moneyp
01-30-2006, 12:37 PM
Thursday, August 4th, 2005 - 7:00 a.m.
One of my most consistent traits, for better or worse, is that I'm chronically early. While promptness is generally perceived as an admirable quality, more often than not friends and acquaintances find it inconvenient to have someone show up an hour early for everything and stand around while they prepare for the time that people are supposed to arrive. Some of my savvier friends usually tell me that a given event is starting later than it actually is, in the hope that I'll show up at something approximating the intended time of arrival.
Which is a long-winded way of explaining why I'm sitting in my car outside the offices of Pinewood Industries in Plainwell, Michigan, waiting for them to open the doors. Pinewood Industries is a privately held corporation, with various holdings in real estate, forestry, and manufacturing. They also own a hockey team, which is why I'm here.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Duke McKeen. No, my parents didn't name me after John Wayne. My given name is George, but everyone calls me Duke. I got the nickname playing hockey at the University of Chicago, where some newspaper wag dubbed me the "Duke of Deer Park" (as in Deer Park, Illinois where I grew up) and the name stuck. I was a pretty good collegiate player, a "hard-nosed right winger" as the scouting reports used to say. I was drafted in my senior year by the Hartford Whalers in the late rounds of the 1990 draft, but when it became clear that I didn't have the talent to have much of an NHL career, I bounced around the minors for several years before getting a cup of coffee with the Penguins in the late '90s, which means I'll earn a pension some day. After fifteen years of riding the buses in the International Hockey League and East Coast Hockey League, I decided to call it a career. Along the way I got married, earned an MBA, fathered two beautiful daughters, started a modestly successful chain (McKeen's Computer Repair, three outlets throughout the Great Lakes region!), and got divorced. I was ready to devote myself full-time to my business when I received a phone call from John Rogers, the Managing Director of the Minnesota Mustangs of the Midwest Hockey League.
"Now wait a minute," you might be saying. "The Minnesota Mustangs? Aren't you meeting the owners in Michigan? That's a heck of a commute." Well, yeah. It would be, if the Minnesota Mustangs played hockey in Minnesota. Actually, they play down the highway in Kalamazoo. For the geographically-impaired, Minnesota is four states away from Michigan. The team was acquired from owners in Minnesota by Michigan owners, who moved the team to Kalamazoo. Only they can't call the team the Michigan Mustangs as there already is a "Michigan" team in the league, the Michigan Admirals (who play in Flint), so they haven't renamed the team yet. Clear as mud? Okay.
Anyway, back to the phone call. Mr. Rogers asked me if I was interested in interviewing for the position of General Manager of the Mustangs, whose previous GM had resigned with the team's move. Having no experience as a GM (or even a coach), I was a bit perplexed. Rogers was aware of my extensive experience playing minor league hockey and had heard that I was well-liked in the locker room, a clubhouse leader and a good (or at least not debilitating) influence on the younger players. He was also aware of my off-ice success in managing my own business. So I know hockey and I know how to balance the books, which is what they wanted, I guess.
As for me, well, what hockey player doesn't think they could run things better than the guys in charge? I had to at least listen to the offer.
To spare you the suspense, I got the job. Today, in fact, is my first official day on the payroll, although I spent all of Tuesday and yesterday talking with my future co-workers. Justin Lawson, my assistant, is only a few years younger than me. He's a little more exuberant than I'm used to, but he seems like a smart guy. The Mustangs head coach, Brendon Melanson, and I are going to get along just fine. Most ex-hockey player coaches and GMs like to build teams that reflect the types of players they used to be, and I'm no different. I like hard-working players, guys who aren't afraid to battle along the boards or in front of the net. Whatever our talent level is, I want our team to be tough to play against. In that, Coach Melanson (or Melly, as he's called) and I are in total agreement. I also met with Kyle Webb, the team trainer, a crusty old salt from New York. Not the most personable guy, but I understand he does a great job of keeping the team patched up.
