He’s 72, Still Skating At Sunrise And Built One Of NJ’s Most Unusual Hockey Communities

UNION, NJ—Before most people have had their first cup of coffee, Doug Auld is already at the rink, organizing teams, lacing up skates, and running a hockey group he’s been building quietly for nearly five decades.

Now 72 and a longtime Hoboken resident, Auld has become a familiar figure across New Jersey ice rinks, known to many simply as “the guy with the Montreal Canadiens jersey.” But behind that nickname is something far more unusual: a multigenerational, tightly run adult hockey community that has survived since the 1970s and still draws players ranging in age from 18 to 73.

What started as a teenage fascination in the early 1970s, sparked by watching a televised Montreal Canadiens game with his father in Paramus, eventually turned into a lifelong obsession. Auld taught himself to skate, picked up a stick, and began showing up at local rinks like Bergen Mall Ice Arena and others across Bergen County, slowly learning the game and the culture around it.

Over time, pickup hockey turned into something more organized. Auld began collecting phone numbers, coordinating goalies, and setting up regular games long before email lists or apps made that easy. That early structure eventually evolved into what players now call Doug’s Hockey League, a consistent network of games built entirely through word of mouth, repetition, and persistence.

Today, the league is centered at Union Ice Arena, where Auld still runs two weekly morning games. The format is strict but simple: 20 skaters and two goalies per game, balanced teams, and a strong emphasis on passing and inclusion.

“If you don’t pass the puck, you don’t stay,” Auld said. “It’s not open hockey. It’s organized hockey. You’re part of a group.”

But the structure only tells part of the story. The real draw, players say, is who shows up.

The group includes firefighters, police officers, construction workers, professionals, retirees, and even a brain surgeon who tends goal. One longtime player has continued skating through a five year battle with pancreatic cancer, showing up to the rink throughout treatment because, as Auld puts it, “hockey is part of staying alive.”

That mix of ages and backgrounds has become the league’s defining feature. On any given morning, teenagers share the ice with players in their 70s, and Auld himself remains one of the oldest skaters in the group. The rink, he says, levels everything.

“It doesn’t matter who you are once the puck drops,” he said. “You’re just part of the game.”

Off the ice, Auld’s life has followed just as unconventional a path. He’s worked as an artist, songwriter, and piano technician, choosing careers that allowed him to set his own hours and keep his hockey schedule intact. His creative work includes visual art featured in galleries over the years, a musical based on a reported UFO encounter in 1961, and a New York Times recognized series focused on burn survivors.

That mix of technical work and creative output, he said, always came back to the same mindset he brings to hockey: problem solving, structure, and building things that last.

The league itself has survived decades of rink closures, price changes, and relocations across New Jersey, from Bergen County rinks to Montclair to Union. At one point, Auld nearly walked away as ice time became more expensive and harder to manage, but a combination of loyal players and a new home at Union kept the group alive.

Today, he estimates he maintains a list of roughly 50 regular skaters and multiple goalies, carefully managing attendance to keep games competitive but not overcrowded.

The locker room, he says, is as important as the ice. It’s where politics, professions, and differences fade into the background.

“Everyone gets along in there,” Auld said. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from or what you believe. You’re there for hockey.”

Even after nearly 50 years of organizing games, Auld still describes the league less as a business or an institution and more as something closer to a living ecosystem, one that runs on routine, loyalty, and a shared love of the game.

He has considered stepping away more than once, he admits. But each time, something pulls him back: the early mornings, the familiar faces, and the rhythm of a game that has shaped most of his life.

At 72, he’s still out there before sunrise, making sure everything is ready for the drop of the puck. And for Auld, that routine is the point.