by John Jay Wilhelm
It wasn’t for talent as a hockey player alone that Ben Hatskin offered Bobby Hull one of the most lucrative contracts in sports history to become part of the fledgling Winnipeg Jets World Hockey Association franchise.
Over the course of 15 years, while performing for the Black Hawks, Hull earned a special niche in Chicago’s athletic affections, primarily because of his posture when out of uniform.
A particularly poignant case in point would be the night of November 9, 1969. That was the evening Bobby ended his 38-day, 14-game holdout and rejoined the team for a midweek battle with the Rangers.
As the game wore on, it became all too obvious to the fans who had jammed Chicago Stadium to pass judgment on Hull’s return, that Bobby was nowhere near the peak of his form. His lightning-like skating stride of seasons past bore little resemblance to his peed that night; though he did break free for a total of seven shots on goal, none was the renowned Hull slap shot.
The game ended in a 1-1 tie, with Bobby playing no part in the lone Black Hawk goal.
It was long after the game-ending siren had sounded that Bobby’s biggest moment occurred. Leaving the Stadium through the players’ entrance, gate 3½, amidst a bevy of reporters, Hull’s eyes fell on a tow-headed nine-year-old. He stopped and asked the youngster’s name.
“Michael Bartlett,” the boy replied, and for better than ten minutes the two chatted about the game and the season ahead. From time to time, one of the other Black Hawks passed by and Bobby called to each to come meet the lad and sign his program.
From one of his teammates, Hull retrieved a puck and presented it to his newfound friend to further commemorate what Michael had told him was the first time he had ever been to a hockey game.
Finally, Bobby said goodbye to the youngster and headed out to the parking lot, the reporters in tow. “He’s blind, you know,” Hull told them. “Never saw him before,” he explained, anticipating their question. “but I spotted it right off.”
There are any number of tales which might be told along the same lines. Bobby has never forgotten how, when not quite seven years old himself, he had waited with his father outside the Detroit Red Wings locker room after watching the Wings play the Maple Leafs in Toronto. When Gordie Howe came through the door, Bobby asked him for his autograph.
At first, Howe alluded to a train he would miss if he did not hurry. Then, looking at Hull’s forlorn expression, he quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled his signature before rushing off toward the team bus.
Bobby can still recall the joy he felt at getting Howe’s autograph and, from his earliest days as a Black Hawk rookie through all the ensuing record-dotted years, he has seldom if ever turned down a request that he write his name. It was only after Bobby started the practice that players began to sign autographs during the pre-game skate.
The criteria for the Lester Patrick Trophy voted to Hull in 1970, serve well to point out Bobby’s singular value to any hockey league for, unlike the other honors meted out by the NHL, it is bestowed primarily for actions away from the rink–“for outstanding service to the game of hockey in the United States” is how the inscription reads.
At the time of his selection, Bobby was one of only two active players ever to have received the honor, following in the footsteps of Howe’s 1967 selection.
Now, with Howe in retirement, Hull alone carries on the special presence of being lauded by those who presented him the Patrick Trophy. And now he carries that presence into the WHA.