Leslie Spitz-Edson's Blog, page 3

The real-life hockey heroes of the U.S. National Women's Team

It's an eventful time for women's hockey. Both of the North American professional women's leagues have had their championships, as has the NCAA. And in culmination, the Women's World Championships will begin at the end of this month in Plymouth, Michigan. But, although the event is hosted by USA Hockey, the U.S. National Women's Team may sit this one out. 

Why? 

Not because the team is inferior, that's for sure. According to ESPN, it's been the jewel of the U.S. Olympic program. Ranked number one in the world, the team has won seven world championships, including the last three, and have medalled at every Olympic games since the women's game was first included in 1998, when they won gold.

Rather, they are essentially striking for better pay and for the respect which is long overdue. They'd rather play than sit on the sidelines, of course, but as two-time Olympic silver-medalist, six-time World Champion gold medalist Hilary Knight says, "[the decision not to play] just came about because USA Hockey didn't take our group seriously...we train every single day to represent our country with already limited programming in terms of games. It's something that we look forward to. It's a huge deal. To have to sacrifice that means a lot."

Why do they feel they need to make this sacrifice? Because for fourteen months, the women of the U.S. National Team have tried to negotiate with USA Hockey's leadership for fair wages and a commitment to supporting girls' and women's programs in the sport, but have nothing to show for it.

Being on the Women's National Team is a financial hardship. Members of the senior women's team receive $1000 per month for six months leading up to the Olympic games - for a grand total of $6000 every fourth year. During the other 3 1/2 years they receive nothing.  Many of them remain on their parents' insurance and cellphone plans, and most work second or third jobs, all while training year-round for Olympic and World Championship participation and coping with constant financial insecurity and stress.  

Men's National Team players play in the NHL, earning multi-million-dollar salaries, enjoying insurance and medical care provided by the league and teams, and, during the Olympics, perks such as luxury travel and lodging negotiated by the NHL. The women aren't asking for financial rewards even approaching these.

"We're not asking for millions of dollars. We're not even asking for hundreds of thousands of dollars," says Monique Lamoureux-Morando, a two-time Olympic silver medalist and five-time World Championship gold-medalist, "I work as a strength and conditioning coach, and then I also run hockey camps...so I have second and third sources of income that I rely on as well. To be able to train full time and not have to worry about paying bills would certainly be nice."

But even more disturbing than the lack of financial compensation for the women, is the lack of respect for girls and women by USA Hockey in every facet of their operation. Here's a partial list of the slights that have been circulating in the media since the women's team announced their strike:

For the Olympic jersey unveil in 2014, the Men's National Team was invited, but none of the women were. And while gold medals previously won by U.S. National Teams were listed inside the collars of the jerseys, the women's gold medal win in 1998 was omitted.The Women's Under-18 team has won five World Championships since they started competing in 2008, but they have never received a Championship ring, even though the U18 boys "get rings...a couple of months after they win," says Jocelyne Lamoureux-Davidson, who, like her sister Monique, is a two-time Olympic silver medalist and five-time World Championship gold-medalist. "If the senior women's team gets a ring - if we do - it's a couple years late. It just goes to show, oh sorry, we forgot about you, here's your ring from two years ago."To no avail, the women have repeatedly requested that USA Hockey schedule them to play more than the current nine games per year in Olympic years. Meanwhile, the teenage boys' national development teams play at least 60 games per year and often train in residence in the posh new training center in Plymouth, MI.The women consistently endure travel and lodging accommodations that are inferior to the men's and boy's. They remember waking up with spider bites during a residential training camp in Blaine, MN. Players who lived in the area actually brought their own bedding in an attempt at self-defense! Teammates have watched as their goaltenders were forced to wear their (unmatching) college gear for tournaments, while the boys U18 goalies were kitted out with entirely new equipment for their events.And the final blow: USA Hockey currently spends $3.5 million annually on their development program for boys. They do not have a comparable program for girls.

