The Breakaway

By the time Bill Wirtz died last fall, his once-proud Chicago Blackhawks had turned into perennial losers playing before dwindling crowds. His son Rocky took over and quickly opened a new era for the team—by repudiating almost everything his old man held dear

By Bryan Smith

(page 6 of 6)

What followed was a step-by-step dismantling of Bill Wirtz's most stubbornly protected policies. Besides moving into his grandfather's office, Rocky also opened negotiations with Comcast SportsNet Chicago (of which the Blackhawks are a part owner) to begin televising home games. He informed Pulford—an untouchable in the Blackhawks front office under Bill—that he would no longer have an active role with the team and that he was being moved out of the United Center.

With McDonough in place, the pace of change accelerated. Rocky and McDonough approached the Blackhawks legends Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, and Tony Esposito—each of whom had felt alienated under Bill Wirtz—about returning to the fold. Of the three, McDonough knew that Hull would pose the biggest challenge. "I realized when I called that Bobby was probably a little reluctant to even take a call from the Blackhawks," McDonough says. "But I implored him to come to Chicago so he and I could have a conversation. It really improved my listening skills, because for about 90 minutes I just let him talk. It was painful and toxic, but probably therapeutic and cathartic at the same time.

"He said things that hurt, that were painful, and that he needed to finally say. When he was through I said to him, 'All right; do you feel that there is a chance for reconciliation? We want to bring you back to the Blackhawks.' He said, 'I need to think about it.'" Mikita says he was also leery—until he talked with Rocky. "I knew where [his invitation to return] was coming from. I knew it was coming from the heart." All three men eventually agreed to return and were honored in separate ceremonies at the United Center last spring.

Pat Foley, the popular broadcaster, was rehired; meanwhile, McDonough scored a marketing coup, winning the rights to an outdoor game at Wrigley Field, to be played on New Year's Day against the Detroit Red Wings. A similar game in Buffalo, New York, this past January 1st drew a league-record 71,217 fans and generated enormous national interest, making competition fierce for a sequel. The Blackhawks won out over numerous teams, including the New York Rangers, which had offered to make the game the valedictory event at the soon-to-be-demolished Yankee Stadium.

Most important, in Rocky's view, was establishing the club's priorities, which meant clearly stating its desire to win a Stanley Cup. "I think maybe the fans didn't hear enough about what our goal was," he says. Indeed, one of the knocks on Bill was that, while he clearly loved the team, his loyalty belonged to the bottom line. "Beneath all of this marketing strategy and new enlightenment, there is an underlying story line," says Verdi. "And that is Rocky's desire to win at all costs—a passion that his dad didn't share."

The reaction from fans, former players, and observers has been one of shocked delight. "There were a few years where you just kind of hid from people," says the former Hawks winger Cliff Koroll, who played in the 1970s before joining the team for seven years as an assistant coach. "You didn't want to talk about hockey, and we used to own this town. Now it doesn't matter where I go; the buzz is back in the air. It's fabulous." Coach Denis Savard agrees. "When an organization like this is drawing eight, ten thousand people at most, something had to be done," Savard says. "And there's no doubt Rocky's done a great job."

At this year's Blackhawks convention in July, fans greeted Rocky like a rock star. At the end of last season, chants of "Rocky, Rocky!" replaced boos at the United Center. In the year since Rocky has taken over, season ticket sales have more than quadrupled, from 3,400 to more than 14,000. Verdi says he has never seen anything like it in his 30 years covering the family. "We always knew it was a sleeping giant, but my Lord . . ."

Amid the ringing praise, however, a note of dissent echoes: Was it all too fast? "From a fan's perspective it's great—he's doing everything right," says Mark Weinberg, a Chicago attorney whose many legal dustups with Bill Wirtz culminated in his book Career Misconduct: The Story of Bill Wirtz's Greed, Corruption and the Betrayal of Blackhawks' Fans. "On a deeper psychological level, I think one has to ask, 'What's going on here?' With the things Rocky has done, and the speed with which he's done them, there's almost an 'In your face, Dad' quality. The guy wasn't even cold in the ground before they decided they were going to make all these decisions and undo everything the old man stood for."

The speed and scope of the changes raised Verdi's eyebrow, too. "As soon as Bill died and Rocky took over and started making these changes, I thought, 'Wow, I wonder what the old man would think about this,' " he says. "I wondered, Is this respectful—not only to do it, but to do it so soon?" Then, too, he believes Rocky had little choice. "The franchise was in such a state of disrepair, what greater service could Rocky perform for the family name than to roll up his sleeves and fix what he thought needed fixing?"

An unlikely defender of Rocky agrees. "I don't think it's disrespectful at all," says Pulford, the odd man out in the new regime. "I think Bill believed in a certain way and Rocky has a different approach. . . . Bill was an extremely good friend as well as my employer, but the moves that Rocky has made have been right on as far as I'm concerned."

Including moving Pulford out of the front office?

"I've been in hockey since 1955," Pulford says. "I was probably obsolete. It's time to move on."

For his part, Rocky insists the changes were merely an urgent response to a dire situation. "My father was a superb businessman and he did what he believed was right for the team. But what he really was adamant about was moving the business ahead," the son says. "So how we get there is going to be different, but he'd be quite happy with the way things are going." Of course, he adds, "if he was living, I couldn't have done it."

* * *

From behind the iconic desk his grandfather used to build an empire, Rocky Wirtz fields calls on a recent late summer afternoon. The office these days is warm and comfortable rather than subarctic. Stacks of paper clutter the famous desk—something Rocky realizes Arthur would never have tolerated. But it's a different day, different style.

If there is any doubt, one need merely look at the next generation of Wirtzes, namely Rocky's son, Danny, the potential heir to the Blackhawks throne. While the business backgrounds of Arthur, Bill, and even Rocky were all formed in the crucible of buttoned-up tradition, Danny came to the family trade through the Web-world byways of Generation X. He has a resumé that includes stints in music promotion and Internet marketing. The summer after graduating from college, he traveled the country with the band Ministry as an assistant tour manager—a time, he laughingly recalls, "when I had different color hair and wasn't exactly the clean-cut kid my father remembered, but even then he was tremendously supportive." Today, Danny is an executive with Judge & Dolph, and, like his old man, and his grandfather before him, a passionate fan of the Blackhawks. He was present that night at the United Center, when the fans booed Bill's eulogy, but prefers, as does the rest of the family, to remember the funeral services at which thousands lined the block to pay their respects. Bearing the Wirtz name hasn't always been easy, he admits. "We've been through a lot," he says. "But we're riding a pretty good wave. I'm just so proud that [my father] was able to make these decisions and that he's getting such recognition for it. He's having a great time with it, which is the best part."

On the day I met Rocky in his office, I asked him what it was like to be perceived so differently from his famous forebears, to be cheered when he walks into the United Center, to see the smiles of the staff and hear the accolades pouring in, to hear the Wirtz name, for the first time in decades, praised in connection with the team that has defined the family and his father's legacy.

In the day's morning light, slanting through the window of the office, his office, he thought for a moment, then said, with that sideways, conspiratorial glance, "It beats getting booed."