Death of Ted Brill leaves void in Minnesota hockey
The news last winter that Ted Brill had cancer was, in itself, a shock, and I made a mental note that weÂ’d look for the first opportunity to drive to Grand Rapids to stop in and see how he was doing. Word that it was getting serious came when Gus Hendrickson, the former Grand Rapids High School and University of Minnesota-Duluth coach, told me at the state high school hockey tournament that Brill had to have part of his leg amputated.
The cancer was spreading, and despite other complications, Ted was in good spirits, Hendrickson said: “He keeps saying that heÂ’s going to get an artificial leg and that heÂ’ll be out there, playing golf, this summer.Ââ€
We both shook our heads and smiled at the assurance that Ted would find a way to be on the golf course, which also meant heÂ’d be in his usual role as everlasting commissioner of grassroots hockey-talk and socializing.
Ted Brill dedicated almost all of his time and effort to promoting hockey at every amateur level. He went from Moorhead to St. Paul, then to Grand Rapids. He was an administrator and director of Minnesota Hockey when it was the Minnesota Amateur Hockey Association, but more than that, he coached youth teams, including many years at the helm of the Grand Rapids A Bantams, and he helped put together the post-season Maroon and Gold series, and the Great 8 games for selected high school players. He enjoyed giving them a chance to show their skills to college coaches and recruiters, and, whenever possible, even to professional scouts.
He also orchestrated the idea to take a Minnesota Select team to the Chicago Showcase, a tournament for all-star high-school-age teams from every state that has a solid youth program, plus cooperative teams from those states that don’t. It was Ted’s concept, as I recall, to limit the Minnesota team to only those seniors who did NOT have any college hockey scholarships – just to give further exposure to those who could use a hand.
That was Ted Brill, always offering a hand to hockey-folks in need. He, in fact, coached the Minnesota entry, with brothers Gus and Dave Hendrickson as his stalwart assistants. And the Minnesota team almost always won the Chicago Showcase, even though the most elite Minnesota prospects werenÂ’t on the team.
I got to know Ted through hockey, coaching youth teams and watching my sons play against teams he coached. And I spent many a long night in hospitality rooms, talking hockey with the gathered cult that always keeps those rooms open, in hotels and motels all across the state of Minnesota. Good-natured heckles, debates and the sharing of inside information fill those rooms, along with snacks and untold quantities of beer and pop. ThatÂ’s where Ted held court.
Being on the “pop†end, I also always was cognizant of what was going on as the hours grew later and the enunciation got thicker and louder in inverse proportion to the drooping of eyelids. Ted Brill was king of the hospitality-room lifestyle, but if the talk got serious, and Ted said he’d take care of some issue, it would get taken care of, for certain.
Ted even took over responsibilities for promoting the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame, that beleaguered outpost in Eveleth that is a wonderful shrine to the game, but had struggled to be viable. Minnesotans, proud as they should be of the gameÂ’s heritage in the state and the fact that without Eveleth as the hockey cradle, the sport might never have thrived to grow past infant status to full and productive adulthood.
Even some of the stateÂ’s legendary hockey types would like to sneak the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame to the Twin Cities, which would be convenient for them, perhaps, but would be as despicable as taking the baseball hall of fame out of Cooperstown, N.Y., and moving it across the state to Manhattan, just because it would attract more “traffic.†With iron ore mines shutting down and hardy souls being laying off from their jobs, the Iron Range hasnÂ’t got a lot beyond tourism these days — tourism and the fabulous heritage of having once been the cradle of hockey in Minnesota.
Ted fought the good fight on behalf of the Hall, unselfishly, and with practically no pay, for several years. He organized a big, fund-raising golf tournament at his hometown Pokegama course in Grand Rapids. All kinds of hockey dignitaries showed up, and he also choreographed a massive walleye fry out on an island in Lake Pokegama.
Ted Brill submitted his resignation to the Hall, but I talked him out of it. I volunteered to help him with any ideas as much as I could, and that it was important for him to keep doing it because he was one of precious few who was not in the game for some personal gain, hidden private agenda or quest for power and prestige. Ted reconsidered. He was too good a heart-and-soul hockey man to let the responsibility go to someone less dedicated. He rolled up his sleeves and got back into it, revitalized by the challenge.
