MJSM: Part 4…Molds

How I got my first mold ‘maker’ is a little fuzzy but I remember doing business directly with a resin guy.  He worked for McMaster’s and I think, through conversation, he told me he could make me a mold so I could make my sticks.  Always looking to stay within budget, I agreed to it.

This is my first taste of being at the mercy of other people’s agendas.  Before my mold could be made, I needed a pattern.  I found a place in Cranbury, NJ, and they made my first stick pattern.  It took a while for my first mold to get started, let alone made.  I’m taking “Patience 101″ now and I have no leverage or influence, so I just have to wait for them to get moving.

Finally the day comes when their version of a RTM mold gets pressed into service.  I had done a few cores out of my HD foam and brought all my fabric along and let the knowledgeable people do their thing.  I can tell you that when that first example of a stick came out and was recognizable, I was personally thrilled.  We cleaned the flashing up and then the guy whose shop it was picked it up and walked over to one of those yellow poles that prevent a person from knocking the garage over and swung for the fences and quickly killed my very first RTM molded stick.  This was still the latter part of ’96.  The look on my face must have been similar to the look on a child’s face whose lolly pop was just ripped from his mouth.  He told me not to be upset, they’d make another and another.

I got to take home one of the surviving sticks at the end of the day and what I did was go straight to the rink to show my unsupportive rink mates that I mean what I say and here it is.  Fortunately, the stick was closer to today’s sticks than my yellow monsters that I made in my heater room.  That didn’t keep people from looking at me and it as if I was standing there demonstrating odd behavior.  Truth was, I was standing there like I had won a trophy!  I went to my local rink in the hopes that I would find support and approval, but I didn’t and I made a note.

In the meantime, I had gotten a call from a headhunter in Ohio.  Remember, I “graduated” from computer programming school and was waiting for my first job offer, but after 15 months, I figured I just wasn’t going to get one.  Then this offer comes along and well, you know, my wife, toddler son and almost toddler second son and myself have been living off my wife’s income and so I had to go out to Independence, Ohio for an interview.  So we drive, which is about eight hours west of us, which means traversing the entire state of Pennsylvania…with two boys, one of which is completely unruly.  It’s mostly ok though…we have a conversion van…with a potty!!

I only mention the sleeping accommodations because the sleeping arrangements were laughable (only now, not then).  One room, two twin beds and four people.  I got to sleep with the Nicholas, my wild toddler.  I use the term “sleep” loosely.  That kid’s all over the place, which makes it very difficult for me to get to sleep before my interview the following morning.

Long story slightly shorter, I go to the headhunter mixer, mingle, be charming and answer a few questions.  Obviously this contractor shop was desperate for bodies or they wouldn’t have been looking outside their own state.  Pretty confident I’ll get the job, I have to decide if I want to live in Ohio while my wife and soon to be three sons live in our home in New Jersey.  My wife is on maternity leave so she’d be home…alone…with one well-behaved son, one wild and crazy son and one on the way.  My choice was easy…I’m going to Ohio!!!!!  My wife didn’t flinch or ponder…You’re going to Ohio!!!!

I know jack-shit about computers and/or programming, but here I go.  Going to get an apartment in Parma Heights.  Work at National City Bank, make lotsa money..well, more than ever before and be essentially a single schlub.

So we rent a small U-Haul trailer, stuff my meager belongings into it and hitched it to the van and off we go.  We move me into my swinging new apartment and setup’s a breeze since I don’t have anything in the way of furniture.  So we all go out to wherever and buy a card table with two chairs, a couple of step stools for the boys to sit on, a couple of air mattresses and some other minor odds and ends.  It’s not a big place, but it echoes with all the stuff we don’t have.

I don’t like apartment dwelling, especially on a ground floor cement slab, in a state that flashes tornado warnings every evening.  I’m pretty near Cleveland, so we’d get that lake effect weather.

So it’s 1997 and I’ve moved to Cleveland for a white collar job I’m not qualified for.  I already have two small children and my wife and I have one on the way.  The family stays for about two weeks before they fly home…my poor wife.  I miss them, but I take some solace in the fact that I brought my motorcycle and my hockey gear with me.  I have things to do, like ride my bike to work…without a helmet and it feels good!  I have my gear, but nowhere to play yet.  So I start looking around and one rink’s having tryouts(?), so I figure sure, why not go?  Not what I’m used to rink-wise.  My local rink was brand new when I started playing there, so this older rink is…different.  Quite a few goalies as well as players showed up for this, but I feel confident.  I sucked!  My reaction…get new gear!

