The Pepper Kid: The Life and Times of Ken Randall, Hockey's Bad Hombre

By J Shayne Randall

History comes to life in this sweeping saga about the first captain of Toronto's original NHL team. Ken Randall's journey
begins in the days of pro hockey's infancy as he toiled in over 100 arenas that no longer exist, won two Stanley Cups, and played with and against the early icons of the sport. You'll meet all the characters that wove the game, highlighted by family anecdotes that will surprise you. You may become convinced that Randall was the toughest
'hombre' to ever play the game in its first quarter century. There is no doubt he was the most versatile, playing several
positions, sometimes in the same game. His story will inform and amaze you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Shayne Randall
• Release date: Oct 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773701462

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

From playing shinny on the ponds and rivers of eastern Ontario in the 1890s to the glitz and pageantry of the first NHL game at Madison Square Garden, Ken Randall became one of the game’s truly outstanding individuals. The seventh of thirteen children of an orphaned immigrant from a homeless refuge in London’s brutal east end, the feisty youngster battled his way through hockey’s formative years.

This narrative takes the reader from 1871 to 1947, introducing a myriad of many of the sport’s most influential characters, particularly during the era from 1900 to 1925.

Randall led a spirited Lindsay OHA team for four seasons, culminating in a provincial championship in 1909. His trial in 1908 for assaulting an opposing player resulted in an acquittal but would shape Randall’s career. The victim of the brutal attack, Albert Switzer, lost sight in his left eye and never played again. Randall, although an outstanding offensive threat, was then labelled a thug, and he would spend the following three decades living up to that reputation.

His passion for hockey took him on a marvellous journey from the professional game’s stormy beginning in 1905, when players toiled for peanuts in front of sparse crowds, to a record gathering of 17,962 at Madison Square Garden in 1925.

During his first ten years in the game he scored at a pace of almost a goal and a half a game but was forced to change his style to make it in the big leagues. He transformed from an offensive genius to a precocious enforcer. The change enabled him to become a rare commodity in hockey’s age of brutality. He led his Toronto teams to two Stanley Cups while earning a fearsome reputation as a villain of the highest magnitude. Teammates and hometown fans loved him. The rest of the hockey community reviled his presence.

Along the way he toiled in over one hundred arenas that no longer exist. He wore nineteen different team sweaters, including that of the original New York Americans, the first professional sports team to have the player’s name across the back.

He played the seven-man game on natural ice when the boards were just a foot high and there was no team bench because there were no substitutes.

He was the captain of the first team in the NHL to win the Stanley Cup: the 1917-18 Toronto Arenas. From this beginning emerged today’s Toronto Maple Leafs.

He played in the first professional hockey game broadcast on the radio by a young Foster Hewitt.

His durability was legend in spite of the terrible punishment he constantly gave and received. Coaches coveted his versatility. He could play every position on the ice and often would do so in the same game. Toiling the entire match without substitution was commonplace for the rugged defender.

When he stopped playing in 1931, he had been a vital cog in winning two Stanley Cups and played on two more challengers. The best team of all, the 1924-25 Hamilton Tigers, went on strike and deprived him of a probable third Cup.

During his career he scored against seven Hall of Fame netminders.

He had a distinguished coaching career, starting at the top as the playing coach of the NHL’s Hamilton Tigers in the 1923-24 season and culminating with leading the Amherst Ramblers to a first place finish and a 12-3-1 record in the Nova Scotia South Central Senior League in 1932.

His love of hockey drove him to referee over 400 games after he retired from competition. He was regarded as a stern but fair arbiter and a favourite choice to handle OHA contests as he was known to be very successful at deterring rough play.

Amazingly, he and his wife Elva successfully raised eight children. His hockey income only supplemented the earnings from his thirty-year career as a certified plumber-steam fitter. Perhaps his greatest achievement was the intertwining of sport, work, and family.

A banshee on the ice, but somewhat unassuming and humble otherwise, Randall was an enigma. His notoriety as a hockey hero and superstar quickly diminished as time wore on. Not one to blow his own horn, this spectacular performer became forgotten after his untimely passing in 1947.

The Kingston native played with and against the legends of the game and rubbed shoulders with luminaries such as Babe Ruth, Damon Runyan, Jack Dempsey, Ed Sullivan, Walter Hagen, and Stanley Thompson.

You’ll meet them and several more luminaries as the career of the gritty and misunderstood battler unfolds during this surprising tale.

