If you’re going to read while watching playoff hockey, it might as well be a book with a hockey connection. The hockey on television, however, was the only hockey I’d see for awhile as I dug in to Lord Stanley: The Man Behind the Cup.
Fred Stanley, perhaps better known as Lord Stanley of Preston, began his service as Governor General of Canada in 1888 after a not unimpressive political career in England. In his new post, he came upon a young, somewhat unconfident country in desperate need of some geographical coherence and a bit of backbone — the kind that would eventually be provided, both metaphorically and literally, by the railroad. Hockey would serve there as well.
It’s argued early in the book that the Stanley family’s embrace of hockey — and Lord Stanley’s donation in 1893 of the cup that would bear his name — was the breath of legitimacy the game needed, a game that had previously been regarded as a trifle. Apparently, young Canada’s acceptance of shinny was exactly the confidence-builder our under-armed home and native land needed in the face of an expansionist southern neighbour.
Perhaps a better title for the book would have been Lord Stanley: The Man Who Happened to be the Man Behind the Cup. Readers are treated to a little bit of hockey action early on, when Stanley and company attend their first games, and there is an intriguing section about the sociology of our then young country and how hockey fits in. But more could have been done to incorporate hockey and its top prize into the story (it is referred to in the subtitle, after all). For instance, we are told that on the viceregal’s first trip west he passed through Kenora and Winnipeg. Teams from these places would, in the coming years, hoist his cup in victory, and mentioning this could have reinforced the theme.
Authors Kevin Shea and John Jason Wilson instead dwell on other details that don’t necessarily advance the story. In the chapter “1888,” slavish detail is paid to Stanley and his entourage touring the late summer exhibition circuit, and it reads like little more than a 120-year-old press release. The chapter ultimately redeems itself, however, with details of the debate regarding Stanley’s alleged vocal presence on an early Edison wax cylinder.
It is at about this point that the voice of Lady Stanley provides some welcome relief. Like the catty, kooky neighbour in a television sitcom, she becomes the most anticipated character in the book. Lady Stanley is forever comparing various people to corpses or being bored with official receptions. “Reception in the afternoon and was a dreadful failure,” reads one typical passage, having to do with their time in Regina. “We waited patiently for an hour and shook hands with about twenty people, much to the horror of the lieutenant governor’s wife Mrs. Madam Royal, who told us they never ‘give the hand.’ The consequence is that they are not liked.” Ultimately, one gets a better sense of Lady Stanley than of her distant, though affable husband.
As any hockey fan will tell you, a game is as good as its flow. In many stretches of the book, there are several breaks per page, with some sections consisting of a mere paragraph before the page is broken up again. The effect is like attending a game with too many referee whistles — all it would have taken was a little work in the corners to keep the play moving.
Ultimately, it’s hard to go wrong when you have chapters like “Narrow Escape from a Watery Grave.” And the authors provide some interesting material on the cup itself. (Strangely, though, much of this is left for the epilogue.)
As with official royal business, the most interesting part often takes place once the speeches are over. The images of Lord Stanley tobogganing or cheering on his Rideau Rebels, for instance, are worth more to the reader than anything he said at any official function. You have to think he would have made a fine Ottawa Senators fan.
— Jim Chliboyko (Read bio)
Freelance writer in Winnipeg.