The beautiful part of talking to broadcasters whose voices will live on is that they, too, have listened to broadcasters whose voices have lived on. Baseball broadcasters, much like the sport they call, pass the torch, and a new set of voices take over. While not sitting in the same booth as many of the predecessors for whom they hold such mighty regard, today’s broadcasters, growing up, felt as if they were right next to these living legends. They told them a story, which at times may have seemed as scripted as tales featuring Roy Rogers or Sam Spade from the golden age of radio. Thanks to these voices of yesterday, the voices of today “caught a bug” and decided their answer to the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Years from now, the answer to that same question will be inspired by the broadcasters of today. The following are the voices of yesterday who still linger in the hearts and memories of today’s broadcasters.
Jack Buck
Famous for his call “Go crazy, folks! Go crazy!” after Ozzie Smith’s pennant-clinching walk-off home run in the 1985 National League Championship Series, as well as for saying “I don’t believe what I just saw” about Kirk Gibson’s walk-off home run in game 1 of the 1988 World Series, Jack Buck is regarded as one of the greatest, most inspiring, and most selfless broadcasters in baseball history. Working in the Cardinals broadcast booth alongside the legendary voices of Milo Hamilton, Harry Caray, Buddy Blattner, and Joe Garagiola, Jack Buck took over the reins after his broadcasting partner of 16 years, Harry Caray, was fired by the Cardinals in 1969. Buck went on for another 30 plus years as the voice of the Cardinals, signing off a team win with his irreplaceable “That’s a winner.” Jack’s son Joe Buck is the lead on Fox TV’s coverage of the World Series, and in 2011, after David Freese’s walk-off solo home run forced perhaps the most improbable game 7 in World Series history, Joe channeled his father—albeit briefly—by closing the broadcast with “And we will see you tomorrow night.”
Jack Buck was as wholesome, sincere, and kind as any Midwest person is personified to be. He was beyond that. He was a remarkable, funny person. If you had the chance to spend one moment with him, your whole day was just a blessing, and he gave you that time. People don’t realize that Jack Buck would walk up to the newest rookie on the opposing team and introduce himself. They already knew who he was. That rookie would then do every show that Jack would ever want to have. He would go on the field and do his pregame show, and, by introducing himself, the next time he saw the guy, he never forgot a name. He walked up to that kid and said, “Hey, can I get you on the pregame show?” He was a master at that, but he was so personable. After games, when the lights were out and he had finished the postgame show, he’d walk out, and people would stand out there from Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, or wherever they listened to KMOX. They never got a glimpse of Jack before the game, but those who knew where to stand when he walked out, they would stand, and he’d come out, and he’d see a kid. He would sign his scorecard up in the booth and he would give it to a kid that day. Every night, he would hand that over to a kid. When he walked into the “old” Busch Stadium, he’d look over and see a family wandering, and he’d say, “Hey. You guys need some tickets?” and he’d give his four tickets to that family. In my opinion—and I’ve had this shared with me by many in the business—he understood, more than any other broadcaster in the history of the game, the ambassadorship of being a baseball announcer for a team, for a city, and for a region, and he did it better than anyone I’ve ever seen in my life. Jack would go into the community. He’d do the police luncheon every year because he loved the police and what they meant to his city. He took pride in his city, and that’s what every announcer needs to do. What an amazing guy.
—Wayne Hagin, former St. Louis Cardinals radio play-by-play broadcaster
There’s not a game day that passes without my thoughts briefly turning to the late, great hall of famers, Harry Caray and Jack Buck. As a kid growing up in the 1950s and ’60s in western Illinois, I would listen nightly to Harry and Jack call St. Louis Cardinals baseball on 50,000 watt juggernaut, 1120 AM, KMOX-Radio in St. Louis. I’d turn on my transistor radio 30 minutes prior to the game to listen to the “Dugout Show,” and then would listen through the ballgame and finally the wrap-up show which included the “Star of the Game,” an interview with one of the players. The two hall of famers had differing styles. Harry was the cheerleader, excitement booming from his voice on every Cardinals hit or run, while disappointment rang out with every rally snuffed out, or error made that led to an opponent’s run. Jack was more controlled, and his professionalism is what stood out to me. Excited when the Cardinals scored, but always willing to give the other team credit on nice plays. Still one of the all-time best at game calling. Both of their game descriptions were influential to me growing up; and, I believe I’ve borrowed a little from both to use in my own broadcast style. To this day, one of my most memorable professional highlights was back in 1998, the Diamondbacks inaugural season, Jack Buck had me on his “dugout interview.” I had probably listened to thousands of his dugout interviews over the years growing up, and then, some 35–40 years later to be a guest on the show, Wow! Harry Caray and Jack Buck were the reason I told my parents, when I was only 8 years old, that when I grew up I wanted to be a big league baseball broadcaster.
—Greg Schulte, Arizona Diamondbacks radio play-by-play broadcaster
I grew up in Missouri listening to Jack Buck and Harry Caray. Jack Buck’s style was—to me—something to try to not copy but to get close to. It was a target to shoot for. He’s obviously a great broadcaster. Winner of the Ford C. Frick award and in the hall of fame. He just had so many terrific moments and honors in his career, not only in baseball but in football as well. I admired him as a broadcaster. I thought his style was just so easy. He was an easy listen. He didn’t try to impress you with his knowledge or vocabulary, but just to tell you what was going on. It was such an easy fit. He was an artist at making it seem simple; but then, when I got into the broadcasting fraternity and got to know him and saw what a great guy he was, it just reinforced everything for me to shoot for as a broadcaster. Not only to be good at the craft of broadcasting but to be approachable and responsible and try for charity work. All the things that he did really wrapped it up in a total package for me. I thought he was just a great human being. Occasionally, he would interview me for his pre-game radio show, and this was a big honor. Somebody I really respected highly as a kid growing up. To be able to be interviewed by Jack Buck, it was almost hard to get the words out when he was asking the questions. Sometimes, in my head, if I’m doing a game, I will say something, and I will think, “That’s Jack Buck. That sounds exactly like Jack Buck.” I’m not trying to do it. It just comes out that way. It gives me pause, but I think—after listening to hundreds of games broadcast by an individual—it’s probably natural to absorb some of that.