This bit is important now.  While living in Cleveland, I decide to take a 5 hour road trip to Burlington, Ontario where I’ve found a guy that will use my existing mold to make me sticks.  He’s a mask maker by trade.  Oh yeah, I took my mold and stick ideas with me to Cleveland.  I should preface the rest of this by saying, I had ordered new Simmons pads, which allowed me to make the Simmons boys aware of my efforts.  One morning I set out for Burlington to meet the mask maker guy and I get there, he takes one look at my mold and declines to use it.  My heart sinks.  He explains that when he applies the pressure needed to make a stick, my mold will explode.  He explains how this will happen and I’m naturally super bummed.  I waste a little more time there and head home, but first a stop at my new ‘friend’s’ store — Simmons.

I get there and I’m surprised by the size of the store.  All those website pix of the interior led me to believe that the place was enormous!  I find Scotty and introduce myself.  He’s a very gregarious guy and we get along.  He asks me if I have any of these sticks he’s heard me talk about.  As it happens I have at least one sample in the van.  It still has flashing on it and I explain that it’s not play worthy.  Scott says he doesn’t care, he likes to put stuff up on his walls at the store.  Old masks and unique stuff like that.  I say sure, but I want a deal on gloves.

I also tell him about my time in Burlington and he puts me onto a mold maker in Godish(?), Ontario and gives me a name.  It’s been a long day already and I decide to drive back to Cleveland instead of staying over night someplace.

What my new job provides for me is a cubicle with a phone and time to work on my own business.  I use my ‘free’ time at work to call everywhere.  I locate the new mold maker, I explain my product.  Yes, I know, I too was surprised that everyone in Canada did not know what a goalie stick looked like.  I agree to the terms, ship my pattern to them, find the money and wait for the thing to be completed.

Before I left New Jersey, the family and I trip up to New York to visit the facility that would be making my new sticks from the new mold.  Not a big place or town for that matter, but I was inching closer to my dream and I wouldn’t have cared if they set up shop in a basement.  I saw the things they did make and, being carbon fiber, it all looked good to me.  Another deal done and time to head back home.

Now I have to locate fabric and as always, when I call a new place I have to explain what I’m after.  I found a great place with a great person to speak to about how to get the right properties for my stick.  We discuss all the fibers available and he explains why one is better than another and as a result, I choose carbon fiber and a bit of fiberglass.  I asked about Kevlar and maybe a fabric that contains both aramid and carbon.  The engineer tells me that the two do not like to play together in one fabric.  That carbon fiber is the best choice for my application.  I purchase the materials I need and send them to the production facility.

Time passes and my newest mold is complete and shipped to upstate New York.  Producing samples of my stick from the new mold presents issues for the people attempting to make my stick.  The main issue is the mold’s weight.  My new mold weighs in at four hundred pounds.  The one thing I know for sure, is this mold will not have any problems tolerating ten thousand psi!  The problem will be how awkward it is for this little shop I’ve selected.  Hey, it’s not as easy as it sounds to find a place that can do the work, let alone willing.

Moving forward, I finally get a stick and it’s not long before I hit the ice with it.  No game situation, I’ve learned that lesson…just some open ice.  I select a shooter and away we go.  I am so amped by the prospects that I switch into hardcore fantasy.  That doesn’t last too long.  Not many shots in, I hear a crack and time stands still while I examine what I hope I don’t find.  There it is…the crack is in the blade.  That pretty much takes care of my desire to continue testing beyond the crack.

Now that the stick has failed, it’s time to send it back for an ‘autopsy’ as to why it failed.  The reader should note that the price per stick to me, is a whopping $250, plus shipping both ways when the sticks do fail.  Keep that in mind for later, because it plays a pivotal role in my GoalieStore Bullentin Board (GSBB) membership.

