November 4-10, 2004

naked city

Hammer Time

Is this thing on? Dave Schultz, comedian, onstage at the Upper Northeast's Southampton Room. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Flyers legend Dave Schultz takes his shots—at comedy.

by Mike Newall

He still wears the rings: 1974, the first and his favorite, on his left and 1975, the better-looking of the two, on his right. He'll always wear the Stanley Cup rings.

But Dave "The Hammer" Schultz—onetime baddest man in the NHL, public enemy No. 1 on the famed and feared Broad Street Bullies and owner of 2,294 career penalty minutes—has not played professional hockey for nearly a quarter century. He retired at the age of 30, unwanted by the NHL, a pugilist past his prime, an intimidated intimidator.

"The guys were getting bigger," says Schultz with a wave of acceptance on a recent Friday night at the Southampton Room, a modest, dimly lit, banquet hall in the Upper Northeast.

Here at this charity fund-raiser for a local playground, Schultz embarks on another career: one of yuk-yuks rather than uppercuts. Punch lines instead of knockouts.

Yes, tonight is the Hammer's first gig as a stand-up comic.

Shortly before 9 p.m., the Hammer takes the stage to a roaring round of applause from the roughly 100 in attendance. One man in the front row smiles giddily, a hockey stick in his lap.

"There were 20 guys sitting in front of the television watching the World Series," begins the Hammer, nervously. "Who were they?"

A few laughs fill the room.

"The New York Yankees," says the Hammer.

The crowd, perhaps out of respect, goes wild.

At 55, Schultz, who often fought in front of crowds nearing 20,000, still owns an intimidating presence. His thick shoulders and arms bulge through his sports jacket. And, you can't help but notice the jackhammer hands.

But over the years, the lion has tamed some.

The long black mane of his playing days is conservatively trimmed. He no longer scowls. He bears no scars from his many battles—at least not physical ones—and is missing no teeth. He smiles when he talks.

"Growing up in Western Canada on the prairies of Saskatchewan was pretty tough," continues the Hammer, getting more comfortable on stage. "Winters was cold. I used to walk five miles to school every day. I tell ya, I was pretty disappointed when I graduated and found out I lived about eight blocks away."

"You know, none of my opposing players ever had to go to the hospital," he goes on. "But I did send three groupies to the maternity ward."

And then, in the spirit of Rodney Dangerfield:

"I was dating this woman a while back, and I said to her, "When I first laid eyes on you, I wanted to make love to you in the worst way.' She said, "Well, you certainly have succeeded'."

Wild laughter. The Hammer is killing.

These days, Schultz butters his bread with Hammer Enterprises, a sports-memorabilia company he operates out of Macungie, Pa.

"It's a living," he says.

For his 11 brutal seasons in the American and National Hockey Leagues, the Hammer was paid only a total of $600,000, nearly half of what the NHL's lowest-paid player earned last season.

And what of his pension? "You could spit in a bucket and get more out of it."

There will likely be no NHL hockey this season. With players and owners miles apart on a new collective bargaining agreement, play might not begin again until January 2006.

"When I played, we just hoped hockey would help us land a good job when we retired," says the Hammer.

Since he last put on a game sweater, the Hammer has worn many professional hats.

He's worked at his brother's New Jersey cable-installation company; started a limousine service; managed a roller rink in Haverford Township; and did coaching stints in the East Coast and United Hockey Leagues.

A couple of months ago, the Hammer began taking a weekly comedy class he found through a friend.

The Hammer doesn't write his material—a friend does—but he hopes that perfecting his performance skills will lead to high-pay-ing corporate speaking engagements.

"It beats working at Home Depot," jokes Schultz. Plus, it gets the juices flowing and the media calling.

As a player, the Hammer always employed the same fighting technique: Grab his opponent by the collar, just above the right arm, take a few shots while getting his balance, and then punch his enemy senseless.

As a comic, the Hammer understands he will have to roll with the punches a bit more.

"I'll start out with a three-minute set, and then slowly work my way up," he says. "I'll learn to keep the right jokes and get rid of the ones that don't work."

Tonight, the Hammer's three minues are just about up.

"It's a shame the Flyers are not playing at this point in the season with the lockout and all. I tell ya, the money these guys make is certainly different than in my era," he says, and then jokingly offering his services, "I'm retired and living in Altoona, Pennsylvania."

The crowd lets loose with laughter, and the Hammer says good night.