—Bill Brown, Houston Astros TV play-by-play broadcaster
I grew up in Savannah, Georgia, and the only Major League team we could get was KMOX out of St. Louis. I grew up listening to Jack Buck and Harry Caray, but my favorite was Jack. I used to love Jack Buck. I’d go to sleep every night listening to the St. Louis Cardinals play. We had a very small house. My mom was a single parent, and she would make 56 bucks a week. My bedroom was about as big as this room [Cactus League press box] right here, so I’d get in my bed, and I had my baseball. I had to put some socks into the screen windows because they had holes in them. If I didn’t put socks in there, the mosquitoes would come in. My mom bought me a fan because we didn’t have any air conditioning. So I’d put my fan on, and I’d put my sock in the screen. I had my baseball and I would throw it up for two or three hours, listening to the St. Louis Cardinals. Ironically, the Cardinals were never my favorite team even though I grew up listening to them.
—Ken “Hawk” Harrelson, Chicago White Sox TV play-by-play broadcaster
Working with Jack Buck—one of the greatest announcers that there has ever been behind the microphone—and having a chance to be part of his craft. Just what he did daily. To be around him to ask questions—to work with him—that was a big deal to me, and, being a kid from St. Louis and having a chance to just take in and sit next to and work with Jack was a thrill. I try to take a piece of every guy I’ve ever listened to, whether it be hockey, basketball, baseball, whatever the sport; Jack was the guy that always stood out to me. Being from St. Louis, you turned on the radio and you heard that voice. “It’s time for baseball.” I loved the sport, so that’s the guy I grew up listening to and had a chance to work with, so it made it a tremendous experience.
—Dan McLaughlin, St. Louis Cardinals TV play-by-play broadcaster
Ernie Harwell
Having spent 55 years in a broadcast booth, Ernie Harwell was the inspiration and mentor for many of today’s baseball voices. Being the radio voice behind Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker, arguably the greatest shortstop/second baseman combo in the history of the game, Harwell’s call “It’s two for the price of one” sounded perhaps just as many times as his home run call “That one is long gone.” During his 42 years in a very unique broadcast booth at Tiger Stadium, Harwell called two World Series champion Detroit Tigers teams, in 1968 and 1984, before retiring in 2002. Calling a game is one thing, but Ernie Harwell showed the broadcasting world, both inside and outside of the booth, what a legend he truly was.
Ernie was a mentor to me. I got to know Ernie when I worked in Cleveland. We heard him across the lake, and my first year doing Cleveland Indians baseball in 1979, I met him for the first time. He was always so kind and we became very good friends. Even after he retired, I’d go to see him at his home in Novi, Michigan. Just a warm, giving, Christian guy. A very dear friend. He had a wonderful life.
—Joe Castiglione, Boston Red Sox radio play-by-play broadcaster
Ernie Harwell was a really important person in my life. I listened to tapes at a very young age when I was just starting out. He always had great things to say and encouraging words. I loved the way he called the game. I felt that was kind of my style off the field as well. Ernie was such a great man. He was a man of faith. He was the first one—once I got into professional baseball as an announcer at the age of 22—that I connected with. He’s the one that helped me realize that you can be a man of faith. You can be a family man. You can have a strong family and be a strong husband and father and work in this game, which is a very demanding schedule. That was a pretty big crossroad for me. To be able to see that and see how he excelled at his job. He was the first person who called me when I got the Brewers job, and it was my first Major League job. When I got back to the hotel and there was a phone call, it was Ernie Harwell. He was the first person to welcome me to the big leagues. I’ll never forget that. He was a great man.
—Brian Anderson, Milwaukee Brewers TV play-by-play broadcaster
My hero growing up was Ernie Harwell. There’s a statue of Ernie outside of Comerica Park. He not only was my idol growing up and the reason I got into this business but he became a mentor and a friend very late in his life and early on in my broadcasting career. Ernie was my guy, and he gave me so much great advice; not really advice he actually told me. It was more advice about how he acted and I just watched. I think every broadcaster will probably have a good Ernie Harwell story to tell. As great a broadcaster as he was—and will live on as one of the greatest of all time—he might have been the greatest human being I have ever met.
—Len Kasper, Chicago Cubs TV play-by-play broadcaster
I listened to Ernie Harwell a lot growing up because the Tigers game broadcasts would boom across the lake. On CKLW, I think. If you were in my part of the Midwest, Ernie was THE baseball guy. Ernie was such a wonderful gentleman. I think the thing that so many of us liked about Ernie was his brevity. He was the guy that taught me that it’s okay to just let the game sounds go for a little while. You don’t have to fill every moment.
—Jack Corrigan, Colorado Rockies radio play-by-play broadcaster
I got advice from Ernie Harwell when I first took the job. The Tigers were off to a 9–23 start and we were in Minnesota and I said, ‘How do you do this every day when your team stinks?’ This was my first year. I just remember he said, ‘You might see something you’ve never seen before. You might see a great game between two bad teams, or you might see a great individual performance.’ Simple advice, but a great reminder of why we love the game. That advice served me very well in the years that followed, when the Tigers had their worst three year run in franchise history (320 losses). I loved the way he would always give both teams a good call. He’d give a better call for the home team, but didn’t get down when the other team did something good. You have to acknowledge it. You get more excited for the home team, obviously, but you give both teams a good call when something good happens. I always liked that about him. I liked the fact that it was very comforting to just turn on the radio and hear him. He was engaged. The energy was always good. He had stories to tell. I think we’re a little different in that regard. I’m a numbers guy. I love statistics. It’s one of the things that drew me into the game. Listening to him was always a great reminder that stats are fine, but the people behind the numbers are also important. He was always so good at that. People loved hearing the story behind the person, and he’d always blend it seamlessly into the broadcast. He had an enormous impact.
—Dan Dickerson, Detroit Tigers radio play-by-play broadcaster
Mel Allen and Red Barber
The original two winners of the Ford C. Frick award for excellence in broadcasting, Mel Allen and Red Barber shared more than just awards; they shared a booth as well. Mel Allen was the voice of the New York Yankees during the team’s most fruitful period from 1939 to 1964, calling games for 21 American League pennant winners and 15 World Series champions. Red Barber, before working alongside Allen in the Bronx, broadcast across town for the Brooklyn Dodgers from 1939 to 1953 and had a front-row seat to Jackie Robinson’s breaking of the color barrier in 1947. During the 1955 World Series, Barber’s former team finally got the best of his current team, but order was restored in New York the following year. Eventually the Dodgers moved west, but Allen and Barber continued as what is thought of today as arguably the greatest broadcasting duo in the history of the game.
When Mel Allen and Red Barber were doing the Yankees games, I really felt those guys were my friends growing up. Red Barber used to sign on and say, “Hi, friends. Red Barber here,” and Mel was super friendly. “Hello there, everybody.” I say hello to everybody and so long to everybody as an homage to him. That’s my opening and my closing on every broadcast.
