L'Affaire Richard

On March 17, 1955, shortly after 9 p.m., an unknown spectator lobbed a tear-gas bomb into the lower-level seats at the Montreal Forum. Over 16,000 fans were watching the game between Detroit and the Canadiens that night - actually, most of them were watching one man at the game, league president Clarence Campbell -and they were barely aware that Detroit had coasted to a 4-1 lead when the bomb went off.

Campbell, accompanied by his secratary, Phyllis King (later his wife), arrived at the Forum almost 15 minutes after the opening whistle. When he strolled to his seat, the crowd stood and booed his every step. Then came the missiles: programs, peanuts, toe rubbers, coins, an egg. As the objects rained down on him, he sat stoically and tried to ignore them. He even smiled once or twice.

He had been warned to stay away. During the past 24 hours his office staff had been deluged with phone calls. One caller had shouted, "When I catch up to him, I will kill him!" A woman had warned him, "Don't show up at the next hockey game or you'll be murdered." A man called to say he'd plant a bomb in Campbell's office and blow him to smithereens.

There were extra police on duty at the Forum that night but few, if any, appeared willing to protect Campbell from the howling mob.

Everyone in Canada knew why Campbell had suddenly become the most detested man in the province of Quebec. An explosion of mob fury should have been anticipated the moment he set foot in the Forum. On the previous day, the legue president had suspended Maurice "Rocket" Richard, the idol of all of French Canada, for attacking a Boston player and a game official during a match at the Boston Garden four days earlier. The suspension - not for a game or two, but for the rest of the season and the entire playoffs - had shocked Montrealers and triggered an outburst and unbelievable animosity toward the stern-faced Campbell.

No matter that the fiery Richard, never one to shy away from confrontation on the ice, had been in Campbell's court several times before. No matter that he'd paid more fines ($2,500) than any other player in league history. For him to miss the playoffs was unthinkable, intolerable, and a calamity. In the minds of Montrealers, Richard was the playoffs. A suspension also meant he'd lose the NHL scoring title to teammate Bernard Geoffrion, a poor imitation of the Rocket. At age 33, it might be Richard's last opportunity to win the Art Ross Trophy. Campbell was a cad. His decision was preposterous and so unfair. His cruelty was unforgivable. Surely it was another example of an Anglo punishing a French Canadian. "If the Rocket's last name was Richardson, he'd have received a slap on the wrist," wrote one reporter.

In far-off Detroit, Ted Lindsay, who'd tangled often with the Rocket, dumped fuel on the fire. "He should have been suspended for life," snarled Terrible Ted. Others, none of them Richard fans and none living in Quebec, supported Campbell's decision to ban the Rocket.

At the Forum, in the closing moments of the first period, a young man bullied his way past an usher and attacked the NHL chief. He lashed out twice with his fists before the ushers could intervene. When the period ended, another wild-eyed fan rushed in and squashed two tomatoes on Campbell's chest.

Hugh MacLennan, the well-known Canadian writer, was sitting a few rows in front of Campbell. He would say later, "To understand the feelings of the crowd that night is to unerstand a good bit of the social conditions of Quebec of the 1950s." He would add, "I remember knowing with very frightening and distinct certainty that with the mood of the mob, anything could happen."

When the tear-gas bomb went off about eight or ten metres away from where Campbell was sitting, sending a cloud of smoke in the air, everyone reacted. Fans bolted from their seats and headed for the exits. Most covered their faces with gloves and scarves. Campbell leaped up and fought his way through the crowd to the Forum clinic, where he huddled with fire department officials. After a brief animated discussion, a decision was made to clear the building. And Campbell made another decision - to forfeit the game to Detroit. At that point in the contest, the Red Wings were leading 4-1.

Jacques Belanger, the public-address announcer, ordered the spectators to stay calm and move quickly to the exits. He reminded them to keep their ticket stubs. Meanwhile the organist kept busy but few could hear him over the roar of the crowd. Fortunately there was no real panic, otherwise hundreds might have been trampled in the stampede.

Outside the Forum, a crowd of several thousand gathered. Many were hoodlums and demonstrators without tickets to the match. They began throwing missiles, which scarred the brickwork of the building and shattered windows. Some smashed the windows of nearby streetcars and pulled their cables off the overhead wires, stalling traffic in all directions. People with blood flowing down their faces were loaded into police cars that pushed their way through the throng.

The angry mob moved along St. Catherine Street. Cars were overturned, a newspaper stand was set afire, and bricks and bottles were tossed through shop windows. Looters snatched up valuable merchandise. Dozens of fans, wild for revenge against Campbell, were arrested and hauled away. Many of them were teenagers. Less than 250 policemen faced a howling mob of over 10,000 and order was not restored until after 3 a.m.

"Can you imagine fans rioting over a suspension in any other city?" Dick Irvin asked recently. "Would they riot in the streets if a star athlete in baseball or basketball was suspended? Of course not. But the rocket's suspension - that was something else."

Before the Red Wings left the city, manager Jack Adams delivered a parting shot: "You newspapermen have turned Richard into an idol, a man whose suspension can turn fans into shrieking idiots. Now hear this: Richard is no hero. He let his team down, he let hockey down, he let the public down."

The following day, Richard, who had watched the uproar from his rinkside seat, pleaded with his fans to say calm. He seldom discusses the event today, except to say, "It was Mr. Campbell who incited the fans. If he had not gone to the game that night . . ."

Richard lost the scoring crown to Boom Boom Geoffrion that spring, by a single point. Many fans unfairly blamed Geoffrion for not passing up scorring opportunities in the handful of games that remained so that Richard could be the winner.

The ugly incident, often called L'affaire Richard, was blamed for the elimination of the Habs from the 1955 playoffs. With their star player sidelined, with Beliveau battling an illness, and with emotions still in turmoil, the Habs were beaten by the Detroit Red Wings in the finals. The Red Wings captured the first two games on home ice, establishing a record for consecutive victories (15), and they also won game seven at the Olympia, where they had not been defeated since December 19, 1954.

The Habs, to their credit, stayed on the ice to congradulate the new champions and the Red Wings president Marguerite Norris. The previous year the Canadiens had snubbed the winners and had been criticized in the press for their poor sportsmanship.

Oldtime Montreal fans still deal in "ifs." "If" Richard had stayed out of trouble, "if" his punishment had been less severe, "if" the decision hadn't affected the entire team, the Habs, not the Red Wings, might have won the Stanley Cup.

And "if" they had? The record book shos that Montreal, the following season, began a string of five consecutive Cup victories.

It should have been six in a row, argue the oldtimers. Such a tragedy. And it was all the fault of that man Campbell.