“Ladies and Gentlemen, the staring bid is Ten-Thousand dollars,” Don Urban boomed into the microphone.
“Ten-thousand fifty” someone shouted
“Ten-thousand two hundred!” someone else screamed
“Come on folks,” Don Urban chanted incredulously, “this is a hockey stick that has survived twelve years in the NHL, signed by me and by my whole team. Also, all the money goes to charity. So, what’s the next offer?”
Curtis Shilling shivered as he walked and his stomach growled like a beast. He had been walking on tired feet for a couple of hours in order to find a place to stay in the winter. His clothes were ragged and his left shoe was ripped wide open. He had started living on the street in the spring of this year since his parents died. Their death had torn him apart, so for a while, he had just lain in alleys. Now, more than six-months on the street, had taught him street smarts. But no knowledge could protect him from the bitter, harsh, and unforgiving winter. He could no longer feel life in the tips of his fingers and his head pounded. Curtis looked to his right, and was delighted to see a large building calling to him with lights and warmth. He scurried quickly across the snow.
Cracking open the door to the building he saw many people in luxurious and expensive clothes.


“Great,” Curtis thought, joyfully “their wallets can pay for my dinner.” He snuck through the front door and began to scan the crowd. He noticed that there was a speaker in the center. A moment later, Curtis recognized Don Urban.
Don Urban had been Curtis’s idol for the past three years. Curtis had been the star of his dad’s ice hockey team and he had always aspired to be like Don. Curtis snapped out of his memory and refocused on surviving. He observed that there was a side door that had a ‘Please Stay Out’ sign on it. Quietly, he went over and entered the forbidden room. He saw two security lines blocking his path, so he ducked under them. In a beautifully carved case was a hockey stick that was battered and weathered. Curtis slinked over to it like a fox. The hockey stick had a small scribble on it and Curtis recognized Don Urban’s signature. His eyes widened in awe. If he took the hockey stick and sold it he could get a trillion dollars, which could pay for a good place to stay and for food.
“It’ll probably just go in some rich man’s basement and those hockey players are rich enough already.” Curtis thought, “ I’m not hurting anyone.”
He stole a glance behind him; no one was watching. He eased open the case door and whisked out the stick. He ducked back underneath the security line and ran for the door he had come through. He noticed that there was another door labeled ‘Emergency Exit Only’, He opened the door and dashed out. As soon as the door opened, an alarm blared.
Policemen burst out of the crowd and others ran out of their undercover cars, Curtis saw all this and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He hadn’t known how valuable the stick was. He leaped over a mound of snow and ran onto a slippery field of ice. He slid across the ice trying to keep his balance. The policemen chased him onto the ice and, as Curtis turned, one policeman was right upon him. He swung his stick and struck the policeman in the face. With a grunt, the man fell heavily. Curtis started to get the hang of the ice and remembered the time when he was on his dad’s hockey team. There was a turn coming up where no one could see around the corner. Curtis had an idea of how to avoid the police.



The chief of police saw Curtis make a turn and cursed at himself as he followed clumsily on the ice. He turned and continued with his men behind him. He didn’t see the boy. The policeman scowled. It was like the boy had vanished into thin air.
Curtis pushed the snow off of him and allowed himself a smile. His plan, to hide in the snow as the police went by, had worked. They no longer pursued him, but now he felt like a hunted animal. He had to move fast. He ran up the street then stopped by a T.V. in a store when he heard something that intrigued him.
“Don Urban’s famous hockey stick,” the T.V. news reporter said “, was stolen, what makes it worse is that the money for the auctioned hockey stick was meant to go to charity.”
Curtis reeled back in shock. He truly had done a dreadful thing. He hadn’t known at all. He had to go back to the auction place where the police wouldn’t expect him. Hopefully everyone had already evacuated the building. He meandered back slowly until he reached his destination. Curtis opened the door to the building and crept back to the area where he had found the case. He opened the case and then…
“What are you doing?” Don Urban asked crossly.
“Uh, I um was just…” Curtis stuttered. Don had snuck-up on him and he didn’t know what to say.
“Are you returning the stick?” Don continued without waiting for an answer, “ I saw you out there. You’re pretty good on ice.”
Curtis turned crimson red “Well thank you sir, I um was actually returning the stick. See sir, I really need the money because I have been living on the street for a while but I just can’t handle the winter. I need shelter and food or I will die in a matter of weeks. I thought it could help me out by selling the stick, I didn’t realize the value of the stick. But I came to the grasp that the stick would help others in need going through troubles and pains just like me so I knew it was my responsibility to return it for people like me.”
“Come with me” Don ordered. They went through the front area and then the back where the ice hockey field was.
“That area holds many memories for me, and I became a legend there,” Don smiled sadly “, now it is time to pass on my legacy to young people like you. Not many people have the integrity and honor to right something they did wrong. So I am going to have you train and soon you will become the next legendary hockey star. I will train you personally for the next few years.” Curtis beamed and he knew that the hard work had just begun.




Ten years later
“Fifty-thousand,” an extremely rich man called and the crowd became silent. Curtis, who was now auctioning his legendary hockey stick to charity was standing in front of the audience. One of his teammates ran up to him frantically.
“What’s wrong?” Curtis asked.
“Your hockey stick,” His teammate breathed, “it’s stolen!”