He tried to thrust the Hall into the 21st century, hiring some people to arrange a website to promote it and make souvenirs available for hockey fans the world over. I was hired to write a weekly column for the website, a commentary on current or historical hockey stuff, from 30-plus years of writing about it at all levels from Mites to the NHL, and most passionately about the amateurs in high school, college and the Olympics.
By this time, we had gotten to be even closer friends. My wife, Joan, and TedÂ’s wife, Midge, had always enjoyed each otherÂ’s company. I coached John Brill, one of their two sons, in a summer college hockey league in the Twin Cities, proving that he had better hands and scoring skills than his role as a checker at the University of Minnesota had indicated. John had a good time, and Ted appreciated that in a small way, that summer or two helped make the sport fun for his kid again. One of the BrillÂ’s two daughters, Kelley, worked at a publishing place that took on a venture called Minnesota Hockey magazine, for which I wrote features and columns and shot pictures. It went away after a few good years, but it was another link between our families.
Ted made some strong recommendations to the Hall of Fame executive committee, and he told me he wasn’t going to their meeting, because he wanted them to have the chance to talk over his proposals without him being there to influence them. The next thing I heard was that Ted Brill had resigned from his position at the Hall. I called him immediately. He tried to tell me that he had reconsidered his reconsideration, and thought it would be best for all if he got out of the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame situation. I told Ted I knew that wasnÂ’t true, and he didnÂ’t try to stretch out the charade, or hide his pain.
At the meeting he missed, the committee decided to go a different direction, and Ted could easily be swept aside, because, after all, he had submitted his resignation a year earlier. So by telephone, Ted was rudely informed that his resignation would belatedly be accepted, after all. The decision was to pay what would amount to a good annual wage on the Iron Range to a consultant, who would do what Brill had been tirelessly striving to do without any support. I was upset at the principle of the move, but Ted was simply too good a “team player” to even dispute it.
The Grand Rapids golf outing went away, but Ted poured his energy into other matters, including the post-season high school select program. When cancer crept into his body, he kept going. When it got worse, he tried to keep it to himself. When he lost part of a leg, he insisted heÂ’d be back golfing.
On April 17, I was one of dozens who got an e-mail from Ted:
“To all sending email the past 4 months: I apologize for not responding to you emails. I have been medically challenged the past 4 months — Lung Cancer and leg amputation. I have received over 1,000 email messages which have been lost. If you feel that the messages you sent were really important then please resend. If not important then please don’t resend. I will try to respond as I am able.
“Thanks for understanding,TR.Ââ€
Immediately, I sent him back a response. I apologized for not having gotten up to see him, and I mentioned that my position at Murphy McGinnis Newspapers — which included writing for the Grand Rapids Herald as well as a dozen other papers across the Iron Range and Duluth — had been eliminated, apparently because of economic problems. I explained to Ted that Joan and I had been spending most of our time driving south to the Twin Cities instead of north, to pursue some sports and automotive writing opportunities. Having built a new house on the North Shore, I described our situation as a battle.
“But nothing, however, approaching your battle,†I wrote. “I want you to know that youÂ’re on our minds and in our hearts, and weÂ’re pulling for you get back out on that golf course. WeÂ’ve shared a lot of on-the-record and off-the-record moments, Ted, and weÂ’re trying to channel all our positive energy to help you keep fighting.Ââ€
On April 26, a week later, I got another email from Ted. It said, simply: “John—-We have a long trail with a lot of great spikes. Anything I can do to help, just call. TR.Ââ€
Nothing describes Ted Brill better than that. He never cared aboout being a big shot, he just wanted to chip in and help. And even though he was dying of cancer, when I notified him that I was scrambling to hold things together for my family, he wanted to know if there was anything HE could do to help ME!
Our hearts bleed for the Brill family, we know that Ted will always be there, at every hospitality room where hockey is a topic, and at every hockey function where people gather for the good of the game. He will be the spirit behind those who are free of hidden agendas, vested interests and personal gain, the ones who are just there for the love of the sport.
Lord knows, we all can use his help.
Mach 1 uses retro aura to spice current Mustang line
This is a big year for Ford, and its prized Mustang sporty coupe. After taking the country by storm in the mid-1960s, the Mustang battled to compete with a herd of ponycars, such as the Chevrolet Camaro, Pontiac Firebird, Dodge Challenger, Plymouth Barracuda, and the American Motors Javelin. One by one, the challengers dropped out, until this past year, when the Firebird and Camaro were discontinued, leaving the Mustang to stand alone.
