LOVE OF ORIGINAL ROCKET WILL NEVER BE QUIETED
[THIRD Edition]
Boston Globe - Boston, Mass.
Subjects: Professional hockey; Funerals; Sports fans
Author: Holley, Michael
Date: Jun 1, 2000
Start Page: D.1
Section: Sports
Document Text
MICHAEL HOLLEY
MONTREAL - Some of them had risen before the sun, either too wise or too sad to sleep late on a morning like yesterday's. They knew all the flags would be at half-staff; that the National Assembly would not be in session; that many of Old Montreal's streets would be sealed off by barricades; and that when they heard the Notre Dame Basilica bells ring just after noon, they wouldn't have to ask, "For whom do the bells toll?"
The fans and the bells were for Maurice Richard, the late hockey star who was being eulogized in a state funeral.
As this happened, helicopters circled the area. Photographers positioned themselves atop the Bank of Montreal (a 10-story building). Le Journal de Montreal sent three reporters and six photographers into a crowd of thousands, trying to find more stories about - with all apologies to Roger Clemens and Raghib Ismail - the original Rocket.
There were boys and girls. Hommes and femmes. Owners of expensive homes as well as the homeless. All of them could not fit into the spectacular basilica, where 3,000 people sat and listened as the Archbishop of Montreal talked about a man who was to French Canadians what Joe Louis was to black Americans. So thousands of fans, more fans than most Americans would dare imagine, stood outside near a plaza and watched the ceremony on a huge video screen.
One man wore a tattered Canadiens T-shirt and held a Habs flag above his head for at least two hours. There was a Canadian flag with Richard's No. 9 centered in the leaf. Bike messengers rested and watched. There were sounds of rich organs and mournful falsettos. There was even an attentive, shirtless man wearing a Yankees cap.
The Rocket played his last game 40 years ago, meaning that many of the people who attended his funeral never saw him play. But that's only half of the intrigue.
True, some fans were here to say goodbye to the man who, for 18 years, took the ice in a fury. Old-timers tell you about his eyes, how they were as round as two full moons. When in pursuit of the puck, his graphite eyes would expand, as if he were an enraged man trying to emphasize a point. He scored 626 goals in his career, 544 in the regular season. His team won eight Stanley Cups, including five in a row from 1956-60. In 1952, he was bloodied and concussed in Game 7 of the Cup Final against the Bruins. He recovered, scored the winning goal, and passed out again.
There were those who came here to remember that.
And there were also those who came to see a couple of disquieting burials: Richard's and a part of a culture's. Richard, who had stomach cancer and Parkinson's disease, died Saturday morning. He was 78. He took some of the defiance of the 1940s and '50s with him. To many French Quebecers, Richard made an implicit political statement each time he played. He was fearless and relentless. He never asked those of English descent to respect him; he demanded it. The fans' love for him was so intense that there was a riot here on his behalf in 1955.
Yesterday, Richard's funeral procession passed Ste. Catherine Street. It was a peaceful ceremony. But 45 years ago, the street's stores were aflame in his name. He had been suspended for punching an official during a game in Boston. League president Clarence Campbell decided that the Rocket should miss the regular season and the playoffs, in addition to losing a chance at his first scoring title.
The next Canadiens game, on St. Patrick's Day, was in Montreal. Campbell attended and was pelted with tomatoes. One fan approached and punched him in the face. When the scene became too violent, the Habs were forced to forfeit. Fans spilled into the street and began what came to be known as the Richard Riots.
Pedro Martinez was recently suspended five games. Imagine: Sox fans looting Back Bay in the Pedro Riots. It's hard to envision because there is no current United States equivalent to Richard. There isn't an athlete in this country who would elicit the praise that Richard did. The man quieted an entire province yesterday. Out of respect to Richard, the National Assembly decided that it would do no business yesterday. More than 115,000 people went to the Molson Centre Tuesday and viewed his body, lying in an open casket.
He could be unrelenting when the subject was hockey. He once ripped Campbell in a newspaper column, basically calling him an Anglo with an (anti-French) angle. He said Gordie Howe didn't score many significant goals; Howe in turn called him a *******.
No one mentioned that yesterday when Howe left Old Montreal and boarded a bus. There were several chartered buses going Howe's way, transporting NHL officials, special guests and extended family members to the cemetery. A few Canadiens loyalists heckled Howe as he left. He smiled. The Rocket probably would have wanted it that way.
As the dignitaries left, many fans stayed behind, still waving their flags. Some came here out of family obligation: Their parents loved Richard and they feel they must, too. It's like voting for a certain political party because that's the way your parents voted.
Some came here to make a statement of their own; they came to honor Richard as a hero. Heroism is often linked with unassailable behavior when, in fact, that has nothing to do with it. Heroes are determined by their audience. And yesterday's audience said plenty about heroism, simply by showing up and listening to the bells toll.
