I can’t tell you the first time I “met” Pelle Lindbergh. I was born a little over a month after he died and even though I never knew Pelle while he was alive, I’ve always felt a very special connection to him.
I remember seeing a few pictures around the house of my Dad and a goalie in a white mask (usually with Dad and Pelle sprawled out in some desperate attempt to keep the puck out of the net) but it wasn’t until my sixth grade public speaking project that I started to learn more about the man after whom my parents named me.
I learned that I was named after one of my Dad’s former teammates, his friend Pelle. Obviously my response was, “…but his name is Pelle and my name is Erik…”
I came to understand that his actual name was Per-Erik, and Pelle was a common Swedish nickname for people with that name, like Jim for James or Mike for Michael.
It’s a surreal thing to see a newspaper with the headline “MARSH’S SON LIVING TRIBUTE TO LINDBERGH”. Up until then I hadn’t given it much thought. To this day I’m not entirely sure what it entails to be a “living tribute” but I can say that the thought crosses my mind often when Pelle's name comes up in conversation.
On my sixteenth birthday, my parents passed along a gift that they had kept in trust for many years. When Pelle was born, he was given a medallion. When I was born and named after Pelle, Pelle’s parents saw it fit to pass this medallion on to me, having it engraved in English with my name on it.
The small coin has a four-leaf clover and the word Lycka -- the Swedish word for luck or success -- inscribed on it. The Lindberghs added “In memory of Pelle Lindbergh Philadelphia Flyers #31” and my name on the other side.
This small trinket is the closest physical connection to my namesake and it is something very special to me. I don’t wear it all the time, but if I’m doing something and feel like I need a little help, I’ll wear that medallion close to my chest and silently ask Pelle to see me through. There are a few days I’m sure Pelle was with me last year as my Dad and I bicycled across Canada.
It’s difficult to place my feelings on a day like today; the 28th anniversary of his death. I never knew Pelle as a teammate, I never watched him play firsthand, and I never got to personally know the man that seemed to leave such an impression on everyone he met, including my dad.
I can say that no matter how many times I have to correct someone when they spell my first name, I’m honored to be named after Pelle. I’m very honored to share in just a tiny piece of the story of my Dad’s buddy who lived out his childhood dream of playing for the Philadelphia Flyers.
"Lycka" medallion given to me by Pelle Lindbergh's family
Detroit Red Wings Blogger • 
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