USA Hockey has refused to promote the women's team, and refused to promote the sport among girls. Unlike the federations that control women's gymnastics, soccer, and figure-skating, over the years USA Hockey has actively discouraged victory tours by the women's team after successful tournaments. (Read U.S. women's soccer pioneer Julie Foudy's thoughts on this here. "There are a number of times we travel to different areas and people don't even know that the U.S. National Team, the U.S. Women's Olympic Team, is there, because nothing was made of it," says Knight.

The Ted Stevens Olympic and Amateur Sports Act requires sports' governing bodies - in this case, USA Hockey - to "provide equitable support and encouragement for participation by women where separate programs for male and female athletes are conducted on a national basis," as is the case in hockey. USA Hockey has clearly failed in this regard.

The women of the US National Team have finally said, enough is enough. They're going on strike. Not just for themselves, but for the younger women and girls who love the game and want to play - or who might want to, if they only knew it was an option for them. As team captain and two-time Olympic silver medalist, six-time World Championship gold-medalist Meghan Duggan says, "all of us consider it a privilege to put on a Team USA jersey. None of us wanted this day to come but we feel that we owe it to women players who came first in our sport, we owe it to ourselves, and we owe it to women in future generations."

The final final blow, in my opinion, is that USA Hockey, when faced with the players' de-facto strike, actually threatened to field a different team for the upcoming World Championship tournament. The players essentially dared them to do it, asserting that the women's and girls' programs were united down to the lower levels, and that none of them would play, even if asked. Captain Meghan Duggan reportedly made around 100 phone calls to women around the country to thank them for their support. "Everyone knows this is the right thing to do," said Duggan.

Information for this post came from:

U.S. Women's Hockey Team Plans to Boycott World Championship Over Pay Dispute

Women's Boycott Highlights Opportunity for Major Change at USA Hockey

U.S. Women's Hockey Team Willing to Risk Everything for Respect  

U.S. Women's Hockey Team Threatens to Sit Out World Championships  

U.S Women's Hockey Team Threatens to Boycott World Championship  

It's Time for USA Hockey to Wake Up and Support the Women's Team (by Julie Foudy)

Update: Yesterday the Women's National Team and their lawyers had a lengthy meeting with USA Hockey. There is hope that they will reach an agreement and that the team will play in the World Championships, scheduled to begin on March 31.

 

Agnes, Maria Campbell, and the light inside

Who is Agnes, protagonist of Seeking the Center? Where did she come from? The short answer is, I don't know. 

She's not autobiographical. I have never been as tough, as brave, or as smart-assed as she is. (I only wish I was!)

I've mentioned that she began, partly, as a question about being female in the overwhelmingly male world of ice hockey. And that's certainly true.

Ultimately, though, a lot of things entered into the mix that became Agnes's character. And while I will never uncover all of them, I can say that one major inspiration is the life of Maria Campbell, a Métis woman who persevered through extreme difficulties to become a writer, a teacher, a much-respected elder, and an advocate for Métis and women's rights.

I found Campbell's Halfbreed by chance, browsing the stacks at Powell's Books in Portland, Oregon, and I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to whomever it was that sold their used copy to Powell's! The autobiography is riveting and a must-read for everyone.

Campbell was born in 1940 in Park Valley, SK, a poor Road Allowance community. (Unlike other Aboriginal groups, the Métis were not granted rights to land under treaties with the Canadian government, so many were forced to squat on "road allowances" - Crown lands set aside for future roadways.) At age 33 she wrote Halfbreed, an autobiography documenting her life up until that time. In Halfbreed, Campbell never shies away from the poverty, alcoholism, violence, addiction, racism, and sexism that she faced, but she nevertheless manages to portray some of the beauty of her Métis culture and the love that existed within her family, troubled though it may have been.

While devastating at times, Halfbreed remains a testament to the dignity and spirit that people can possess, nurture, and share in defiance of even the direst circumstances and the most heartless enemies. Campbell has this light within herself, and she also has the ability to find it, and to inspire it, in others. In spite of people who fail her, and circumstances that drag her down, she retains the ability to love and to trust others, and to parlay that love into something that can sustain and nourish.

Agnes doesn't experience the hardship and desperation that Campbell did, but she has the same light inside her. And in Seeking the Center, she learns to find it and use it, for her own good and for the good of others.