So to move things along a little bit, I send the failed ONE-PIECE sticks back to solve the failures and they send me a new and purportedly, improved stick, but this is not the case and we go around like this until the year 2000.  During that time, I looked around for a local shop to do some sort of graphics for the sticks.  I selected a place not far called, P C Graphics.  As always, wife and children in tow we step into the reception area and the young lady calls for someone from the back to come up and see what we need.  I recognize the guy as Anthony Pino, a guy I played ice hockey with one season.  So we have that bond to build on and it helps he’s young because I want something fresh and innovative for my graphics.

I went in for stick graphics and came out (in the end) with an entire corporate image.  So one day I’m looking over his shoulder…I spend many hours there over the period of time that we try to dial in the stick graphics, and he has this shade of green on his monitor and it stops me in my tracks.  What’s also eye-catching for me is the font he’s chosen.  It’s something he made up by stretching another font, whose name escapes me.  So now we have our image for the stick, but we’re not done.  There’s the blade that we toy with as a place for something not yet done before.  However, we opted not to go that route and let the carbon weave shine through instead.

With Pino’s help, we get logos, letterhead, envelopes, fliers, brochures, banners, a website, the whole kit-and-caboodle (how many times have you seen that spelled out?) in preparation for our first, knock-em-dead trade show in beautiful downtown Kansas City!

It’s now the year 1999, when I attend my first hockey trade show, located in Kansas City.  However, not my very first trade show.  The people that supplied me with carbon fiber had taken my stick to their industry’s trade show to demonstrate what applications that carbon could be formed into.  The stick won them some kind of award.  Another industry trade show was being held in San Antonio and my family ( my wife, my two small sons and my mother) tagged along to see what the fuss was about.  The thing everyone liked best was the free junk the booths were giving away.  Just like the guys who attend hockey trade shows.  They wander around looking for free junk and then move on, but I’ll get more in-depth about that later.  You know what sticks out in my mind the most?  The size and location of the Alamo!  No wonder Ozzy mistakenly took a leak on the side of it…it’s about as big as a local convenience store!

The weather was nice.  The River walk was cool.  You could see the flood line near the tops of tall trees.  Decent food.  That’s my trip in a nutshell.

So now, I’m starting to get calls about the stick and the only really important call comes from the offices of…PHATS/SPHEM.  God awful acronym, right?  Never heard of them before and on the phone they rattle off what it stands for like I can hear any of what they’re saying.  All I know is, it’s an opportunity for me…in some way.  Fortunately, the woman takes a breath and explains to me what all that stands for.  I think “cool,” a way for me to show ALL the athletic trainers and equipment managers from every pro hockey team my new ideas.

By this time I had more than a single product–the stick.  Somewhere in that whole stick thing I found time to notice that there was this atrocious odor emanating from my hockey bag (want to be specific there).  My thoughts were, where/when did a cat gain access to my bag?  I moved my head downward to see if I could pinpoint the source and I came out with my mask.  It’s very acrid and makes my head snap back.  When did this happen?  It’s the first time I’m really noticing it.  Through conversation, I forget (which authority I questioned), it was revealed to me that soft foam (lets use the term Rubatex) is made of a by-product of urine, called, urea!  Eureka!  That makes perfect sense for the cause of the odor, but like, way disgusting!  It was also the time that the padding fell out of my mask.  I tried gluing the padding back in, but the foam didn’t seem to want to hold the shape of the mask anymore and had gone from soft foam to pretty rock hard foam.  It must have dawned on me that this hard, ammonia-ridden, nasty-ass foam made from pee was not going back in my mask no matter how much I needed it.

Light bulb comes on and I do a little research.  I find that the makers of Dr. Scholls gel insoles is Shearing-Plough.  I find the number and make a call.  I find my way to an engineer, chemist or salesman–tough to recall and start asking leading questions.  We have a conversation (read, he doesn’t hang up on me) and I finally get to the money question, Who is your gel supplier if Shearing-Plough doesn’t make it themselves?   He tells me he can’t divulge that information.  Picture a deflated balloon.  I think, (expletive deleted) man! and the guy on the other end must have had a conscience that day because when he heard the disappointment, he told me his source just a before he hung up.  I didn’t even get a chance to thank him for his courage.

