Follow Paul on Twitter: @paulstewart22

Most of the time, I cheerfully ignore the troglodytes and keyboard warriors who pollute the internet for the rest of us. I don't feed the trolls because it's a no-win situation. Just like that whack-a-mole game, every time you smash an internet troll back into his hole, another one rapidly pops up in its place. I've got better things to do with my time, including enjoying the interaction with the majority of folks I meet.

When I present opinions, whether on the internet or in real life, I know some people are going to agree and some will disagree. That's fine. Actually, I enjoy hearing a well-reasoned dissenting opinion. Love or hate what I have to say, however, you only make yourself look foolish if you question my credentials within the hockey business.

Hockey has always been much more than just a sport to my family. The game has always been a bond for the Stewarts. Nowadays, we are a four-generation hockey family.

Famous singer and songwriter Bob Marley once sang, "If you know your history, then you know where you're coming from. Then you wouldn't have to ask me, who the heck do I think I am."

I can relate to that.

For one thing, I was a history major (Asian history, to be specific) at the University of Pennsylvania. History fascinates me, whether it's political, military, cultural, sports or what have you.

It also teaches me about myself. Knowing the history of the hockey, the history of Americans within the game and my own family history tells me who the heck I am.

I take enormous pride in the fact that my grandfather, Bill Stewart Sr., was a trailblazer for Americans in hockey from many different standpoints: NHL referee, the first American Stanley Cup winning NHL coach, the U.S. national team coach in the late 1950s and a key builder of the American team that went to win the gold medal at the 1960 Olympics.

My grandfather was the first U.S. born and trained referee in the NHL, officiating from 1927 to 1937 and again from 1939 to 1941. Bill Stewart Sr. and Bill Chadwick (the first American referee to be inducted in the Hockey Hall of Fame) officiated in the Stanley Cup Finals long before the league expanded in 1967. There have only been a couple Americans to work in the Finals since then, and my grandfather officiated in four Stanley Cup Finals.

In between his NHL refereeing stints, my granddad became the first American NHL coach to win the Stanley Cup, leading the Chicago Black Hawks (the name was rendered as two words back in those days) to the championship in 1937-38. Here's something else that a lot of people don't know: he had eight American players on his roster in that Cup winning season.


Bill Stewart (left) shows Chicago players Elwin "Doc" Romnes and Jack Shill where their names will be inscribed on the Stanley Cup (note the shape of the trophy in that era).

In the summer of 1937, my grandfather received an offer from Chicago owner Maj. Frederic McLaughlin to serve as coach and general manager of the NHL team. A native Chicagoan and a Harvard University graduate, McLaughlin served in the U.S. Army during World War I, rising to the rank of major. Even after returning to civilian life, McLaughlin insisted on being addressed as Major for the remainder of his life.

Maj. McLaughlin, who made a fortune in the coffee business, first became interested in sports team ownership prior to the start of the Great Depression. In 1926, he purchased controlling interest in Chicago's fledgling NHL hockey team. The owner nicknamed the team the Black Hawks (later shortened to one word), in honor of his former Army infantry battalion, which was nicknamed the Black Hawks. The Major's wife designed the team's now-famous Indian head logo.

McLaughlin was fiercely patriotic. That is part of the reason why he was drawn initially to my grandfather; a fellow World War I veteran who wore his American citizenship with great pride. McLaughlin was also a nut; and one of the worst bosses to work for in the entire history of the NHL. In 18 years of owning the Black Hawks, he hired and fired 18 different coaches.

My grandfather and the Major made for a volatile mix. Bill Sr. wasn't about to be pushed around by his boss, and McLaughlin hated to employ anyone with a strong personality as much as he hated to employ anyone with a weak personality.

They co-existed for one season. Steering a team featuring eight Americans on the roster at a time when the NHL was otherwise almost entirely comprised of Canadians, my grandfather coached the Chicago to the 1937-38 Stanley Cup. In the Finals, the Hawks downed the favored Toronto Maple Leafs in four games in a best-of-five series.