It may seem appropriate that the Mustang became the last “ponycar†standing, after 40 years, but that doesn’t relieve the popular coupe from pressure. Advance showings of a concept vehicle that is destined to become the new Mustang a year from now have met overwhelming response, and the rekindled classic Ford GT is going to be introduced before summer ends, but what can be done for 2003 – Ford’s centennial year – to make the Mustang stand out from the crowd?
FordÂ’s decision was to add a model, and, based on historical perspective, we shouldnÂ’t be surprised that a special version of the car has captured some of the retrospective essence of the carÂ’s most storied era, and is renamed the Mach 1.
Back in the late 1960s, ponycar racing in the Trans-Am series was a sensation, and all the manufacturers competed. I had the opportunity to buy a new car back then, and I test-drove a broad assortment. I thought the Camaro was impressive, the Firebird was too committed to a giant engine, and the Â’Cuda and Challenger were really neat but I remained unconvinced of their tightness. So I bought a 1970 Mustang Boss 302, my favorite of the bunch and a specialty car with a high-powered V8 that was as close to a race car as Ford dared go with the car for street purposes. I still have the car, actually, with a custom-painted 1969 Shelby body on it, although I never seem to drive it any more, so my wife, Joan, urges me to sell it about once a week.
The Boss 302 wasnÂ’t for everybody back in 1969 and 1970, but the base car was as docile as the Boss was spectacular, so Ford came up with the perfect compromise. The Mach 1 was an upgrade that wasnÂ’t nearly up to Boss 302 standards for engine or suspension, but was clearly a step above the normal Mustang on all counts. It had a stronger engine, racier tires, better suspension, and graphics that made it come alive in normal traffic.
While that 1969-era Mach 1 is long gone, so is a lot of the color that made the Mustang so successful. But almost to celebrate its long and wearying battle for survival, the Mustang gets energized with the new-era Mach 1.
The test-drive car was a blinding yellow, with black striping and graphics. It has the familiar “shaker†hood scoop of the old car, which means there’s a hold in the hood, and a high-volume air-intake that protrudes through the hole, and when you crack the throttle at idle, the scoop rocks to the beat of the engine’s torque, which makes it shake as it contrasts with the hood itself.
Thankfully, the scoop is functional, although the tall side scoops that look like they might cool the rear brakes are for show only.
As in the old days, the Mach 1 is a worthy alternative between the base car, which comes with a 3.8-liter V6 of no particular attention-getting merit, or a 4.6-liter V8 with 260 horsepower, up from the V6Â’s 195, and the SVT Cobra with its 390-horse supercharged 4.6 V8.
The Mach 1 has the same 4.6-liter V8, but instead of being the mass-produced two-valve-per-cylinder version, or the CobraÂ’s supercharged four-valve-per-cylinder design, the Mach 1 gets close to what used to be the Cobra engine, with a 4.6-liter V8 with dual overhead camshafts and four valves per cylinder, but without the supercharging. It turns out 300 horsepower, and is plenty potent, and while its suspension is clearly softer than the CobraÂ’s uncompromising stiffness, it also is substantially firmer than the base carÂ’s.
The five-speed manual transmission is a close-ratio device that gets you launched quickly and upshifts smoothly and precisely. The Mach 1 is quick, no doubt, and the big Goodyear Eagle 1 tires, mounted on 17-inch wheels, have exceptional grip on dry pavement, and probably on wet stuff, although all bets are off for staying in a straight line with the front-engine/rear-drive Mach 1 if you drive in snow season.
I found the Mach 1 to be a tight fit. You can insert your own joke about my bodyÂ’s expansion since I so spryly jumped into that old 1970 Boss, but in the new Mach 1, I struggled to get a comfortable compromise for my body and legs to be in accord with the steering wheel and pedals as the same time. Maybe that was another compromise to make the tight-squeeze rear jump seat seem feasible.
Visually, the Mach 1 makes a strong impression. Savvy passers-by followed it with their gaze as we drove past. It looks racy, and it handles well, moving out swiftly and surely. The overhead-cam engine may have been the decisive factor in making the Mustang seem more high-tech than the pushrod-powered Camaro-Firebird duo, and giving that engine the dual-overhead-cam treatment is a significant upgrade, even though it falls short of the hand-built Cobra engine.
