He was born Jacques MacPherson, his Scottish-Canadian father naming him after a great man. He never liked the name, though, and called himself Jock. He was, in 1938, the best 16-year-old hockey player in Canada. He had speed enough to beat all comers, and was bigger than most. The scouts said they never knew a youngster who could see the ice better, and coaches swore they’d never had a fiercer competitor.
He starred for Glebe Collegiate, winning the city championship every year he played. The crowds would pack the rink at the corner of Argyle and O’Connor, and all agreed such speed was unseen since Cyclone Taylor. Most agreed he was a far better prospect than native son King Clancy had been at his age. In one exhibition game, they sent him alone on the ice first against three, then four, then five opposing players. The sound was deafening as the crowd watched him flip and maneuver the puck around his body and the sticks of the others, remaining untouched around centre ice. Finally, with five opposing players trying in vain to draw a net around him, he was off, even faster than he’d been all night, leaving five players chasing after him and one goalie who didn’t even have time to flinch as he flipped the puck past him.
“It was,” wrote a sportswriter in attendance, “the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. It was beyond a cold Ottawa arena in the heart of winter. It was the idea that someone could utilize their talents and skills with such a fine edge, with such great results. It is to see Michelangelo smoothing out the rough edges on David, or Beethoven humming to himself as he inked in the last note of a great symphony. I will never see another performance in my life, or in any other aspect of life, and have been blessed to find myself a witness to even one such brilliant occurrence, as that is one more than most get to see in their life.”
Jock MacPherson had obtained the rank of Corporal before he died in the Dieppe raid at the age of 20.
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