Thank God telephones are wildly popular, as this saves me a lot of traveling around the country!  I call the “source” and I get to speak to a very friendly guy willing to entertain me and my idea.  Once I explain how I want to use their gel, he says, “We’ve been waiting and wondering when someone was going to come up with this application.”  So I think, I am so in and it is so going to work!  I don’t care what things cost, I just want to get to my conclusion.  Okay, I do kind of care what things cost, so I went with a cheap set of dies to see if my idea would even hold water, so to speak.  The only way to find out is to shell out the money and provide a design.  This is where I start to involve my sister, Robin.  She has the mechanical background to help me design the first gel interior.  What do I do for a source of inspiration?  I basically use the shapes from my mask.  One large forehead piece that covers the entire top half of the mask.  See, I thought since that’s the way it was in my mask, that’s how it had to be.  Cheek/ear pieces and a back plate shape.  Robin draws up the plans and we submit to the “source” and there’s discussion to refine and clarify.  We get dies made and it’s a fair bit of money, but when I get the pieces, I think, “Shit!”  Too heavy and thin.”  The padding in my mask was half an inch thick and now I was planning to put something half that thickness in and expect my mask to fit properly.  Most dejected at the prospect of having wasted all that money to find that out.  I was sure I had mucked it up!

I had already determined that the best way for me to attach this gel was by hook & loop, better known as “Velcro”.  As most manufactures of masks, it was a bitch lining up the holes in the padding with the vents holes.  My interior was meant for the masses not just this mask, so I had to think generic.  Eh, so what if some holes get covered, the gel was not going to trap heat like foam does, it’ll be all right.  Attaching the cheek/ear pieces were a little challenging because one had to remember which orientation was the correct one.  The back plate presented another problem…it’s deepness.  I had to fill the hole in, otherwise the plate would dig into the back of my neck.  I had glued my chin cup into place a long time ago, so I left it that way.  All pieces in and now for the disappointment I was sure I would feel.  Not as wobbly as I had anticipated!  Holy sheep shit!  I took the mask off, adjusted the back plate straps, crossed my fingers and put the mask back on and to my delight, the sonofabitch fit.  I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t slack.  I was so stoked and hurried to the rink.  I think as timing would have it, I had a men’s league game that night and hit that thang!

I was very hyped for the game considering what I was wearing.  I didn’t have to wait long for a test result.  The puck enters the zone as a possible break away.  I like to play well out when the puck is in the other end, so I’m above the crease a good five feet when the puck does come in and there’s someone after it, so being much younger then, I bolt after the pucks as the forward rushes toward it.  We’re playing chicken and I’m the one with all the protective gear on.  It’s close, real close, but I dive for it with my stick extended (naturally) and I get to the puck and take down the forward, whom I know.  The result of my taking him down was a kick to the top of my head–about mid-top.  Afterward, both he and the ref come over straight- away to see if I’m hurt, but they never get to me because I’m on my way back to the net.  I get there rapidly and grab the left post for the rebound shot.  After play gets blown dead, I get questioned, but I’m fine.  Hell!  I’m better than fine, I’m giddy.  It dawns on me that I had an idea, one that I thought was good and it was good.  I didn’t receive any negative results from that blow.  Maybe I was just too pumped to notice the blood or the dizziness or the nausea or the headache.  I had to contain myself and finish the game.  Even after I was home watching TV into the wee hours, I was never plagued by any negative side effect.

This milestone (for me) took away some of the concern over the stick I was feeling.  The stick was failing every time and the gel for the mask worked immediately!  Trouble with the gel is, what each set costs me–$40!  It didn’t matter, I had to have a few sets and I had to convince people I knew and complete strangers to be my ‘pig’.  As always and even now, no one local was interested in supporting my efforts, so I was the lone tester for some time and just as well.

So now I had TWO products to take to that PHATS/SPHEM trade show in K.C..  I was treated like a real business by them and that was a first.  I had become like a real business.  Even though I was operating on very little knowledge (still am) and out of basements.  But like that IBM ad of the time said, you could be anywhere in the country, even the middle of nowhere and run a successful business.

I bought half a booth.  Well, I was sold half a booth because I was a late addition.  I had to share the space with some former minor league guy that was selling gloves.  A nice enough guy, but the type I would come to know as typical for my new found industry.

