Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (13 page)

One day Helfer called a bicycle race. "And here comes DiBaggio," he
roared, "like a bat out of hell!"Temper followed him to NBC New York. In
1939, Al dedicated a hotel. Thrice the open failed. "Are we going on this goddamned network?" he flared. Quick thinking saved the day. Using a pseudonym, Helfer said he was still in Cincinnati. "What about that phony name
guy? He was fired from New York."

That spring, Red phoned. "Let's get together again and give 'em hell."
Next year, the Yankees and Giants tried to muscle in. "`Leave Barber,' they
said. `Come here.' " Instead, in 1942 Al began 3 1 /2 years in the Navy. His
1943 signal launched the Allied invasion of Sicily. Radio's "Cavalcade of
America" starred Alfred Drake as Lt. Commander Helfer.

Returning, Al spurned Brooklyn-"Connie Desmond was Number 2,
and I didn't want him hurt"-for theYanks, Jints, and wife Ramona. Friends
debated the greater test.

Ramona had her own band, played piano with Paul Whiteman's Orchestra,
and performed at Buckingham Palace. "A 4-foot knockout," said Mutual's Al
Wester, "who assuredly handled Al." In 1946, Larry MacPhail bought the
Stripes, approached Barber, and was vetoed. He hired Allen, who dumped
Helfer for Hodges. In 1949, the now-Giants' Russ hired Al! "Wherever you
looked, we were playing musical chairs."

That year, Liberty bred "Game of the Day." Older (1935) and larger
(nearly 700 outlets), Mutual took it personally. "We had more to lose and
offer," said sports head Paul Jonas. Would a daily series dilute All-Star/Series
coverage? "Game" might cost $4 million. Could Jonas make it up? "If we did
baseball, we wanted to do it right." Ultimately, that meant live.

Mutual's "Game" began April 18, 1950. "Everything as it happened, from
where it happened," said Wester. Jonas weighed 100 pounds. As Voice, he chose
someone who could lift him with one hand. Once he and Helfer entered a
hotel lobby. "My God," someone cried, "here comes Jonas and the whale!"

Each (lay but Sunday, Al would board a plane, once or twice daily, for Boston, Brooklyn, Chicago, Detroit, or St. Louis. "Different game, different
city," he said, repairing late Saturday to Helfer's home outside New York.
"The Ghost of Hartsdale" got fresh laundry "and left before the door swung
shut. My daughter was growing up. I loved, but didn't know, her."

Mutual loved "Game"'s success. "A guy in Oklahoma had devoured baseball in the paper," said Jonas. "Now he's hearing Helfer each day"-also sidekicks Art Gleeson, Gene Kirby, Bud Blattner, leaving Liberty, and a man who
despised, and was despised by, Al.

Helfer and Dizzy Dean called the other "bastard," argued between innings,
and refused to share a plane. "Huge weight and ego. Between 'em they were
600 pounds," laughed Wester. "In a small booth, like Milwaukee, the tubs'd
almost come to blows."

Once Diz sang "The Wabash Cannonball." Al nearly took a punch: "Want
to be a damn comedian? Visit Las Vegas." For five straight years, he visited the
World Series over Mutual, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, Mexican and
South American affiliates, and Armed Forces Radio-as many as 1,490 outlets. In 1952, a record 65 percent of U.S. homes heard at least one game.

By 1954, Helfer had traveled "four million miles: I counted it"--fir
Mutual. "Finally, the doctor told me to resign." He joined the 1956-57
Dodgers "Great pipes, but hard to work with," said Jerry Doggett--and
Houston's 1962 Colt .45s. "Alien turf," said partner Gene Elston. "He didn't
take." A last outpost of work berthed 1968-69's Oakland A's.

Once he forgot the first name in a post-game interview after CesarTovar
played each position. Another night Reggie Jackson homered with Ted
Kubiak on third base. "And Kubiak will score easily on the play," Helfer said,
intently-no longer Mr. Radio Baseball, but still able to stir a fuss.

