The Capital District Islanders (CDI) hockey team was the AHL farm team for the New York Islanders and played in Troy, New York. The team had just finished its opening season and had a very difficult year at the box office. The owners were familiar with Ned’s background and success in starting and operating the Adirondack Red Wings franchise located about 45 minutes up the road in Glens Falls. The owner wanted Ned to take over the operations of CDI and turn it into a successful franchise. Ned told them he was committed to ORDA, but that he had someone in mind who might have an interest and would do a great job for them. Although I saw Gore as a career job, I was still interested in hearing more.
So, he and I met with the owner of CDI and the mayor of Troy. By the time we left, we had negotiated a multi-year contract that would pay me more than twice the amount of money I was making at Gore. I didn’t commit to anything before I left the Troy office because I needed to talk it all over with Sue, but a negotiated contract was waiting for my signature. It was a gut-wrenching conversation and decision for Sue and me. We really liked where we were and what we were doing.
Ultimately, the thought of more money, of getting back into pro hockey, and a chance to move to Glens Falls, where we could get a nicer home and into a better school district, finally swayed our decision for me to leave ORDA and become the general manager of the Capital District Islanders. I was excited about getting back into something that I had almost forgotten how much I missed since I retired from playing seven years earlier.
There would be many things we would miss about our home in North Creek. Among the things we would not be missing, however, were wild bears poking their heads into our bedroom window; finding snakes in our washing machine; the countless blood-sucking black flies; and picking porcupine quills out of our dog’s nose. So we packed up yet again and moved to a rental house in Queensbury, New York, an extension of Glens Falls that was only about 45 minutes away.
My new job was a big adjustment, to say the least, starting with my commute to Troy every day. With CDI, however, I was spending a lot of time on the road wearing a suit and tie, trying to get companies and individuals to buy advertising and season tickets. It got old fast, but I needed to get out there and make things happen for CDI.
Once the season started, things didn’t settle down. We played out of the RPI Houston Field House, which was an old navy warehouse in Rhode Island during World War II that got designated by the U.S. government as war surplus. The president of RPI got the government to donate, tear down, transport, and erect the massive building on the school’s campus. It was a great college coliseum, but not a very nice facility for a professional hockey club. It was a real struggle to sell tickets and corporate sponsorships but we made the best of it.
In spite of playing in an old barn, our product on the ice was exciting to watch. The team played a fast brand of hockey with former Islander star Butch Goring as the head coach. The first year that the team existed it did not make the playoffs. The next two years, though, while I was managing the operation, we made the playoffs. It was a great turnaround. Both years while I was there, we increased ticket sales and sponsorship dollars. But as the season went on during the 1992–93 season, the owner of the team started making it known that he was not going to operate the team for another season. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I left the great life and job security at Gore to get back into hockey with another franchise that was going defunct. It was like deja vu all over again.
Ned and I had stayed in touch constantly. When I told him of the latest developments, he approached a guy he knew in Schenectady about buying the team. One thing led to another and sure enough, we were back in business. The guy was Albert Lawrence, the king of insurance in the Capital District region, and he was hailed by many as a generous man who donated much of his time and money to various nonprofit organizations. When he bought CDI, I felt relieved and hopeful that I could continue to move the franchise in the right direction by making it profitable and popular like its upstate rival. But I soon discovered that there was a dark side to this man and despite the decisions I made to improve his investment, his ego did not allow anyone but him to be in total control.
At the end of the season, the New York Islanders decided to move their minor league team from Troy to Salt Lake City. Our three-year affiliation agreement expired and the Islanders did not want to stay in Troy any longer. That left the CDI franchise without an NHL affiliate, so I needed to secure a replacement for the vacancy the Islanders left. I contacted Lou Lamoriello, the GM of the New Jersey Devils, to see if I could stir up interest in him to move his farm club from Utica to Albany.