Some notes on ‘Chief’ as a (hockey) nickname

In Seeking the Center, there’s a scene where Claude is referred to as “Chief” by an opponent:

Good thing you got ol' Chief there to look out for you, eh MacKenzie?

It's not meant as a compliment, either for MacKenzie, who, it is implied, is not man enough to stand up for himself, or for Claude, whom the opponent tries to belittle by referring to him by the racial stereotype “Chief.”

Hockey nicknames are known for their unimaginative-ness, and while researching Seeking, I quickly learned that “Chief” is, or was at one time, the go-to for First Nations/Native American/Métis players of hockey - and other sports as well. According to Don Marks, author of They Call Me Chief: Warriors on Ice, “almost every Indian who played in the NHL or anywhere else has been called ‘Chief' at one time or another.”

Jim Neilson, who played in the NHL in the 1960s and 1970s, told Marks,

I’ve been called Chief all my life, everywhere else I go. In hockey, you know that your teammates were calling you Chief in a friendly, natural sort of way. But then you would play guys from other teams and you knew it wasn’t so friendly. Most of it was just during the heat of the battle and they were trying to throw you off your game and you just ignore it.

Stan Jonathan, Mohawk/Tuscarora NHL forward from 1976-1983, said, also to Don Marks,

They called me Little Chief and I didn’t mind that. It was when they called me ‘wahoo’ or ‘F#$%’n little Indian’ that I didn’t like [it]...

Judging from Neilson’s and Jonathan’s comments, the context of the name-calling could influence players' feelings about it. But also, as Jonathan indicates, the term “Chief,” while intended to isolate, belittle, and ridicule a person on the basis of race, might have been different, in some sense, than other slurs.

Year in Nam is Leroy TeCube's memoir of the year he served as a G.I. in Vietnam. (I also wrote about it in an earlier post.) Like Jim Neilson and Stan Jonathan, TeCube, a Jicarilla Apache man, was given the nickname “Chief” by his "teammates," i.e. the soldiers in his platoon.

When I joined the platoon it consisted mostly of white GIs, followed by blacks and Hispanics. I was the only American Indian. Someone asked, ‘What race are you? You look like an Indian.'

TeCube describes how he discussed his tribal affiliation with the guys, until finally one of them says, “In that case we’ll call you ‘Chief.’” TeCube answers him, “In my traditional way the title of chief is earned and shown respect.” He then recalls: 

Most of the guys would call me Chief from then on, although a handful of individuals called me by my real name. Up until that moment throughout my training no one even suggested calling me Chief. I wondered why that was so. Perhaps because as trainees we were used to being treated as animals and were addressed by our last names. Now here in Vietnam everyone had an identity. 

Regardless of how the name was intended, TeCube chooses how he will take it - he re-appropriates it - and throughout his service in Vietnam he works hard to live up to the name “chief” and what it means to him and his traditional beliefs. He writes:

I also thought of my new responsibility from my Jicarilla Apache way...the short translation of Nahn Tahn is leader. A more indepth translation, however, describes it as someone who is also an orator. He tells his people what happened in battle or what is about to happen to them next...being Nahn Tahn was something to be feared. Only the very strong took on the responsibility. One had to set a good example and ensure that the needs of everyone in his group were met before he thought of himself. He must never be corrupted or gain wealth from his position. The main criteria were that he never retreat in battle and he show a lot of courage. He had to be the first one into a conflict, and if need be, he would fight single-handedly with an enemy leader…

Towards the end of his time in Vietnam, TeCube recalls “meeting a fellow soldier who was Navajo...as we talked I realized he was also a leader within his platoon and was also called Chief. This gave me a good feeling, knowing that another individual lived up to the name.”

Finally, TeCube is awarded sergeant’s stripes. He writes: 

That day I felt a great sense of pride and accomplishment. I never expected to be a sergeant when I entered the army. Now I had orders in my hand stating just that. I also knew that I had earned the rank….It took a little time before I got used to being called sergeant or sarge. Some called me Sergeant TeCube. Most of the time I still went by Chief or Sergeant Chief. This had more meaning. According to my traditional beliefs, I had now earned the right to be called Chief.