The author is the oldest grandchild of the meanest man to ever lace up skates. The anecdotes passed down by family and contemporaries are woven with extensive research to relate this adventure.

Ode to the Pepper Kid

Defiance

Dwell not on the breadth or length of the path

Or the walls traversed along the way.

Think not of the strength of the blow

Or the might of those that joined the fray.

Keep your aim on the goal in sight

And not on victory in one brief dangling moment.

Be mindful that when you fall

You must rise, stand tall.

For the prize will never be grasped

Til you arrive upright at home.

Don’t count your scars and broken bones

Dismiss the pain, the urge to moan.

You want that peace that must be won

By anticipation, confrontation, and humiliation.

Never fear,

As the journey of the spirit is endless.

–J. Shayne Randall, 2016

Chapter 1

The Wake

The line of mourners snaked seventy-five yards north from Queen Street where streetcars had conveniently transported many to bid farewell to their fallen hero. Automobiles in the 1940s were only common to the upper class and only a few arrived by that conveyance.

Toronto’s faithful shuffled up to 35 Spruce Hill Road under a soft canopy provided by maples, oaks, and elms. A fresh breeze off the nearby lake was a cool comfort on this resplendent June day. Entering the northwest front door of the small duplex and into the cramped living room they slowly inched toward the reposing figure in the modest coffin. The visitors represented an array of Toronto’s citizenry. Former teammates and coaches, relatives and neighbours, and folks who knew him well or only met him once came for a final farewell.

Admirers filed by throughout the day and into the next to glimpse that scar-pocked visage one last time. Flowers were so predominant that many spilled out onto the veranda, their aroma intoxicating.

His brothers, like loyal sentinels, flanked his casket. They never left his side as long as the guests trod through. They and his faithful dog Butch stayed with him during the entire three days prior to the burial, most of them throughout the day and at least one of them through the nights. The ladies brewed large pots of tea for them to drink and the men performed parlour tricks to keep the family and themselves occupied.

Lying there peacefully he looked like a plumber-steamfitter, not a hockey player . . . he had been both.

When Ken Randall was asked by a newsman during the height of his hockey career how many stitches he had received up to that time, he replied that he had stopped counting at five hundred. Most of them were applied to his noggin, taking the brunt of the fiercest blows delivered by the most brutal players in the game. Mourners were reminded of that fact by the evident scarring. The Pepper Kid took as much as he gave. Though a gifted skater and scorer, his epitaph would nonetheless be that of a bad hombre, a description coined long ago in a lost Maritime hockey era.

The overwhelming display of adulation was somewhat curious because this former sports celebrity had lived in somewhat anonymity since he left the ice for good almost a decade prior. His passing had awoken his fans and his critics who had taken his amazing hockey journey for granted.

Ken Randall, who died yesterday, was one of the old school hockeyists. He was rough and ready. He took on all comers and it didn’t matter if it was Sprague Cleghorne, ‘Newsy’ Lalonde, ‘Bad Joe’ Hall, or anybody else. Quick with a stick and fists they found Randall a willing mixer. –Toronto Daily Star, June 18, 1947

He had been living in the modest east-end home for some time. News of his passing had been received by his surviving siblings, four brothers and three sisters, who all arrived heavy-hearted and stunned.

Their brother was a mere mortal after all.

Though the house was small, his wife Elva, mother-in-law Alice, many of his children, their spouses, and three grandkids brought the total of inhabitants to thirteen. "Surrounded by family" was an understatement in the obituary notice.

Ken Randall’s death in Toronto has brought into action sports scribes like ‘Baz’ O’Meara of Montreal and Bill Westwick of Ottawa who recall stirring episodes in which the former Kingstonian figured so prominently. They tell us about his jousts against the hardiest men of his era—Sprague Cleghorne, ‘Buck’ Boucher and Cy Denneny—which he won or lost only to return to the fray some other day. Randall operated during an age when professional hockeyists were often merciless in waging feuds coupled with bitterness and many looked in his direction with suspicion. But behind the scenes Ken Randall was a jolly carefree athlete and a source of inspiration to his wife and adoring eight children. –Mike Rodden, Kingston Whig Standard, June 19, 1947

Randall was the seventh of thirteen children, right in the middle, so a large community of family was comfortable for him. Although he had been absent from the game he passionately played for over half of his life, he certainly relished watching his kids and grandchildren grow and flourish. His last few years were a just reward, a dividend claimed for a life well-lived.