The Mach 1 upgrades push the Mustang up in the high-performance scheme of things, and depending on the option choices, it can approach $30,000 for a sticker price. But if you want a ponycar, this is the last one, and the Mach 1 should attract some nolstagia-seekers as well as boy-racer types.
Besides, it should be a nice bridge between the existing Mustang and the redesigned new car coming out next year. Driving the Mach 1 was fun, and its firm ride and precise handling was impressive. Maybe itÂ’s time to roll out the olÂ’ Boss/Shelby after all, just to compare. And, to see if I fit into it as well.
(John Gilbert writes a weekly automotive column. He can be reached by email at jgilbert@duluth.com .)
New Saabs become Sunfire ‘cousins’ under GM
SAAB EXPANDS GMÂ’S CORPORATE REACH TO SWEDEN
BY JOHN GILBERT
DULUTH, MN. — As the automotive industry becomes more worldly by the day, it still is difficult to realize how closely weÂ’re all aligned. For example, if youÂ’ve noticed the recent General Motors brands, you see Cadillac, Buick, Oldsmobile (disappearing though it may be), Pontiac, Chevrolet, GMC trucks – and Saab.
Saab? Yes, for most of our lifetimes, Saab has remained an impressive but eccentric Swedish line of vehicles, while the rest of the automotive world, and particularly General Motors, was striving to be mainstream. But now Saab has shifted from the anti-GM product to come under the GM corporate roof.
ItÂ’s happening all over. Volvo, the other Swedish automotive company, has joined Jaguar, Land Rover and Mazda under FordÂ’s umbrella, and, of course, the Mercedes takeover of Chrysler Corporation, forming DaimlerChrysler, started it all.
Such unification could have a major impact on the specific cars involved, for example the new Chrysler Crossfire sports car is a unique body planted on a Mercedes platform, with a Mercedes engine. And the Mazda Tribute and Ford Escape are twins with different grilles and suspensions, but sharing engines.
Saab, meanwhile, has a unique identity, and time will tell if GM allows its eccentricities to continue. For now, at least, it appears they will to some extent. I recently test-drove both the Saab 9.3 sedan and the 9.5 wagon, as well as the Pontiac Sunfire, which provided an interesting bit of contrast.
In overview, the Saab 9.3 rides on the new GM Epsilon platform, making it a longer car than it used to be, and it starts out with a version of the GM Ecotec 4-cylinder engine. The larger 9.5 Saab also has a 4-cylinder engine, with a V6, but the two arenÂ’t sharing the same engine. The 9.3 Saab has a 2.0-liter powerplant, while the 9.5Â’s base engine is a 2.3-liter, coming from Germany, where Saab has done some collaborating with GMÂ’s Opel subsidiary.
Meanwhile, while the Saabs are built in Trollhattan, Sweden, on this side of the Atlantic, Pontiac has redone the Sunfire compact into a coupe-only vehicle, aimed at what might be called the “bargain sporty†market. The Ohio-built Sunfire is powered by the same basic Ecotec, but measuring 2.2 liters in displacement.
The Sunfire doesnÂ’t seem like a likely cousin of the Saabs, but thatÂ’s where weÂ’re at in the automotive business.
Of the three, the Sunfire is the bargain, starting at $14,910, for which you get the 2.2 Ecotec engine, with its dual-overhead-camshaft design and a 5-speed stick shift. It delivers 140 horsepower that way, and the Sunfire has a new and aggressive look with the redesigned grille featuring a much more slanted catÂ’s-eye headlight arrangement.
Heavy dipping into the option bin provided mixed results. For example, a $675 option seems a bargain for an upgraded audio system with CD player and equalizer plus a glass sunroof. But the $3,050 package that includes performance suspension, 16-inch alloy wheels, dual exhausts, cruise control, an XM satellite radio, antilock brakes, a console cupholder and tilt steering wheel, also includes a 4-speed automatic transmission.
The front-wheel-drive 2.2 engine might be impressive with the stick, but the automatic is geared so that you step on the gas normally hard, and you get a building roar, followed by a smooth shift that drops you into a range with almost no torque. Even the sound is discouraging, as it goes “HMMMMMM-hmmm†and leaves you wishing for more oomph, but there is no auto-manual version, either, to let you find the right gear for the moment.