—Eric Nadel, Texas Rangers radio play-by-play broadcaster
When I was nine years old, I knew I was going on the air. I got very lucky. When I grew up, there were three teams in New York. I listened to Mel Allen, Russ Hodges, Red Barber, and then Vin Scully. I listened to ’em all, and you take a little bit from everyone and then you get on the air and then your own personality comes out. Mel Allen was my hero and then I got to be friends with him later on in life.
—John Sterling, New York Yankees radio play-by-play broadcaster
My inspiration was Mel Allen, who I still think is the greatest of all time. The one I emulated.
—Joe Castiglione, Boston Red Sox radio play-by-play broadcaster
When I was about eight years old, I wrote a composition for the good nuns in grammar school saying that I wanted to be a sports announcer, and, at those times, no one thought of being a sports announcer. The boys wanted to be policemen, firemen, soldiers, doctors and the girls wanted to be ballet dancers, nurses, teachers, and singers, and here’s this one little red-headed kid saying he wanted to be a sports announcer. Well, in those days, we did not have baseball broadcasts on the radio. The one thing that I had was listening to college football games, and in listening to college football games, I listened to great voices like Ted Husing and Bill Stern and then I heard Red Barber and then I heard Mel Allen, so it wasn’t one announcer, it was a whole group. When I eventually began as a professional announcer, certainly Red Barber had the greatest influence on me to the degree he was almost like a father because he cared and he really wanted me to succeed, which meant he would be critical and he would praise whenever he felt it was worthy. He was very fair. Very just. That was a tremendous influence. I worked shoulder to shoulder with Red from 1950 through 1953, and then I worked a lot of World Series with Mel.
—Vin Scully, Los Angeles Dodgers radio play-by-play broadcaster
I was too young to remember Mel Allen, but, once I got the radio job 23 years ago, Mel would occasionally pull me aside and give me bits of advice when he was around for Old Timer’s Day. The best advice he ever gave me was to stop broadcasting and just make believe you are telling your mom what’s going on in the game. Talk to her and don’t make it seem as if you’re talking to all the people who are really listening. This will make it seem as if you’re talking to all of them individually.
—Michael Kay, New York Yankees TV play-by-play broadcaster
Bob Murphy and Lindsey Nelson
Two of the three original broadcasters for the New York Mets, Bob Murphy and Lindsey Nelson worked alongside each other for 17 years, during which the two called the “Amazing” Mets’ first-ever championship, in 1969. Nelson moved on to San Francisco after the 1979 season, but Murphy called Boston Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner’s gaffe of Mookie Wilson’s grounder, losing game 6 of the 1986 World Series. While in the booth together, Murphy and Nelson had a “complementary” broadcasting relationship, one that is still spoken of years later.
Bob Murphy was the guy for me. Bob used to do the television and radio with Lindsey Nelson and Ralph Kiner of the Mets. I remember when he was relegated to just radio duty, I was younger, and I didn’t understand it. I was disappointed because my understanding of the game of baseball was what I watched on television. I was reintroduced to radio when I went off to college because I couldn’t get the Mets games on TV. I could get them on the radio, and that’s where I sort of rediscovered Bob Murphy and said, “Okay.” He was the right choice to go over to radio because he paints the picture better than most people that are in the game at this point. When I first met him, he wasn’t a big guy. I’m about six foot three, and, at the time, I was about 340 pounds. I introduced myself, and I was doing an interview with him for Phillies radio. I told him he was the guy I listened to all the time when I was growing up, and he said, “Thomas, I’m happy I didn’t stunt your growth while I was broadcasting.” Bob Murphy was the guy whose voice still rings in my head. He was casual when he would call different things going on, and I could always tell when there was a home run because of the peak in his voice. I can still feel that and hear that in my head
—Tom McCarthy, Philadelphia Phillies TV play-by-play broadcaster
When the Mets came in, Lindsey Nelson and Bob Murphy were my guys. Lindsey had all these folksy, country expressions, and I loved listening to those guys. The Mets were so bad, but those guys were always in such a good mood. They were so happy. They were so cheerful to be at the ballpark, and they did such a good job of bringing up their players.
—Eric Nadel, Texas Rangers radio play-by-play broadcaster
I grew up in New York. I listened to Lindsey Nelson and Bob Murphy on the Mets games. I would probably think I was inspired by them once I had the bug that I thought this was something that I wanted to do. There’s probably a little of each of them in what I do and how I do it. Came to meet them later on. It was a big thrill. Getting to do games with Bob Murphy in New York. It was on my transistor radio under my pillow when I was supposed to be sleeping when I was a little kid. That was a big circle for me, from my transistor radio to the seat next to me in a Major League booth.
—Charlie Slowes, Washington Nationals radio play-by-play broadcaster
Bob, Lindsey, and Ralph were a part of my life seven months out of the year for a long, long time. I actually have the seat that I used to sit in inside the broadcast booth at Shea Stadium, which had been Bob Murphy’s before mine. I remember asking Murph’s wife—because Murph had long since passed on—if she would have any problem with me taking that chair. If she wanted it, that was hers, but she was so generous to say, “I’m so happy it means so much to you. You take it.” That’s kind of a museum piece to me. It’s battered but it just means the world to me. It sits in my office.
—Howie Rose, New York Mets radio play-by-play broadcaster
Harry Caray
Usually it’s the players who are referred to as “journeymen” late in their careers, but in the field of broadcasting, Harry Caray was one of baseball’s most beloved journeymen. Broadcasting for four different teams over 52 years, Harry Caray stayed in the Midwest for all but one of them. Perhaps best known for the Cubs broadcasts in the 15 twilight years of his career, Caray started down the river with the St. Louis Cardinals, working with hall of famers Joe Garagiola and Jack Buck. After being fired by the team in 1969, Caray broadcast for one season with the Oakland A’s before returning to the Midwest for the next 25 years, broadcasting for the White Sox for 10 and then for the Cubs. Caray, much like former broadcasting partner Jack Buck, has literally left his legacy with the game of baseball, being father to the late Atlanta Braves broadcaster Skip Caray and grandfather to Chip Caray, also of the Braves. Caray’s enthusiasm for his team spoke volumes. His leading of the seventh inning stretch and “Take me out to the ballgame” is something that is often copied but never replicated in the Windy City.