Prior to Game One of the Finals in Toronto, the team learned that starting goaltender Mike Karakas would be unable to play. He had broken his big toe in the clinching game of the semifinals, and backup Paul Goodman was also out of commission. The Hawks requested that the NHL let the team use New York Rangers goaltender Davey Kerr to fill in, but the Maple Leafs balked at the idea and the league refused the request.

My grandfather was furious, and it led to to a hotel fistfight with Conn Smythe. Talk about your old-time hockey!

At the suggestion of Black Hawks' captain Johnny Gottselig, my grandfather reluctantly decided to offer former New York Americans backup goaltender Alfie Moore the opportunity to become Chicago's goaltender to start the Finals. Moore lived in Toronto and had once been a solid NHL goaltender, despite playing as the backup to Hall of Famer Roy Worters. (Side note: Worters stood just five-foot-three and weighed 135 pounds. Could you imagine an NHL goalie that size nowadays, much less a Hall of Fame caliber one?!)

The problem: For all his talent, Alfie drank himself out of the NHL and had spent the past season in the American Hockey League. With the season over, he could devote himself fully to nightly bar-hopping. He was finally tracked down at one of his favorite local watering holes -- it took the Hawks several tries to find the right one at the right time.

Moore had about a dozen drinks in him by the time he was finally brought to the Black Hawks hotel. He slurred his words and hadn't changed clothes in at least two days. My grandfather, who was a non-drinker, was not amused.

"Get him out of my sight," he said to Gottselig. "There is no way that guy is going to start in goal for us."

"We have no other choice, Bill," Gottselig said. "Someone has to be in goal. I can't do it. No one else is going to volunteer. Alfie is a good goaltender. He will be fine in the game."

My grandfather sighed. "OK, it's your playoff prize money and the Cup at stake. If you really think he's our best option at this point, I will trust you."

Speaking to Moore, my grandfather told him he'd be in goal against Conn Smythe's Maple Leafs in the Stanley Cup Finals. The goaltender beamed.

"That Connie Smythe is a son of a bitch," Moore roared drunkenly. "That bastard is going to regret the day he picked [Turk] Broda over me! I'll show that Connie Smythe!"

"Save it for the game," my grandfather said.

Although my grandfather didn't really trust Moore, he did trust Gottselig. The Hawks players basically babysat Moore until game time, using the old-fashioned remedies of cold showers and endless cups of coffee. As fate would have it, the emergency goaltender outplayed Broda and Chicago won the series opener, 3-1.

Goodman was ready to go for Game Two. As a result, NHL President Frank Calder disqualified Moore from playing in the rest of the series. The Maple Leafs won the next game but the Blackhawks rebounded to win each of the next two games, winning the Stanley Cup.

The Major was ecstatic. He told everyone who would listen that Bill Stewart was the most brilliant hockey coach who was ever born. A miser by nature, McLaughlin even gave Moore a gold watch and $300 cash at the insistence of his coach. In the meantime, the media took to calling my grandfather "the Miracle Man" for what he accomplished.

My grandfather was the first U.S.-born coach of a Stanley Cup champion. It would be another 53 years until the second one emerged. Hall of Fame coach "Badger" Bob Johnson guided the 1990-91 Pittsburgh Penguins to the Stanley Cup.


Triumphant Chicago Black Hawks players Alex Levinsky (left, one of eight Americans on the team and one of the first Jewish players in the NHL) and Harold "Mush" March (right) lift coach Bill Stewart on their shoulders after their 4-1 win to earn the Stanley Cup.

McLaughlin's happiness lasted only until his team failed to roar out of the gates the next season. Just 21 games into the 1938-39 season, with the Hawks sporting a record of 8-10-3, he fired the "Miracle Man". The Major told the media that my grandfather had lost his effective as a coach.

After his tumultuous tenure as the Blackhawks' coach, Bill Sr. returned to refereeing for the duration of his NHL career. In the mid-1950s, he decided to return to hockey coaching when he had the opportunity to coach the U.S. national team.