He loved to listen to Foster Hewitt describe the game on the radio. In 1923 he had played in the first professional hockey game broadcast on the radio. Coincidentally, a few days later the young Hewitt would call his first professional game involving Randall’s Toronto St. Patricks.

He seldom had opened his toolbox anymore except for friends as a favour. He had had his fill of plumbing. Instead he chose to tend bar in his spare time where he eagerly recalled the old days. He even laced his skates on to referee an occasional game.

Randall, an enigma of sport, was a mystery man in the ‘Big Parade.’ But he was a fine friend and bore malice against no one. Few hockeyists ever skated a tougher lane than Randall did. Never considered a super-star he lingered a long time in the rocky National League and was part of several powerful machines. But now his race has been run and those who turned thumbs down on him must, in deep reflection, rue their hasty and snap judgement. Any discussion about the toughest to ever play the game must include him. Ken Randall, in death, has won the biggest fight of his career. –Kingston Whig Standard, June, 1947

The wake at Sprucehill Road in late June of 1947 was a testament to an inherited custom. Since his mother’s family had fled the Irish potato famine, the Randalls had continued the custom of the wake. After the regrets and sorrys and once the front door had been closed to the public, the family had their toasts and spun their tales. The drink flowed and the banquet ensued. Never had as many Randalls been together in one place at one time.

When patriarch George Herbert Randall passed in Watertown, New York, on February 26, 1926, most of the family made the trip. A much larger ensemble now squeezed into the Sprucehill Road home and there were new stories to tell. A brutal war had transpired since the last reunion, babies had been born, lives lost, kids married, careers begun or ended, and tales begged to be spun. Into the early a.m. hours, guffaws and chuckles were mixed with very few tears. In spite of his early passing Ken Randall had lived these last years with few regrets. He had successfully plied his trade as a plumber for years. His athletic career was the stuff of a pioneer. He had been a player, a coach, and an official . . . all at the highest level.

There were reflections on his passion for the game he played, his outrageous and notorious bad language, and his famous temper. Everyone shared a story, a memory, or an event. There would be time to miss him later on. To remember the good times was the reason for this assemblage.

True to the custom of a proper Irish wake the party only ended when all the drink was done and gone. There seemed to be no interval between the last gulp and the cavalcade to the resting place.

The scraggly mutt, "Butch," was at his master’s side during the entire event. He finally had to relent, leaving his post by the casket only when the hearse embarked on its ultimate journey. He trotted after it for blocks before his broken heart gave way to his sense that his pal was gone.

Picture of Ken Randall and his canine pal. This was snapped during the winter of 1947 at 35 Sprucehill Road. He passed away short weeks later after suffering an aneurism.

St John’s Norway Cemetery is just a mile or so away from Spruce Hill Road, at the confluence of Woodbine Avenue and Kingston Road. On a glorious first day of summer, a gladiator was laid to rest, surrounded by those who admired and loved him.

Kingston Road was named so long ago when it was a muddy trail to the Limestone City of Kingston.

Coincidently, Ken Randall, the Pepper Kid, was born there on December 14, 1887.

Chapter 2

Migration

George Herbert Randall was born in East London to William and Elizabeth on May 23, 1849. Sometime after the birth of their second son William in August of 1856, the parents both perished and their orphans George and William Jr. found themselves under the care of the protestant church.

George was to later relate that these were dark days where he and William were kept inside and didn’t play with other children. In 1850s London, vividly described by the universally famous Charles Dickens, the Randall orphans were presented with bleak prospects. The Church of England gave them a roof and food and little else. They were instilled with the fear of God, practised a monastic lifestyle, and yearned for something better.

The glimmer of hope emerged as George was nearing adulthood. Many Anglican churches in England that housed orphaned or abandoned children arranged for their wards to be transported to South Africa, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand where there were somewhat better chances that they would find a more promising future.

Home Children was a child migration scheme founded by Annie MacPherson in 1869. Over 100,000 children were chosen to be removed from squalor and hopelessness and sent to far off destinations under the auspices of sponsors, usually church groups. This was not a new idea at the time. The practice started as early as 1618 when labour shortages led to one hundred English vagrant children being sent to the Virginia Colony. MacPherson, a Scottish Evangelical Christian was aided by her sister Louisa Brit and Londoner Maria Rye. They, along with others like Dr. Thomas Barnardo, achieved great notoriety for this movement which continued for years afterward.

