Before nearly every sporting event was televised, before you could keep track of the ongoing score on your smartphone, before you could listen on headphones (and now earbuds) without disturbing anyone. Back then, transistor radios served as our most important conduit. For the game.
Most importantly, the voices that emanated from those tiny radios, sometimes crystal clear and sometimes filled with static, served as the team's soundtrack. Al Shaver's death this week at age 96 reminded me how lucky I was to have grown up listening to Shaver talk about my favorite team, the Minnesota North Stars.
A memorial to Shaver published Wednesday after his family announced his death will refer to him as “the voice of the North Star.” That is selling Al short. Shaver wasn't just the voice of the North Star; he was the North Star.
The franchise has had plenty of star power over his 26 seasons in Minnesota, and there have been some familiar names, but no player has belonged to the North Stars like Shaver. The North Stars and owner Norm Green left for Dallas after the 1992-93 season (Shaver declined the transfer), so one wonders if the following statement is a bit of an exaggeration, written after someone's death. There may be some.
But it was Shaver who was responsible for explaining that magical spring run. His voice echoing from the Met Center press box brought comfort on a cold night. There was nothing better than sneaking a transistor radio under his pillow on weeknights to listen to the West Coast games while his parents were asleep.
Al Shaver was the best at depicting hockey battles, Zulgad writes. (Photo courtesy of Vintage Minnesota Hockey)
In the years when I was most passionate about the North Stars, Shaver worked with analysts at home games but played alone on the road. The shaver was a professional's professional. He knew when to breathe life into his broadcasts, and his description of each play was like listening to an artist verbally paint a picture.
But it was more than that.
Shaver may be the best of all time at depicting battles. This was at a time when hockey games were common, and Shaver pulled no punches in depicting the exchange of punches. A boxing announcer couldn't have done more. “Here we go, Plett and Secord,” Shaver told us from Chicago Stadium, before explaining exactly when Al Secord or Willie Plett landed another jab. Breaking up the melee on the bench, Shaver showed his true colors, visually scrutinizing every movement on the ice and focusing on his best bouts.
It was always clear that Shaver was a voice for the North Stars and wanted the team to win. But unlike many announcers today, North Stars players were not immune to his criticism. If the team didn't play well, Shaver has no problem saying so, and his antics reflected his passion for the team far more than the excuses spewed today.
Not only did Al's descriptions of the action keep us in the loop on what was going on, but he also gave us play-by-play of the street hockey games that many people play in their driveways on weekend nights. When a goalie makes a big save, the result is a Shaver-esque “Beau, let's pray for a glove save!”
That would be North Stars goaltender Donnie Beaupre. He had the perfect name for Shaver. After leaving the North Stars, Shaver played three seasons with Gophers hockey and occasionally played in the state high school hockey tournament. Every match Shaver had was more important simply because he called it.
Encounter with a legend
After listening to Shaver for probably five years, I finally got to meet him. My mother, Edna, who supported my passion for the sport in every way, wrote a letter to Shaver explaining how much her hockey-obsessed son admired him and wanted to be in the business. Ta.
Al invited me to sit with him in the AM-1500 booth at the afternoon game and took me to the press room to eat with him beforehand. I think she was about 14 years old at the time, but the thrill of being with a legend that I heard on the radio and just sat in her center at the Met and looked up at her remains with me to this day. I am.
It was probably six years later that I joined North Stars as a public relations intern. At some point shortly after boarding, Al asked if he could drop me off at the airport to catch a flight to a road game. The Met Center was only minutes away from the airport, but you're talking about a surreal experience. A 19-year-old kid with Al Shaver in the passenger seat of the Dodge his parents let him use.
Suddenly, the voices I had been hearing on my transistor radio for many nights were talking to me. And anyone who had a conversation with Shaver quickly realized that he had no ego and that he didn't consider himself better than anyone. Whether you are an intern or an executive at North Stars, Shaver will treat you with the same respect.
After Al quit his job with the Gophers, he retired to Vancouver Island. That meant it had been almost 30 years since he was last called up for a game. Yet I can still hear his voice talking about Dino's goal, Beaupre's big save or Brad Maxwell's fight. That's the impact Shaver had on many people. His voice may have been silenced this week, but it will live on for those of us who grew up hearing his voice on transistor radios.
