Anna Rosner - Journeyman: The Story of NHL Right Winger Jamie Leach

Copyright 2020 Anna Rosner

Yellow Dog

(an imprint of Great Plains Publications)

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Great Plains Publications gratefully acknowledges the financial support provided for its publishing program by the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund; the Canada Council for the Arts; the Province of Manitoba through the Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Book Publisher Marketing Assistance Program; and the Manitoba Arts Council.

Design & Typography by Relish New Brand Experience

Printed in Canada by Friesens

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Journeyman : the story of NHL right winger Jamie Leach /
by Anna Rosner.

Names: Rosner, Anna, 1972- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200279807 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200283979 | ISBN 9781773370545 (softcover) | ISBN 9781773370552 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH : Leach, Jamie, 1969-Juvenile literature. | LCSH : Hockey playersCanadaBiographyJuvenile literature. | CSH : Native hockey playersCanadaBiographyJuvenile literature. | LCGFT : Biographies.

Classification: LCC GV 848.5. L 43 R 67 2020 | DDC j796.962092dc23

For my boys: David, Andrew and Joshua

A.R.

To my family, friends, teammates,
coaches and all those who helped me achieve my goals
you know who you are!

J.L.

As the director of the First Nations literacy project Books with Wings , I am always on the lookout for stories about hockey. Books with Wings sends brand-new books to students living on isolated reserves, the majority of which are in northern Manitoba. Students in the program request the types of books they want to receive, and stories about hockey are often number one on the list. As a result, I decided to search for a remarkable player and write a story myself.

It wasnt long before I spoke with Reggie Leach and learned about his son Jamie. I knew that Jamies movie-star beginnings and his incredible story of unwavering perseverance had to be told.

Journeyman was born from numerous phone interviews over many years with some very, very patient people. Jamie and his mother, Isabel, revisited their lives and shared both personal and hockey memories with me, some almost 50 years old. Through their stories, I pieced together Jamies life like a puzzle, poring over pages of notes and newspaper articles.

I admire everything about Jamie and his journey, and I know you will too.

BECOMING A PENGUIN

The 1989 Pittsburgh training camp was a turning point for me. I was twenty years old, skating with some of the greatest players in the league, and I began to learn from them. The minute I stepped on the ice, it was like electricity running through me. All I could think about was getting my stick on the puck and firing it past the goalie. Some days were more physical than others; I had aches everywhere from long hours spent on the ice and in the gym, trying to build mass. I dragged weights across the rink to increase my leg strength. I did balance drills, stick-handling drills, puck protection and power turns. All of it. I was tall and wide, over 200 pounds, and the coaches liked that. My size helped me wrestle in the corners, unafraid to dig for the puck, and to push other players off me. Sometimes the coaches would talk to the press about my game, and Id read about it in the Pittsburgh paper. Hes a strong player all around, Jamie Leach, theyd say. Determined. Fights hard for the puck and stays with it. So time will tell.

At the end of camp, the Penguins held a team tournament. I got lucky; I was on Mario Lemieuxs line. Just position yourself in front and take my pass, he told me. Then put the puck in the net. Simple. With Lemieuxs lightning passes, I scored six goals, more than any other player on the team. Word was that the coaches were going to give me a spot on the bench; I was the teams most promising rookie.

During our last preseason game, I was in the opponents corner with the puck and tried to break towards the net. Any player will tell you that corners are dangerous places. I got hit hard, and my leg struck the boards. I knew I was hurt. I shuffled off the ice, balancing on one skate and a teammates shoulder. After a few x-rays, the team doctors confirmed that I had torn ligaments in my right knee. A little time to heal, they promised, and Id be back on the ice. One month, maybe two. I was heartbroken; if my injury was serious enough to bench me, it could destroy my chances of a spot on the team.

I was summoned into the coachs office just a few days before the regular season began. I hobbled in, trying not to wince from the pain. The head coach sat at the desk with his arms folded. Im happy with your progress, Jamie, he began, you know that. All the coaches are pleased with you. But Im stacked right now with right wingers; Ive got five. I want you to have the ice time you need, so were sending you to the minors.

I nodded my head, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

This isnt a punishment, he promised. Its the opposite. This is how it is in the beginning. Im expecting you back here. Soon. I stood and shook his outstretched hand. Ill see you then, I told him, trying to sound confident. But I felt I had lost the battle of my life.

I called my father. Dont get discouraged, Jamie, he said. I spent most of my first year in the minors, remember? And if I played in the NHL at all, my butt just warmed the bench.

It was true. My dad had been drafted by Boston in 1970, but with superstars like Bobby Orr and Phil Esposito on the team, he barely played. He only managed two goals in his first year.

The timing of your injury is bad, sure, he continued, but this thing is easy to fix. Rest a little, youll be on skates again. Take it from me. Ive been patched up a few times. I got holes in me, he laughed, especially in my teeth.

The month in physiotherapy was one of the loneliest of my hockey career. The Penguins had all travelled west for a road trip, and I didnt know a soul in Pittsburgh. I limped around a hotel room, reading and watching television to escape from boredom. Five days a week therapists poked and prodded me while I fought with electrodes and machines of every kind to strengthen my knee. At night, I ran lengths in the shallow end of the hotel pool. After three weeks I could feel myself healing, and I felt a new sense of hope. It happens, I thought. We get hurt, they fix us up, and we begin again.

The moment I was declared fit to play, I packed my suitcase and headed for the minor leagues. I was going to be a Muskegon Lumberjack.

I just had to figure out where Muskegon was.

MUSKEGON

It turned out Muskegon was a seven-hour drive from Pittsburgh, right on Lake Michigan. There couldnt have been more than twenty thousand people in that town, but it was beautiful. The beach had white sands that stretched for miles, so the locals biked and played volleyball in the summer. I rented another hotel room by myself, spending as little time as I could there. I liked to wander on the beach even after the fall winds began. I tried to clear my mind and just concentrate on the water. Still, the thought of fading into the minor leagues was never far away.