Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (11 page)

"It was just a tease," a writer dubbed the World Series vs. Detroit. "You knew
we'd lose Game Seven." The 598-786 Cubs lost for the next decade. Bert
vowed: "We'll light a candle, not curse the dark." His eternal flame wafted
from the Kansas City Monarchs. Ernie Banks homered for the first time September 20, 1953.

The Cubs' future two-time MVP/Good Humor Man hit 290 of his 512
homers at Wrigley. "He's the real McCoy," Wilson said in 1954. Most were
illusory.

"I've had a good chance to see all the promising young rookies who'll be
fighting for a job this summer, and believe me, they look great," Bert
claimed, dreamily, one day next March.

"The Cubs' infield generally is recognized as one of the best in the big
leagues already, and there are several outfielders who look like real major
leaguers. Pitching is a cinch to he much better, and the catching department was given a big boost when Harry Chiti [who would hit .2311, a
fellow built like Gabby Hartnett [and played like Gabby Hayes], came hack
from the service.Yes, it looks like a very interesting season for the Chicago
Cubs this year."

This "one of the best ... real major leaguers ... very interesting" team finished 72-81. It also finished what business manager Jim Gallagher termed "the
biggest Cubs fan I've ever known."At Wrigley Field, hearts break every year. Bert Wilson's heart stopped heating November 5, 1955. IDCW2ALAITC was
44 years old.

BERT WILSON

In 1960, Bob Costas, 8, moved from Long Island to Los Angeles. The car
radio became a trip-tik. Bob Prince meant western Pennsylvania; Earl Gillespie, the upper Midwest; Harry Caray, Cardinal Nation. By Nevada, Costas
heard Vin Scully. "We can hear the Dodgers," dad said. "We're almost there."

In Cincinnati, Bob found why MarkTwain vowed to come for the apocalypse because the city lagged 20 years behind the time. "Given that," said
Ohioan and Hall of Fame librarian Lee Allen, "you marvel how it looked ahead."

Firsts include professional team (1869 Red Stockings); charter member
of first N.L. and American Association year (1876 and '82, respectively); dual
nine-inning no-hitter (1917, Fred Toney and Jim Vaughn); park leased to the
Negro League ('20s Cuban Stars); and night game (1935).

Another precedent stirred Costas. Unlike any announcer before or since,
Waite Hoyt's tense was past.

The ordinary mikeman says, "Ground ball to the shortstop, who fields it and
throws to first." Whatever else he was, the Reds' 194265 Voice was not
ordinary: "The shortstop fielded it, threw to first, and the runner beat the
throw." Why: "accuracy!" he rasped. "As I speak to you, what happened a
moment ago is gone."

Hoyt grew up in Brooklyn, pitched for Erasmus Hall High School, and in
1913 failed a Dodgers tryout. Next year pop drove to the Giants Manhattan
office. "I couldn't sign a contract," said Waite, 15, "but dad did to make it legal."

Will Wedge coined the term "aristocrat of baseball." Hoyt first seemed a
commoner, making seven stops in the minor leagues. In 1918, the lefty finally
pitched an inning in the bigs. Later he studded a Lynn, Massachusetts,
semipro team, was signed by A.L. Boston, and joined A.L. NewYork in 1921.

"The secret to success as a pitcher is getting a job with theYankees," Hoyt
said. The minstrel's son also composed, danced and sang at the Palace The-
ater.The road was more extempore. Once Waite trailed roommate Joe
Dugan to a church. "Hi, pal," said Hoyt, surprising him. What gave?

"I've tried everything else," said Dugan, lighting a candle. "I thought
maybe with this I'll get some help with my hitting."

"Then light one for me!" Hoyt said. "I'm pitching today."

Dugan did. Waite was shelled. "What happened?" he asked. Joe looked
down. "Some bloody Protestant sneaked in and blew the candle out."

Hoyt bounced to Detroit, A.L. Philadelphia, Brooklyn, the Polo Grounds,
Pittsburgh, and again Flatbush, where in the dialect of its borough a paper
screamed "Hert Hoite!" of an injury. In 1938, retiring, he signed with Brown
and Williamson Tobacco Company. "They put me on [WMCA New York]
`Grandstand and Bandstand.' I'd developed a name, and they thought I could
help sales."