Obviously, for me, growing up on the South Side of Chicago, Harry Caray was my guy, He was a guy, who, even if he was broadcasting bad teams, was still having the time of his life. That’s one of the things I’ve tried to incorporate in my broadcasts. I like that he had fan connectivity. To broadcast from the bleachers in center field always seemed kind of fun. Harry, to me, was the guy who looked like he was having a blast. He conveyed that to the fans, and I think the fans are saying, “Hey, if this guy’s having this much fun at the ballpark, why can’t we?” That’s one of the things I try to do in our broadcasts; make it sound like there’s no better place to be at that particular moment. Harry was a guy I’ve tried to emulate, and it’s been a lot of fun, and what I do beats working for a living.
—Dave Wills, Tampa Bay Rays radio play-by-play broadcaster
I will suffice to say Harry Caray was Chicago Cubs baseball. He made it so special to be at Wrigley Field and to do games and be alongside him. That’s a guy who probably did his best work in St. Louis. He did remarkable work on the south side of Chicago with the White Sox for 10 years, and then probably wasn’t at his best in Wrigley, but it meant so much to be there and to see him alongside you. You felt like you belonged. “Wow! There’s Harry Caray.” Here I am, five feet away, doing my game back to Colorado, and there’s Harry and that made you feel good.
—Wayne Hagin, former Colorado Rockies radio play-by-play broadcaster
There’s a caricature of Harry—kind of a famous drawing of him—that’s right above our broadcast booth. A tradition he started on the South Side with the White Sox and he brought to Wrigley Field back in the ’80s was conducting and singing the seventh inning stretch from the home broadcast booth. It continues on to this day with celebrity guest singers. I would say probably half, if not more, of the singers, at some point, say, “This one is for Harry.” There are constant daily reminders of his presence. I think that’s a unique part of the experience at Wrigley Field. There’s no question about it. We talk about Harry almost every single day with the seventh inning stretch. I don’t think there’s a better way to honor one of the all time greats than to continue to do that every single day.
—Len Kasper, Chicago Cubs TV play-by-play broadcaster
Harry Kalas
Working in the broadcast booth, literally until his death in 2009, Harry Kalas was the voice of Philadelphia Phillies baseball for the better part of four decades. He broadcast for the Phillies beginning in 1971, and the team won two titles during his time in the booth; the second was against the Tampa Bay Rays just months before Kalas’s death. Working on the opposing broadcast for the 2008 World Series was Harry’s son, Todd Kalas. Broadcasting players like Steve Carlton, Mike Schmidt, and Pete Rose, Kalas called six no-hitters in his 43-year career, as well as Mike Schmidt’s 500th career home run and Pete Rose’s National League record-setting 3,631st hit, passing the St. Louis Cardinals’ Stan Musial. Kalas’s signature home run call “outta here” will live in the memories of Phillies and baseball fans alike for many generations to come.
Todd Kalas had a chance to sit in with his dad for an inning while we were in Philadelphia. It was obviously a special moment for Todd and his father because his father then passed away the very next year. Obviously, it’s got to be an incredible moment to be able to do anything with your dad. If your dad was a fireman, you became a fireman. If your dad was a plumber, you became a plumber. To be able to work together had to be an incredible moment and I know it was for Todd. As a matter of fact, Todd will still do some things to honor his father. A fan designed a tie that recognized Harry’s talents and Todd wears that on the day his father passed every year. We have a Miami “all white out” trip with the Rays where Todd will wear his dad’s white shoes on that particular day. Despite the fact that you’re rooting for two different teams, it was an incredible, special moment that they were able to be together for that series.
—Dave Wills, Tampa Bay Rays radio play-by-play broadcaster
It was neat to see Harry sort of soak in the fact that the Rays and the Phillies were facing each other because Todd was there. Even though he was just doing some interviews and pre- and post-game stuff for the Rays, he was still there, and he was still getting a chance to be a part of this with his father, and that was really cool. On top of that, I got a chance to stand in the booth while Harry and Wheels (Chris Wheeler) called the final out of the World Series. Just to watch the field. To see his call and see Wheels’ reaction. They had never called the final out of the World Series because in ’80, they weren’t allowed to do it. The national people did the TV and the radio. In ’83, they got knocked out by the Orioles in the World Series, so they didn’t get a chance to call the final out. The same with the Blue Jays in ’93, so this was his final moment. His last chance to call a World Series championship for the Phillies. It was the perfect setting for the greatest voice in Phillies history and arguably one of the greatest sports figures in Philadelphia history. To call the last out of the 2008 World Series. It was a big deal for him to call and be a part of that. He died in April the next year. It seems somewhat symbolic that was the last great moment he got a chance to call.
—Tom McCarthy, Philadelphia Phillies TV play-by-play broadcaster
Dave Niehaus
Calling games for the team since day one, hall of fame broadcaster Dave Niehaus was the lead radio voice of the Seattle Mariners for 33 years. Beloved by not only the Mariners community but that of Seattle as well, Niehaus broadcast professional baseball for over 40 years, starting with the California Angels. Niehaus is credited for two of baseball’s most famous nicknames, “A-Rod” (Alex Rodriguez) and “the Kid” (Ken Griffey Jr.). His signature call “My oh my” is one for which Niehaus is well known, but for Seattle, the broadcaster’s call for Edgar Martinez’s walk-off hit, otherwise known as “the double,” will forever resonate with Mariners fans.