Al died May 16, 1975, still swaggering like a sailor. His eulogy sung a grace
note. In 1952, Bucky Braham in North Carolina began sending letters. "The
young boy wanted to be a baseball player," said Helfer. Ultimately, letters
stopped. A 1953 telegram said that Bucky, with polio, was not expected to
live. Asked to "say a few words on the air to cheer him," Al did.

Next day a telegram read: "We don't know what you did, but you have
done something medical science couldn't." Bucky had been paralyzed. "[Now]
the boy will live." His dad, a doctor, signed. Al last heard from Braham in college. "He was playing baseball.You can't ask the Good Lord for more than that."

Helfer never asked God for presence. It came, like manna, from above.

AL HELFER

Two centuries ago the ability to wield a sword and ride a horse implied leadership. "My," a writer said, "how impressive the General looks upon a steed."
Public, proud, and portly, Van Patrick impressed with oratory, working a
room like a pol. A friend compared him to a bobbed cork: you could not keep
Van down.

Growing up, he got by on six hours of sleep. At TCU, Patrick lettered in
four sports, then worked the Southern Association and Three-I, Texas, and
International Leagues. By 1947, Bill Veeck thought him ready to help fill the
Indians' 78,000-seat redoubt.

"First time every game was at Municipal Stadium, and also on radio," said
Van. In April, Jackie Robinson cracked baseball's color line. "One afternoon
when [our] team trots on the field, a Negro will be out there with them," said
Veeck. "I want to sign him quickly so that there won't be much pressure."

On July 5, he bought Larry Doby from the Negro League Newark
Eagles. Pinch-hitting at Comiskey Park, Doby became the A. L.'s first black.
"You just didn't think of race," said W GAR Radio's Patrick, not noting it. Like
television, equality was heard of, but rarely seen.

In 1948, Pittsburgh lacked a TV station. The Red Sox and Braves lacked
broadcast equipment. Cleveland was as far behind the curve. Read the April
21 TSN: "No television plans made by club at present time." Van seethed.
"Talk about your ridiculous situations. I come here, allegedly to do TV, and
can't get on the air."

With Barber, he telecast NBC's World Series. Pro: Cleveland won. Con:
Less than 10 million saw. Impatient, Patrick joined Tigers TV in 1949.
Goebel Brewery sponsored exclusivity. In turn, Van drank as much, worked
as hard, and invested better than any other Voice of his time.

On the eve of the 1951 All-Star Game, feting Detroit's 250th birthday,
Harry Heilmann died of cancer. Patrick moved to radio, his Tigers never
reaching third. Aides were less static: Ty Tyson, Dizzy Trout, and Mel Ott. "I
was in awe of him," said George Kell, arriving in 1959.

That year Stroh Brewery succeeded Goebel. The new sponsor deemed
Van a gasbag. "They didn't want him, and he thought, `Hell, I own four
radio stations, have a chateau in Dearborn,' " said Wester. He did Lions
and Michigan football, just thought it was time to move on"-to Mutual,
as sports head and baseball Voice. Van never imagined moving "Game of
the Day."

In 1960, Patrick visited Forbes Field, Busch Stadium, and Candlestick
Park. Hannibal and Savannah felt he never sounded better. The bigs then bellied to 18, then 20, teams. "Suddenly, `Game' stations were switching to the
new expansion teams," said Al.

The series died in 1961, running out of country. Van then ran even faster
than before.

At Mutual, he called basketball, golf, the Olympics, Monte Carlo Grand
Prix, and Notre Dame and "Monday Night Football," seldom looking back to
baseball, or the Tigers to him. "He was flamboyant, intimidating to follow,"
said Ernie Harwell, replacing Van in 1960. Next year he caught a break:
Detroit nearly won the pennant.

In 1973, Patrick contracted cancer. He died September 29, 1974, at
58, of surgery, on Game Weekend, at South Bend, Indiana. "It was an
awful way to die, but the right place to die," Wester said of "this beautiful
hulk of a man."

Van Patrick was buried four days after being scheduled to air
Irish--Purdue. It is hard to imagine his voice, broken or even bent.

