Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (6 page)

Hoey was repetitive-"He throws to first and gets his man!"-and abided
early radio. Most games were daytime. At six, theYankee Network broke for
news. "Ninth inning, tied, no matter," said Coleman. "The carriage became a
pumpkin." Fred could vend-mostly Kentucky Club pipe tobacco and Mobil's
Flying Red Horse--and stir Euripidean concern. He could not whip the sauce.

In 1933, Hoey reached the booth before Game One of the Series with
evident fumbling and breath. His prose was incoherent: CBS yanked Fred off
the air. Explanation: a "bad cold." Sober, he returned a conqueror. "In Boston,
where people knew about his drinking, all was forgiven," Ken said. "Letters
flooded the papers. `How dare you hurt our Fred?' "

The 1925-31 cellar Sox hurt yearly. In 1934, Hoey met new owner
ThomasYawkey, who began reworking Fenway. "The park was run down," said
Soxaphile A. Bartlett Giamatti. "Restoring it, Yawkey saw himself as owning
the team, but to many became the team." The '3 7ers finished fifth. That fall,
Yankee head John Shepard, III, axed our Fred. "Booze again," mused Ned.
Pickets swamped WNAC. Even President Roosevelt asked that he be rehired.

Reinstated, "Fred thought he owned New England," mused forties Voice
Leo Egan. In 1938, Jimmie Foxx's team-record 50 homers did. Next spring,
Bobby Doerr told a rookie, "Wait till you see Foxx hit."

FRED NOSY

Replied Ted Williams: "Wait till Foxx sees me hit." Soon Fred saw neither.

That October, Hoey demanded a raise. Again Shepard canned him. Once
more a goodly portion of the public stormed Fenway. Replacing the Red
Horse and Kentucky Club, General Mills and Socony Oil yawned.

"They wanted their own announcer," said Coleman. "Plus, radio was
changing. Fred paused a lot. Sponsors wanted somebody glib." Hoey died
November 17, 1949, at 64, in a gas-filled room, of accidental asphyxiation,
his body found by a delivery boy.

"He was generally credited with building up baseball broadcasting to the
lofty spot it holds," read the Boston Daily Globe. Joe Castiglione does today's
Sox radio. "Whenever you hear me, remember where it began."

"Detroit has [always] been one of the great baseball towns in the country," Joe
Falls wrote. By twos and threes, fans headed for Tiger Stadium like Charlemagne nearing Spain. Steep-rowed seats enclosed the park. Popgun lines
flanked a yawning center field. Right's overhang turned pop flies into
homers. Like tableaus, announcers reemerge.

Ernie Harwell was a paladin. George Kell mimed a favorite uncle. Van
Patrick roared louder than a Packard coupe. Tigers radio began April 19,
1927, on WWJ: "Good afternoon, boys and girls, this is [Edwin] Ty Tyson
speaking to you from [then] Navin Field."

Detroit won, 8-5, vs. Cleveland. Ultimately, Ty won the Four Seasons
Wonderland of Lions and Tigers and (by train) even Bears.

Tyson attended Penn State, was a World War 1 103 Trench Mortar Battery
doughboy, and joined WWJ as weatherman, news reporter, and "all sorts of
things, including introducing of bands." One thing was baseball. "By the late
1920s," wrote the Detroit Free Press's Bob Latshaw, "there wasn't an afternoon
the Tigers played that anyone could escape Tyson. It was possible for a youngster to leave school, walk a half-mile, and never miss a pitch."

An hour from Detroit, the choir met in Billy Williams's garage, turned
on the Capehart radio, and began chewing snuff. "Richfield Springs was a
four-corners settlement," said future Saturday Evening Post editor Maynard
Good Stoddard. It had two dozen houses, a general store, gas pumps, and hope. Puptown and Henpeck lay one and seven miles away. Baseball was
their world.

"Radio was new," said Maynard. "Ty helped bring it alive." Leon
Goslin-"Goose"-flapped his arms while chasing pops. Hank Greenberg
became "Hancus Pancus"; Jo Jo White, "The Tiger Man." Charlie
Gehringer was a strong, silent type. Roomie Chief Hosgett asked for salt.
No answer. Finally: "What'd I say wrong?" Charlie: "You could have
pointed." Richfield Springs pointed to the former high school, semi-pro,
and college pitcher.

A 1933 radio annual read: "[Tyson's] technique is deliberate and sure, flavored with a dry humor which has made him a favorite with listeners and
players."A year later Babe Ruth went deep at Navin, howling "I want that ball
back!" of dinger 700. Lennie Bieleski swapped it for a better seat, $20, and
an autographed ball. Stoddard can still replay Ty's "It's going, it's going, and
its a home run!"

The Tigers' last flag had been a quarter-century gone. In 1934, they
finally made it back to the Series. Landis dubbed Tyson "[too] partisan" for
CBS or NBC. Michigan's response: a petition of 600,000 names. Yielding, the
Commissioner let him man WWJ. "It showed how popular Ty was locally,"
said Harwell. "He was the first. They had no one to compare him with. He
enjoyed himself quietly"--1935, even more.

Gehringer K'd just 16 times in 610 ups. MVP Greenberg had 170 RBI.
Detroit again won the flag. Doing NBC, Ty humped into Landis before Game
One. "The Series is for people who work and love baseball," the judge glowered. "That-only that-is why you're here." Losing the 1908, 1909, and
1934 Series, the "Tiges," in Harwell's term, took a 3-2 game lead. "We go
back home," Goslin said. "Will it happen again?"

Detroit's ninth began 3-all. Singling, Mickey Cochrane took second on
an out. Goose faced the Cubs' Larry French: "If they pitch this over the
plate," he told umpire Ernie Quigley, "you can take that monkey suit off."
They, and he, did. "Plenty of racket out here,"Tyson bayed. "A drive up the
middle! And the winning run will score!"

