Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (37 page)

July crossed the rubicon. The Sox swept a 10-game road trip. Pilots from
Boston to Nova Scotia traced a West Coast game by lights in homes below.
Wrote the Boston Herald's Kevin Convey: "It is late on a late-summer night
in 1967. The house is dark except for the flashlight beside my bed. It is quiet
except for my transistor, in a whisper. Ken Coleman didn't just call baseball
games. He called my summers."

Reggie Smith hit with the bases full. "A listener," Ken said, "refused to
enter a tunnel. Soon hundreds of cars, listening, back up a mile." On August
13, 2 1 /2 games bunched five teams. Tony Conigliaro was beaned. Two days
later Boston trailed, 8-0: the Fens were mute; the bottom was falling out.
Then: "Fly ball hit deep into left-center field, and it is a home run! Jerry
Adair has hit his second home run of the 1967 season. And the Red Sox are
now leading in the eighth inning, 9 to 8."

Ahead: "If I may add a personal note," Coleman would say, "the greatest
thrill of my life."

By September 30, Minnesota led the Sox by one game with two left at
Fenway. Stores closed. Churches opened. All knew the truth and consequences. Boston hit in the 2-all sixth. "And Scott hits one deep into center
field! This one is back! This one is gone!" Ken cried. Sox: 6-4. Next day they
dittoed, 5-3.

"[Afterward] the players came into the clubhouse. Some were crying,
some yelling, and I was trying to interview."A radio aired in the background.
Detroit could tie by taking a twinbill. Instead, it lost game two, 8-5, tying
past and present in Blue Hill and Brattleboro and Wakefield and
Woonsocket-Boston's first pennant since 1946.

The Boston Record-American cover blared "CHAMPS!" and a drawing of
two red socks. Jim Lonborg went 22-9. George Scott hit .303. Carl Yastrzemski transcended myth: Triple Crown/MVP 44 homers, 121 RBI, and
.326. Ken and Curt called each World Series game in Boston. "Talk about
coming full circle," Coleman said of his predecessor. Another filled 1972-75:
He moved to Sox WBZ TV, then Ohio-"both moves due to flagship
changes."

Like 1954 and 1967, the good luck penny shone: Ken's '75 Reds metthe Townies! "I did their TV, Marty Brennaman radio, and he got the Series."
In 1979, retaking the Logan Airport shuttle, he began a final decade in the
Hub. Retiring, Coleman wrote five books, did Harvard football, and entered
the Red Sox Hall of Fame, tracing the region's burgs, back country, and sunburnt hills.

Inevitably, a stranger mentioned Yaz and Boomer and Gentleman Jim.
"People talk about upsets," Ken would tell them before his 2003 death, at 78.
"They're nothing compared to '67." Convey recalled the flashlight beside his
bed. "There will he other summers. And I will listen to other announcers.
But I will never stop hearing Ken Coleman."

KEN COLEMAN

If a baseball Voice is lucky, said Coleman, he becomes a member of the family.
"The first year's the toughest," added Ernie Harwell. "Get past it, and you've
got a lifetime pass."

Harwell got by the first year to call five decades at Detroit. In 1959,
another Southerner of piety, charm, and blue eyes embarked. "People
thought of us as soulmates," Ernie mused of Arkansas's George Kell, "but he
did one medium [television] and I mostly did the other."

Their 1960-63 radio/TV co-op hatched a lasting glow. "I thought
George Kell and Ernie Harwell was one word," wrote listener Rebecca
Stowe. Their defacto name was work-what it wasn't to hear them on the air.

Compare third basemen. Brooks Robinson was the Human Vacuum Cleaner.
Mike Schmidt became the Dayton Flyer. Kell mocked ballyhoo. Joe
DiMaggio's liner once broke his jaw. George nabbed the ball, crawled to
third, applied a forceout, and fainted.

"It's something you pick up in Arkansas. You made do." Leaving the
minors, Kell, 22, made good as 194-4 A's third sacker. Traded to Detroit, he batted at least .296 from 1946 to 1954. In 1949, his .342911 edged Ted
Williams's .342756-first man at the position to win a post-1912 crown.