TeCube - along with all of his platoon-mates - quickly recognizes the futility of the Vietnam War, but, having no choice in the matter, he takes it as an obstacle to overcome, just as he takes the moniker given to him, "Chief," as a personal challenge. And while I didn't know about TeCube and hadn't read his story when I was writing Seeking, I like the way that, without knowing it, the player who calls Claude "Chief" unwittingly points to certain facets of Claude's character and aspirations, facets that don't come to light until later in the story. Claude feels that he has little choice but to play what he thinks of as "this white man's game," and while, like TeCube, he is certainly aware of racism and the obstacles it places in his path, he soldiers on, keeping his identity, self-respect, and dignity intact.

Guys playing sports: an early passage from Seeking the Center

I wrote this little piece several years ago, when I was just starting to work on Seeking the Center. It's about young guys playing sports.

By the end of the lazy summer I'm glad to get back to town. To the cool of the rink, the smells of moldering, wet wool and sharp sweat, the sling-shot jocks, the jostling of us guys packed together in our stalls, buzzing and slamming like too many molecules, loud with joking and laughing and trash-talking. Where else would we go? What other place is left for us? The big, slick ice, the dark tunnel, the dank, crowded dressing room: they’ve made those places for us.

Outside, they’ve taken down the goals. Like a fish out of water, my form seems unsuited, my strength, outsize. It’s like when I was a kid and my mamma would say, what am I ever going to do with you? I was too fast, too heavy, too hard, too strong, too loud, too coarse, and too excitable to have in the house. It couldn’t hold me. I didn’t stop when she said stop. My words grated on the ears; my shirttail fluttered. Not fit for civilized society. That’s what she’d say. She was only joking, but I think it might be true.

I’ve heard that in the old days, they set the goals a town apart, fields apart, forests apart. That would’ve suited me great. Back then the earth was our playing field. One goal was just over the hill, far side of the schoolhouse; the other, across the stream and through the muskeg. We’d run through the brush, our feet on fire, our battles real.

But somehow it got too small for us out there, and so they’ve put us inside. Kind of funny, eh? Maybe it’s for the best; maybe it’s for our own good. Now we’re a show, a museum piece, and people pay to see us. They don’t have to have us in the house, or in town, or terrorizing the schoolmarms, or trampling the fields or trudging through the muskeg, getting mud on our shoes. Now we’re contained. It’s cleaner this way. 

Is this girlsplaining? I don't know. You tell me.

I wrote this little piece several years ago, when I was just starting to work on Seeking the Center. It's about young guys playing sports. Is it girlsplaining? I don't know. You tell me.

By the end of the lazy summer I'm glad to get back to town. To the cool of the rink, the smells of moldering, wet wool and sharp sweat, the sling-shot jocks, the jostling of us guys packed together in our stalls, buzzing and slamming like too many molecules, loud with joking and laughing and trash-talking. Where else would we go? What other place is left for us? The big, slick ice, the dark tunnel, the dank, crowded dressing room: they’ve made those places for us.

Outside, they’ve taken down the goals. Like a fish out of water, my form seems unsuited, my strength, outsize. It’s like when I was a kid and my mamma would say, what am I ever going to do with you? I was too fast, too heavy, too hard, too strong, too loud, too coarse, and too excitable to have in the house. It couldn’t hold me. I didn’t stop when she said stop. My words grated on the ears; my shirttail fluttered. Not fit for civilized society. That’s what she’d say. She was only joking, but I think it might be true.

I’ve heard that in the old days, they set the goals a town apart, fields apart, forests apart. That would’ve suited me great. Back then the earth was our playing field. One goal was just over the hill, far side of the schoolhouse; the other, across the stream and through the muskeg. We’d run through the brush, our feet on fire, our battles real.

But somehow it got too small for us out there, and so they’ve put us inside. Kind of funny, eh? Maybe it’s for the best; maybe it’s for our own good. Now we’re a show, a museum piece, and people pay to see us. They don’t have to have us in the house, or in town, or terrorizing the schoolmarms, or trampling the fields or trudging through the muskeg, getting mud on our shoes. Now we’re contained. It’s cleaner this way. 