The 1939 Yankees began daily coverage. Sponsor Wheaties KO'd an
audition. "They didn't think ex-ballplayers had enough vocabulary to do a
decent job." Umpire George Moriarty knew better. "You're out of your
element," Waite told him, disputing a call. "You should be a traffic cop so
you could stand in the middle of the street with a badge on your chest
and insult people with impunity." Element? Impunity? From a jock? On the
field?

Red Barber prized anyone who never split an infinitive. In 1940, he
named Waite Dodgers pre/post-game host/analyst. "He'd never (lone baseball, but I thought he would take to it [color] naturally." Hoyt did, wanting
more. By late 1941, WLW and WSAI Cincinnati aired the Reds. His agency,
William Morris, called WKRC. "They wanted baseball, too," he said, "and
were looking for play-by-play."

John Gunther noted Cincinnati's "stately and also sleepy quality." Waite
was a night owl. The Rhineland closed after dark. "I didn't know if I'd like it,"
he confessed, "but found a happiness that I'd never known"-except that one
is the loneliest number. From 1946 to 1951, Hoyt announced by himself. "I
did everything, even Burger Beer ads," cadging plots and tales and Yankees
past and Reds present.

"He had a million stories," said general manager Gabe Paul. "Cobb and
Speaker and Ruth-Hoyt ran with Babe before he stopped drinking." One
cited Ruth's 1948 death, of cancer. Hoyt and Dugan helped carry his coffin
from St. Patrick's. "Lord," moaned Joe, sweltering, "I'd give my right arm for
a beer."

Murmured Waite: "So would the Babe."

Hoyt would have given his left arm for a team. "Allen and Barber were good
news broadcasters." He smiled, vaguely. "I was a bad news broadcaster." Reds president Warren Giles once called him on the carpet. "Why can't you be
enthusiastic? Look at Bert Wilson. Why don't you cheer like him?"

Hoyt flushed. "Why shouldn't Wilson cheer? The Cubs've got stars.
Last year ['45J won the pennant. But us! Your top hitter's a lousy .267!
Your best pitcher's won eight games! What is there to cheer?" Not much,
as it occurred.

The fault was not Crosley Field's, leading the league in smallest size
(27,603) and turf (387 feet, center) and most brown-bagging visitors. Liking
the snug feel, Waite loathed the rooftop booth. "It was open. When it rained,
you got flooded," lightning striking before the team.

The 1944-55 Reds missed the first division. Good news flared belatedly:
the '56ers hit a record-tying 221 homers. By 1960, the club was "[again] a
shabby bunch," said Hoyt. Next year it broke 5-10, won nine straight, and
neared a first flag since 1940. In August, Cincy visited Los Angeles. "[Don]
Drysdale [thrice] knocked Frank Robinson, then hit him and got tossed." A
sweep retook first-for good.

Robby became MVP. Vada Pinson hit .343. The Reds clinched a tie September 26. "We fly back," said manager Fred Hutchinson, "drive downtown,
and thousands line the road." Carolers packed Fountain Square. Loudspeakers blared Dodgers-Bucs play-by-play. At 11:26 P.M., L.A. was eliminated, uncorking joy in Lynchburg and Loudonville and Springdale and
Sardinia.

Shakespeare said, "The past is prologue." The Series was ugly
postlude. Whitey Ford opened, 2-0. The Reds' Joey Jay countered, 6-2.
Games Four-Five sent Cincy packing, 7-0 and 13-5. Hoyt manned NBC
Radio. The secret to success still involved the Yanks. "They called us ragamuffins," Waite said. "Not much talent, but heart. The problem is that
even heart gets old."

The '61 Reds were "a conglomeration of castoffs who handed together for
one last stand," said an official. Waite's ended by cutting a 1965 record,
"Waite Hoyt's Stories in the Rain." The team held a Day September S. A
year later Wiederman became Reds beer sponsor. Hoyt, 66, joined
Burger's publicity staff. "I'm still telling stories, just now to groups, not
on the air."