These sponsors would pay the £10 fare for passage to America and trusted the wards would be met by their patrons at their ultimate destination. Usually employment was arranged along with a place to reside. The movement was mainly successful although not perfect. Delays or confusion could and did occur, causing apprehension and bewilderment for the young and poorly educated seekers of a better future.

It was in this situation that George, now 22 years, and William 15, found themselves in the spring of 1871. Excited by the thrill of a cross-Atlantic passage and the impending departure from their bleak life, the two orphans began to plan ahead. They were aware that Canada, formed as a Dominion only four years before, could offer them choices and options they would never have in England. They might also fail. But surely a new growing wilderness would be just the place for a young, able-bodied and energetic immigrant. Destined for Ontario where mainly English was spoken eliminated any language impediment. Laws and customs would be similar. The church had promised a friendly and helpful contact upon arrival.

George and William Randall were housed with fellow orphans back in the early 1860s. George later would relate to his family: We lived behind walls in London and if we misbehaved we weren’t allowed to play with the other children. They were dark days that I hate to recall, even now, years later.

At that time William was sponsored by the "Refuge for Homeless Boys" group. George, who had served as a soldier and then as a labourer saw this as a great opportunity to join his younger brother on this great adventure. He would accumulate his funds for the fare. They would attempt to coordinate their departures so they could unite again in Canada.

William’s passage was booked by the church and he departed from London on June 2, 1871. George saw him off and they agreed to reunite in Canada. The S.S. Severn arrived in Quebec City, June 21, 1871, after a 19-day voyage stopping en route in Halifax.

George could not find passage until he secured a ticket on the S.S. Nestorian due to leave Liverpool on June 22, 1871, a day after William would land in the port of Quebec.

Picture of SS Nestorian circa 1866-1871. George Herbert Randall set out for Canada with high hopes in 1871. He was to reunite with his brother William who left just days earlier. The two orphans never did meet and although they both went on to live long and fruitful lives, they never saw each other again.

The voyages of both young men were long and arduous in difficult conditions. Both ships were overbooked, quarters were crammed, and amenities were sparse. When William landed on the first day of summer, although elated to be in his new country, he was somewhat disillusioned and disoriented by the tiring voyage.

Arrangements had been made for William to be transported to Brome County in Quebec’s eastern townships where employment as a labourer awaited. Not having been forewarned of these plans and still in a state of confusion and bewilderment, he was in a quandary. Not knowing details of when his brother George would arrive, he left Quebec City. Underestimating the vastness of the country and its lack of a communication system, he may have thought a reunion later with George would be possible and probable. Off he went.

He never saw his brother again.

George travelled across the Atlantic under similarly wretched conditions and although the voyage down the Gulf of St. Lawrence was breathtaking, he was anxious to reach port, reunite with William, and start his new life.

The reunion never occurred in spite of the fact they would each eventually settle only 200 miles apart. They would both realize their hopes although never sharing them with each other.

After futilely inquiring of William’s whereabouts when he landed in Quebec, George reluctantly continued to Montreal by train and then on to Toronto where he would look for employment.

George did not prosper in Toronto. Maybe he likened it to London or he just didn’t feel comfortable with its growing population. Perhaps he still felt there was more for him somewhere else. He also held out hope William could still be located. His search confirmed William wasn’t in Toronto.

He cobbled together his train fare to Kingston where a burgeoning farming community was desperate for labourers. It was there in 1872 that he first encountered the family of Hugh Cairns.

Hugh Cairns was born in Northern Ireland in 1812. A resolute Orange Irishman, he had emigrated during the Irish flight from famine in the late 1840s. There were over eight million souls in Ireland in 1845. It was the most densely populated country in Europe.

I have seen the Indians in his forests, and the negro in his chains, and thought, as I contemplated their pitiable condition, that I saw the extreme of human wretchedness; but I did not know the condition of unfortunate Ireland . . . in all countries, more or less, paupers may be discovered; but an entire nation of paupers is what was never seen until it was shown in Ireland. -Gustave de Beaumont, French Sociologist, 1835

The potato famine devastated the Irish population. Four million people perished within two decades. Those that would avoid starvation, attempted voyages on overcrowded and disease-ridden ghost ships. The lucky ones reached America or even as far away as Australia. Thousands died trying to escape starving to death, only to perish anyway.

