Mary Halverson Schofield - River of Champions

a novel based on a true story

By Mary Halverson Schofield

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 by MaryHalverson Schofield

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Original Copyright 1995 by Mary HalversonSchofield

Critical Praise forRiver of Champions

A miraculous tale that shows the grit of tenboys who banded together against all odds.

Mike Nistler, St. Cloud Times

If you like sports, youll love thisbook.

If you like small-town stories, youll lovethis book.

If you like an insight in what drives people,youll love this book

[its] as much about people as it is aboutsports.

Virg Foss, Grand Forks Herald

River of Champions, a hockey must-read.

Minnesota Showcase Hockey

Very interesting reading, reflects theculture and heritage of Minnesota.

Herb Brooks

U.S. Olympic Hockey Coach, 1980

I kept thinking of River of ChampionsDylan Mills, Duluth East High School player, speaking of the 1996state tournament game between Duluth and Apple Valley.

Minneapolis Star-Tribune

The images in the book are clear. The brutalcold in the dead of winter in the upper reaches of Minnesota. Asense of purpose. Unflagging teamwork.

Sharon Raboin

Green Bay Press-Gazette

Her book leaves a strong imprint, a pureshot on goal.

Bob Utecht, Lets Play Hockey

Mary Halverson Schofield weaves her talebeautifully.

Virg Foss

Grand Forks Herald

both inspiring and entertaining.Visualization is vivid: the pain, frustration of athletes anddesire to take a stand and see it through to a championshipconclusion.

Tom Yelle, Anoka County Union

Mary Schofield will take you back in thosehaunted northern ice arenas, those fragrant locker rooms, cold teambuses and right to that remarkable 56 championship game.

Don Boxmeyer, St. Paul PioneerPress

A story of Minnesota courage anddetermination the team members face unbelievable odds, and theirgame will be etched forever in the history books.

Paul Bergquist

Minnetonka Sun Current

River of Champions inspires peeweeteam to explore states hockey rootsdoes an admirable job ofturning back the clock to the days of outdoor hockey.

Rich Leonard, Lets Play Hockey

If you like hockey, youll love River ofChampions.

Steve Webb, RochesterPost-Bulletln

an interesting story, with fascinatingdetails for anyone whos a hockey fan.

Mike Fermoyle, St. Paul PioneerPress

details the background of players and teamsof that era

John GilbertRoman Augustoviz

Minneapolis Star Tribune

Mary Schofield scored a hat trick. I felt onintimate terms with everyone on the team. Its a riveting story across between Hoosiers and Rocky.

Virg Foss, Grand Forks Herald

A story youll find irresistible you knowthe youngsters in this book.

Kevin Pates, Duluth News-Tribune

Books by Mary Halverson Schofield

River of Champions

Henry Boucha: Star of the North

Serina

to my husband Darrell

and my son Andy

with love

Table of Contents

It was cold in the town those years. The windsucked in and belched down from the Canadian prairies. Minnesotastood defenseless before it as the line of demarcation between itand the arctic fell. Men retreated to their shelters, muttering;not blaming the gods, as men before them had, but certainlypreferring the milder winters to the impositions of these.

Two hundred miles south of the town haughtyfarms yielded splendid crops on the rich, loamy soil, but here,where the town was, hostile earth glared up at the farmers andproduced as little as possible for these stubborn men. One hundredmiles east of the town men gouged into the earth, greedilyextracting iron ores. Great forests were hacked down for moreprofit. From fortunes made by this plunder men were sustained insplendor. But where the town was, no minerals had been lodged inthe earth. There was no forest stand. The few trees whichdetermined themselves to grow were scrawny and thin-ringed. Thebarren land appeared levelly sandpapered from every direction.

* * *

Those years it was the winters thatpunctuated the town. The rivers crusted with thin ice that wouldcrack at night with eerie booms. Unannounced blizzard clouds withheads raised in triumph screamed through the town spewing theirwhite innards as they hissed, shrieked and bellowed. The sightlesstown waited. Then, when the storm was done, the moon would rollinto the sky where the tormentors had been. Its paleness soothedthe snow, joining moonbeams and snowflakes in an infinite peace. Orthe snow would come in moist, thick flakes, lying down carefullywithout the windor fine snow could swirl in playfully like ablissful child. Twenty above zero was warm in the winters of thoseyears; the cold pressed down past forty below and, like anuninvited guest, became wearisome. Months of refrigerationpreserved the snow. The town, a chameleon to the weather, wouldturn violet in the numbness. The sun, hanging suggestively in itssouthern arc, had lost its powers to warm. Then, like a long andpainful labor, the winters would end with the wailing child ofspring. Snows accumulated for many months metamorphosed into water,and fled. The peaceful river enlarged, became frantic, roaring itsnew-found anger at its frothy swollen belly. The earth became oozy,sticky mud.

Then came the short coy summer bringing somepeaceful days, pleasant in the idle sun. Other days brought cloudspiling high and black that pounced on the town, obliterating it inwater. Other times soft warm rains came to gently sprinkle the townand its gardens: a holy priest anointing hallowed ground.

For its enduring quality, the town was givena gift; a crown set upon its head by the gods of old. No crown ofany royalty now or in ages past could match its brilliance. In themid-1950s, great sunspots shot out from the suns surface,creating dazzling auroras in the night sky. Neighbors would call toone another when the northern lights were dancing above them andthe people would gathermuch as the Indians before them hadtocatch the spectacular show. From the peak of the sky, the lightstented down to the horizon, shimmering like a goddess spinning onlyin red, curtaining the night in giant streaks moving from apex tocircumference. Or the lights would dance along the perimeters ofthe earth, unfurling green and white folding into one another inmuted greens and bold whites. Or sometimes they would appear asopaque angels serene, hovering in peace safely above the batteredearth; or, all three colors could emerge in a carnival atmosphere,dancing like mad demons against the black sky. Whatever the colorsor the shape, they were grand and nothing, anywhere, could matchtheir beauty.

The town had no college or industry. It hadno wealth from past ventures. It possessed no historical importanceand claimed no legendary heroes. It had no beautiful mansions orlocal battlefields. It did not even have a town square with a clocktower to grace it. The town had far more than that.