WINNER: Book giveaway - Night Work: The Sawchuk Poems

We have a winner of our Copper & Blue book giveaway contest. The winner is Doug Adams of London, ON, who identified "Gerald" as the Newfoundlander who scored on Terry Sawchuk. I'll get his book personalized at the reading tonight and in the mail in the next few days.

Speaking of famous authors, Douglas Adams was one of my faves!

Congratulations Doug, and thanks to all who entered.

* * *

PS: Looking at the package I just realized the publisher, Brick Books, mailed me the book all the way from London, ON, giving me the privilege of "forwarding" it to London, ON. Such is life.

As promised during our recent review of Night Work: The Sawchuk Poems and our subsequent interview with the poet, Randall Maggs, we at the Copper & Blue continue our fight against illiteracy by sponsoring a book giveaway contest. A lucky reader will receive a signed copy of Night Work, accompanied by related swag including a book mark, post card, and hockey card. It's a real cool package, courtesy our friends at Brick Books.

To enter the contest simply send me an email with your name (and screen name, if different) and an answer to this skill-testing question: What is the name of "the man who scored on Terry Sawchuk" during his tour of Newfoundland with the Boston Bruins in 1956?

Sounds obscure, I know, but the answer (first name only) is contained in the above book short, a brilliant short film adapatation of a Sawchuk Poem. Well worth your five minutes to watch, whether you enter the contest or not. That poem, "String and Bones", can be read after the jump (including the name of the gent in question). Randall Maggs also referred to this fellow in the interview the other day; it's clear from the number of eye-witness interviews cited in the first part of the poem and the one with the man himself in the second part, that the author went to considerable trouble - not to mention all the way to Lewisporte! - to track down this story. It's a beauty.

Here is my email address Send Mail  If you have trouble with the link, please leave a note in the comments.  Entries close at 23:59 MDT Monday March 22; if I have my act together, I'll get the winner's book personalized by the author when I meet him at the reading at Audrey's Books on Tuesday.

Good luck!   

String and Bones

     (i) was

"Part of the show, hey? We all get a penalty shot
to try to close the gap? But you know how nervous you'd be,
going one-on-one against the greatest ever."

"Oh, Gerald. Well, he'd be the man to put one in."

"My son, I won't forget it. Falling down he whacks a bullet
right at Sawchuk's head. He had to be quick."

"What went on in Gerald's head? Well, who might help you
there I couldn't say. What went through mine was everyone I knew
in the world was there, including a girl from Curling
I was moony over then."

"Just a shot, you know, nothing special. I'd say
Sawchuk let it in on purpose."

"That was my own bad luck I get the middle shift
at the mill that week so never saw either game, but Gerald
had a good job with the railroad and one of the Bruins didn't make
the train, I wouldn't like to say his name, but Gerald arranged
a place that night on a pulp and paper train,
something not just anyone could do."

"Oh yes, he had his well-known temper.
Once in Detroit he whipped a skate at some reporter's head,
another time he goes right up over the screen to get at some fan.
Imagine that in all its glory coming at you."

"A fluke is what I'd have to say. Why Terry took such exception,
I wouldn't know who you could find to tell you now."

"Went after him? I don't remember that.
But Gerald, he wasn't nothing then but string and bones."

 

     (ii) isn't

"So you're the man who scored on Terry Sawchuk."

I find him in Lewisporte, living in the cottages.
I take a table in small cafe where I can see the water.
"Oh he'll talk to you about hockey," the waitress brings
me bad coffee, "just give him half an opening."
Waiting, I glance at some notes I made that morning
on the pier, things I wanted to know. I thought of how warm
it was out on the water where I'd talked with a man and his son
on their boat about the way the fish were.

Larger than I'd expected, he arrives in a pickup,
red or maybe it was blue, looking a little at bay. He settles
his eyes on me, the only customer. I hadn't planned to say what
I said as he stood in the door. I see his eyes well up.

"Greatest moment of my life," he says.

None of this is on the tape, which begins with a clatter
of spoons and the waitress on the phone. "Half the town
was there, my son. Don't be getting on about it
being my imagination." She lays the telephone down
to fill our cups, eyeing Gerald as he checks the sugar top
for local jokers. She looks at me as if we were hopeless,
cut from the same cloth as whoever was waiting
to finish defending himself. She sighs and goes back
to her cigarette and the phone.

He pulls his coffee closer and begins. Yes the train.
And yes the game. Staring down into the cup he holds
in both hands. "Maybe he did come after me,
but he was only kidding. Yes, he did say
something. Just like it was yesterday."

Long silence, looking out over the water,
then he turns to me. "He said, 'How come a guy with the shot
you got isn't up with us in the NHL?' "