Next year hitched a league-high 56 doubles and 218 hits. Detroit finished
95-59. "1 made [ 1947-511 All-Star Games. That was nice, but what I missed
was a pennant." A.L. records grew like vines around a trellis: four times,
assists and total chances; seven, fielding percentage; among the top 20 lifetime in putouts and assists.

George started the 1957 All-Star Game as an Oriole, retiring that fall
with a .306 average. Rounding the square: successor Brooks Robinson
entered Cooperstown in 1983-with Kell.

In 1958, CBS TV gave him pre-"Game of the Week." George hoped to ask
guest Casey Stengel about the batting order. He was asked how it went.
"Fine. But in our 15 minutes, Casey didn't get past the leadoff batter." A year
later, he replaced Tigers analyst Mel Ott, whose "death in a car crash stunned
me." Ernie then arrived from Baltimore. "Detroit's tough," wrote Joe Falls,
"and here you had two quiet voices, alien accent, but knew baseball" in a
baseball-batty town.

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young sang "It's been a long time coming." Kell's
family had waited a long time by 1963. "I've been away so much my boy says,
`yes, sir' or `no, sir' at the dinner table." Business chafed, too. George owned
a farm, insurance company, and Cadillac agency in Swifton (pop. 601, where
he was born) or Newport (7,007, raised). "Whenever there were decisions
to be made, I was in Detroit or on the road."

Kell spent 1964 in Arkansas, then trekked to Tigers video. "Twenty-two
road trips a year from Swifton, most weekend. Rest of the time's my own."
The '68 Tigers owned Detroit's: George beamed the Series. "I'm on NBC,"
he said, "and my team's barely breathing." Behind, 3 games to 1, Detroit
received CPR. Bathed in bubbly, Kell hosted post-Game Seven's clubhouse
shebang.

"As long as I live, I'll never forget this." His hope: a future bereft of flat
champagne.

"Life is a people business," said the more-friend-than-celebrity. Kell nearly ran
for Governor, chaired the Arkansas Highway Commission, and tended the
Swifton home he and wife Charlene built in 1946. "If I had to choose between
here and Tigers games, I wouldn't have to think." George never had to. "Anybody who doesn't know baseball means people is in the wrong game."

In 1993, Detroit acquired Eric Davis. Kell began pre-game 15 minutes
later. "I'd tried to get to Sparky Anderson for quotes, but there was a mob."
Knowing him, George invented five. "Yeah, that's probably what I've have
said," the Tigers manager said later. "You read me pretty well."

Kell deemed Frank Robinson America's best post-war player. "He'd run
over his grandmother if he had to." George would outwork her. "His secret
was the guy at home," said Ernie, "who knew that Kell knew the game."

He retired to Swifton in 1997. "I'll never forget it," George said of
Motown. A listener might say that about Harwell's Ozark kin.

GEORGE KELL

The face belongs in the Vienna Boys Choir. The voice evokes a bass, lead
cello, or wrecker razing cars to Bill Conlin, "a four-Marlboros into a
three-martini-lunch baritone." Harry Norbert Kalas woos the Delaware
Valley. A minister's child spreads the Phillies' Word.

"It's like Harry had opera training," said team vice president Larry Shenk.
"No one can call a moment like him." To the Main Line, Brandywine, and
Center City, "Long drive! ... It's outta here! Home run!" is outta sight.

In 1944, Kalas, eight, raised near Chicago, visited Comiskey Park for his
first bigs game. Rain halted batting practice. "The Senators stunk. I'm praying
weather clears, so the Sox'll win. I go near their dugout," where Mickey
Vernon sat Harry on the bench. At that moment he pledged to hit, or call,
the curve.

At the University of Iowa, Kalas majored in speech, radio, and TV. A
blind professor said, "You have a voice that could take you a considerable
way." He was drafted, became a broadcast specialist, and re-created P.C.L.
Hawaii. "Road trips were too costly to do live."The bigs team hiring him was
no bargain at any price.

The Colt .45s were a hero of every dog that was under. In 1965, they got
a new name (Astros), park (Astrodome), and Voice, but not team. Doug
Rader used the clubhouse as a driving range. Larry Dierker explained"They wanted to live" why no one took his clubs. Once Rader, Joe Morgan,
Kalas, and his father golfed. Increasingly, Doug's language turned blue.