What stays with me about Dave Niehaus was his complete love and joy of the game of baseball. He loved broadcasting baseball games. He loved being the conduit between the fan, the players, and what was going on. Nobody—no one—did a better job of setting up the atmosphere and excitement of a play. What separates the great announcers from the good announcers is Dave Niehaus never ever missed a great call. He was always there, and, not only did he set it up, but he came through with the call. That is going to be remembered for the ages. When Edgar hit the double, the biggest hit in our history, in game 5 of the Division Series against the Yankees at the Kingdome, Joey Cora was on at third base. Joey hit a bunt single and Junior had a single up the middle. So Junior was on first, Joey was on at third, and Dave said, “The Mariners would love a line drive into the gap right here. Cora would score, and with Junior’s speed, he can score from first base and win it.” Sure enough, on the very next pitch, Edgar hits the line drive down the left-field line off Jack McDowell on a fork ball. It’s a story in itself, and, of course, Cora scored easily and Junior came flying around third base, and Dave said, “They’re gonna wave him in, and the throw will be late, and the Mariners will play for the American League Championship. I don’t believe it. My oh my. It just continues.” The Mariners won over the Yankees. Sitting next to him, it was one of the greatest thrills of my life, and, during that moment, my job, as the number two announcer, was to get out of his way and let Dave do his thing, because I knew he was. So I took off my headphones and I said, “I’ll get a chance to come in here at the right time.” Dave’s calling the play, and I’m jumping up and down as Junior’s rounding third and Dave came up with that beautiful call. The one that we remember now and forever. He was right on with everything. That’s what I remember about Dave. The other thing is all the great, old announcers, they were wonderful storytellers. They had all these great experiences of wherever it was they grew up. For Dave, it was Princeton, Indiana. He would come up with stuff from back in the day and incorporate it into his play by play, but, also, his experiences of 10 years working with the Angels. Working with Buddy Blattner, Dick Enberg, Don Drysdale, and then becoming the number one guy at the start of the franchise with the Mariners. All the players, managers that he really got to know. He was so close with all the managers and coaches, but it really was the stories that he told. The unique ability to relay that story. A lot of people can tell stories, but it’s like they’re reading it out of a book. This guy has lived it and made you feel it. The number one goal of any broadcaster is can you put the fan in the front row and have them see the game on the radio? Because, if we do our jobs right, radio is a visual medium. You can see the game on the radio if you’re a baseball fan. You can have an idea of where the ball’s hit, where the runners are, what’s going on, how close is it going to be, and nobody was better than Dave Niehaus at doing that. He was so respectful. He allowed me to do my job. I tried my best for years to complement him, but he was just one of the best in the business. He’s in the hall of fame, and I think that says all you need to know about Dave Niehaus. I loved the guy. He was great to me, and I will always remember that. I miss him like crazy, and, to this day, I still think Dave’s going to walk into that booth. Come in, slam his scorebook on the desk, and say, “All right. Let’s play some baseball.”
—Rick Rizzs, Seattle Mariners radio play-by-play broadcaster
Jerry Coleman
Not too many broadcasters can claim to have played in six World Series and won four in their playing career. Of the ones who can, only one—though he’d never say it himself—could claim to have actively served and fought for the United States in two major wars (World War II, Korea) before sitting behind the microphone. Jerry Coleman, former second baseman of the New York Yankees—after playing baseball for nine seasons and serving as a fighter pilot in the Air Force—became a broadcaster for the New York Yankees before coming over to the San Diego Padres. Coleman spent seven decades around the game and will forever be remembered in both the Padres and Yankees communities not only for his voice, but also for his heart and humility.
It wasn’t Jerry’s way of doing a game. It was just him. There will never be one like him in all of sports. There’s never been one like him in baseball. There isn’t anybody who’s left—when he was playing—to fight in the war twice. We were in Milwaukee. There was a quiz on the scoreboard. “Who was the only Major League player to leave and fight in combat twice?” I nudged Jerry and said, “Look at that. Who is that?” He said, “I don’t know.” He really didn’t. I said, “It’s you,” and he said, “Oh.” That was Jerry Coleman. They removed his ego at birth. Everybody thought he was a hero except him. He would always tell me, “The only heroes were the guys who came back in coffins. They’re heroes. I’m not.” I said, “No. If you and your guys didn’t do their job, others would have died and come back in coffins, and that, to me and everybody else, is a hero. That’s why people consider you as they do.” That’s the only disagreement we had in 35 years. What a relationship. I had never met anyone like him in my life and I never will. I had no relationship in comparison to my father as I had with Jerry. He was brother, father, professor, everything to me. His broadcasting? Garvey’s home run in ’84. We’re down 2–0 to the Chicago Cubs. We came from Chicago, lost both games to a great Cubs team. We’re down and we’re going, “Third game. It’s over,” and Garvey hits the home run. Jerry’s call is the most replayed clip and the biggest one play in Padres history. That was the least of what he was. The most unassuming guy of all time. I’ve had to sit on the planes and on the bus and had to get dental tools out. “Tell me about this. Tell me about that.” He would tell me these stories with a proviso, “When I’m alive, don’t tell these stories. I ain’t no hero,” so I’ve been telling them since he’s been gone. The guy was 89, and yet, I’m in shock that it was too soon. It never occurred to us that he’d be gone, ever. I thought he’d outlive us all.
—Ted Leitner, San Diego Padres radio play-by-play broadcaster
Nat Allbright
It is the duty of a radio broadcaster to paint a picture for those who are not there to see the event in person. In the case of radio broadcaster Nat Allbright, he, too, painted the picture, only he, too, was not there in person to see it for himself. Hired by then Brooklyn Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley, Nat Allbright, from a studio in Virginia, received the information about Brooklyn Dodgers baseball games via Morse code and re-created them into a radio broadcast. Allbright not only did this for baseball, but when the Dodgers moved west to Los Angeles, he re-created games that were never played, including an All-Star game during the strike season of ’81. Allbright’s improvisation garnered so much attention, he made a business of his craft and re-created sports’ greatest moments with his customers injected right into the action. Allbright’s broadcasts reached destinations the Brooklyn Dodgers’ live broadcasts couldn’t, including the home of a young, future hall of fame broadcaster, the Cincinnati Reds’ own Marty Brennaman.
I listened to a guy who re-created Brooklyn Dodger games. His name was Nat Allbright. I listened to him in the ’50s and had no idea what re-creation was. That term meant nothing to me. If I listened to a baseball game, I assumed the guy was there. He was not. He was in a studio in northern Virginia, broadcasting Brooklyn Dodger games, and he was sensational. I was not even a Dodger fan. He was so good, and had such an impact on me in those years—to plant the seed that I was not even aware of—and I discovered later in life that this is what I wanted to do. When I went into the hall of fame, he was still alive and living in Arlington, Virginia. I called him on the telephone and I told him, “I just felt like you need to know the impression that you made upon me as a kid growing up in Virginia and how it affected me greatly in my decision later in life to do what I’m doing.” He was very appreciative. I think he was emotionally taken by it. I would hope that a young guy maybe one day would pick up the phone and call me and tell me the same thing.
—Marty Brennaman, Cincinnati Reds radio play-by-play broadcaster
Joe Nuxhall
Having pitched in a Major League game at the age of 15, Joe Nuxhall spent nearly his entire life with the Cincinnati Reds, so much so that the address of the team’s home of Great American Ball Park, was dedicated to him. After returning to the same club for which he had pitched as a 15 year old, Nuxhall played another 16 seasons in a Reds uniform before turning his voice talents toward the team’s broadcast booth. A few years after he took his seat behind the microphone, Nuxhall’s partner and future hall of fame broadcaster Marty Brennaman came in, and the two made history.