It was either die from starvation in Ireland or risk the perilous trans-Atlantic passage. Many perished at sea from the abhorrent living conditions aboard the overcrowded vessels. Those that survived helped to build the new Dominion of Canada. Hugh Cairns took the chance.

Taking advantage of the offer of cheap or sometimes free farmland in British North America, these hardy pioneers, having survived the brutal Atlantic crossing, hewed bush and excavated the rock and limestone of Canada East. They forged success, stone by stone, tree by tree.

Hugh Cairns was one of the lucky Irish when he found a spot in the old Storrington Township, just twelve miles north of Kingston where he cleared and began to cultivate his piece of land.

The Rideau Canal was built in 1832 as a vital water highway. It would become an important water route between Ottawa and Kingston. The Canal ran right through Storrington Township ensuring its inhabitants good future prospects. Most of the labourers that built the canal settled near or adjacent to it.

Anna Connell had arrived with her brother and family from Northern Ireland, also fleeing the potato famine. The Connell family found acreage near the Cairns clan. Probably pre-arranged, Hugh married Anna. Although fifteen years his junior, she was more than willing to share the vagaries of hard farming life.

Anna died in childbirth in 1865, a common occurrence back then. Over a short period of time, the Cairns and their kin would lose fourteen infants to the harshness of the wilderness and lack of medical awareness. So horrible was life in Ireland in those times that Irish immigrants would prefer to gamble their lives in the wilderness than face the alternative—starvation.

Hugh carried on resolutely after his wife’s death in 1865, aided by his six children and his nearby in-laws. Hugh was a member of the Orange Order in Kingston. The area’s Lodge was already one of Canada’s largest and staunchest.

After George Randall came to Kingston from Toronto he found work as a labourer in the area. He joined the Orange Lodge and there he encountered Hugh Cairns who became a great ally when the two met in early 1872. Although still hoping to find his brother, the young man was lonely and welcomed the comfort of the church. Hugh became a fast friend of George during their times at the Orange Lodge. Soon George would become his son-in-law.

After a very short courtship, George would marry Margaret Cairns, Hugh’s twenty-two-year-old daughter, at St. George’s Anglican Church in Kingston on July 10, 1873. The couple had high hopes and immediately began to plan a family.

Hugh Cairns was ecstatic when grandson William John Randall was welcomed into the world by George and Margaret on March 19, 1874. There was a grand celebration at the Cairns’ farm, joyfully attended by the Cairns and Connell clans. That bright promise turned to anguish when a fragile Margaret did not survive, perishing soon after due to the complications of childbirth.

George was heartbroken and now in a difficult circumstance. He had lost his young wife and had an infant son to suddenly raise on his own. The summer of 1874 was a desperate time for the new father.

George Randall’s hopes had been shattered when he lost his dear young wife Margaret. With an infant son to rear, he soon found out he was not alone. His resolute father-in-law Hugh Cairns welcomed him into his home and provided work on his farm. Grandson William was amply cared for, nurtured by Hugh’s large family.

It was not long after that George would marry Elizabeth Cairns, Margaret’s eighteen-year-old sister. The couple were wed on October 22, 1874. That union would endure for 52 years.

St. Georges Anglican Church in Kingston seen now. In 1873 it had a flourishing congregation. George Randall and Margaret Cairns were wed here on July 19, 1873. Margaret would die from complications after childbirth. George returned here on October 22, 1874, to marry Elizabeth Cairns, Margaret’s younger sister. The union lasted fifty-two years.

Chapter 3

Early Times

Life in Kingston in the 1870s was rugged, difficult, challenging, and exciting, as the city at the mouth of the mighty St. Lawrence played its part in the development of a brave new Dominion.

The Limestone City was the home and constituency of John A. Macdonald, the country’s first prime minister and a beloved and ubiquitous figure, often elbow-to-elbow with the citizenry in the local watering holes. His influence in the city getting favours from the federal government was well known, and the voters elected him term after term for his allegiance to his hometown.

Kingston had been pegged to be the nation’s capital until the threat of a possible US invasion became a factor in the decision in 1867 to choose Ottawa instead. Many thought the Americans wanted revenge for the burning of their White House during the war of 1812, and Kingston’s proximity made it vulnerable to an invasion. It was an important place, a key port for commerce and a valuable railroad link to all of the country. The Rideau Canal was a water route that transported ships carrying cargo back and forth to Europe and beyond, and the city was a valuable nexus for that water highway.