Even Grantland Rice was relieved: "The leaning tower can now crumble
and find its level with the Pisan plain. After waiting for forty-eight years, the
Detroit Tigers at last are champions of the world."

WWJ (nee 8MK) aired Series "summaries" as early as 1920. Until 1934, it
deemed baseball sponsors declasse. Henceforth a game began, "This is brought to you by Mobil Oil." Ending, it again noted Mobil. "That was it, two mentions," laughed Ty, less cheery about a competitor.

That spring four-time batting champion Harry Heilmann cracked the
Michigan Radio Network. "It was unique," mused Harwell. Tyson talked to
greater Detroit. Heilmann's flagship WXYZ fed outstate Michigan. "Same
game, every day," said Stoddard. "The networks kept battling," finally fusing
in 1942. The next laugh was Harry's. "He knew the new owners, had a bigger
name," said Ty, dispatched.

In 1947-48, respectively, Tyson became Detroit's first TV Voice-and
Tigers, last American League team with lights. "The [June 15, 1948] game
didn't start till 9:30 at night because we didn't think lights would work
till then." By 1951, cancer had attacked Heilmann: to Sports Illustrated,
"God, the Creator, the Controller, Communicator of the only universe of
importance-Tigerland." Retrieving radio, Ty wowed Henpeck and Puptown over WJBK.

Life deserves a postscript. Tyson's dotted 1965, three years before his death.
Harwell invited him to Father's Day at Tiger Stadium. Ty addressed the crowd,
did an inning, and warmed his "boys and girls" grown old. "The reaction was
overwhelming," said Ernie. "One of the most popular broadcasts we ever had."

Listening, Maynard Good Stoddard thought Ty never sounded better.

TY TYSON

Some fact more or less forms us. John Kerry's was Viet Nam; Mario Cuomo,
the immigrant experience; Adlai Stevenson, language-made-literate. Tom
Manning's was a mania to risk, talk, do. "It's like he had an extra gland,"
someone said of Lyndon Johnson. Tom's brass evoked John Connally: "I like
to win big or lose big, but what's the sense of losing small?"

He was born in Cleveland September 11, 1899, for its Spiders a sad-sack
year: 20-134, still-record 24-game losing streak, and N.L.'s worst-ever percentage (.134). It promptly dropped them like a wrong note in South Pacific.
"Guess that first year," Tom laughed later, "showed my life would be extreme."

Excess showed in high school. Bowling, Manning had a 198 average. He
played golf, baseball, hoops, football, and handball. Thrice Tom won the
National Amateur Baseball Federation title as player, coach, or skipper. "I was
making up for lost time-or '99."

Manning was also a teenage corner newsboy. In 1918, the Cleveland Press held
a convention. "A big event was a yelling contest. I had a high falsetto with
unlimited carrying power and I won."That fall he attended a boxing match
whose public address Voice was missing. "There's the kid who won the yelling
contest," cried a bystander, spotting Tom. "He can do announcing," and did.

By 1922, he stood behind home plate at League Park, pointed a fourfoot-long megaphone, and howled batteries to the crowd. In 1928, Manning
began reading radio scores for $ 3 daily. Said 1948-67 Indians Voice Jimmy
Dudley: "What had been newsprint, Tom brought alive." His debut almost
died: Deeming the mike a megaphone, Manning blew the transmitter.
Through 1931 he called the Tribe onWTAM. A new flagship then tapped Jack
Graney: "Cleveland's loss," said Dudley, "becoming NBC's gain."

In 1929, joining McNamee, Tom called his first of 10 straight Series.
1931: Martin hit .500 vs. Philly. 1936: Lou Gehrig dinged twice in Game
Two. "There it goes, a long smash deep into center field! Way up! Going,
going, going! A home run!" In 1930, another Bomber, Mark Koenig, was
dealt to Detroit. Buying him, the 1932 Cubs withheld a full Classic share. In
Game Three, Ruth eyed their dugout. Mates cried "cheapskates." The Cubs
tossed liniment, and one fan a lemon. Charlie Root forged a 2-1 count.
Raising two fingers, did Babe point to center? We wonder, even now.

"Never," Root barbed. "If he had, next time up I'd have stuck it in his
rear." Manning disagreed. "Now [he] is pointing out at center field and he's yelling at the Cubs that the next pitch is going into center field! Here's the
pitch. It's going! Babe Ruth connects and here it goes! The ball is going,
going, going-high into the center-field stands, into the scoreboard! And it's
a home run! It's gone! Whoopee! Listen to that crowd!"

In 1933, Manning aired the first All-Star Game. Franklin Roosevelt flung
1937's opening pitch with an unorthodox, overhanded lob. Stephen Spender's
"I Think Continually of Those" ends: "Born of the son they travelled a short
while towards the sun." By nowTom had travelled a long while toward the top.

He called each 1933-37 Presidential opener, adding boxing, football, golf,
hockey, track and field, air crashes, floods, and national conventions,
announcing from a plane, tugboat, and submarine. One runaway All-American
Soap Box Derby racer hit his booth, cracked two ribs, and put Tom in a hospital. Manning drove a trotting horse in a grand circuit meeting, carting a 30pound transmitter. In 1938, The Sporting News touted "his uncanny ability to
shoot from the hip at a microphone."Yet the hypothetical intrudes.

In 1939, Gillette, dumping NBC for Mutual, traded one redhead, Manning, for another, Barber. Tom drifted to Cleveland TV: sports, live, at 6 and
1 1. Today we rarely liken him to longer-running Voices-France Laux or Ty
Tyson. Would we, had he aired the post-'31 Indians?

TOM MANNING