The seats had an interesting geometric-striped design, but they are incredibly soft and unsupporting. When the options run the price up to an even $20,000 on the test car, youÂ’d like to think that they might make the seats better and not reduce the power as much. You do get a rear spoiler and foglights, but the final price makes it something less of a bargain for its less-costly stick-shift brother that will probably blow by it on the way home.
The Saab 9.3 tester came with a 2.0 Ecotec, but Saab has played around with it quite a bit. Turbocharging the smaller version gets you up to 175 horsepower, and a newly available 210-horse engine is now available. The 9.3 also had an automatic, but it was an auto-manual, with clutchless manual shifting at your fingertip. Power is good, and getting it down on the road through the front-wheel-drive platform is impressive, with good power and exceptional handling agility.
A Saab spokesman said that Saab is retaining some exclusivity, sharing only the lower block of the Ecotec engine before doing its own plumbing and refinements. And the rear suspension goes beyond the Epsilon standard with unique rear bushings and geometry to toe the wheel out when it is loaded, as the outside wheel in a turn, and to toe it in when unloaded, as when youÂ’re turning the other way. That helps the cornering feel, and both of the rear wheels toe in under hard braking, to aid stopping.
By growing, the 9.3 has good room, front and rear in the four-door sedan, with a huge trunk, and, typical of Saab, outstanding seats for comfort and support. My week with the 9.3 wasnÂ’t entirely pleasing, because the power lock gadget decided to take a vacation. The remote switch on the key fob simply wouldnÂ’t lock or unlock the doors, which left us in the unsettling position of having walked away from the car, clicking the remote lock, and returning to find it was unlocked, sitting there in a parking lot with a fair share of our worldlies. The cruise-control also was irregular.
IÂ’ll take the key on the floor for my eccentricities, but not the power locks and the cruise.
Unfortunately, the corporate decision has been to move the 9.3 decidedly upscale, where the price now ranges from a starting point of $28,000 for the base car, and a $29,995 base if you choose to move up to the 210-horsepower version. ThatÂ’s before the option list tempts you to head for the mid-$30,000 range.
The Saab 9.5 wagon is a large step up from there, although it no longer is dramatically larger than the expanded 9.3. The base price of the 9.5 wagon I tested was $39,350, and adding the touring package for Bi-Xenon headlights, rain-sensing wipers, and a rear back-up warning boosts it to $42,690.
The 2.3-liter high-output turbocharged V6 gives the 9.5 the zing of 250 horsepower, and even though it was a wagon, it came with a five-speed manual transmission. Like the 9.3, it had four-wheel disc brakes, and electronic stability program and traction control aided the front-wheel-drive stability. Again, the seats are outstanding, and are heated and power adjustable, and there are nice touches like a cooled glove box, Aero Sport leather seats, dual zone climate control, glass sunroof, an on-board computer and the slick General Motors OnStar device, with 12 months of service.
Strangely, the test car came painted up like a promotional vehicle for Salomon ski and recreational equipment, with swoopy graphics and large lettering all over it. Once again, IÂ’ll accept the key on the console compromise to try to maintain SaabÂ’s individuality, but the 9.5 test car was a classy and versatile wagon that you shouldnÂ’t be embarrassed to take out in public because of the gimmicky paint scheme.
So maybe the collaboration works. You want to spend over $40,000 for what the Saab 9.5 offers, there it is. If you can afford $30,000, the Saab 9.3 is a worthy alternative – and I even prefer it to the 9.5, because they look so similar now. And if you are determined to keep the sticker under $20,000, the Sunfire can be judiciously selected to come in at that end, with a few options.
And remember the old saying, whatÂ’s good for General Motors is good for the country. Even if that country now includes Sweden.
About the Author
John Gilbert is a lifetime Minnesotan and career journalist, specializing in cars and sports during and since spending 30 years at the Minneapolis Tribune, now the Star Tribune. More recently, he has continued translating the high-tech world of autos and sharing his passionate insights as a freelance writer/photographer/broadcaster. A member of the prestigious North American Car and Truck of the Year jury since 1993. John can be heard Monday-Friday from 9-11am on 610 KDAL(www.kdal610.com) on the "John Gilbert Show," and writes a column in the Duluth Reader.
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