We worked together 31 years. There’s never been a broadcast team in the history of this game that’s ever worked that long. Nobody’s done that and nobody ever will again because guys just don’t stay together that long. We had an incredible relationship. We knew each other so well that he could stop a sentence in the middle of it and I would finish it and put the period on it, and, conversely, he could do the same thing with me. He referred to us like an old married couple, and, in many ways, we were. I don’t think that you could know a guy any better than I got to know him and he got to know me. We had a great affection for one another. We had a great run.
—Marty Brennaman, Cincinnati Reds radio play-by-play broadcaster
Chuck Thompson and Bill O’Donnell
Years before the Orioles came to Baltimore in the form of the St. Louis Browns, hall of fame broadcaster Chuck Thompson was already planting baseball’s seed in Charm City. Once referred to as “the voice of God in Baltimore,” Thompson was eventually joined by his longtime broadcast partner, Bill O’Donnell, in 1966, which was the year the Orioles won their first World Series. The team went to four more World Series with Thompson and O’Donnell behind the microphone together (1969, 1970, 1971, 1979), winning it all again in 1970. O’Donnell died of cancer after the ’82 season, and Thompson, with a heavy heart, broadcast the Orioles to their third World Series title the following year (1983).
I was born and raised in Virginia and listened to a lot of baseball. Primarily in Baltimore. Chuck Thompson and Bill O’Donnell—I thought—made as fine a broadcast team as there was in the history of the game.
—Marty Brennaman, Cincinnati Reds radio play-by-play broadcaster
Phil “the Scooter” Rizzuto
Though he is probably referred to in the Bronx as “the other Yankee shortstop,” Phil “the Scooter” Rizzuto made a larger imprint on the franchise from the booth. In 13 seasons as the Yankees shortstop, Rizzuto was on seven World Series championship teams and nine American League pennant winners. Rizzuto, along with broadcasting partners Jerry Coleman, Bill White, and Frank Messer—all of whom he referred to by their last names rather than their first—were the voice of many more pennant- and championship-winning teams, up until “the Scooter’s” swan song, the ’96 season, ending with the New York Yankees as World Series champions. Rizzuto’s catchphrase “Holy cow” is regarded as one of the most recognizable calls in baseball history.
I’ve always said there were four male voices heard in my house when I grew up: my father, Phil Rizzuto, Bill White, and Frank Messer. I would listen to those three Yankee announcers as much as my parents would allow as I was growing up. Their camaraderie and knowledge of the game made me feel part of it, and, by the time I was nine years old, all I wanted to be was like them, announcer of the Yankees. It was kind of a blast to be in the booth where Mel Allen and Phil Rizzuto had announced.
—Michael Kay, New York Yankees TV play-by-play broadcaster
Bill King
If there ever was an “iron man” of broadcasting, it was Bill King. Not only did King broadcast the Oakland A’s for 25 years, which included the team’s three straight trips to the World Series from 1988 to 1990, but he also worked games for the Oakland Raiders for 27 years, calling their three championships (’76, ’80, ’83), and for the Golden State Warriors for 21 years, including the team’s ’74–75 championship season. Bringing much excitement to the game with his signature call “Holy Toledo,” King broadcast some of the A’s most memorable moments, including Rickey Henderson’s breaking of Lou Brock’s all-time stolen base record and Scott Hatteberg’s walk-off home run to win an American League record 20th straight game for the A’s in 2002.
The winning streak was a whole chapter in the book “Holy Toledo.” Bill was an iconic figure in the Bay Area. Part of the reason I wrote that chapter was to try to illustrate to people how gracious Bill was to me in the fact that he elected to stay on vacation when a lot of people in our business—because of their egos or insecurity—would have said, “I’m working those games because something incredible might happen and I need to be there.” It was so fitting that he came back and did the 20th game because Hatteberg’s call was an immortal moment and was the punctuation of the movie. I wasn’t listening to the game. I was at home watching it on ESPN. The only thing I can say about that game and about Bill was there were so many of his calls from that game in the movie. In doing the research for the book, I listened to a lot of the calls from the game. Here is a man who was 74 years old at the time. The A’s blew this huge lead with Tim Hudson pitching and it was a long game that lasted forever, and, yet, when that moment came, Bill was there to capture it perfectly. He had this remarkable ability to rise to the occasion. When the game was on the line and you needed someone to put the drama clearly into focus, he was the guy you wanted on the air. He really did capture that at that moment and did it perfectly with the perfect pitch. The perfect level of excitement. Yet, he was totally clear. You could understand everything that he was saying. That call was not only the punctuation to the movie but maybe the punctuation of Bill’s career because it was probably the last really huge call that he had that was really noteworthy. There were a lot of really good calls after that but that’s the one most people remember and it was immortalized in bottle openers and Scott Hatteberg and Bill King bobbleheads. All kinds of places in the Bay Area where you can hear it. So the call itself has taken on a life of its own. Even Art Howe, who was the manager of the club, said that every once in a while, he’ll push the button on the Bill King bobblehead just to hear that call. Just to hear Bill’s voice and remember Bill because that’s how much Bill meant to Art.
—Ken Korach, Oakland A’s radio play-by-play broadcaster
Tom Cheek
Known as “the Voice of the Toronto Blue Jays,” Tom Cheek broadcast for the team beginning on day one and would do so for another 27 and a half years before a brain tumor surfaced and eventually took his life. Having broadcast for the back-to-back World Series champion Toronto Blue Jays in 1992–1993, Cheek’s most famous call, “Touch ’em all, Joe,” was made about only the second walk-off home run in baseball history to end a World Series, as Toronto’s Joe Carter’s three-run shot ended the night for Philadelphia closer Mitch Williams and the season for the ’93 Phillies.
Without question, without hesitation, without even a thought, Tom Cheek was a massive influence on me growing up and even past being grown up. He was the original voice of the Blue Jays. April 7, 1977, was the first game they ever played, and he was the broadcaster that day. He did 4,036 consecutive regular season games, also working All-Star games, spring training, and all those postseasons. Not just the postseasons the Blue Jays played. They used to broadcast across Canada postseason games from our broadcast crew and Tom would do those, so he worked all those games in a row. Never missed a day of work until June of 2004 when his father passed away. He went to be with his family, and then, a week later, he was back and they found a brain tumor that would kill him 18 months later. He had everything. He had the voice, the knowledge, the passion. He had fun. He was from the Florida panhandle, so he had the kind of homespun, folksy turn of phrase. Stuff like “He took him to powder river” and that sort of thing. He was incredible, and he was a constant. I got to work with him for the last two and a half years of his career, and he wound up being a real huge teacher, mentor, and champion for me. I can’t say enough of the opportunity to get to know someone who was that iconic figure that you’re growing up thinking of as this larger than life guy. He was larger than life in real life, too. There’s no one who is over 35 in Toronto for whom Tom Cheek was not just the voice of baseball but the voice of summer. He’s in the hall of fame now, which is wonderful. He should have been in before he passed away. Some of his stuff comes out in my call. I know it does, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I learned how to broadcast baseball from Tom Cheek when I was seven years old, all the way up until I was sitting in the booth beside him and learning even more from him.