As George and family grew and prospered, a burgeoning sport was gaining popularity, especially in Sir John A.’s neighborhood. On the lake, the river, and the ponds, enthusiasts were enjoying a game played on ice. Strapped with skates and armed with a hickory stick they chased a ball, attempting to manipulate it through a goal. It quickly evolved to evenly numbered sides opposing one another over a designated time frame to produce a victor determined by the highest number of goals. Soon a flat octagonal wooden puck would be introduced and, finally, a round hard rubber sphere would become the scoring object. It would become the country’s great winter diversion, a wonderful escape from its bleak harshness. Watching two sides skate it out was almost as gratifying as participating in the fray.

This is a photo of the Victoria Skating Rink in Montreal, site of the first organized hockey match in 1875. The contest featured a rubber ball as the object and teams were nine per side. Note that the spectators were right next to the ice and there were no boards. Gas lights illuminated the ice surface. A good time was had by all.

In an historic and bold endeavour in Montreal’s Victoria Skating Rink, with gas lights illuminating the surface, James Creighton and his friends staged the first indoor hockey game on March 3, 1875. The teams played nine per side and the event was deemed a roaring success. The new pastime quickly took hold and Kingston’s inhabitants would be its most avid participants as the sport crept westward.

The Randall family, like the sport of hockey, began to grow. In timely order, George and Elizabeth would announce the arrival of Sarah on October 22, 1876, Margaret on January 2, 1878, and Hugh Alfred on June 23, 1879. The family lived modestly, renting a humble abode in the city as George worked as a labourer wherever he could find employment. The Orange Lodge had become a welcome association, as was his participation in the organization’s marching band.

The Randall clan in Kingston continued to expand as Herbert George arrived on August 16, 1882, followed by Samuel Edward on March 16, 1885.

The seventh child of George Randall would be born, quite auspiciously, just prior to the winter solstice on December 14, 1887. Kenneth Fenwick, born in a modest two-room flat, brought the family total to nine and presented his anxious parents with the ever-daunting task of managing to house, clothe, and feed seven young kids on a labourer’s wages.

Ice hockey at McGill University in Montreal, 1884.The sport was taking hold.

As was the custom in large low-income families in those times, children went to work at an early age to assist with the family expenses, sacrificing an adequate education in the process. William, George’s oldest child, had already moved to live and work on his grandfather Hugh’s farm when George found meaningful work in Smiths Falls in 1888. Ella was born there on October 13, 1889, bringing the at-home tally back to nine souls.

A full-time position for George at the Kingston Gas Works brought the family back to the Limestone City in 1890. Harold Edgar arrived June 13, 1892, and Ernest MacGilvery Randall was welcomed on October 15, 1894. The prolific Randall couple was unrelenting in their effort to grow the family. Mary Endell would arrive January 13, 1896.

A horrible event occurred shortly after that celebration when son Hugh, only sixteen, died after a bout with influenza. He succumbed to the scourge on April 17, 1896.

That summer, the oldest Randall daughter, Sarah, now 20 years old, met her future husband John Conley who was in the early stages of his plumbing career. He shared an interest with Sarah’s kid brother Kenneth in engaging in playing hockey when the Cataraqui River froze over as the temperature plummeted in the winter months. Young Kenny would tag along, begging to join in with John and his mates until they reluctantly relented.

Kingston was a hotbed of hockey in those days with a team from Queen’s University challenging for a new trophy, the Stanley Cup. Lord Stanley of Preston, the Governor General of Canada, had become a devotee to the winter sport.

Lord Stanley of Preston donated a small trophy at the urging of his children. It would be awarded to the best hockey team in the land. The rules of qualification changed dramatically over the years. Today it is one of the most coveted prizes in all of sport.

His sons Edward, Victor, and Arthur had taken to playing the game. Even his daughter Isobel adopted the pastime and encouraged the growth of women’s hockey. Lord Stanley, at the urging of his children, announced in 1892 that he would sponsor a trophy to be contested for the honour of being the best hockey team in the land.

At the time not a lot of attention was paid to Lord Stanley’s gesture. In the beginning there were very few leagues and competitions were more friendly get-togethers with rules made up according to the participants’ whims.

The Montreal Hockey Club—Inaugural Stanley Cup Champions 1893—note that several trophies are on display in the photograph. Stanley’s mug was the new kid on the block, welcome, but not revered yet. Mustaches sure were in vogue, proudly displayed by these young men.