In 1957, featuring a squad that was largely comprised of the roster that would win Olympic Gold in Squaw Valley three years later, my grandfather coached the U.S. men to a record of 23-3-1. Unfortunately, the U.S. State Department elected not to send a team to the IIHF World Championships in protest of the Soviet Union's invasion of Hungary.

Remember, this process started decades before the 1960 Olympic gold medal in Squaw Valley and almost 62 years before the Miracle on Ice gold Olympic gold medal in Lake Placid.

That original Stanley Cup is now on exhibition in the vault of the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto.
When you grow up in a household where this type of success in hockey and sport is prevalent, coupled with his 22 years of umpiring in the National League (including four Major League Baseball All-Star Games and four World Series), Major League scouting work, and lower level backgrounds as a player, coach and manager, you stand in awe as Bill Stewart Sr. was truly a "man For all seasons."

My grandfather, who died in 1964, was inducted into the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame in 1982; one year before I embarked on my second career as a referee. My father, the late Bill Stewart Sr., did not officiate at the NHL level but he worked in high school and collegiate sports for many years.

I've seen thousands of coaches in action and countless referees. I reffed 1,010 NHL games. In my humble opinion, my father stands out as one of the best coaches ever at any sport, at any level, because he understood coaching is selfless.

As a high school and collegiate hockey referee, he was as good as anyone I ever saw in the NHL including some who are in the Hall of Fame in Toronto. He was also a school teacher for a living and believed in his heart of hearts that it was his duty to uphold a noble profession.

My dad treated every kid like his own. He knew everything about everyone who played for him. He involved himself in their lives and it wasn't for devious purposes. It was to help them, make their lives better and give them a better chance for future success.

Coaching, officiating, and everything my dad did had a higher meaning, a higher calling. He had no sexual agendas or strategies to line his pockets. I love the saying, "You were happier when he arrived than when he left." I always thought that was a marvelous thing to say about someone. It certainly applied to my dad.

People have asked me where I get my work ethic. It was from my grandfather and father. My father was as equally hard working as he was selfless. Both my father and grandfather were men of many hats (coaching, reffing, scouting, mentoring).

They taught me something essential at a young age: It's not how many hats you wear, it's how well you wear them. They took pride in performing all their jobs at the highest level possible.

Dad reffed college games each Saturday. He always was on the move. He reffed a football game at Cornell one sunny Saturday in the early 1960s when the Big Red had Pete Gogolak, the first soccer-style placekicker who later starred for the Buffalo Bills and New York Giants.

I spent that afternoon chasing Gogolak's field goals and extra points. I always either volunteered as the ball boy or worked the chains. When that football game ended, dad and I walked to the station wagon, opened the trunk, and pulled out the Coca-Cola cooler, which came with us on every road trip. Inside were sandwiches and drinks my mother had packed. When we finished eating, my dad looked down at his watch.

"It's almost 5 p.m. -- we better get going," he said, throwing his football referee bag into the back of the car, then reaching in and pulling out his hockey bag.

Putting on a different hat, my dad walked into historic Lynah Rink and dressed to ref the Cornell hockey game. I served as stick boy.

Being the son of Bill Stewart Jr., I certainly lived an interesting, somewhat unpredictable, and magical childhood in which I almost always was learning some sort of lesson in life or sports. I almost always stood three feet from my dad, soaking in lessons about sports and life while the water boy at his football games, the stick boy at his hockey games, and the bat boy at his baseball games.

I chased foul balls for a nickel a piece during chilly spring baseball games. My life revolved from one sports season to the next sports season, from stadium to arena, from baseball diamond to baseball diamond. Sports weren't something that happened after school. It was the Stewart family's way of life, passed down from generation to generation.

My dad taught me how to look at games in a certain way -- to watch the whole field -- which was an invaluable lesson that I used growing up playing football, hockey, and baseball, and eventually when I turned to reffing. When we watched his team's game film together, he showed me exactly what certain players did wrong and what they did right. He always scribbled notes on cue cards and sometimes even stopped the film to test my knowledge.