Today Justin, Melly and I are going over the team roster and looking where we're at, where we want to be and how we need to get there.
One of my most consistent traits, for better or worse, is that I'm chronically early. While promptness is generally perceived as an admirable quality, more often than not friends and acquaintances find it inconvenient to have someone show up an hour early for everything and stand around while they prepare for the time that people are supposed to arrive. Some of my savvier friends usually tell me that a given event is starting later than it actually is, in the hope that I'll show up at something approximating the intended time of arrival.
Which is a long-winded way of explaining why I'm sitting in my car outside the offices of Pinewood Industries in Plainwell, Michigan, waiting for them to open the doors. Pinewood Industries is a privately held corporation, with various holdings in real estate, forestry, and manufacturing. They also own a hockey team, which is why I'm here.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Duke McKeen. No, my parents didn't name me after John Wayne. My given name is George, but everyone calls me Duke. I got the nickname playing hockey at the University of Chicago, where some newspaper wag dubbed me the "Duke of Deer Park" (as in Deer Park, Illinois where I grew up) and the name stuck. I was a pretty good collegiate player, a "hard-nosed right winger" as the scouting reports used to say. I was drafted in my senior year by the Hartford Whalers in the late rounds of the 1990 draft, but when it became clear that I didn't have the talent to have much of an NHL career, I bounced around the minors for several years before getting a cup of coffee with the Penguins in the late '90s, which means I'll earn a pension some day. After fifteen years of riding the buses in the International Hockey League and East Coast Hockey League, I decided to call it a career. Along the way I got married, earned an MBA, fathered two beautiful daughters, started a modestly successful chain (McKeen's Computer Repair, three outlets throughout the Great Lakes region!), and got divorced. I was ready to devote myself full-time to my business when I received a phone call from John Rogers, the Managing Director of the Minnesota Mustangs of the Midwest Hockey League.
"Now wait a minute," you might be saying. "The Minnesota Mustangs? Aren't you meeting the owners in Michigan? That's a heck of a commute." Well, yeah. It would be, if the Minnesota Mustangs played hockey in Minnesota. Actually, they play down the highway in Kalamazoo. For the geographically-impaired, Minnesota is four states away from Michigan. The team was acquired from owners in Minnesota by Michigan owners, who moved the team to Kalamazoo. Only they can't call the team the Michigan Mustangs as there already is a "Michigan" team in the league, the Michigan Admirals (who play in Flint), so they haven't renamed the team yet. Clear as mud? Okay.
Anyway, back to the phone call. Mr. Rogers asked me if I was interested in interviewing for the position of General Manager of the Mustangs, whose previous GM had resigned with the team's move. Having no experience as a GM (or even a coach), I was a bit perplexed. Rogers was aware of my extensive experience playing minor league hockey and had heard that I was well-liked in the locker room, a clubhouse leader and a good (or at least not debilitating) influence on the younger players. He was also aware of my off-ice success in managing my own business. So I know hockey and I know how to balance the books, which is what they wanted, I guess.
As for me, well, what hockey player doesn't think they could run things better than the guys in charge? I had to at least listen to the offer.
To spare you the suspense, I got the job. Today, in fact, is my first official day on the payroll, although I spent all of Tuesday and yesterday talking with my future co-workers. Justin Lawson, my assistant, is only a few years younger than me. He's a little more exuberant than I'm used to, but he seems like a smart guy. The Mustangs head coach, Brendon Melanson, and I are going to get along just fine. Most ex-hockey player coaches and GMs like to build teams that reflect the types of players they used to be, and I'm no different. I like hard-working players, guys who aren't afraid to battle along the boards or in front of the net. Whatever our talent level is, I want our team to be tough to play against. In that, Coach Melanson (or Melly, as he's called) and I are in total agreement. I also met with Kyle Webb, the team trainer, a crusty old salt from New York. Not the most personable guy, but I understand he does a great job of keeping the team patched up.
Today Justin, Melly and I are going over the team roster and looking where we're at, where we want to be and how we need to get there.