Maven's Memories: Inside Ken Morrow's Autobiography

Ken Morrow didn't think he was worth a book.

Associated Press hockey writer Allan Kreda thought he was.

Kreda won; and if you don't believe me check it out for yourself since the autobiography is officially on sale.

It's called Ken Morrow, Miracle Gold, Four Stanley Cups And A Lifetime of Islanders Hockey.

The title is a mouthful -- I grant you that -- but the book is every bit a classic in so many ways and Ken is an author in so many other arresting ways.

When Kreda came up with the book idea he had to convince Ken that, yes, he was a book. How did he pull it off?

"I basically offered to Ken that his stories are so good and so inspiring that a book combining Olympic glory and four Cups would be a natural," Kreda says.

Once they agreed to collaborate, Morrow -- who had been through so many hockey wars -- now found himself in a literary battleground.

"At first," Morrow says, "I began thinking to myself, 'What did I get myself into?"

In a sense, Ken was fortunate, Allan was passionate about the idea from the get-go and this passion -- and Kreda's hockey savvy -- turned Morrow into a gung-ho teammate.

"It didn't take me long to realize that Allan knows more hockey than I do," Morrow chuckles.

Really, the book is a primer in perseverance and grim determination. Ken grew up in tough, industrial Flint, Michigan but with the best mentor any lad could have.

Chapter Two is simply titled Don Morrow and, to say the least, it's gripping. Ken's dad stood 6-5 and, as the son affectionately put it, "was a gentle giant. When he did say something, he had your attention."

And when you read on it's obvious -- like father, like son. "Don Morrow tackled adversity and challenges and didn't complain or burden anybody else."

Don Morrow was a splendid athlete and so advanced a baseball player that a road to the majors was very much in the cards.

Tragedy intervened and at age 48 he died in 1976 when Ken was a freshman at Bowling Green University, but Don Morrow had lived long enough to have stamped an indelible mark on his son. Chapter Two tells all about it and Ken tells it passionately and well. I'll leave you with this:

Ken: "After my father passed, when I stood at the blue line or on the bench for every national anthem before every game -- in college, in the Olympics and the NHL, I would look up at the flag and think about my dad and thank him for all he had done. My father was with me for every game I played"

The Maven has watched Ken from his Day One as an Islander, a Saturday afternoon on March 1, 1980. He had just come from the Olympic triumph at Lake Placid and the traditional White House visit.

What he wondered about was the manner of welcome -- if any -- from Islanders players who had slogged their way through a long season.

"I can't say enough good things about how welcome the Islanders players made me feel," Ken wrote, "especially remembering I was joining the team late in the season and possibly taking somebody's job."

The Islanders lost that day but nobody in the organization -- from general manager Bill Torrey to coach Al Arbour – suffered any doubts about Ken's ability.

The scout who originally discovered Ken, Jim Devellano, is well quoted in the book about that very point -- did Morrow have the goods?

Devellano: "Bill Torrey and I determined that Ken could come in and play on our defense."

Team captain Denis Potvin wrote a brilliant Foreword for the book. I liked Potvin's description of their first meeting:

"He was very quiet. He may not have said much, but I could quickly see with the quality and tenacity of his play that he didn't have to say much at all."

But a heck of a lot is said in this autobiography and not all by the chief protagonist. Co-author Kreda diligently and skillfully interviewed just about everyone who had anything to do with Ken's life.

That included his wife, his Olympic team captain Mike Eruzione, teammate Buzz Schneider, player-broadcaster Joe Micheletti -- well, just about everyone.

I loved the little sidebars; like this one from Eruzione:

"During pre-Olympic months when we were based in Minnesota I was living with Ralph Corx, and we didn't have a car. So, we bought Kenny's brother's car, a green 1972 Camaro, just to get around. We paid them $400 and used the car to mostly go to practice and back. Before we left for Lake Placid, Kenny gave us the $400 back and we returned the car."

For The Maven, Morrow's Islanders adventures were just the best read of all; especially the crusade in the first (1980) Cup quest. As a reporter covering the team, I watched in awe as Morrow delivered his first of a few 14-carat gold overtime goals

This was a best-of-five series which was tied 1-1 with Game Three in Tinseltown. The Kings were playing the Islanders tough and led 3-1 before Al Arbour's skaters rallied to send the game into overtime. Everyone in our crowd felt a loss would be fatal.

Then it was Ken to the rescue. Los Angeles goalie Mario Lessard stopped his first shot but, somehow the puck found Ken again just inside the middle of the blue line.

Morrow: "I let go with my patented half-slap shot along the ice and toward the net, and with the hockey gods smiling on me again, it deflected off a defenseman's skate and went past Lessard for the overtime winner! It was my first overtime goal and what a memorable one it was. I remember being mobbed in the celebration....and such a relief."

