Skating for the goal with Howard Dean, hockey dad by Ken Picard
Burlington’s Paquette Arena was chilled to its usual meat-locker briskness when Betsey Krumholz and her husband Charlie arrived for their son’s first day of hockey practice. It was an early morning in September 1991 as their son A.J. and a dozen or so other gear-clad kindergarteners scampered onto the ice. When the Krumholzes signed up their son for the “Mites” Division of the Burlington Amateur Hockey Association, they knew several parents would be sharing the coaching duties, which basically means teaching kids the fundamentals of the game. But they had no idea who else would be on their bench.
“We show up the first morning of practice and out skates the newly minted governor,” Betsey Krumholz remembers. “It was surprising, to say the least.” Little did she know then that A.J. could one day claim he learned how to face off from Howard Dean, the left wingman of the Democratic Party.
“Howard was out there in these beat-up old skates and this beat-up old bomber jacket, and he was having more fun than the kids,” Krumholz says. “We would set up these milk crates with the hockey sticks lying across them to teach the kids how to take a dive head-first and use their pads effectively. And Howard would be the first one out there diving on his belly.”
Where else can you find the state’s highest elected official belly-flopping across the red line? Only in Vermont, as the Washington pundits might say.
And when push comes to shove, isn’t that why so many Democrats have a problem with Dean — because he’s such a Vermonter? Dean’s harshest critics within his own party harp on the fact that the Green Mountain State, with its socialist congressman, gay-friendly politics and white-bread demographics, is an unworthy training ground for a serious national contender.
But putting aside for a moment Dean’s eagerness to throw off the gloves with President Bush over his tax cuts and the war in Iraq, consider this: Which is better training for cajoling a boisterous Congress to toe the line? A few congressional sessions of shmoozing with Dupont Circle lobbyists, or several Vermont winters of rousing the kids out of warm beds and onto a chilly ice rink at 5 a.m.? And when it comes to choosing a commander-in-chief who knows when to throw his weight around and when to clear the zone, it’s no contest. Hire a hockey dad.
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