Lou and I had some very good discussions and he became extremely interested in partnering with us. As I was negotiating our new agreement and making good progress, Al Lawrence decided he wanted to handle the deal. He took over and came to terms on an agreement with the Devils to have them put their farm team in Albany as our affiliate. The agreement that Al negotiated and signed was much more expensive than the one that I was working out with Mr. Lamoriello. But, I thought, “Hey, it’s his money. He can do what he wants with it.”
I convinced Al that it was time to move out of the RPI Field House and upgrade our image by moving across the Hudson River to the Albany Knickerbocker Arena. The Knick was a $68 million major league arena built in Albany in 1990. Al liked that idea and had me proceed, but first we had to get the permission from the Red Wings, who owned the franchise territory rights. Detroit refused to grant us permission so Al filed a lawsuit against the Red Wings and won the right to move our club to the Knick. I negotiated a very favorable lease agreement with the arena’s management and by the end of May we had a new home and a new NHL affiliate.
I decided that the next thing to do was to create a new identity for the team, which would generate additional revenue for the organization. I wanted to come up with a new name and logo for the team that would allow us to sell unique merchandise and advertising. Mr. Lamoriello wanted his players dressed in the New Jersey colors and wanted them to be called the Devils, just like the parent club. Al was not against this and it took considerable effort from me to convince him of the merits of having our own identity and uniforms. After Al agreed to create a new identity, he told me he wanted to call the team the Albany Dalmatians. He wanted the uniforms to be white with black spots on them. He also wanted helmets with dog ears on the sides and a dog snout on the front. Al had a couple of Dalmatian dogs for pets and felt that his Dalmatian-looking hockey team would be great. When I realized that he was serious, I told him that his design would definitely be unique, but never in a million years would the players or New Jersey agree with this plan. I suggested that we come up with a colorful name relating to something indigenous to the area and then create a logo to complement the name.
After much deliberation, he decided to have a poll taken in the local newspaper of an assortment of names and then see what came back as the popular choice.
I immediately went to my public relations director, Geoff Knapp, and my director of media relations, Jeremy Duncan, to brainstorm new name ideas. After a few beers, we came up with “River Rats.” With the Hudson River in our backyard, River Rats could refer to local kids who frequently skated on the river, similar to the term rink rats, or it could simply be a furry rodent from the banks of the river. Either way, we liked it and submitted it on the contest list.
Al Lawrence and Lou Lamoriello hated the name, but sure enough, it won by a three-to-one margin. Lawrence was still not totally convinced that we should use this name, but I went ahead by hiring a local advertising agency to come up with a logo. I gave the company my idea of a rat with a smirking attitude splashing out of the water with a hockey stick in its hand and a wink in its eye. After a bit of tweaking, I had our first game jersey made with the new logo and called a press conference to unveil “Rowdy the Rat,” of the new Albany River Rats. It was a huge hit. The media ate it up and even USA Today ran a feature about it. Soon after that, the Hockey News, considered the bible for all hockey information, named it the best logo in minor league hockey.
I thought I had hit a series of home runs with my bold moves over the summer, but by mid-September 1993, before our first game, Al Lawrence called me into his office and told me that I was fired. I was floored. When I asked why, he said that I had lied to him. In reality, he couldn’t stand the fact that I had come up with a good idea that wasn’t his own. When I strongly protested his false accusation and asked him to give me a specific example, he refused and simply told me that he was terminating my employment. He did not give me any severance pay or say anything about my employment contract that came with the franchise when he bought it, either. As a result of his refusal to honor our agreement, I had to take legal action against him.
It took nearly a year from the day that I got fired to get awarded a judgment against Lawrence. During that time, I tirelessly sought employment with other hockey teams and other places, but had no luck. With no money coming in, bills needing to be paid, and the cost of daily life, I exhausted all of our savings and had to rely on relatives’ contributions, mostly from Gram and Pap, in order to keep from filing bankruptcy or having my mortgage go to foreclosure. Once I was awarded my settlement, I was able to pay back all of my dear relatives who helped me through that awful time. I guess it’s true what they say about realizing who your true friends are when you are at your lowest. I can’t thank them enough. I learned a lot of valuable lessons about life that year and am a much stronger person as a result.