The Montreal Hockey Club was declared the first winner of the Stanley Cup in 1893. Queen’s University of Kingston would mount unsuccessful challenges in 1895 and 1899.

As the sport blossomed, young Ken Randall became a passionate advocate, playing as often as he could. His father George encouraged him to pursue an education and continue drumming in the band, but the lad laced on his skates at every opportunity

The Limestone City and its hockey culture nurtured young Ken Randall’s passion to play the game in the 1890s. Pickup games with John Conley and his buddies toughened his resolve as he was always the youngest participant and had to hustle harder than all the rest to get any puck time. It was during these skirmishes that he learned the salty language of the street. His failing was that he brought these blasphemies home, much to the displeasure of his parents.

His father George insisted that if he wanted to continue to play ice hockey he would also have to continue to play in the Orange Order band where his manners and language would be refined. Father, who flourished in the band’s gathering, could keep an eye on his precocious son. Kenny’s instrument of choice was the drum, something he could bang with abandon. He took to it with great enthusiasm and soon became a proficient and a welcome member of the group. His father was pleased, although the foul language would still surface from time to time.

There’s no doubt that those cold winter days on the frozen river and harbour nurtured young Randall’s passion for the new game.

The Loyal Orange Order marching band, circa 1897. A young and proud Ken Randall is sitting bottom left, close to his drum. No band . . . then no hockey was father George’s ultimatum to his young son. This is the only likeness the family has of George Herbert Randall, sitting between the two youngsters.

On November 16, 1897, George would witness the birth of his twelfth offspring, and daughter number five, Eva. The modest abode was now crammed. The family coffers were in better shape, though, as some of the children now had jobs and contributed to the household expenses. The welcome income came at the expense of the absence of further education.

The family received a tragic jolt when both infant girls Mary and Eva did not survive, perishing in their early years. John Randall, George’s thirteenth child arrived on January 13, 1899. Sarah, the oldest Randall daughter and now married to John Conley, returned home from Renfrew where they had been residing with John’s family prior to having the couple’s first child.

On April 19, 1899, Sarah gave birth to a son, and Harold Conley became the first of the next Randall generation, George and Elizabeth’s first grandchild. As the twentieth century arrived, there were twelve inhabitants of the Randall household in Kingston. Sarah and her young baby Harold stayed on as John Conley struggled to establish a plumbing business in the Ottawa Valley.

By 1903 the family dynamic was undergoing major changes. Margaret had married William Gilmour and had moved on. Herbert had found work in the Watertown, New York, area and encouraged his parents to join him in upstate New York where industry was flourishing.

George Herbert Randall was no stranger to challenges and embarked on his second emigration to a new country, only this time he was not alone.

After over thirty years in Kingston, George and Elizabeth, and children Sam, Ella, Harold, Ernest, and John made their way to a strange city in a new country. The move reminded George of his journey from England when he had meagre resources and great prospects. With the Canadian economy and, in particular, employment opportunities in Kingston looking bleak, the intrepid group looked to greener pastures.

Young Kenneth took a different route. His passion to play hockey would have been stifled if he went southward to the US with the family. He chose to move to Smiths Falls and live with his sister Sarah and her husband John and work as his brother-in-law’s plumbing apprentice. The deciding factor was the Ottawa Valley community had a growing hockey reputation.

During the winters of 1903 and 1904, Ken Randall, now a robust teenager, was becoming an able plumber and steamfitter under the tutelage of his mentor, John Conley. He also was a constant presence at the local rink where his skating and puck handling skills were being honed.

It was during this time that he observed players Percy LeSueur and Cap McDonald perform for the Smiths Falls club, a powerhouse team in the Ontario Hockey Association’s Senior Division. He didn’t know it at that time, but these two individuals would influence his life’s journey significantly.

The town’s OHA intermediate team played a short schedule in those seasons and Ken practised with that squad. He was welcomed as fodder in their practices and, being younger, needed to learn fast to survive scrimmaging with the older and more experienced lads. Because there was no junior club, the teenager saw only limited game action when someone was injured or sick, and that was rare. He would have to wait his turn as competition was fierce and only seven men would dress in those early years, playing the entire game, usually without substitutes.

In the spring of 1905, the Smiths Falls Seniors had a crackerjack group that reached the OHA finals and travelled to Toronto to face the vaunted Toronto Marlboros. Although they lost 8-3, the local fan base felt the return match in Smiths Falls would produce a more favourable result.

