Storymania - Jocko by Jock Pichette

Jocko
Jock Pichette

Jocko was sick in bed one day when his brother received a pair of skates and a hockey stick.
Desperately wanting the equipment, young Jocko flew into a rage. He must have loved hockey, for usually he was careful not to upset his mother. Jocko was a hockey fanatic and it all started at the age of seven when he would place a soap box on a chair, so that he could closer to the radio on the mantle. The enthusiasm of the announcer excited Jocko with play-by-play reporting. So did the rumbling of players shouting and being slammed against the boards. His adrenelin grew with the frenzy of the crowd at the Montreal Forum which was located only minutes from Jocko's home.

Jocko finally did get a pair of skates. They were lying in his friend's Tim's hallway, and Jocko asked to whom they belonged. Tim said they belonged to nobody because they were too big. Jocko asked for them, and tim agreed. Intense excitement danced in Jocko's bright blue eyes. The small boy rushed home and sat down beside the warm stove to contemplate his newly found treasures, with their rusty blades and tattered laces, leather and eyelets. He tried them on for size, only to discover they were a bit too large for him. That did not bother him, for the important thing was having a pair of skates of his very own.
He put on another pair of socks which helped matters somewhat, and in any event, he now had a pair of skates of his own. He tucked them under his cot, and that night he dreamt of skating.

Jocko awoke the next morning with several problems. He could not skate. He had not bothered to inform his friends, most of whom could already skate, of this glaring flaw. Moreover, he was determined to teach himself to skate before turning up at Carney's Park in front of his friends, but where? He thought of Maurice Miller's back yard as the place to build a piece of ice to practice on. To reach it, he would have to go through a passage way, from Bridge Street. It was guarded by a huge, one-eyed German Shepherd. This brute would charge any intruder to the limit imposed by the chain around his neck. Fortunately, Jocko knew him, for many times during the past summer Maurice and he had to scoot by this one-eyed bandit.

Once inside the yard, Jocko headed straight for Miller's shed to get a shovel and begin construction.
The backyard was a perfect place for what he was attempting, but it lacked adequate lighting. The lamp post was in the right corner of the yard and had a covered bulb some twenty feet in the air, and would swing casting a yellow-white glimmer towards the snow of white. The starlight also helped, and so did the porch light of Mrs.Miller. The idea was, without agitating the dog, shovel the snow from the centre of the oval and create a snowbank at an angle away from the dog. After spending a couple of hours shovelling, the cold got the best of Jocko. The dog had been tucked away in the back gallery, so Jocko had no difficulty in getting out, he reached the corner of Bridge at Wellington, where life continued as usual; heavy traffic, a fight in the snow between Flynn and Mullins, with Mullins bleeding from his right eye, and their friends coming out of the tavern to break up the scrap before returning for another round. The fight forced Jocko to take St.Agnes Lane rather than Wellington Street. He followed the ruts created by the garbage trucks and other heavy vehicles to his backstairs and reached the warmpth created by the stove. It had been a hard night's work, but he took satisfaction in the knowledge that tomorrow night he would skate for the first time. With his skates tucked safely under his cot, his clothes drying above the stove, he fell asleep exhausted but contented.

The next evening with his skates over his shoulder, Jocko descended the stairs and headed for Miller's backyard. With his skates against his chest, and clinging to the wall, he slowly passed the German Shepherd. He put his skates on in Miller's shed. His hands were cold, and he took breaks to warm them as he slowly laced up his skates. But he was excited and the adrenalin alone kept Jocko warm. He emerged from the shed, looked over his challenge, and knew that the harder he worked, the sooner he would skate at Carney's Park, which is located on St.Patrick Street, in Pointe St.Charles. That meant staying up on his skates as long as possible, he backed off to the end of the snowbank he created the night before. From this position he would run off the snowbank, and slide along the ice keeping his balance. At the start, Jocko's friend the German Shepheard would follow him, but was stopped by the chain lenght, which was great for Jocko. Complicating matter was the fact, Jocko's skate blades were dull. Undeterred, he challenged, the cold, the poor lighting system, the ice, and yes the dog. He flung himself towards the unfriendly sheet of ice again and again, but unfortunately, fell more often than not accumulating snow. Even the dog must have pitied him. Jocko's jeans and jacket filled with snow called it a night. Feeling like a snowman, he decided that enough was enough for that night. Discouraged but not defeated, he removed his skates in the shed and snuck past the dog who by now was totally confused.

The workout had created so much heat that Jocko walked home without his gloves on, but his jeans were so snow-laden, and stiff, that he had difficulty getting up the stairs to his home. Once inside the little boy gloried in the warpth cast by the wooden stove, but felt aching bones and a moment of doubt. He had battled ice, sore kneecaps, fatigue, the loneliness of being on his own, and it occured to him that all might be in vain. But one glance at the little brown radio reassured him: tomorrow night could be the big night. Having hung up his clothes to dry, he climbed into his cot, cuddled down, and soon fell asleep.

