The Good Phight's Tribute to Harry Kalas: Part II

by dajafi on Apr 15, 2009 11:58 AM EDT

The Good Phight continues its commemoration of legendary Phillies announcer Harry Kalas, who passed away Monday at age 73 while preparing to call a game in Washington. In such times, we believe it's a comfort to share memories and thoughts, and we want to hear yours as well. Feel free to add them in the comments or through a FanPost.

dajafi:

I’ve never been an autograph guy. One summer when I was eight or nine, my uncle took me up to Eagles training camp in West Chester, and I filled up half a notebook with the signatures of guys most of whom met “The Turk” a few days or weeks later; while the day was a lot of fun, soon afterward I determined that this practice of getting strangers to write their names for you was both silly and a little creepy.

Twenty-five years later, though, I got an autograph I’ll cherish as long as I live. This was three springs ago, when I was taking in a game at Bright House Networks Field and realized Harry Kalas was in the booth a few rows behind me. After the game ended, I joined the throngs of people crowding around the booth, and when the time came, I handed Harry my Vet-era maroon Phils cap, a giveaway item from the 2003 season that had managed to avoid the left-in-airports or on-subways fate of most of my baseball caps. Harry’s contract was up after that season, and rumor had it that he and the team might part ways. As he signed under the bill—“Harry Kalas HOF 2002”—I told him that I hoped he’d broadcast Phils games forever; he smiled and said “me, too.”

But when Harry passed on Monday, my first thought wasn’t this single interaction, which was certainly thrilling for me but not otherwise significant. What I thought of was all the time I had spent with this man’s voice—time that, if stretched on end, I imagine would amount to months. I became a baseball fan at five or six, but my parents weren’t hugely into the sport beyond buying me cards at Burger King and, starting (fortuitously enough) around 1980, taking me to a game or two each year. So I got into it watching TV or listening on the radio—which meant Harry and Whitey. Thinking about it on Monday afternoon, I realized I probably had gotten more of my fandom from Harry Kalas than any other single person—player, fellow fan, writer, other broadcaster, whoever. Harry’s voice was my guide into baseball, which if it isn’t my favorite thing in this world is damn close.

The other thought I had, while numbly watching the game in Washington and suffering through the Nats announcers, was just how friggin’ great a broadcaster Harry was. Harry let silence tell the story as much as speech: he seemed to recognize, as so few of the younger announcers do, that the background hum of a ballpark filled with fans is itself a marvelous sound, and far superior to words that add no value. My abiding memory of the man isn’t one home run call, exciting as his were, but the almost sacred feeling of being in the car, usually by myself, listening to that background hum before Harry's baritone broke through the silence with the next pitch: "fastball down low, the count is two and one."

Thanks, Harry. You gave us something beyond value.

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I became a baseball fan at five or six, but my parents weren’t hugely into the sport beyond buying me cards at Burger King and, starting (fortuitously enough) around 1980, taking me to a game or two each year. So I got into it watching TV or listening on the radio—which meant Harry and Whitey. Thinking about it on Monday afternoon, I realized I probably had gotten more of my fandom from Harry Kalas than any other single person—player, fellow fan, writer, other broadcaster, whoever. Harry’s voice was my guide into baseball, which if it isn’t my favorite thing in this world is damn close.

I can really identify with this. I became a fan around age 9. My parents aren’t sports fans, and very few of my childhood friends followed the Phillies – most were just fans of the Eagles and Michael Jordan. And in general, I was a pretty shy, solitary kid. I spent many, many summer evenings on long walks with my dog listening on a cheap Walkman to Harry and Whitey (and Andy, lest we forget). They not only taught me how to be a baseball fan, but they made me feel like a part of a world that was otherwise quite remote, of crusty old men smoking cigars and local traditions going back generations (“We want to send out very special birthday wishes to Maryann in Oxford Circle celebrating her 103rd birthday!”). In teaching me how to love the team and the game, they also taught me to love this city. I think it would make them happy to hear that.

by taco pal on Apr 15, 2009 12:38 PM EDT reply actions

Similar experience

I was accused last year of being amish when I noted that I have neither cable nor satellite tv (I was cheap before cheap was cool). The vast bulk of my Phillies experience is via gameday and radio. That goes back decades. Baseball and radio and summer just go together for me. Harry and Whitey were big parts of that.

