When Keith Magnuson, former Blackhawks captain and spiritual leader, was killed in an automobile accident four years ago, a lesser man would have issued a statement expressing regrets, then resumed his role of owning one of the National Hockey League’s Original Six franchises, as well as the various businesses in the family’s estimable portfolio.
Not William Wirtz. He dropped everything as if mourning over a blood relative. He reached out to Magnuson’s widow, Cindy, their two children, Kevin and Molly, and oversaw every detail, including the transportation of Keith’s body from Toronto to his adopted hometown, Chicago. Wirtz choreographed a proper send-off for the fallen defenseman, then paid for all the expenses — a gesture that seemed to outsiders so uncharacteristic of a fabulously wealthy individual often portrayed as cold, heartless and possessed by squeezing a penny until it grew into a dime.
But Wirtz, who died Wednesday morning at age 77, was as renowned to his inner circle for such random acts of kindness as he was condemned by disenchanted fans for operating a team that has not won a Stanley Cup since 1961 and thus resorted to giving away tickets that had been cherished, scalped and left in wills during those halcyon days.
When the NHL went dark in 1994 because of a lockout Wirtz helped engineer to implement what he envisioned as an era of fiscal sanity, many franchises laid off staff members or cut their paychecks in half. Wirtz, the alleged cheapskate, not only kept his workers working, he threw them a Christmas party, a month before the stalemate ceased and games resumed.
As the Hawks’ beat writer, my first job with the Tribune, and then as a columnist (my last), I found it as difficult to comprehend all of Wirtz’s methods as I did impossible to dislike him. I heard, via the pipeline, that he once tried to get me reassigned, because my words about his squad were too biting. I survived and later took the credit — or blame — for hanging that “Dollar Bill” nickname on him.
Initially he was annoyed, but when he saw “Dollar Bill” jerseys popping up around the Stadium and United Center, and people began asking him to autograph dollar bills, he mellowed. I reminded him that if he had had me fired, he never would have become so famous. He laughed and said, “See you at the game.” He was always at the games, win, lose or tie. Let no dissenter claim he lacked passion.
Wirtz took the hit for allowing Bobby Hull to jump the Hawks for the incipient World Hockey Association in 1972 — a colossal gaffe that dearly cost the Hawks and NHL. Wirtz admitted it was the worst mistake in franchise history, but in fact, the blunder belonged to his father Arthur, legendary “Baron of the Bottom Line.”
Bill, however, also could be at once brutally stubborn, then strangely impulsive. He became the league’s most powerful figure during the 1980s and 1990s, but occasionally, as he saved the NHL, his back yard burned.
The Hawks under his reign as president parted with a litany of stars while employing a cast of replacements who couldn’t play. Rogue general managers and coaches came and went, leaving a trail of failure, bad advice and IOUs that Wirtz tried to correct, but didn’t, even by violating his tenet of not overpaying talent. The Hawks still are doing it, and some of their talent isn’t so talented.
Many of us poor, common mopes often wondered why Wirtz did not even attempt to buy a Stanley Cup. He certainly had the dough, and before the NHL instituted a salary cap, there were no restrictions on spending. When I wondered that aloud to him, however, Wirtz did not pause for long.
First, he asserted, look at all the teams that have no success despite having no budget. More important, Wirtz did not fancy pouring money from other stable businesses such as liquor and real estate into hockey. The Hawks had to make it on their own.
I thought he was crazy and told him so. With the team part of the family heirloom, why not blow a few million bucks and go for it? After all, the Hawks weren’t just another account to him. He loved them … but not more than business principles passed on to him by Arthur.
The “decision” not to televise home games was not so much Bill’s, as a friend of his once tried to explain.
“If Bill were to put home games on TV,” whispered deep throat, “I really believe he believes that his dad would climb out of his grave, storm into Bill’s office and put a hockey stick to his behind.”
That premise is worth remembering now with either of Bill’s sons, Rocky or Peter, next in line to preside over the franchise. When Arthur was still in charge, it was assumed that Bill, the Ivy League heir from Brown, would fast-forward the Hawks toward vast uncharted territories of modernity when his turn came. Critics, including this one, will suggest Bill retained a hard-line, Original Six mentality during an era when the NHL expanded exponentially to 30 markets and wrestled with spiraling payrolls.
If Dollar Bill were still around, he probably would argue that, loudly and for however long it took him to vent, at whatever hour. But with the debate over, a story would then pop into his mind and off he would go, a superlative raconteur and social being who could forget a negative article as quickly he forgave a busted power play.
More Top Picks Best Electrotherapy Machines For Pain Relief
When you break into this business around the hockey crowd, you become spoiled because you assume all the other sports people will be the same. They aren’t. Bill Wirtz was part of that mix. For all his controversial tactics and intransigent positions, the hockey crowd has lost a giant and now is skating a man short.
———-
Former Tribune columnist Bob Verdi, a senior writer for Golf Digest and Golf World, covered Bill Wirtz and the Hawks for more than 20 years.