me."
Gord seem impressed.
"Good, we'll get ya a place right across the street, and sign you to a contract. How does $750 a week sound?"
After living on saltine crackers for the last three days, $750 a week was just as good as ten million dollars in my eyes.
"Sounds great man!"
I spent the entire 1980-81 season with Jefferson City, amassing a league record in penalty minutes. After that, the Pioneers moved to Regina, Saskatchewan, and I was back in my home country. I never made the big leagues, but I feel like the life experiences I gained during those trying times in the minors made me a better person.
My mother ended up moving to California, and marrying Jackie Martin Jr. She figured he was the man she had missing for all of these years. They now play the casino circuit, and are currently working on a new album. It will be all of their old hits, re-recorded with their voices and that of new artists. I guess what's old is new again.
As for my dad, he stayed with the Quebec franchise until it's demise in 1983. He now owns his own quaint little luncheonette in Shawinigan Falls, Quebec, serving sandwiches, soups, and Poutine to local residents.
Life throws you curves sometimes, and when it does, you got to be ready to take life by the horns. I've learned that things don't always turn out the way you want them to, but if you at least try all of the time, you'll get thrown a bone a time or two.