grim
6-06-05, 10:42 AM
Here's a decent article about NHL official John D'Amico who died last Sunday from Leukemia.
No-nonsense NHL referee left trail of stories in his wake
By TIM PANACCIO
Philadelphia Inquirer
PHILADELPHIA - There are an infinite number of yarns about John D'Amico, the raging bull of an NHL official who died last Sunday. D'Amico, who suffered from leukemia, was 67.
There are short tales.
Like the winter of his discontent in 1988, after he had quit hockey for a while. He was watching a Toronto Maple Leafs game on television when one of the officials got hurt. D'Amico dug his skates out from his basement, drove to Maple Leaf Gardens and finished the game.
"We often would have to do that if someone got sick, but he did it on his own without anyone calling him," recalled NHL executive vice president Jim Gregory.
There are testaments to his strength.
With his huge arms, wrists and hands, D'Amico resembled the village smithy, even though he was not a tall man. He broke a wrist once and had to apply for reinstatement. Scotty Morrison, then the supervisor of officials, demanded proof that he was healthy. D'Amico lacked a doctor's note. So he bent over and picked up Morrison's oak desk, which weighed as much as both of them.
"He was very proud of how he kept himself in shape," Gregory said.
There are stories about his quirks.
Such as chewing on tape - the kind players wrap sticks with - instead of gum during games. Or how he would lay his equipment in front of his stall ever so carefully.
And then there are tales about how ethical he was. D'Amico would never allow himself or his on-ice partner to accept freebies or autographs from players.
Which brings us to a D'Amico story you probably haven't heard. It's about the time he got set up at Madison Square Garden.
The tale was told by Colin Campbell, and it involves Ray Scapinello, who probably partnered more games with D'Amico than any other linesman. They were the No. 1 playoff tandem in the NHL for nearly two decades.
Campbell was head coach of the New York Rangers. Scapinello met with Campbell before a game at Madison Square Garden and asked whether he could get Mark Messier and Wayne Gretzky to sign some pictures for him.
"But Scapi said not to let John D'Amico know because he was dead against those things - getting players to sign things or even talking to the players before the game," Campbell said.
Campbell agreed to help Scapinello. There was a catch, though. Unknown to Scapinello, Campbell took a program and with a fake signature wrote, "To John, your friend, Mark Messier."
He then lurked in the hallway in the bowels of the Garden waiting for D'Amico to enter the officials' room for their pregame meeting. D'Amico was the supervisor that night and wasn't on the ice.
"When I saw John go into the dressing room, I followed with the program and the fake signature," Campbell said. "Scapi thought I was bringing his pictures. He had the worst, frightened look on his face. He thought I was bringing those pictures in and John would absolutely kill him.
"When I walked over to give John the autographed program, his jaw dropped and he stammered, `I didn't, I didn't.' "
Campbell hurried out of the dressing room and went to the Rangers' bench.
"Scapi came over and couldn't stop laughing, saying John couldn't deny enough that he asked for the autograph," Campbell said. "John was so drill-sergeant and by-the-book, this just floored him. Scapi was double whacked because he thought I was going to get him killed, then I set up poor John."
D'Amico was one of the genteel souls in hockey. He spent 23 years on the ice as a referee and linesman. In his later years, he was a game supervisor and worked in the replay booth.
He was all of 5-foot-8 with shoulders as wide as a California freeway, and muscles to match. He was proud of his Italian heritage and had deep, piercing eyes that screamed at you. Players say that when he gave you a look, he could peer right through you.
People forget he officiated during one of the roughest eras of hockey. He could separate the two biggest players on the ice with surprising strength for someone so compact.
When he moved to the supervisor's role, twice I knocked on his door and asked him about what he had seen on tape. He answered questions succinctly. Once he chastised me, saying, "You got the rule wrong. You should know that before asking me. But I'll help you."
General managers will say D'Amico never ducked them as a supervisor. He always made sure if a club had a complaint about a game he supervised, he was there to talk about it.
He brought passion and commitment to the game, and it was reflected in his work. People associated with hockey recognized those attributes. There are a number of retired officials who carved tough reputations in hockey and were neither liked nor respected by the game's participants.
No one ever said anything derogatory about John D'Amico. Along with Matt Pavelich, Frank Udvari and Red Storey, D'Amico was easily a top five Hall of Fame linesman.
"He was competent, and he was always fair," Scotty Bowman recalled. "I really liked his work. He never had an attitude. He would come over to the bench and you couldn't get angry at him. He had that good nature about him and never tried to push a call down your throat."
Perhaps the ultimate compliment paid to an official is to make a historic call with everything on the line, and not have anyone blame you for doing your job. That, too, is D'Amico's legacy.
In Game 6 of the 1979 Stanley Cup semifinals between Bowman's Montreal Canadiens and Don Cherry's Boston Bruins, D'Amico whistled Boston for having too many men on the ice. Before making the call, however, D'Amico yelled at the Bruins' bench to get someone off the ice. Confusion reigned; nothing happened. D'Amico had to make the call.
"Took a lot of guts," Bowman said.
Cherry blamed himself for what happened while Bowman went on to win his fourth straight Stanley Cup.
