What I remember most vividly is the noise. 
Walter Brown seated less than 4,000 people, but on some nights, it seemed to be the loudest venue in Boston. The chatter of the consistently sold out crowds would ricochet off the hospital-white cement walls and red iron support beams, smothering everyone inside.
Its underground acoustics and cramped bleacher-style seats allowed for an intimate setting right in line with the original Garden. It was run-down, decrepit and behind-the- times, but it also perfectly embodied the Boston University hockey program that I had grown up with. On a larger scale, it was Boston hockey personified.
Growing up in New England, learning to skate is a rite of passage. Texas has football, Indiana has basketball and Massachusetts has hockey — this is the reality that is ingrained in us from a young age.
For most, the path towards becoming a hockey player in this city is the same. It begins with a milk crate on a pond, and then, at six or seven, the progression continues in the rink. From there, it’s multiple youth leagues, select team tryouts and the same annual tournaments. Ultimately, as our youth career nears its end, the goal becomes playing in the Super 8 and winning a high school state championship.
All the while, we watch NHL games and dream about life in the pros, but always acknowledge that it is a fantasy with no basis in reality. Professional hockey is the world’s game, dominated by Canadians and Europeans. College hockey, however, is something that is truly American; not only that, but the heartbeat of the college game itself is right here, in Boston.
For kids growing up in this city, college hockey isn’t some mythical entity — it is tangible, it is possible.
That’s what made games at Walter Brown so special — it looked, smelled and felt like the hockey rinks I’d grown up with. It was cold, architecturally unimpressive and the seating arrangements were only different in that it had stands on both sides.
However, it wasn’t just the ambience that felt familiar, it was the players as well. Going to games with friends and teammates, we always had the sense that we were watching older versions of ourselves. They were from the same neighborhoods, had practiced at the same rinks, and had played in the same tournaments. We knew their families, recognized their last names, and had seen them play in high school. They were something we aspired to, the pinnacle of the hockey career we had all envisioned for ourselves.
The pedigree of college hockey in Boston speaks for itself. Hockey East is the best conference in college hockey on an annual basis and nowhere else on the planet is there a tournament as unique and competitive as the Beanpot.
However, in a city that boasts four nationally prominent programs, BU always managed to maintain the reputation of being the pseudo-home team. Not only did the program historically dominate the Beanpot and local rivalries, but it did so with rosters laced with local talent and a style of play uniquely Bostonian.
While BC’s over-hyped and undersized stars predominantly came from Minnesota and the Tri-State area, most of the Terriers hailed from the South Shore and Boston proper. They were always, at their heart, Boston’s team.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, the BU hockey program lost that identity.
Now, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when this happened, but it seems likely that the move from Walter Brown to the Terriers’ new home was the catalyst.
That being said, do not confuse my logic here. This is not a critique of Agganis Arena itself, nor is this an assault on the shifting recruiting practices of BU head coach Jack Parker. Agganis is a spectacular arena and the run of recent success makes the program nearly immune to criticism.
The point of all of this is to not only remind everyone where this program came from, but to suggest that the school consider a new tradition in order to memorialize the memories of its former home.
For so many people who grew up with BU hockey, it was always more about the players who wore the scarlet and white than the number of banners that were hung. As such, the program needs to embrace its roots and local history, not just by recognizing past titles, but also by retiring the numbers of former Terrier greats.
Travis Roy’s 24 was the first to find itself in the rafters, and deservedly so. His sacrifice and dedication to the program is unquestioned.
However, he deserves some company in the land of hockey immortality.
Players such as Jack O’Callahan, Mike Eruzione and Chris Drury etched their names in the lore of BU hockey long ago, and have thereby earned their rightful place beside him. Hopefully, in making this gesture to the annals of hockey history, the ghosts of the program’s past will leave Walter Brown and make their home in the new venue.
The walls of the old rink are thick with memories of former Terrier greats. For so many young hockey players in this city, the run-down, cement-laden arena was literally a place where dreams came true. It was where a childhood of hard work paid off, where local kids made good, and where college kids became idols.
It is because of this that BU was unequivocally, at one point in time, Boston’s team.
In order to regain that seemingly lost identity, the program must remember the players who managed to turn dreams into reality.