How long does it take to write a novel?

So, how long did it take you to write Seeking the Center? I get that question regularly. I wish I had kept track of the hours, but of course I didn't. For the first two to four years I didn't even know that I was writing it! But, here's my best (although rather long and rambling) answer to the question:

The first glimmers started in 2008-2009. My notes - the ones I can find - date back to 2010. My characters started to come into existence during summer vacation 2010, and the earliest passages that I wrote date to 2010 or 2011. The year 2012 was kind of a lost year, for various reasons, but during the spring and summer of 2013 I did a ton of research, and I wrote the bulk of the story during the academic year 2013-2014. In the fall of 2014 I found an editor who wanted to work with me on it (sheer luck!) and we worked on and off (she had other projects going) from early 2015 until mid 2016 - outlining and re-outlining, adding and deleting sections, revising, editing, proofreading, etc. - until the book was ready for publication in the fall of 2016.

 

Louis Riel Day and Métis nationhood

After reading Seeking the Center a friend of mine became curious about the description Métis that appears on the back cover of the book. She looked it up and asked me about it. "It means mixed race, right?" she asked. "Like mestizo."

Well, no. There's confusion about the designation Métis. On the one hand, yes, the French word métis, with a lower-case m, literally means mixed, often used to describe people of "mixed blood" - i.e., people who are bi- or multi-racial. But Métis, with a capital M, does not.

The Métis, as a people, have their roots in the North American fur trade, going back as far as the 17th century, when European fur traders and Indigenous people began forming alliances, often cemented by, or taking the form of, marriages between fur traders and indigenous women. The children of these marriages often intermarried among themselves, and over generations developed their own language (Michif) and culture. They became a large and influential group in the Canadian and American west, working not only as hunters, fur processors, pemmican manufacturers, and voyageurs, but as guides, translators, traders, merchants, and so on. Today they are recognized by the Canadian government as one of three Aboriginal groups - i.e., cultural groups that existed originally, before Canada itself: First Nations, Inuit, and Métis. The United States has never recognized the Métis as a distinct cultural group, although their northern plains homeland extends across the U.S.-Canada border.

The Métis are also, in the same sense as, say, the Ojibwe or the Cree, a nation, and one whose origin predates the arrival of the Canadian and U.S. governments to their homeland. Their sense of nationhood developed over the course of generations, and was solidified during the 19th century through a series of political/military events including the Battle of Seven Oaks (1816), the trial of Guillaume Sayer (1849), and the Métis resistances at Red River, Manitoba (1870) and in Saskatchewan (1885).

The Métis leader in the latter two confrontations was Louis Riel, a charismatic, spiritually inclined, and enigmatic man who envisioned a Native nation in North America. His forces were crushed both at Red River and at Batoche, Saskatchewan, by the Canadian government, then in its infancy. He himself was captured, tried, and hung for treason by Canadian authorities after the defeat at Batoche in 1885. 

Since 2008, the third Monday in February has been designated Louis Riel Day in the Canadian province of Manitoba. In other parts of Canada, Louis Riel, as well as Métis culture in general, are celebrated on November 16, the anniversary of Riel's execution. 

Here are some titles for further reading - by no means an exclusive list! - in order of publication date: 

Strange Empire: A Narrative of the Northwest by Joseph Kinsey Howard (1952)Many Tender Ties: Women in Fur-Trade Society, 1670-1870 by Sylvia Van Kirk (1980)Strangers in Blood: Fur Trade Company Families in Indian Country by Jennifer S. H. Brown (1980)The People Who Own Themselves: Aboriginal Ethnogenesis in a Canadian Family, 1660-1900 by Heather Devine (2004)One of the Family: Metis Culture in Nineteenth-Century Northwestern Saskatchewan by Brenda Macdougall (2010)"Métis": Race, Recognition, and the Struggle for Indigenous Peoplehood by Chris Andersen (2014)

La belle Françoise: the evolution of a traditional song

"La belle Françoise" is a song that appears in Seeking the Center and on my Seeking the Center playlist. I think its background is interesting, and I want to share it with you. 