All his lessons certainly made me more astute and gave me an edge as I became more serious about sports -- and along the way his lessons shaped me into a respectful man. My dad used to say that he taught to coach and he coached by teaching.

As for myself, I am proud of the fact that I am the first -- and only -- American citizen to have served as both a player and a referee in the NHL. I broke in as a player in late 1975 and, with the exception of being out of hockey for most of the 1980-81 season, have been involved in the sport as my means of employment ever since.

Even after retiring as an NHL referee at the end of the 2002-03 season, I have continuously stayed in the game. I was an AHL officiating supervisor for a time, worked for the Boston Bruins (and even interviewed for their GM job), worked for a brief time in broadcasting, have been a long-time collegiate hockey officiating director for the ECAC and have worked for the KHL as first an officiating and discipline consultant and then as the chairman of the officiating committee. Away from my professional involvement, I'm a hockey dad to my sons McCauley and Maxwell.

I do not pretend that my achievements match up to my grandfather and father's accomplishments, but I am proud that I got to follow in their footsteps to the best of my ability. I can also say that I have worked in this game from every possible angle, both domestically and internationally.

Feel free to disagree with my views as you see fit. But I have seen things in this game from much deeper levels than your average bear. I know of what I speak so passionately.

Having been a player trying to break into the NHL before the Miracle in Lake Placid, I can tell you that it was exponentially harder in those days for American players get opportunities. Unless you were a special case like Mark Howe -- a phenomenal talent on top of being a member of hockey royalty -- or otherwise a clear star-caliber talent like Robbie Ftorek, it was that much harder to get noticed if you were an American player.

Likewise, it was -- and still is, to a lesser degree -- much tougher for an American referee to make it to the NHL when I was breaking in to the ranks of officials. That's not just me spouting off. That's the truth.

My family's legacy is one of the reasons why I resisted so vehemently all those that tried to stand in the path that I chose to follow in hockey. I had the Stewart name to uphold, and I took that very seriously.

Having completed my 40th year in professional and amateur hockey, I recently attended the American College Coaches Convention in Naples, FLA. We begin again.

Even as the warm weather rested my 300 game season chilled bones, I am already gearing up to get Officiating in 2015/16 better at all levels where I am involved including the game in Russia, Europe, college hockey, prep Hockey and the amateur game.

In this game, it's vital to have continuous goals. Even now, I have many new goals and plans to help those that I work with to reach their goals. And for those of you that think it's time for me to sit back and relax...yes, a little vacation, a little golf, watching my boys train, work on their school work, trimming my Christmas Trees and getting the grass in my yard green, I will be a busy guy this summer. Busy is a good thing, even if it's just sorting through the "stuff" in the attic.

I also plan to keep myself busy with my blogs here at HockeyBuzz. I will not muzzle my views of the game in general and officiating in particular out of fear of ruffling some feathers. It's just not how I am wired.

As my mother wrote to me when she sent me my dad's resume way back when, when I was lost and looking for a direction between playing and the other jobs I tried (radio show host, police officer and others) before I began my officiating career, "A busy man is a happy man, so get busy."

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Paul Stewart holds the distinction of being the first U.S.-born citizen to make it to the NHL as both a player and referee. On March 15, 2003, he became the first American-born referee to officiate in 1,000 NHL games.

Today, Stewart is an officiating and league discipline consultant for the Kontinental Hockey League (KHL) and serves as director of hockey officiating for the Eastern College Athletic Conference (ECAC).

The longtime referee heads Officiating by Stewart, a consulting, training and evaluation service for officials. Stewart also maintains a busy schedule as a public speaker, fund raiser and master-of-ceremonies for a host of private, corporate and public events. As a non-hockey venture, he is the owner of Lest We Forget.

In addition to his blogs for HockeyBuzz every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, Stewart writes a column every Wednesday for the Huffington Post.