Bobby Stewart: A Wife’s Point of View

by Sherri Stewart

If I could encapsulate in one word Bobby Stewart, equipment manager of the Atlanta Flames, the Calgary Flames, and the Atlanta Thrashers, the word would be unassuming. For thirty-eight years, Bobby preferred to stay in the background, enjoying the people around him. But anyone who knew him were often caught off guard by his quick wit and a smile that knew no bounds. Former equipment manager of the Calgary Flames, Gus Thorson, remembered one such example of his quiet humor. “Years ago, I remember Al MacInnis signing a big deal. At the time, a huge deal. I think for $475,000 a year—that’s the number that sticks in my head—and somebody asked Bobby what he thought about it. And Bobby says: ‘I think it’s great. Between the two of us we now make darn near half-a-million dollars.’”

Bobby grew up in Montreal in a non-traditional family. After his mother died when he was three, he and his brother, Don, went to live with his Scottish grandparents in the country until they died, then they moved back with their father, who worked for the Canadian National Railroad. As a young boy, if he was hungry, his father would give him a dollar or two and tell him to go fend for himself. It was hockey that saved him when a friend suggested he join the Montreal Canadiens as a stick boy. Imagine the preteen walking home alone in the dark from the Forum to his apartment on Sherwood after every game.

After the Canadiens won the Stanley Cup in the mid-sixties, someone handed him the cup and told him to take it home for the night. There were no white-gloved keepers of the Stanley Cup back then. A close friend, Dave Brown, captured the moment in his sketch of Bobby hoisting the cup as he walked home alone in the dark. Of course, he was everybody’s best friend after that.

As every equipment guy knows, no one works longer hours than trainers and equipment managers, but Bobby never complained. In fact, he liked it. The team became his family. When the league expanded in the early seventies, Cliff Fletcher took Bobby with him to Atlanta as an assistant trainer of the new Atlanta Flames. Back then, it was just Norm Mackie and Bobby as his assistant. Bobby had to learn how to drive a car before he left Montreal. How else was he going to take the equipment up to the practice rink in the middle of the night after a game?

It was late one Saturday night after a game that he met me, his future wife, at Denny’s where he’d stopped off to get breakfast and the ubiquitous cup of tea. Of course, in the South, it’s all about sweet tea, so he had to instruct me how to steep the perfect cup of hot tea. When I heard that Bobby was from Montreal, I asked him if he spoke French, to which he said, “Oui, je parle français.” Imagine his surprise when French spewed out my mouth, since teaching French at a local high school was my day job. Since French hadn’t been his best subject in school, all he could say was the French he’d learned in the streets playing hockey with his friends—probably not the same as the words in my textbook.

When the team moved to Calgary in 1980, Cliff Fletcher took us along, and Bobby and Bearcat Murray made up the training team, along with Brian Patafie, who kept everyone laughing, and Gus Thorson later on. Bearcat wrote years later, “Time, hours—they didn’t mean anything to Bobby. Once the job was done, only then would he go about his own business. Which is why Cliff loved him. Which is why everyone loved him.” The whole Calgary Flames organization was like a close-knit family—everyone was valued, everyone appreciated. The Flames lived in the shadow of Gretzy’s Edmonton Oilers, until the Flames became a contender in the late eighties when they won the Stanley Cup in 1989. That was the highlight of Bobby’s life. It was a delight to be part of a team in a town that loved their hockey. Bobby was always amazed when he’d walk in a 7-11, and somebody would want to try on his ring.

Through thick and thin, Bobby was a giver. I remember browsing with Bobby through Home Depot, when he’d see something like a plant mister and buy it for a player who’d mentioned they needed one. Whenever he’d come home from a long road trip, he’d always bring something home for our son, Joshua. An American candy bar or a keychain or a television in a can from Nagano Japan. It didn’t matter what it was; it was how he showed others they mattered, and he did the same for the fans.

In 1999, the Atlanta Thrashers began its tenure for the next twelve years, and Bobby was hired as the equipment manager. From a hockey city like Calgary, whose arena was always sold out, to a town that preferred college football, it was a struggle to fill the stands, but Bobby and Joey Guilmet made sure the players were always taken care of. It takes a certain personality to be a hockey trainer because life is one of sacrifice as they slog bags and wash uniforms in the middle of the night, then come home for a few hours of sleep before heading to the rink for the next day’s practice.

In 2011, the Thrashers’ move to Winnipeg signaled the end of Bobby’s hockey career. As he packed up the team for the last time to move it northward, it was hard for him to say goodbye, but he did it the same way he did everything, with humor and selflessness. In 2014, Bobby was honored by his fellow hockey equipment managers with a plaque in the Hockey Hall of Fame. From his start as a stick boy in Montreal to a thirty-eight-year career with three great teams, Bobby enjoyed almost every minute. Even in retirement, he was always online checking hockey scores until he breathed his last in 2019. Even though Bobby has been gone for four years, I like to think he’s on a long road trip and will be back in a few days.

Sherri Stewart is a woman who has worn many hats.  As an author and editor, she has had ten books published.  Along her journey with Bobby, she has taught, been a principal, flight attendant and lawyer. 

The alum thanks Sherri for contributing firsthand look at a beloved member of the PHATS-SPHEM.

All photos courtesy of Sherri.