Yes, he knew what you called the place. It was pretty hard not to when folks didn't bother hiding the nickname even when talking directly to the guy running the joint.

"People would call me and say, 'Is this the Double Dumps?'" John Del Fabbro says.

Sometimes he'd get miffed. Other times the longtime arena manager would just sigh and answer. The proper name was the Hamilton Doublerink — better known as the Barton Doublerink — but what could he do? Try to convince them it wasn't a little rough around the edges? Somehow make them believe those weren't buckets in the lobby catching dripping water and the lights were all shining brightly?

That was a losing argument. So he'd just point out the obvious.

"You call it that but you play here," he says.

Make that played. Past tense.

Late last month, the keys to the old arena were handed to its new owners, a local transport company that's using it as a truck depot right now but which will eventually develop the land. Plans aren't entirely clear yet except for one thing. The rink will not be reopening.

Remember the place however you want. But the moment the chillers and compressors were turned off and the doors were locked — just weeks after Kenesky Sport and Cycle shut down — a hockey era in this city ended.

Built in the 1950s, the facility originally had a nightclub and two curling rinks that stood where the parking lot now lies. In 1972, two new rinks were constructed. The curling pads were then repurposed for hockey, though the space was tight.

"If you drove the Zamboni down the middle, you couldn't turn," Del Fabbro laughs.

But the new facility had a unique purpose. Back then, it and the Doublerink on Wilson Street in Ancaster — originally built by the same owner — were the only two arenas in town offering summer ice. As a result, demand was so high they'd be turning people away.

Del Fabbro was there in those days. Today, he's widely regarded as one of the best skate sharpeners in this city, but in 1978 he was a 17-year-old floor sweeper who eventually graduated to Zamboni driver at the place. Then manager and pro shop operator. In 38 years, he's seen it all.

So, sure, it was called the Double Dumps lately. But once upon a time it must have been much, much better.

"Worse," he laughs. "No word of a lie."

There was wire cage behind the nets and no glass on the boards. He says the downstairs was not pretty. Smoking was allowed inside which made for some sketchy air quality when combined with the fumes from the Zamboni, which ran on gasoline instead of propane like today's units.

But folks still came. People took their shots at the place but everyone played there. Everyone. Kids teams, adult leagues, even NHLers who'd rent the place every summer. If you played hockey in this city, chances are you skated there at one time or another.

Eventually, though, things started to change. Del Fabbro kept it as clean as possible but it was never going to be a palace. He says city taxes were $90,000 a year. With old, inefficient equipment that he couldn't afford to replace, hydro costs were soaring. To break even he needed to charge $220-$240 an hour for ice, which was an uphill battle against public rinks that get city subsidies.

"You can't compete with $145 an hour," he says.

There was just no cash for upgrades. Mix in nine new surfaces in the city in recent years, most of which offer summer ice, and the declining enrolment in kids' hockey — especially in the lower city — and it became incredibly difficult to stay relevant.

Two years ago things really started slowing down. Last April with the place for sale and no certainty about its future, Del Fabbro stopped taking ice rentals. He didn't want to have to call people who'd booked in good faith to tell them they were out of luck. Wouldn't be fair.

He kept sharpening skates and people kept driving from all over the city to have him work his magic. But the clock was ticking.

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In January, he flicked off the lights for the last time. All he carried out as a souvenir was the grill of an old Zamboni he hopes to one day use as a centrepiece of a man cave at home. And a million memories of playing there, watching his two sons play there and basically serving as the unofficial mayor of Hamilton hockey who greeted everyone who came in.

Which really was everyone.

"We got absolutely no respect, and that's a disappointing part of it," Del Fabbro says. "But the fact that absolutely everybody played here is a good thing."