The contest would go down as an overly brutal display of the winter game. Out to win at all costs, the local club viciously assaulted the Toronto side so vehemently that only three of their players were fit to play the second half, forcing a suspension of the game. It was eventually replayed in a neutral site, Peterborough, where the Marlboros prevailed and became provincial champs.

Ken Randall was in the arena when that gory display occurred against the Toronto team and the brutality displayed that infamous night would shape his view of the sport he loved. It also stamped the hockey played in the Ottawa Valley as rough-and-tumble and the participants from that area as beasts of the game.

Toronto Marlboros: 1904-05 OHA Senior Champions. They survived a vicious battering by the Smiths Falls septet to become champs. Ottawa Valley Hockey would long be a term to describe any team who played a rough-and-tumble style that put other teams in danger.

Chapter 4

Lindsay Days

In late 1905 with Ken’s 18th birthday looming and his apprenticeship developing, John Conley took advantage of a business opportunity in the town of Lindsay, Ontario. Relatives in that eastern Ontario community encouraged John to move his family to 7 Peel Street where they were welcomed by the Conley clan. Ken, his sister Sarah, his nephew Harold, who was now six years old, and his brother-in-law and mentor John Conley arrived with anticipation and excitement in the air. Plumbing prospects were high for John and Ken and the town had a sparkling hockey arena and a team of some promise.

The skills Ken had acquired along the way in Kingston and Smiths Falls were of great value. His excellent skating and stick-handling combined with an accurate shot would be welcomed by a new team. When he eventually put these attributes on display for the Lindsay Midgets’ manager Artie Partin he instantly created a favourable impression. What wasn’t in evidence during that audition was the combative edge that Ken had acquired during his formative years. He had learned the game in the shadow of the Ottawa Silver Seven and Smiths Falls Beavers. These teams employed methods that featured a rough-and-tumble no-holds-barred style, often resulting in injury to opponents.

One of the roughest OHA games on record took place in Smiths Falls in the March 1905 playdowns. The host Beavers faced the Toronto Marlboros in the final match of a two-game total-goals series to determine the provincial champion. Four of the seven Toronto players were unable to continue due to injury, so vicious and brutal was the play of the home side. The game was later played at a neutral site, Peterborough, where the Toronto team prevailed and won the championship.

Ken Randall’s hockey DNA was developed from a culture of slam-bang hockey and he would bring that to his new team in central Ontario. The Ottawa Valley style of hockey would be known far and wide for its barbaric bent.

The 1905-06 edition of the Lindsay Midgets was a team in transition. Their short history wasn’t marked with much success but the town heartily supported their youngsters with good attendance and enthusiastic support. The town had built an arena in 1895 that was heralded as one of the finest of the day. Originally constructed as a probable site for curling and public skating, town officials realized that a good hockey team would be a great compliment to its use. The capacity to accommodate over 2,000 fans was further incentive to develop a competitive hockey club. Attempts to do so had not been productive so far.

Ken Randall arrived with his sister Sarah’s family in the late autumn of 1905 from Smiths Falls. Lindsay had a Junior OHA team of some promise and the seventeen-year-old hoped to crack the lineup. In those days he was just the Kid, an eager plumber’s apprentice who loved hockey. This likeness was drawn by his granddaughter Sandra McAulay who has captured his visage as it was then, well prior to his emergence as an NHL enforcer.

As John and Ken established their new business and the family settled into the town’s social fabric, hockey took a back seat for young Ken. Arriving late in the fall, and putting work ahead of his pursuit of a place on the hockey team, the youngster was tardy in connecting with the club. The fact that he was a transfer from Smiths Falls where they played the game like Roman gladiators would not enamour him to the local organization that preferred a softer version of the sport.

It was late January in 1906 when Artie Parkin reluctantly checked out Ken’s hockey skills. The amiable manager of the Lindsay junior team had fixed his team by then and it took Ken some time to get Parkin to take his passion to play seriously. The rough house reputation of the style of hockey in Randall’s background also gave the cautious mentor further pause. Even though he had never seen Randall in a game, Artie was a proponent of good clean hockey and he wanted his boys to play accordingly. The lad from Smiths Falls would not relent, however, and pestered Parkin until the manager finally gave in. He put him through a thorough vetting and was convinced that the kid from Smiths Falls was too good to pass on.

In a