The next day Jocko awoke knowing that he must learn to skate before the weekend. He remembered how his friends, pumped and skated at Carney's Park, it was just a matter of doing the same thing. He sewed up the holes in his gloves, dressed a bit warmer than the previous night, and headed out the back door. Only seconds from Miller's yard, he began to think about the dog. He knew he could get by it, but that evening he wanted no trouble. To his surprise, the dog seemed to welcome Jocko as a friend. It was a beautiful evening. The moon and the swinging lamp created more than enough light with dark shadows of blacks, purples, and blues. Jocko checked the inviting ice surface, free of snow. It was just a matter of lacing up the skates, and winning. Jocko went into the shed, sat on a vegetable crate, and began to lace his skates up. One of the laces broke. Jocko placed his cold hands under his arms before beginning repairs. Coming out of the cold shed, he noticed that his canine friend was missing, and he would not have to worry about annoying it. Jocko began his drill, rushing off the snowbank and onto the ice. To his surprise, he appeared to stay up longer. Jocko was now able to stay up longer, and reach the fence each time. All of a sudden the dog appeared, loose and headed straight for Jocko. Without thinking, he dodged to one side, and ran towards the shed while the dog slid by him with leg's extended and chin resting on the ice. The slidding continued untill the dog slammed into the fence. By then Jocko was inside the shed, with the crate against the door. Sitting on the crate and contemplating getting out of there, Jocko got his skates off and his boots on. He tied the skates together, so that he would not lose them during his escape. the shed felt colder than outside, but Jocko was very happy, he could now stand up on his skates.

Jocko spied out through the shed's peephole, but could not see the animal. That did not mean it was not there. Jocko knew the backyard like the back of his hand and decided that jumping the fence only five feet away was his only option. He slowly opened the door, but the dog did not appear. Jocko headed for the fence, tossed his skates over it, and followed suit. He landed in a pile of snow, only a few feet from his skates. He looked back over the fence for the dog, but saw nothing, and that bothered him somewhat. His unexpected detour led Jocko into Joe Mell's backyard, and St.Columban Street about a few minutes from his home. Reaching his home, he snuggled by the stove. He concluded that the son of the owner must have released the dog on purpose. Frightened to return to the Miller's yard. It came to him that his only option was to go to Carney's Park tomorrow. He fell asleep with that thought in mind.

Carney's Park was just a few extra minutes from Miller's yard. A black iron fence, ten to twelve feet high, surrounded the park to protect the kids. Jocko's dream was to skate on the big rink, with it's regulation markings and red goal post at each end. No more swinging bulbs, but tall poles sending down beams of light that covered, not only the rink, but the trail which led from the street to a shack which contained a pot-bellied stove much taller than Jocko. The park attendant had a wooden box next to the stove, a box Jocko would certainly enjoy if free.

The weekend arrived, and Jocko left the house early for the park. He wanted to practice alone before his friends arrived. Jocko thrust his skates through the fence and then climbed up over it. Walked towards the boards, and slid over and down to the ice surface. Sitting near the end boards, he sat and began to lace up his skates, looking at times at the other end, no dog to worry about, just a large span of ice, and dreaming about making it to the other end. It did not matter about the cold. Clinging to the rink's boards, he managed to stand up and began to skate towards the net. The big difference from the Miller's yards was Carney's Park's larger ice surface and its lack of snow to cushion his fall. The goal post lent some support and provided rest for a few minutes. He learned to turn slowly, almost as if grasping for support of a rope. As he skated back and forth between the goals, is leg's resembled a baby elephant taking his first step, but with every second on his skates he improved, his speed increased and his confidence mounted. When the caretaker arrived, Jocko was so happy, just to get out from the cold, after all he arrived at 8.00AM, and it was now after 10.00AM in the morning. Picking up his little boots from the corner, he left the ice for the comfort of the shack with its pot-bellied stove. His feet of ice, sent feelings of pins and needles as they warmed up. Jocko left for home with a smile so large, bright blue eyes glistening, his long blonde hair sticking out from his navy blue tuque wet from sweat, but extremely happy with his morning results. He felt confident that he could get on the ice without his friends teasing him.

Early that afternoon Jocko returned to Carney's Park in search of friends. He entered the park as if he belonged there. He strode with a purpose to the shack. He slid along one of its benches to get close to the pot-bellied stove. After lacing his skate in comfort, he headed towards the rink, this time full of kids all skating, and playing hockey. His heart fluttered with excitement, yet afraid he would fall and embarassed himself. He began to skate along the boards. A friend, Bill five years his senior hailed him. He wanted to know whether Jocko was interested in a hockey game, yes Jocko said. Of course Jocko, did not have a hockey stick, but that situation was soon remedied, for Bill lent him one. It wasn't much, but good enough to play shinny. More to the point, Jocko finally had the chance to play hockey. Spelling himself with visits to the shack and its pot-bellied stove, Jockey stayed untill after dinner. The bigger boy's were starting to play, and these young men were so good, Jocko's eyes dreamed of one day being able to skate and play like Kenny Hughes, who flashed by him with ease. Into the shack went Jocko, with his crispy looking jean , seeking out the pot-bellied stove for warmpth and relaxation. Tired and exhausted after a long day of skating, Jocko headed for home.

Playing shinny at Carney's Park was a total experience for Jocko, games were created by experience or talent if you wish, and it was not just one hockey game "Shinny", the big boys of course would have the lane down the middle, the little guy's would play from one end board on the south side, while another played at the north end, so to see pucks from different games coming into your corner was normal.
There were times when four or five hockey games would be going on simultaneously, you lerned to dodge players coming from all angles. The more Jocko skated, the faster and better he became. At times he and others who also wanted a clean ice to play on would help the attendant clean the rink. The Shack became Jocko's second home. He would sit at the stove and listen to the older players tell stories. Occassionally they would offer Jocko a cup of Hot Chocolate. People like Booter McIlwaine, Kenny Hughes and so many others were first-rate players. Jocko not only listen to them, he studied them on the ice in an attempt to learn their techniques. In time Jocko became a tough little hockey player. A friend named Jackie nicknamed Jocko the Pocket, Rocket, Socket for his speed.