"When I first heard about the Canterbury Society as an undergraduate," says Harvard Admission Director Bill Fitzsimmons, "I thought it was a final club."

Indeed, in 1967 'Fitz' joined Harvard's most elite social organization, but membership in the Society is not based on a prep school background or a closet full of L.L. Bean boots. Fitzsimmons was automatically elected by virtue of the sole criterion involved--a stint in the twines as a Harvard hockey goaltender.

"There's simply no other group like it in the country," says Brad Richardson, a Harvard admissions officer and former varsity goalie. "Sure there are 'Friends Of groups, but an organization composed strictly of old goalies is pretty unique. I tell people I'm going to the Canterbury Society, and they think it's some kind of Episcopal church organization," says Richardson.

The Society was formed by 1930s goalie Dave Mittell in honor of George W. 'Skeets' Canterbury '01, Harvard's goalie coach in the pre-World War II period. Like his charges, 'Skeets' was a rare breed.

Sterile Environment

The nation's only goalie coach specialist, Canterbury once had his netminders were all-white uniforms, including pads, on the premise that the white would blend in with the net and the white backboards.

"He figured that without a clear line of distinction, the opposing shooter would be confused and miss getting his shot on goal," says Society treasurer Joe Bertagna, now Harvard's director of sports information.

The Society boasts 200 alums (all past varsity, junior varsity, and freshman goalies are eligible for membership) and 20 honorary members, including Dean Rosovsky, a hockey fanatic. About 70 members show up for the Society's meeting and dinner each year.

Speed Racer

"We have the shortest business meeting of any solvent organization in the United States," says Richardson, who was honored last year by the Society on the 25th anniversary of his victorious Beanpot netminding in 1953. The treasurer's report lasts 15 seconds and the president's address under a minute before the real business at hand--nostalgia--gets under way.

Bottom Line

"It's like a war veterans group," says current Society president Fitzsimmons. "When we played, we represented the last line of defense, and the scoreboard served as a constant and painful reminder of the number of times we had been made to look very bad," says Fitzsimmons, who set a Beanpot record with 48 saves in a 5-4 overtime loss to Boston College in 1965. "We talk about old battles."

And we can't forget the verbal and physical abuse that goalies take in their line of work. Remember the infamous Section 18 crowd at the old Watson Rink? Well, on the road, Harvard goalies found the dead chickens, smelly fish, and empty beer cans being hurled in their direction. Goalies also can't blot out terms of endearment like "sieve," "red light," "funnel," nor comments on their ethnic origin and parent's sex habits.

The goalie often feels persecuted, and Fitzsimmons believes that much of the common bond among goalies comes from being underrated by fans who cannot appreciate the intricacies of the kick-save art.

"There's a mentality that goalies are not really players. Fans assume that we can't skate, when in reality such skill is vital to our success," says Fitzsimmons.

Twitch, Twitch

Fitzsimmons remembers being buttonholed by a Society member while still an undergraduate. "He had a nervous twitch, and he said to me, 'So you think it's tough being Harvard's goalie, eh?' The guy's a very successful businessman, but he had fire in his eyes. He said, 'Just wait until you get out into the real world'--twitch, twitch--'then you'll see how tough life really is!' I cracked up laughing, and figured if this is what happened to old goaltenders, then I didn't want any part of the Society," says Fitzsimmons.

But now, of course, he thinks it's a great idea; and the group, complete with its own Society tie (a goalie stick embossed on a zero, representing the ultimate goalie experience--a shutout--gathers to discuss the glories of yesteryear. Fitzsimmons says that the Society's main by-law is that "goalies never make mistakes."

As time blurs reality, the Society remembers each goal against as a "perfect shot" by the opponent, not as a miscue. Claims of "I was screened," or "My defenseman backed into me," or "the forwards weren't back-checking" echo through the meeting hall.

Accusations

"Goalies are too responsible to blame others in public or the press for their goals-against," says Bertagna. But within the cozy confines of the Society, it's open season, a time for fibs and tall tales. Above all, the contingent of shell-shocked ex-twineskeepers pat each other on the back. Says Fitzsimmons: "Everyone's a hero in the annals of the Society."