"Ease off," said Morgan. "Don't you know Harry's dad is a [Evangelical
United Brethren] minister?"

"Mr. Kalas, I didn't know that," Doug brightened. "Jesus Christ!" Scales
fell from pop's eyes like Saul on the Damascus Road.

In 1787, Benjamin Franklin wondered during Philadelphia's "long hot
summer" whether the sun painted on the president's chair was rising or setting. "But now at length, I ... know that it is a rising not a setting sun." In
1970, the sun set on Connie Mack Stadium. Many wondered when decent
baseball would rise.

April 1971: Veterans Stadium opens. Kalas, replacing Bill Campbell on
Phils radio/TV, finds the city up in arms. "Bill Giles had been [V..1 in
Houston. Coming here, he offered me a job," not saying whose. "Bill was very
popular. For several years my confidence level faltered." He was not bolstered by the 1971-73ers, dredging last.

"You kept hoping pieces'd merge," said Harry. One day Greg (Bull)
Luzinski drove deep in batting practice. "Wow, that's way out of here!"
gawked Larry Bowa. Nearby the new Voice stood: "It's outta here!" began.
Like Kalas, another piece braved a rough initiation. "He came up [19721,
and you saw the skill. But he'd miss wildly, make an error at third,
and sulk."

In 1975, Mike Schmidt and Luzinski combined for 72 homers. Bowa
made shortstop hermetic. "Two-thirds of the world is covered by water," wagged broadcaster Ralph Kiner. "The other third is covered by [center
fielder] Garry Maddox." Philly placed second.

Byrum Saam retired, making Harry lead announcer. Finally, the sun
began to rise.

Even Napoleon, said Danny Ozark, "had his Watergate." The Phils skipper
and a player had "a wonderful repertoire." Morality, he said of team morale,
"is not an issue here."The '76 Bicentennial was. Philly won the East-first
title since 1950. "Even then," Harry rued, "our luck wasn't great."Two men
reached base vs. St. Louis's Al Hrabosky. Maddox smoked an out. The shortstop caught Schmidt's liner, sprawling. Hrabosky deflected and retrieved the
Bull's game-ending smash. "We had everybody played right," joshed manager
Red Schoendienst, "except maybe Al was a little shallow on Luzinski."

Cincy swept the playoff. Next year Philadelphia led L.C.S. Game
Three, 5-3, in the ninth: two out, none on; 63,719 shook the Vet. "Maybe
we were thinking World Series," said Harry. L.A. scored thrice. A day later
Phils ace Steve Carlton lost, 4-1, ending the playoff. By now Harry the K
distilled a region's hope, hurt, and fatalism.

Already he had done, or would, Notre Dame, DePaul, Marquette, Southwest Conference, Big Ten, and Big Five basketball, Irish, University of
Houston, and Westwood One's network football, and NFL Films, as cohost/voiceover. Also: videos, team highlight reels, and U.S. Mint, Sears,
Campbell's Soup, and Dilbert's animated cartoon.

"All stemmed from Harry's baseball stage," said Shenk. When would
Philly, filling it, shake a rep as Red Sox South? The '80ers again took their
division on Schmidt's next-to-last-day blast. The L.C.S. against Houston followed, an 8-7 final aping jai-alai. "Finally, after all these years, a Series!"
Kalas chortled-the Phillies' first since 1950. There was, as they say, a hitch.

Baseball's then-policy barred local-team Classic coverage. "So NBC gets
a petition of thousands of names," said partner Andy Musser. "`Let Harry
broadcast on [flagship] KYW! "' The Peacocks demurred. Next season, too
late for Kalas, the radio ban ended. "I understood NBC," he said. "I just wish
I could have done something I'd dreamed of since a kid."

It commenced by accentuating the positive: Philly, 7-6 and 6-4. Kansas
City won twice, led Game Five, but blew the ninth inning, 4-3. Back home,
the Nationals took a 4-0 edge. In the ninth, Tug McGraw filled the bases.
Frank White fouled near the first-base dugout. Catcher Bob Boone touched
but dropped the ball. Lunging, Pete Rose caught it barehanded.