I imagine that I’ll have a radio broadcast experience akin to phantom limb pain for a while till I get used to Harry just not being there anymore.

Eagles fans don’t get this, perhaps, but I’ve been without Myron (“Maarn”) Cope for a while now, and Steelers broadcasts just aren’t the same.

Remember the Phitans

by RememberthePhitans on Apr 15, 2009 8:06 PM EDT up reply actions

Doug Glanville on Harry in today’s New York Times.

by taco pal on Apr 15, 2009 2:11 PM EDT reply actions

wow

Dougie’s rapidly becoming an excellent columnist. That’s a particularly great piece.

by dajafi on Apr 15, 2009 3:27 PM EDT up reply actions

Yes and no.

He writes like he’s working from a thesaurus. I just don’t get the flow. To wit:

“I had the distinct pleasure of performing under his voice for six years in Philadelphia…”

I mean, can you be any more awkward (in so many ways) than that?

Also, Harry did not call the 80 Series, although DG didn’t explicitly say that he did. It was implied, but still it doesn’t seem altogether authentic.

I liked some of it, but he’s no WholeCamels.

Remember the Phitans

by RememberthePhitans on Apr 15, 2009 8:21 PM EDT up reply actions

Well, he was an engineering major.

I would agree that Glanville isn’t exactly, say, George Orwell as a prose stylist, though he isn’t bad either. The strengths of his columns are that they’re insightful and original and that he puts a lot of thought and heart into them.

by taco pal on Apr 15, 2009 8:28 PM EDT up reply actions

He’s the David Eckstein of column writing.

by FuquaManuel on Apr 15, 2009 8:54 PM EDT up reply actions

For a writer, he's gritty.

Remember the Phitans

by RememberthePhitans on Apr 15, 2009 9:11 PM EDT up reply actions

Yeah, that’s hilarious. The point is that while having a good writing style is important, it isn’t nearly the most important aspect of being a writer. Maureen Dowd is an excellent stylist, but her columns are still terrible. Bill Conlin can put together some nice prose now and then, but that doesn’t make his columns essential reading. The quality of one’s expression is secondary to what is being expressed. This is even truer with creative writing, which is essentially what Glanville’s columns are. I’d much rather read technically flawed writing with, yes, “heart” than technically sound writing without it. Unless you think writing ought to be evaluated by plotting it on an x and y axis a la the essay at the beginning of Dead Poets Society.

by taco pal on Apr 15, 2009 10:24 PM EDT up reply actions

Beg to differ

Unless it’s a technical manual, style points count. It isn’t just the Mary Poppins theory, either. 1 If the writing is bad, the distraction that creates removes from me the frame of mind necessary to adopt the thought set forth as my own. I’ll avoid the “A for effort” and "Corky the Columnist’ 2 reductio ad absurdum argument, but I will leave it as an exercise for the reader.

I agree re: Dowd [the queen of snark 3) and Conlin 4. OTOH, would the Declaration of Independence have the same cultural significance with bad writing? Maybe? What about the Gettysburg Address? Point it, style matters.

1 "A spoonful of sugar…

2 Corky from “Life Goes On”

3 See: Snark by David Densby

4 Would anyone feel as bad were Conlin to keel over?

Remember the Phitans

by RememberthePhitans on Apr 16, 2009 7:04 AM EDT up reply actions

Always liked Glanville

He may not have been the best player to don a Phillies uniform, but he was solid and an excellent team player. He was a classic “table” player. He may not have brought a whole helluva lot to the table, but he certainly didn’t take much off and every now and then (like his walkoff home run in I think the first game at Citizen’s Bank Park) he would do something that could wow us.

