When it came to hockey, he was a model citizen. “I did everything without complaining,” he said. “I put hockey first, I put the team first. I told my wife before we got married that was how it was going to be. I could talk to guys because they knew I was team first. They knew I wasn’t jealous of anybody else on the team. I was a damn good player, but not a great player.” He learned lessons about leadership from his predecessor as Leaf captain, Ted Kennedy, and also learned to dislike team meetings after sitting through long, boring bitch-and-whine sessions with a series of Leaf teams during the 1950s that were wholly unproductive. To Armstrong, the meetings needed to be few and far between, short in duration and constructive, not filled with complaints. When it came to the end of January 1967, he realized he needed to do something to try to help a team that was in obvious distress. “The key was for us to help ourselves,” he recalled. “Never mind what we couldn’t control, like the coach, the owner, the fans—whatever. How could we make ourselves a better hockey team?” Armstrong often kept notes on hotel stationery from around the NHL circuit, self-motivating reminders to help him stay focused on his job. “I’ve got to skate harder now that I’m older,” read one. “Always keep myself between my check and our goal,” read another. “Don’t stay out on a shift too long,” read another. He was no Norman Vincent Peale, certainly not a self-styled positive-thinking guru like Tony Robbins, the big-toothed self-promoter who hung around the Los Angeles Kings when they beat the Leafs in the ’93 playoffs. But Armstrong was an intelligent, sensible man, and he knew he needed a plan for the January 30 meeting. He instinctively understood that this Leaf team, filled with experienced, older players who had enjoyed a great deal of success, didn’t need to be led. It needed to be focused and reminded of its abilities. He didn’t need to be a charismatic general, or an inspiration to others, or a father figure. He didn’t need to tell Mahovlich or Kelly or Sawchuk what to do or where to go. He needed to be a brother, perhaps an older brother, to a group of teammates that had become disorganized and lacked unity. Instead of turning into yet another Imlach-hating session, he wanted this meeting to be different. So he went first and began talking of his own shortcomings, how he could work harder and contribute more. As prearranged by the Leaf captain, goaltender Johnny Bower went next. “I haven’t been playing that well,” he started, detailing weaknesses in his game. And so it went, veteran after veteran focusing on himself, just as Armstrong had planned and had rehearsed with his shadow cabinet When Stemkowski and others jumped in to register their usual complaints about Imlach, his practice regimen and his abrasive manner, a player like Tim Horton or Allan Stanley would interrupt. “Listen to what Chief said. Stick to how we can help ourselves.” It proved to be a helpful, effective meeting that players still remember. “[Armstrong] was the best captain I ever played with,” says Marcel Pronovost, who played 15 years with Detroit with captains like Ted Lindsay, Alex Delvecchio and Sid Abel. “His ability to take the pressure off the team was incredible.”