Another aspect of the book that especially pleased me was Ken's recognition of an Islander many have forgotten but who was so key to the dynasty -- defenseman Gord Lane.

Morrow: "What a perfect pairing for me. He was the guy no opponent wanted to mess with on the ice, and for me coming into the league, guys were going to test you. To have Gordie on the other side of the ice was a great help to me.

"We still laugh about our 'direct passes around the boards' to our wingers, meaning we rimmed the puck around the boards and blamed the wingers if they didn't get it out."

There were many virtues to Ken's game. In his book, Morrow has innumerable sidebars that focus on his game. In one of them former Los Angeles King foe Jim Fox put it this way:

"Ken was like a grapevine. You try to get somewhere, and he would scoop you up. Getting around him was very tough. He controlled an area."

Bob Nystrom: "With Ken's arms, he could reach across the rink!"

Barb (Mrs.) Morrow: "My husband was 'king of cross-checking!"

Glenn (Chico) Resch: "I don't remember a mistake he ever made."

At 6-4 -- tall for that NHL era -- Morrow had an intimidating look about him. He could fight if challenged and -- in his first NHL bout -- he was up against St. Louis Blues' tough captain Brian Sutter. Both dropped their gloves and swung like drunken windmills.

Asked by Ken what he thought of the performance, Bryan Trottier told Morrow: "You beat the crap out of his stomach!"

The incessant pressure of Olympic hockey steeled Morrow for the 1980 playoffs which would determine whether the Islanders really had the goods. One by one they disposed of the Kings, Bruins and Sabres. Now in the Final, they faced the Broad Street Bullies with the tourney opening in Philadelphia.

Covering the series, I wondered how the Arbourmen ever would surmount this wall of a hockey team. Philly had a historic 35-game unbeaten streak (25 wins, 10 ties) fortified by Hall of Famer Bobby Clarke, 50-goal scorer Reg Leach and goalie Pete Peeters who impressively went 29-5-5 over the season.

The feeling I had was that if the Islanders were to win the series they had to somehow capture the opener. I could not even dream at the time that Ken would be involved in the sudden-death winner. And on the power play, no less.

Morrow: "I used to joke that the only time Al would use me on the power play was if there were five seconds left and the face-off was in our end."

But there was Ken retrieving the puck, passing to Denis Potvin who skimmed it back to Morrow who dumped it into the corner where it went from Bob Nystrom to John Tonelli to Potvin.

GOAL!!

Back and forth the series swung and on May 24, 1980 the Islanders led three games to two. "It was a war of attrition," Ken recalled, "and survival of the fittest -- a grueling test."

The Coliseum rocked at the end of the second period with the home team leading, 4-2. I vividly recall walking the aisles with my friend Harvey Bien and listening to the fans talking as if the series already was in the bag.

But the bag had a hole in it.

In two shakes of a lamb's tail the Flyers lit a pair of red lights and the Coliseum turned into a large morgue.

One by one, minute by minute Philly attacked and attacked while Billy Smith repulsed and repulsed. You had to be there to experience one of the most splendid examples of clutch goaltending in the universe; so good that it enabled the Isles to escape to overtime.

"Nobody wanted to go back to Philadelphia for a winner-take-all Game Seven," wrote Morrow. "I can't imagine the tension the fans were feeling in the stands."

The Mave could; I was one of them.

Finally, the classic OT play; Lorne Henning at center to John Tonelli on the right to Bob Nystrom on the left, taking the pass in motion and beating Peeters.

Chico Resch (in Ken's book): "The backhand deflection that Bobby made to get it up and over a sliding Peeters was brilliant."

Ken: "I didn't see the winning goal when it happened; my head was down, and I was catching my breath as I was sitting on the bench. Hearing the roar of the crowd and jumping over the boards is what I will always remember."

Frankly, I thought I was dreaming.

Barb Morrow: "We had lived in the Holiday Inn for three months after we arrived because they weren't even expecting to go far, so they just told us to stay there."

Before I sign off on this wonderful hockey book, Islanders book, Morrow book, champions book, let me just say something I never have said about any player in 70 years of hockey writing.

Ken Morrow was a stealth hockey player in the very best sense of the word. He possessed an unobtrusive, secretive way of moving intended to avoid detection by the foe. It was a God-given talent that enabled him reach a pedestal reserved for only one -- him.

And with this quality he was been able to accomplish more than any other hockey player on earth -- Olympics and National Hockey League. Better still, it's all presented to us in this very fine volume.

In Allan Kreda he found the quintessential stealth hockey journalist who, like the player, has accomplished so much for so long without fuss or fanfare.

That is, until now.

Together, Ken Morrow and Allan Kreda have produced the perfect hockey book. It's equally satisfying to know that two of the nicest guys in captivity have pulled off this feat.

Now, reader, if you don't mind, please leave me alone so I can read it a second time!