He seems to be in the same mold as a columnist. The column overall is good. It isn’t the best ever, but it is still moving and for the most part well written. And at the end Dougie wows with his closing line: “A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a word from Harry Kalas painted a thousand pictures.”

"It was almost like if Harry didn't call it, it wasn't real." - Jayson Stark

by Chris Haines on Apr 16, 2009 9:37 AM EDT up reply actions

well

Were I Doug’s editor, I might have encouraged him to rework some of the prose. But that’s not really the point with this piece, and I thought what he had to say was sufficiently moving that I can’t say I particularly noticed the strained phrasing on my first read through the piece.

YMMV, as always.

by dajafi on Apr 15, 2009 10:37 PM EDT reply actions

What I liked

What I liked about the column was not how moving it was (others did me better by that) or the writing style (I thought it was fine). Rather, what was great were the stories I hadn’t heard elsewhere. That kind of insight into Harry’s effect on people is invaluable at a time like this. The story about the insurrection in the back of the plane was fascinating.

by David S. Cohen on Apr 16, 2009 8:51 AM EDT up reply actions

+1

I agree — that’s the real value-add here. I will never confuse Glanville with Mencken, but a real, behind-the-scenes insight is invaluable. It verifies and validates much of what others have said. OT, there was a nice “Elements of Style” piece on NPR this morning.

Style/substance…both are undeniably part of the writing game. In design, you see form/function. Love/marriage. You can’t have one….without the o-o-o-o-o—o-other. Boom! Boom! If I’m Tom Peters-ing and pursuing “Wow!” then I want both. Glanville’s got the message, but the polish could use some work, especially if he’s in the trade and surrounded by folks with better polish.

And I apologize to TP for my suggestion, above, that he meant that style didn’t matter — he clearly didn’t say that. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just a clarification here. It’s just so fun to put a straw man argument into someone else’s mouth and then knock him down for it. Bad boy, RTP. whack whack 1

Ok, Doug. You get a B-, but don’t give up the dream.

1 Used as a result of the lack of a non-onanastic self-flagellation 2 emoticon.
2 See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flagellant.

Remember the Phitans

by RememberthePhitans on Apr 16, 2009 9:35 AM EDT up reply actions

Flaws aside, I liked this piece. Like Moyer, Glanville is a fan and a player. Like any of us wouldn’t absolutely treasure our names being called by Harry after hitting a HR? Tape it and put it in the safe deposit box? Style points aside, would that all engineers wrote so well.

Any guesses about what that was all about? My hunch it involved Hudler and Burrell in the Bowa era, but I’m sketchy on where Glanville was at the time.

by Wet Luzinski on Apr 16, 2009 3:10 PM EDT up reply actions

Harry died with his boots on

I had just turned on my XM receiver at work Monday afternoon to listen to the Nats home opener (why, yes, I am a glutton for punishment). Before I had a chance to change the channel, I heard the news as it broke on the Pittsburgh broadcast, and lost interest in much of anything. I understood the magnitude of this moment.

Mind you, as a baseball fan, but not a Phillies fan, I would nevertheless frequently tune in to the innings that Harry called on the radio simply to hear Harry Kalas. For the few short years that I was graced with that ability I felt blessed. I had the pick of the litter, listening to the middle innings of the Phillies games, then tuning over to hear Vin Scully call the first 3 innings of Dodgers games, then finishing out the night with Jon Miller in San Francisco. If I were lucky enough to stumble across an interesting ball game, so much the better.

I know that Harry became the Rock of Gibraltar for Phillies fans with his class and longevity that united generations. That makes the void hurt, knowing that there will never be even a close approximation to fill that void.

However, I take comfort in knowing that Harry finally got the chance to participate in the Phillies winning the World Series. Having achieved that milestone he died with his boots on doing what he loved—in the ballpark no less. I should be so lucky.

I leave you with this thought: his love of baseball was sparked by Mickey Vernon of the Washington Senators. As if to come full circle, he spent his last moments in the new ballpark of the Washington baseball club.

by boteman on Apr 16, 2009 4:42 AM EDT reply actions