When I was writing Achille's main scene in Seeking, I looked for a song that could play a certain role in it. (I won't elaborate on that role, because I don't want to spoil the story.) I wanted a traditional voyageur song, because that is a major part of Achille's background and identity. (The voyageurs were the French Canadian paddlers of the birchbark canoes that carried trade goods north and west into the interior of North America, and brought back loads of furs to the companies in Montreal. They used traditional songs to synchronize their paddling. Most of these songs pre-dated France's first settlements in Quebec, so they date back to the 17th century or earlier.)

"La belle Françoise" appears in sources including Grace Lee Nute's The Voyageur and Thomas R. Draughon's Canot d'Écorce: Chansons de Voyageurs. Though it isn't the song most associated with the voyageurs, I chose it because of its minor key, which gives it a melancholy mood, and because of its lyrics, which dramatize the impending separation of two lovers.

In the song, Françoise weeps because her man must go to war, but he assures her that, if she waits for him, he will return and marry her. Their plight echoes the situations of some of my characters. Although it is not actual war that they are going to, they are facing unknown and sometimes hostile situations, away from their homeplaces.

You can listen to different versions of the song on YouTube. I chose Garolou's live version for my Seeking the Center playlist mainly because it makes an exciting finale. But it also represents a further evolution of the song that, although it doesn't pertain to Seeking, is interesting in its own right. 

Garolou was a French-Canadian group active in the 1970s that often took traditional French and French-Canadian chansons (songs) and gave them modern, rock settings. "La belle Françoise" was an early hit for them (mid 1970s). You can hear how they've contemporized it with a Vietnam-era anti-war message by inserting an intense version of "La Marseillaise." The Seeking the Center playlist version is from Garolou's 1997 live Réunion album.

Association of Writers and Writing Programs

I'm excited to be attending the Association of Writers and Writing Programs conference in Washington, DC, on Saturday. The conference, billed as "an essential annual destination for writers, teachers, students, editors, and publishers," begins on Wednesday and ends on Saturday, with a full slate of presenters that you can check out here and a packed schedule.

My official signing is from 1-2 pm on Saturday, but I'm planning to arrive early and stay late, as the book exhibit hall will be full of interesting offerings! I'll be at the Cuidono table in the Walter Washington Convention Center, Halls D & E, Table 702-T. We will have books for sale, and I will be happy to sign books for you, or to just chat.

Looking forward to seeing you!

Photos from a weekend of Badger hockey

A men's hockey game at the Kohl Center.

Pep band plays before the start of men's hockey game.

UW players on the bench.

Break out.

Screening the goalie.

View across the arena.

A couple of weekends ago I visited Madison, Wisconsin. I had hoped for a winter wonderland - snowshoeing in the woods, skating on an outside rink or even on a lake - but the weather didn't cooperate. However, I did get to see three (3!!!) hockey games at the University of Wisconsin. Watching live hockey is fascinating - you can see the plays unfold and check out the behind-the-play mayhem. When you watch a televised game, you can only see what the cameras show you.

On Friday evening the men's hockey team ("Badgers" is UW's nickname) suffered an overtime loss at the hands (paws?) of the Golden Gophers of the University of Minnesota - an epic duel of rodents. The men play in an arena about the same size as those used by professional NHL teams, with various food options, a pep band, and a large, very active student section.

On Saturday and Sunday I saw the women play. UW is the top ranked college team in the country and they didn't disappoint, beating the University of North Dakota Fighting Hawks both afternoons. The games were close, hard fought, and a ton of fun. The Badger women play in a new arena that seats close to 2300 extremely enthusiastic, emotionally invested fans. Attendance was good - even on Sunday, when the game overlapped with the Green Bay Packers' do-or-die playoff football game. I came away extremely inspired by these young women, on both teams, who battled it out with at least the ferocity that the men displayed. I wish that everyone could see them play!

The Kohl Center concourse features display cases related to athletics at the University.

This display portrays Brianna Decker, a UW alumna who, in 2012, won the Patty Kazmaier award for best female NCAA Division 1 hockey player. She currently plays for the Boston Pride in the NWHL. She is also on the U.S. national team. 

Introductions.

Going back the other way.