VAN PATRICK

On April 12, 1945, Harry Truman ended a dry day presiding over the Senate
by inviting Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn for a drink. At 5:12 P.M., the
White House switchboard ordered the vice president across town. Arriving,
he found that FDR was dead of a cerebral hemorrhage. Was there anything
Truman could do for her? he asked Eleanor Roosevelt. "Is there anything we
can do for you?" she said. "For you are the one in trouble now."

The 1947-60 Voice of the Senators found that trouble could condense
the language. "I never had to say who was winning or losing," said Bob Wolff.
"I just gave the score."

Yearly his team vetoed the first division. To distract, Bob interviewed
scouts, players, and concessionaires: "fans in the stands." In 1957, the Nats
won the first game of a doubleheader. Wolff then told his guest, "Let's play a
game. Don't say your name until we're finished talking."

Bob asked about the opener. "Well, of course," said the visitor, "being a
Washington fan, I thought it was great."

They spoke for seven minutes. Climax: "Are you originally from Washington, sir?" Wolff said.

"No, I'm a Californian."

"What sort of work do you do, sir?"

"I work for the government," said the guest, 44.

"Oh, for the government?"

"Yes, yes, I work for the government."

"What sort of work do you do, sir?" Bob probed.

"Well, I'm the vice-president," said Richard Milhous Nixon.

Bob Wolff kept the Senators from cloning the Atlantis of the American
League.

"Everything good in my life has been through a great break," said the native
New Yorker. In 1938, at Duke on a baseball scholarship, Bob broke an ankle
sliding into second base. The freshman began hosting radio's variety "Your
Duke Parade." Pleased, he grew confused. "I've never see an arm or leg outlast a voice," coach Jack Coombs said. "If you want the big leagues, start
talking." Hurt, Phi Beta Kappa '42 was helped. "Another break-best advice
I ever got."

A naval commission led to Harvard Business school, Seabees in Camp
Perry, Virginia, and Solomon Islands. "Its [supply officer] procedures were a
mess, alien to what I'd learned at Harvard." Aghast, Wolff wrote a manual
revising the system. Shortly the Navy Department asked him to create
Supply Corps books and films. "I could have been in the South Pacific.
Instead, I'm transferred to Washington."

In 1946, WINX Radio named Bob sports director. Next year, 26, he
became the DuMont Network's WTTG TV pancaked, perspiring Voice.
"Those lights! So hot, so huge! You'd lose 20 pounds in an hour." Few saw him
sweat: TV interest paled vs. radio's. The only other commercial station was
WABD New York.

"How'd I get the job?" said Wolff. No one wanted it. Papers shunned daily
coverage. "Stores put sets in the window to spur sales. People had little faith
in TV's future."

His soon lacked sleep in a 24/7 life.

By 1949, Bob called boxing, Maryland and Washington Capitols hoops, college and pro football, and Nats radio/TV. "I'd do the first and last three
innings on TV, and the other three on radio. With [colleague Arch]
McDonald, it was reversed." Ironically, the senior feared the junior partner.
"Arch was bigger locally," said reporter Morris Siegel, "hut Bob outworked
him." Industry bred envy. Who could keep up?

Each day Wolff did taped/live pre/post-game radio/TV. "Four programs, a nightly TV and radio show, syndicated baseball column, and the game!" Eight times, the Nats placed next-to-last or last. One 1954 game
drew 460. A year earlier Mickey Mantle hit the first "tape measure" blast, off
Griffith Stadium's 60-foot-high left-field National Bohemian scoreboard,
into Perry L. Cool's yard at 434 Oakdale Street: 391 feet to the wall; another
69, outer wall; and 105, across Fifth Street (565 total).

National Bo painted an "X" where the ball struck the hoard. "Not liking
it," said Wolff, "[President] Clark Griffith painted it over." Victim Chuck
Stobbs later flung baseball's longest wild pitch, bouncing to a concession
stand. In 1956, Mick almost hit the first ball out of Yankee Stadium- "still
rising when it hit the copper frieze. I called all these record plays"--vs.
Washington.