The past tense still went deep. "There was the pitch! Snider belted it to
left field! Bell went back and couldn't get it!" On August 25, 1984, the present
went down swinging. Waite died, of heart trouble. He was 85 years old.

WAITS HOYT

Almost everyone knows where they were when the Japanese attacked Pearl
Harbor, Franklin Roosevelt died, Harry Truman upset Tom Dewey, and
Bobby Thomson swung. Russ Hodges did.

"It made him," said colleague Jim Woods. "Say Russ, you think that day."
Like December 7, 1941,Thomson's October 3, 1951, homer froze in amber.
"The most famous sports moment of all time," added ESPN's Jon Miller.
"Hodges made it last."

On August 11, Russ's New York Giants trailed Brooklyn by 13 1 /2
games. Retrieve the wonderwork of The Shot Heard 'Round the World.

"Making the homer so dramatic was their rivalry," Hodges said a decade later.
The teams played 22 games yearly. Radio/TV coursed through the city. The
'51 Jints finished 37-7. On September 28, they tied the Dodgers at 94-58.
Both won twice to force a best-of-three series. "Great battle, a city throbbing," mused Russ. "A world focused on the playoff."

It began in Flatbush: Giants, 3-1. Next day changed place and score:
Bums, 10-0. A schoolboy knows Game Three's script. At 3:58 P.M., behind
4-2, Thomson hit a ninth-inning, two-on, one-out pitch. "Branca throws. There's a long drive!" Hodges bayed on WMCA Radio. "It's going to be, I
believe! The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! The Giants
win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! Bobby Thomson hits into the
lower deck of the left-field stands! The Giants win the pennant! And they're
going crazy! They are going crazy! Oh-oh!"

Confetti flew. Brooklyn staggered to its clubhouse. Eddie Stanky wrestled Giants skipper Leo Durocher to the ground. "I don't believe it! I don't
believe it! I do not believe it!" said Russ, noise thick enough to chew. "Bobby
Thomson hit a line drive into the lower deck of the left-field stands, and the
whole place is going crazy! The Giants--[owner] Horace Stoneham is now a
winner the Giants won it by a score of 5 to 4, and they're picking Bobby
Thomson up and carrying him off the field!"

Few events were then recorded. Even fewer laymen had machines.
Brooklyn restaurant waiter Laurence Goldberg taped the ninth. "Ahead, he
thought he'd enjoy Russ cry," said colleague Harwell. "Later he sent Russ the
tape." Chesterfield cigarettes released a record on "the most exciting
moment in baseball history"-then/now, more honest than revisionism.

Some wrote that Russ screamed for 15 minutes before telling what happened. "For two minutes," said one, "he stood on his chair to chant `The
Giants win the pennant!' " Red Barber dubbed Hodges "unprofessional," to
which Lon Simmons cried nuts. "He was dramatic, but gave the essentials,"
said his 1958--70 sidekick. "Score, meaning, who won." Russ lived off the
shot for his final 20 years.

In 1978, Red and Mel Allen became the first Voices to enter Cooperstown. Hodges joined them in 1980, a pleasant but bromidic pick. "I know
darned well I don't have a good radio voice," he said. On the other hand, "I
know sports well."

A voting member ascribed Russ's choice to "the committee's New York
tilt."That, likability, and the Miracle of Coogan's Bluff.

TV rules our cosmos. Radio ruled 195 I's. "I happened to be doing TV for
Thomson's shot," said Harwell. "What do I get? Anonymity! Russ gets
immortality!" For a time he would have settled for a job.

Ironically, Russ's father, a Southern Railroad telegrapher, seemed to
get a new one each year. "When he got promoted I'd move as a kid up the
line." In 1928, at the University of Kentucky, Hodges broke an ankle
playing football, became a spotter, and said a "few words on air. I was terrible, but got the hug bad." Graduating, he entered the University of Cincinnati, passed the bar, but never practiced. "In those days, lawyers
were jumping out of windows."