In the meantime, I have been calling people whose names were given to me by others.  Cold calling and explaining my revolutionary ideas to them.  They being unimpressed to the point of sending me to some other unsuspecting hockey-related dude, like Buzz Deschamps!  This guy sounded helpful and enthusiastic.  He said it was good that I was going to this trade show and other encouraging things.  He even told me what he was bringing to the party…a skate with three edges and gloves.  I have more details regarding Buzz, but I just want to get to the actual trade show experience.

I remember the ride from the airport to the hotel, where this gala event was to take place, was in a station wagon and long, making it very unpleasant for me.  We finally arrive at the hotel and get checked in.  It’s a little awesome in ways to see guys that rub shoulders and feet with pro players, milling about.  I see the guys from the Phantoms, the team that practiced out of my local rink.  Yeah, they’re friendly like someone is to a leper.  That aside, we’re like a bunch of hicks in the big city for the first time.  Eyes wide open, mouths agape, we find our way to our rooms and decompress until we can get to the booth to set up.  Before we can enter the hallowed halls of this event, we must register and get our official documents like the the big shots we are.  I can’t explain enough how we thought we were going to be well-received for being clever and cutting edge, which we were.

We have credentials now and can go inside and look around.  As I recall, we were a couple of the few that were in the venue, so we strolled around to see all the big names that heretofore were merely myths in my imagination…my sister was clueless.  Oh my Gawd!  There’s the Vaughn booth and look over there, that’s Itech’s booth and lookie here, Louisville!  I think they were still Louisville before they turned into TPS.  It’s a funny thing we came upon the Louisville booth when we did and for some strange reason we lurked out of awe rather than spying, but I did spy a stick rack in their booth.  Not knowing the ettiquette of the time, I walked back to look at what they had and in amongst the sticks was a half-baked composite stick and it was rough and to my mind, comprised of the wrong stuff.  Pointed it out to Robin and moved on to see other big names in the hockey equipment biz.  From tape to socks to weird training stuff…all I could think of, I’m going to walk away with a lot of great free stuff from my new brothers.  Well, not really, but the part about me thinking of the industry as my ‘brothers’ was true–that’s how naive I was.

I’ve never had to occupy a booth or stand of any kind in my life and I’m not comfortable with it exactly and certainly not for like eight hours in a row!  You stand there like your flies down and your underwear is open.  You watch people stroll by as they screw their faces up trying to comprehend what’s on the table without asking you any questions.  You mutter to one another.  At least Robin and I did and I couldn’t think of a better booth partner than my sister.  If nothing else we would amuse ourselves by commenting on people as they walked by.  Not all attendees were exhibiting odd behavior; others would introduce themselves and ask questions and make comments.

Once my awe-struck tunnel vision went away, I noticed the setup across from me is Mr. Eddy Schultz of Eddy masks!  “Oooo”, I say to my sister out of the side my mouth, “I’m gonna go over there and ask him about the gel for his mask.”  She also thinks it’s a good idea, so off I go.  Do I know how I’m going to pitch my product to him?  No, I do not.  I wing it and I couldn’t have botched it up any better if I had vomited upon his person and product.  I ask, “Ever consider gel as an interior padding for your mask?”  He tilts his elongated face down toward me (he’s tall and I’m not) and says, “no.”  Okay.  I tell myself to attempt to return to my booth, right across from his with dignity.  At first, I was like, man did I blow that and then I began to reply the scenario over and over (what else did I have to do?) in my mind.  Slowly, you come to believe, that guy was an asshole!  He could have heard me out, asked a question…something!  OK.  Moving on.  “Hey Rob,” I say, lets stroll the grounds and head over to that Louisville booth.”  We could use a break from the booth, especially after my Eddy incident and off we go.

We pass many booths and drink it all in until we get to ‘that’ booth and there’s a small crowd near the entrance.  We stroll up like people who’ve stumbled across a felony.  Dave Wilcox stops mid-sentence and points me and my sister out as “those two” and the conversation grinds to a halt.  My sister and I look at each other, thinking our new good brothers are having fun at our expense, but no, he was serious and we were treated like commies that were messing up their timetable.  Although the words were not spoken, we were dismissed!  Before I left though, I told “the gang” to come over to my booth, because unlike them, I would talk to them and I would allow them to examine my one-piece efforts.  So we left and verbally scratched our heads as we strode off dazed by the reception we just got.

Doing well.  In no time at all we have just made enemies with two well-known hockey manufacturers and there was more to come!