And John D'Amico? He would become the top NHL official of his generation.
http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/sports/11816665.htm
No-nonsense NHL referee left trail of stories in his wake
By TIM PANACCIO
Philadelphia Inquirer
PHILADELPHIA - There are an infinite number of yarns about John D'Amico, the raging bull of an NHL official who died last Sunday. D'Amico, who suffered from leukemia, was 67.
There are short tales.
Like the winter of his discontent in 1988, after he had quit hockey for a while. He was watching a Toronto Maple Leafs game on television when one of the officials got hurt. D'Amico dug his skates out from his basement, drove to Maple Leaf Gardens and finished the game.
"We often would have to do that if someone got sick, but he did it on his own without anyone calling him," recalled NHL executive vice president Jim Gregory.
There are testaments to his strength.
With his huge arms, wrists and hands, D'Amico resembled the village smithy, even though he was not a tall man. He broke a wrist once and had to apply for reinstatement. Scotty Morrison, then the supervisor of officials, demanded proof that he was healthy. D'Amico lacked a doctor's note. So he bent over and picked up Morrison's oak desk, which weighed as much as both of them.
"He was very proud of how he kept himself in shape," Gregory said.
There are stories about his quirks.
Such as chewing on tape - the kind players wrap sticks with - instead of gum during games. Or how he would lay his equipment in front of his stall ever so carefully.
And then there are tales about how ethical he was. D'Amico would never allow himself or his on-ice partner to accept freebies or autographs from players.
Which brings us to a D'Amico story you probably haven't heard. It's about the time he got set up at Madison Square Garden.
The tale was told by Colin Campbell, and it involves Ray Scapinello, who probably partnered more games with D'Amico than any other linesman. They were the No. 1 playoff tandem in the NHL for nearly two decades.
Campbell was head coach of the New York Rangers. Scapinello met with Campbell before a game at Madison Square Garden and asked whether he could get Mark Messier and Wayne Gretzky to sign some pictures for him.
"But Scapi said not to let John D'Amico know because he was dead against those things - getting players to sign things or even talking to the players before the game," Campbell said.
Campbell agreed to help Scapinello. There was a catch, though. Unknown to Scapinello, Campbell took a program and with a fake signature wrote, "To John, your friend, Mark Messier."
He then lurked in the hallway in the bowels of the Garden waiting for D'Amico to enter the officials' room for their pregame meeting. D'Amico was the supervisor that night and wasn't on the ice.
"When I saw John go into the dressing room, I followed with the program and the fake signature," Campbell said. "Scapi thought I was bringing his pictures. He had the worst, frightened look on his face. He thought I was bringing those pictures in and John would absolutely kill him.
"When I walked over to give John the autographed program, his jaw dropped and he stammered, `I didn't, I didn't.' "
Campbell hurried out of the dressing room and went to the Rangers' bench.
"Scapi came over and couldn't stop laughing, saying John couldn't deny enough that he asked for the autograph," Campbell said. "John was so drill-sergeant and by-the-book, this just floored him. Scapi was double whacked because he thought I was going to get him killed, then I set up poor John."
D'Amico was one of the genteel souls in hockey. He spent 23 years on the ice as a referee and linesman. In his later years, he was a game supervisor and worked in the replay booth.
He was all of 5-foot-8 with shoulders as wide as a California freeway, and muscles to match. He was proud of his Italian heritage and had deep, piercing eyes that screamed at you. Players say that when he gave you a look, he could peer right through you.
People forget he officiated during one of the roughest eras of hockey. He could separate the two biggest players on the ice with surprising strength for someone so compact.
When he moved to the supervisor's role, twice I knocked on his door and asked him about what he had seen on tape. He answered questions succinctly. Once he chastised me, saying, "You got the rule wrong. You should know that before asking me. But I'll help you."
General managers will say D'Amico never ducked them as a supervisor. He always made sure if a club had a complaint about a game he supervised, he was there to talk about it.
He brought passion and commitment to the game, and it was reflected in his work. People associated with hockey recognized those attributes. There are a number of retired officials who carved tough reputations in hockey and were neither liked nor respected by the game's participants.
No one ever said anything derogatory about John D'Amico. Along with Matt Pavelich, Frank Udvari and Red Storey, D'Amico was easily a top five Hall of Fame linesman.
"He was competent, and he was always fair," Scotty Bowman recalled. "I really liked his work. He never had an attitude. He would come over to the bench and you couldn't get angry at him. He had that good nature about him and never tried to push a call down your throat."
Perhaps the ultimate compliment paid to an official is to make a historic call with everything on the line, and not have anyone blame you for doing your job. That, too, is D'Amico's legacy.
In Game 6 of the 1979 Stanley Cup semifinals between Bowman's Montreal Canadiens and Don Cherry's Boston Bruins, D'Amico whistled Boston for having too many men on the ice. Before making the call, however, D'Amico yelled at the Bruins' bench to get someone off the ice. Confusion reigned; nothing happened. D'Amico had to make the call.
"Took a lot of guts," Bowman said.
Cherry blamed himself for what happened while Bowman went on to win his fourth straight Stanley Cup.
And John D'Amico? He would become the top NHL official of his generation.
http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/sports/11816665.htm