—Mike Wilner, Toronto Blue Jays radio play-by-play broadcaster
Mike Hegan
Perhaps the only broadcaster in history to ever call and play in the same game, former voice of the Cleveland Indians Mike Hegan had more than 50 years of baseball under his belt by the time he called his final game in 2012, a game he was called back to after retiring in 2011. Hegan, who played in two World Series (1964, 1972) and called two World Series (1995, 1997), was behind the microphone for the Indians during the team’s record-setting 455-game sell-out streak from June 5, 1995, to April 4, 2001, and was in on many unforgettable broadcasts, including the Indians’ 12-run rally against the ’01 Seattle Mariners. Had the Mariners not relinquished the lead, their season would have eventually ended with 117 wins, which would have been the most in baseball history.
Mike Hegan was tremendous in the booth. I’ll always be grateful to him because he was a good friend to me and helped me a ton when I was transitioning to Cleveland from their Triple A club in Buffalo. It was sad when they learned of his passing in December of 2013 because it brought back a lot of memories. He was an ex-player and had that great ex-player perspective. I think he was a real treasure for Indians fans. He and Tom Hamilton were a tremendous team. They were fun to listen to. It was just enjoyable to listen to them every night. People will always remember him. Part of that is his dad, Jim played for the team. He grew up and went to high school in Cleveland, so there were some roots there and then he spent more than two decades in the booth after playing. When you talk about him, to most people, he was just a friendly guy and he was able to convey that on the air. When you listened to him, you just thought you were listening to this friendly guy talking baseball, who had a pretty good career that he would never talk about but had great stories from that career. He was great at sharing stories and breaking down the game pretty darn well.
—Jim Rosenhaus, Cleveland Indians radio play-by-play broadcaster
Ernie Johnson Sr., Pete Van Wieren and Skip Caray
Broadcasting from the Deep South of Atlanta from the late ’70s into this century, the Georgia Radio hall of fame trio of Ernie Johnson Sr., Skip Caray, and Pete Van Wieren were the voices behind a Braves team that went from worst to first in ’91 and began a string of successes that will likely never be repeated in baseball. Caray, son of hall of fame broadcaster and beloved baseball “character,” Harry Caray, passed the Caray family broadcasting torch to his son Chip, who also works Braves games as well as Fox and TBS. Johnson Sr., Caray, and Van Wieren will be remembered for years to come as the voices of Braves baseball during the Bobby Cox years.
In Atlanta, we were blessed with Ernie Johnson Sr., Skip Caray, and Pete Van Wieren. I don’t know how none of these three have been recognized with a Ford C. Frick award. They worked together for a long, long time. You could tell they were such great friends and they were such complementary broadcasters. Skip with the humor and the wit and the zingers, and, also, there was nobody better at calling a big moment than Skip Caray. I remember as a kid listening to him do Atlanta Hawks games, too. He was phenomenal as an NBA radio announcer, which a lot of people don’t realize. Pete Van Wieren was aptly named the professor. He was the guy in the broadcast who had all these facts. All the information to make sure they stayed on task like a truly consummate professional broadcaster. Then you had Ernie Johnson, Sr., who was like grandpa. He’s the guy that took a broadcast and made it comfortable like you were sitting in your rocking chair, sipping cold lemonade on a suffocating, humid, Georgia summer day. The three of those together? I can’t single out any one of them without the other two. It was like the sum of their parts was greater than any individual by far. I literally grew up to those guys. I learned a lot of the baseball I know from those guys and have no doubt that, subconsciously, all three of them are represented in every one of the Braves broadcasts I participate in. They can’t help but influence me because they were my inspiration. They made it seem like it was so much fun to do baseball that when I was 12 years old and thinking, “What do I want to do someday,” the first premise became “I want to get into baseball games free.” Then I started trying to figure out what kind of job allows you to get into baseball games for free. Eventually, I focused on the broadcasters because—for one—they didn’t change, unlike managers, who change all the time. Those three made it seem like they were having so much fun. It seemed like literally the greatest job you could possibly have. From day one, I was always simply pursuing a play-by-play job in Major League Baseball, and it was because of those three: Ernie Johnson Sr., Pete Van Wieren, and Skip Caray. All three deserve to be recognized in Cooperstown. They were that good.
—Jim Powell, Atlanta Braves radio play-by-play broadcaster
Herb Carneal
Broadcasting baseball in the upper Midwest for nearly five decades, Herb Carneal reached even the ears of fellow hall of famer Denny Matthews growing up. In the booth for the Minnesota Twins two World Series championships of 1987 and 1991, Carneal’s voice was behind the greatest figures in team history, including Harmon Killebrew, Tony Oliva, Kent Hrbek, Jack Morris, Bert Blyleven, and Kirby Puckett. During his time with the club, Carneal broadcast four Twins no-hitters, by Jack Kralick, Dean Chance, Scott Erickson, and Eric Milton, as well as seven Twins players, including Rod Carew, Gary Ward, and Kirby Puckett, hitting for the cycle. Bringing baseball to fans’ ears for over half a century, Carneal will be remembered as a baseball fixture in the Minnesota community for many years to come.
I grew up in Minnesota primarily, so I listened to Herb Carneal, and later, was able to not only work with him but work next to him in the booth and was able to call him a friend. That meant a great deal to me.
—Dick Bremer, Minnesota Twins TV play-by-play broadcaster
Bob Prince
Known throughout baseball as “the Gunner,” Bob Prince was the voice behind Pirates baseball for nearly three decades. A witness to two World Series–winning Pirate teams, including the Bill Mazeroski–led team of ’60, Prince’s signature call “You can kiss it goodbye” is still remembered in the Pirates community nearly 30 years after the hall of famer’s death, which occurred after a short-lived return to the broadcast booth in 1985.
