A simple act of kindness from his favorite athlete changed his life forever

At 16, Jim Marquardt needed some quiet. He had an important letter to write, but the TV in the living room was too distracting. So, he retreated to his sister’s bedroom upstairs.

He closed the door and began scribbling away. It was a Saturday night, and as his right hand wrote on the legal pad, his ears tuned into the St. Louis Blues hockey game. He was a fan of the team, especially their goalie, Mike Liut. The game was broadcast on KMOX radio, and he loved hearing Hall of Fame announcer Dan Kelly excitedly shout, “What a spectacular save by Liut!”

On this particular night, Jim kept the volume low so he could concentrate on his writing. He had a few pages to go, hoping to put his thoughts into words for his sports idol.

He poured his emotions into the letter, and, as a struggling student wanting perfection, he took it to his English teacher for help. The teacher was curious about why a student with poor grades was suddenly so motivated, but still made the corrections. Every mistake meant a rewrite, and after a month of effort, the letter finally reached five pages.

“I still remember everything I wrote in that letter,” Marquardt, now 59, recalls.

The letter read:

“Mike, my name is Jim Marquardt. I play hockey, and I’m trying to get better. I watch you play, but there’s still so much I don’t know. Can you help me?”

Jim had questions for Liut about the technical aspects of being a goalie: how to handle a two-on-one rush, how to stay calm under pressure, how to let go of a bad goal. But the letter wasn’t just a young goalie asking for advice. Jim didn’t have a team. For the first three years of high school, he couldn’t play due to academic ineligibility. And his home life was unstable.

Jim’s family — his father Gene, mother Evelyn, brothers Bill and Mark, and sister Jackie — meant everything to him, but their lives were marked by alcohol, fighting, and depression. His siblings did their best to protect him from the worst, often telling him, “Jim, go outside,” when things got too heavy. But they couldn’t shield him from everything. His father was a cab driver who spent long nights in pool halls, and Jim often had to walk two miles to school when his dad didn’t give him a ride.

“My parents wanted the best for us, but their lives were tough,” he says. “I loved them, but looking back, it was a harsh environment. Hockey was my ‘escape.’”

And Mike Liut was the mentor he desperately needed.

Jim’s admiration for Liut began with the goalie’s mask: all white, perfectly molded to his face with cut-outs for the eyes and ventilation holes. To Jim, Liut was a superhero, like the ones in Marvel Comics. When he played hockey with his childhood friend Bob, both would fight over who would be the goalie — the one who wore Liut’s jersey. “I’m Mike! I’m Mike!”

When he wasn’t playing, Jim filled scrapbooks with newspaper clippings about Liut. He’d record games on TV, rewinding every glove save to watch it in slow motion. “How’d he do that?” Jim wondered.

He watched Liut’s interviews over and over, even changing the channel to hear the same things again. One time, Liut was a guest DJ on a local station, and Jim called in. “Mike, this is Jim from St. Louis. How do you stay so calm?”

“My life was chaotic, but Mike was my calm,” Jim says. “He was everything I wanted to be. I thought, ‘How do I get there?’”

Jim hoped for a response, but he first had to get the letter to Liut. He bought a single ticket to a Blues game, and his dad dropped him off. Though his seat was in the rafters, he made his way to the bench. He had written “Mike Liut” on the envelope so that it would always land with the name facing up. He placed it carefully over the glass and let it go.

Then he sprinted away, worried about getting caught by an usher. From a few rows up, he watched as then-coach Jacques Demers picked up the letter and slipped it into his pocket.

“Part of me thought, ‘Maybe Jacques will give it to Mike,’” Jim says. “The other part thought, ‘I’ll never hear from him.’”

Weeks passed, then months. Jim figured his only advice from Liut would come through the TV. But one day, when he came home from school, his sister Jackie ran out with a big white envelope that said “St. Louis Blues” on it.

“Jim, look!” she yelled.

Stunned, Jim opened the envelope and found an autographed picture: “Best wishes, Mike Liut,” and a two-page handwritten letter: “Hey Jim, here are answers to your questions. Hope this helps!”

Liut shared goalie tips and personal advice: “The only person you have to satisfy is yourself.”

Jim says he was a lost soul at that time. He wasn’t heading for jail, but he wasn’t going anywhere either.

“What Mike did for me, writing back, it was like jump-starting a dead battery,” he says. “I was the dead battery, and Mike was the charge.”

Jim’s sister Jackie, who was about to leave for college, saw potential in him.

“Jim always had a kind heart,” she says. “He just didn’t have the confidence. Mike came into his life at the right time to be that mentor.”

Jim returned to school with a new sense of purpose. He was determined to play hockey before he graduated, and his grades suddenly improved. One teacher even changed his grade from an “F” to a “D,” making him eligible to play.

There were still two problems: he didn’t have equipment, and he couldn’t skate.

Jim’s dad contacted the Blues about goalie gear, and the team invited them to The Arena. When Jim saw Liut’s jersey hanging in his stall, he was mesmerized.

They had two sets of pads to choose from: one worn by Liut, and the other, a brand-new set left behind by Michel “Bunny” Larocque. Surprisingly, Jim chose the new set. “Larocque’s pads were just beautiful,” he says.

Though Jim looked the part with NHL pads, he struggled in practice. But he clung to Liut’s words, reading the letter over and over.

“I must’ve looked at it a hundred times before each game,” he says.

As Jim played more, he earned the starting goalie spot. One night, as he was nearing a shutout, the crowd began chanting, “Li-ut! Li-ut!”

But just as quickly as his competitive hockey career started, it ended. In his one year of eligibility, Jim earned Rookie of the Year honors. In the team photo, he’s holding a goalie stick marked with “Liut.”

Years later, Jim married Chris and had two kids, Kenna and Brett. He worked in the food industry for 25 years before moving into HVAC and plumbing. But he kept part-time jobs working with youth at local churches, trying to help others as he had been helped.

For nine years, Jim worked at The Crossing church. Eventually, he took a full-time position, feeling more fulfilled than in his day job.

Angela Beise, a campus pastor at The Crossing, now sees Jim making a difference in young lives.

“He wants others to find what he found and avoid the pain he experienced,” Beise says. “He found hope and a way to keep going.”

Jim also found a way to honor Mike Liut — with a tattoo. His wife had always said, “When I think of you, I picture Liut’s mask.” At 54, Jim finally got the tattoo.

The tattoo led to Jim reconnecting with Liut. He and his daughter Kenna attended a game the weekend Liut was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame (Jan. 20, 2024). After the game, they were ushered to a suite, where they met Liut briefly.

A year later, on Jan. 25, The Athletic brought them together again for a two-hour visit. The reunion was emotional.

“I thought it would just be a quick meet-and-greet,” Liut says. “But then you started telling me your story, and it was overwhelming.”

Jim thanked Liut for writing him back all those years ago.

“I thought, ‘Now I have a direction in life,’” he says.

Liut was moved. “What we can’t fully understand is that some of the people we meet are struggling,” he said, tearing up. “But you did the work. You made yourself a better person.”

Before they parted, Jim showed Liut his collection of memorabilia — scrapbooks, pictures, a stick, a jersey, and those gorgeous Larocque pads.

“I want to give these to you,” Jim said. “This is my childhood, my heart. Thank you for everything.”