Kenyon Arena's most valuable layers The ice must go in before the Panthers can win

Author: Simon Keyes and Jeff Patterson

Flowing from the mouths of two reciprocally-placed Panthers are drips of blood that match the color of the redline. "We don't do that on purpose," joked Butch Atkins, one of the two head ice attendants at Kenyon Arena. "Sometimes I just walk by and [the paint] falls off my brush."

Given the number of teams Middlebury has preyed on its home ice, it is surprising that the blood does not take up a larger percentage of the ice's 200 foot by 95 foot surface. The home-ice winning-percentage proves that the Panthers are nothing but cold-blooded killers. Since Kenyon Arena opened for full season play in 1999, the women's team has won 91 games and lost only eight at home. The men have won 98 while dropping only 12 contests when the puck was dropped in Kenyon.

You've probably seen the numerous hockey championship banners draping the walls of Kenyon, but before the teams can sprawl out on the ice and pose for the championship picture, they need the ice to be there. The people that provide the ice to skate on grew up in town, attended Middlebury Union High School and have watched Middlebury hockey games for as long as they can remember. These hometown Ice Men - Stan Pratt, John Provancha, Al Duclos and Atkins - give new meaning to home-ice advantage.

Six players may make up a starting lineup, but without this foursome, the Panthers would not have achieved the success they have. You have probably seen them and not recognized them - they are the Zamboni drivers, the goal judge and the clock keeper. They like doing their work under the radar. "I'm going to take off when the [football] crowd comes and then I'll come back in," said Atkins regarding his ice-laying schedule.

For the last 25 years Atkins and Pratt have been resurfacing the ice and taking care of it throughout the season.

After college, Butch found a job in the equipment room, where he could work, while he was recovering from knee surgery.

"I saw how the old rink was run," he said. "They hired a guy to come in during the day and then the grounds crew would come in at night and on weekends. But they would have to call the plant engineer because this guy was never there - he was out substitute teaching." Atkins offered to take the maintenance job and he been taking care of the ice ever since.

Atkins and Pratt now have an unparalleled feel for the ice. "If you get like six or seven people doing the ice you don't get a feel for how much ice you have on there," said Atkins. With only two experts they "know, if it gets low in one spot, [they] know it needs to be edged and brought down."

Their jobs are easier than they were in the past. "The coaches are good - they spread the whole ice," said Atkins. "The old coach, Wendy Forbes, he'd be upset at [the team] and skate them 20 minutes in the same spot. And I'd have to go out with cones for the next week, because it was down a half inch."

Technology has really made a difference, yet the process remains labor intensive.

In the Old Barn, Provancha recalls dumping five gallons of white paint into the Zamboni and painting the ice that way. "Life has gotten easier," he quipped. The Panther logo, now a five-piece vinyl decal, is much quicker to assemble than actually painting in the image like they had in years past.

The Ice Men and the teams work hand in hand throughout the season to adjust the ice towards the team's strengths. "The key [is] not to have too much ice out there," said Atkins with regard to the ice-related diet to which the rink adheres. "We have a small team, so you want the ice fast."

You probably take for granted that the ice will appear in early October, magically, even though temperatures across Vermont have yet to approach freezing. And yet, every year it does, perfectly white.

It takes 300 imperial gallons (360 gallons) of paint to turn the naturally gray color of the rink into a pristine white one. And it takes hundreds of brush strokes to paint the bluelines and redlines. "It literally is paint," said Provancha. "People don't realize it, you paint [them] with a brush."

The face-off circles and goal creases do not just magically appear with the touch of a button. They are scribed on top of layers of ice that have been systematically placed and misted over, so they are there to stay beneath yet another layer of ice.

The time commitment and dedication of these men is astonishing. "A lot of time on weekends I'll come in at six in the morning and not get home until midnight," said Atkins. "It's seven days a week, there are no days off."

The work is always long and mistakes have been made - like having one goal crease several feet off center or melting a gash in the ice, which a referee tripped over. Regardless, the work is rewarding. Several current and former players walked up to the Ice Men, while they were painting and the players expressed their appreciation for their work. Atkins has heard that former hockey players have told the alumni office, "I don't know about the rest of the guys, but the first place I'm going is to go down to see Butch and Stan."

There is a fine line when taking care of the ice, but the Ice Men do a fine job. "You can't let the ice get up too high, it distorts the lines," said Atkins, but at the same time, "you can't let the ice get too low because they'll cut through it on a rough practice."

Tournament committees see Kenyon Arena as a practical site for championship games because, according to Atkins, "they know that it's done right."

Although the majority of their work is behind the scenes, on game days, Atkins and Pratt drive the Zamboni in front of the packed crowd. "There are a lot of things to deal with. You are working the blade, you are not cutting too much [of the ice], some places you are cutting more … It gets your adrenaline going."

A little more than a week ago you could have walked on Kenyon Arena, and maneuvered your way around tables and chairs. Now it is covered with water - in its frozen form. Skates might be easier.