To this day, being a broadcaster who is now third on the list, as far as tenure, behind Lanny Frattare and Bob Prince, people speak of Prince almost in reverent terms. He was larger than life not only on the air but off the air. From what I understand, he would often go into a restaurant or bar and just pick up the tab and was obviously very gracious with his time and money. Somehow, he endeared himself to the community, and they felt like, when they listened to Bob Prince—he was professionally known as “The Gunner”—they were listening to a friend. I try myself to think in those terms as well when I do a game. From what I hear, people said it was like you were sitting in a bar with Bob Prince and he was describing the game. I got to know him toward the end of his life when Rick Starr and Chris Cross were the general manager and program director at KDKA. Steve Greenberg was the vice president of marketing and I was his assistant. Starr and Cross came to us with a crazy idea one spring in ’85. They wanted to know our opinion if they could bring Bob Prince back to do some games on the air. I can recall vividly the excitement that I had and the shock when I heard them make the suggestion. Then we had to go to Joe L. Brown—then the interim general manager—for permission because he was the GM when Prince was fired in the mid-’70s. So they brought him back. Unfortunately, he became ill after just one night. It was a cold rainy night. He did an inning against the Chicago Cubs. The players came back during his play-by-play. It was magical, but then he contracted pneumonia. He had been recovering from throat cancer and he passed away. I know for a fact that the Pirates did not bring him back as a charity case. The team was struggling. It was just a bad time. They thought it would be a good idea to bring him back for excitement.
—Greg Brown, Pittsburgh Pirates TV/radio play-by-play broadcaster
Russ Hodges
The voice behind the New York Giants’ Bobby Thomson’s “shot heard around the world” for the 1951 National League pennant, Russ Hodges is the definition of a broadcaster whose voice truly transcends time itself. Hodges’s call is regarded by Oakland A’s lead radio broadcaster Ken Korach as “the most famous call in the history of baseball.” Having worked alongside longtime New York Yankees broadcaster Mel Allen, Hodges went on to broadcast New York Giants baseball and be the voice behind such memorable players as Bobby Thomson, Willie Mays, and Juan Marichal. Much like Vin Scully, the voice of his crosstown rival Brooklyn Dodgers, Hodges accompanied the team westward, where his voice backed Giants players like Willie McCovey and Orlando Cepeda. Hodges’s call of Thomson’s “shot” is immortalized in film, books, and sports arenas even beyond the game of baseball.
I love music as much as sports. I was taken to Broadway and I fell in love with it. There was a show called Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It was a good show that made Carol Channing a star. They had a nice ballad in there called (singing) “Bye-bye baby. Don’t forget that you’re my baby.” I went to the show, heard that song, and then Russ Hodges, when a home run was hit, would say, “It’s bye-bye baby in the left-field stands,” so if Brian Roberts ever hits a home run, I’m gonna say, “Bye-bye Brian.”
—John Sterling, New York Yankees radio play-by-play broadcaster
Lon Simmons
Famous for his home run call “Tell it good-bye,” hall of fame broadcaster Lon Simmons has made his career in the Bay Area of San Francisco/Oakland. Beginning his broadcasting career with the cross-country-traveled Giants in 1958, Simmons worked alongside another hall of famer, Russ Hodges, for the better part of 12 years. Having also broadcast for champion 49ers teams in the ’80s, Simmons skipped over the bay to Oakland, where he called A’s games from 1981 to 1995, including the team’s three straight World Series appearances from 1988 to 1990 and championship in 1989. Simmons took the Bay Bridge back over to San Francisco to close out his career with the Giants, retiring after the team’s 2002 National League pennant-winning season.
In ’72 and ’73, Lon and Bill Thompson were the Giants broadcasters. There was a game Bill had laryngitis. Lon did the whole game by himself. It was just so entertaining. In the final game at Candlestick Park, Bill Thompson came on the broadcast for an inning and did play-by-play. That was really fun. Lon and Bill Thompson—old friends and broadcast partners—one last time on the air. Then Lon, in the post-game ceremony, is getting a huge ovation from the huge crowd when he was introduced. I always felt that went a long way to getting Lon into the hall of fame. The fact that a former broadcaster was so beloved in the area where he worked that he got an ovation that lasted two or three minutes. He kept asking the crowd to stop so he could proceed. I thought that said it all as to how good he was because that’s the kind of ovation that only goes to a great former player. That was one of my last memories of not only a great player but a great broadcaster at Candlestick, provided by the fans themselves.
—Jon Miller, San Francisco Giants radio play-by-play broadcaster
Richie Ashburn
Having played outfield for the Phillies most of his career, Richie Ashburn, after having accumulated 2,574 hits and countless defensive honors over 15 years, turned his talents toward the broadcast booth. Spending 35 years behind the mic for the Philadelphia Phillies, Ashburn, referred to as “His Whiteness,” broadcast alongside hall of famer Harry Kalas for 27 years, until the day he died in 1997. Honoring “Whitey” Ashburn’s contributions both on the field and in the booth, the Phillies named the main concourse area at Citizens Bank Park “Ashburn Alley” and the booth the “Richie ‘Whitey’ Ashburn Broadcast Booth.”
Richie was a really well-loved broadcaster in Philly. Hall of famer. People loved him. We were on the road in New York at the Grand Central Hyatt, where we all stayed for years. He passed away on the floor above me, and I felt that was a little bit strange. Then we went to Shea Stadium that night. That’s the team that Richie Ashburn played for after he played for the Phillies. Richie wore number 1, and he went to the University of Nebraska, and the day that he passed, we go and play the Mets that night and we beat them. The guy who knocked in the winning run was Kevin Jordan, who went to the University of Nebraska. He had maybe a 10–pitch at bat, and we won the game 1–0 against the Mets. I thought how ironic it was that the night Richie passed—the flags were at half mast, and it was all about the mourning of Richie—and we won 1–0, Richie’s number, and the guy who knocked in the winning run played at the University of Nebraska. It was eerie. The baseball gods were there. Obviously, so was Richie, and he set that moment up himself. That was his way of saying goodbye to the people. It was pretty spectacular. That’s one of the small handful of moments in my 37 years that I’ve actually felt the baseball gods of the game. What a really inspirational guy he was and a good broadcaster. I’ll never forget going to his service. They bused us over as a team. There were 10,000 people at the service. They lined this park for miles. That told me right there how loved he was.
—Rex “Hud” Hudler, Kansas City Royals TV play-by-play broadcaster
Much as the presence of “Whitey” Ashburn was felt at Shea Stadium on the day he passed, the same is true for many of baseball’s voices who have passed on. While their faces and likenesses are immortalized in caricatures, bronze statues, and stadium mailing addresses, the voices are what persist the most for these broadcasters, ensuring their “on the air” light is forever glowing in the hearts and minds of the fans, players, and broadcast partners they’ve left behind.