RIP Ernie Harwell

[Scott Garner]

As most of you members already know, HOF baseball announcer icon Ernie Harwell passed away from bile duct cancer a few days ago. Many of us that have enjoyed Harwell's greatness through the years are currently in mourning right now.
Our local fish wrap reprinted Ernie's essay, "The Game for All America (A Definition of Baseball)" that originally appeared in The Sporting News on April 13, 1955". I had not read this before, and I thought it would be worth sharing this with the other members on the off-chance that you haven't read this either.

"THE GAME FOR ALL AMERICA"
By Ernie Harwell

"Baseball is a president tossing out the first ball of the season and the pudgy schoolboy playing catch with his dad on a Mississippi farm. A tall, thin old man waving a scorecard from the corner of his dugout-that's baseball. So is a big fat guy with a bulbous nose running home one of his 714 home runs.

There's a man in Mobile who remembers that Honus Wagner hit a triple in Pittsburgh 46 years ago. That's baseball. And so is a scout reporting that a 16- year-old pitcher in Cheyenne is a coming Walter Johnson.

Baseball is a spirited game of man against man, reflex against reflex- a game of inches. Every skill is measured, every heroic, every failing, seen and cheered, or booed, and then becomes a statistic.

In baseball democracy shines its clearest; the only race that matters is the race to the bag. The creed is a rule book and color merely something to distinguish one team's uniform from another.

Baseball is a rookie, his experience no bigger than the lump in his throat as he begins fulfillment of his dream. It's a veteran too. A tired, old man of 35 hoping those aching muscles can pull him through another sweltering August and September.

Nicknames are baseball. Names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy. Baseball is the clear cool eyes of Rogers Hornsby, the flashing spikes of Ty Cobb and an overaged pixie named Rabbit Maranville.

Baseball, just a game, as simple as a ball and bat and yet as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. It's a sport, a business, sometimes almost even religion. The fairy tale of Willie Mays making a brilliant World Series catch and then dashing off to play stickball with his teenage pals. That's baseball. And so is the husky voice of a doomed Lou Gehrig saying, "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

Baseball is cigar smoke, hot roasted peanuts, Ladies' Day, "Down in front!" "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," the seventh inning stretch and "The Star-Spangled Banner."

Baseball is a man named Campanella telling the nation's business leaders, "You have to be a man to be a big leager, but you have to have a lot of little boy in you, too." This is a game for America, this baseball, a game for boys and for men!"

RIP Ernie, you will be missed!!

[Lordstan]

RIP Ernie. Condolences to his family.

[Kawika]

That's a brilliant bit of prose I wouldn't have wanted to miss. Thanks very much for posting it, Scott.

[CW]

This fitting image was on the front page of the Detroit Free Press sports section
yesterday...

[mr2686]

I think one of the signs of getting "older" is when the people you grew up watching and listening to, pass away. For me, even though I moved to San Diego in the Early 80's, I grew up with Vin Scully. He was what made a young kid skip the tv in favor of a transistor radio. I've heard him recently, and you can tell that age is creeping in a bit, but he still sounds great. I know that when he goes, a part of my childhood will go as well, so I can imagine there are many Ernie Harwell fans out there that are not only saddened by the passing of a great announcer, but the passing of their youth as well.

[Scott Garner]

Originally Posted by mr2686

I think one of the signs of getting "older" is when the people you grew up watching and listening to, pass away. For me, even though I moved to San Diego in the Early 80's, I grew up with Vin Scully. He was what made a young kid skip the tv in favor of a transistor radio. I've heard him recently, and you can tell that age is creeping in a bit, but he still sounds great. I know that when he goes, a part of my childhood will go as well, so I can imagine there are many Ernie Harwell fans out there that are not only saddened by the passing of a great announcer, but the passing of their youth as well.

Mike,
I would have to agree with you about Vin Scully. He's awesome!!
I also grew up in So Cal listening to his voice on the transister radio under the pillow. What's unusual is that my parents were Michigan transplants. My mom was a teacher and she had summers off. I had the pleasure of experiencing both Vinny and Ernie over the course of the summer. I distinctly remember the summer of '68 like it was yesterday. Listening to Drysdale's 58 2/3 inning scoreless inning streak as called by Vin Scully. Then spending a month in Michigan listening to Tigers broadcasts on their drive towards the pennant and becoming World Champs. This still remains one of my favorite summers as a baseball fan. Good stuff!!

[thekingofclout]

Originally Posted by Kawika

That's a brilliant bit of prose I wouldn't have wanted to miss. Thanks very much for posting it, Scott.

I completely concur with Mr McDonald.

[Scott Garner]

Thanks to all that posted comments!

[CW]

Nice passage by Ernie, Scott. Thanks for posting it.

One final tribute from me, for Ernie....

Mike Thompson, editorial cartoonist for the Free Press, made an obituary
cartoon earlier this week, along with an interesting little story, both of which
put a lump in my throat:



Normally, I shy away from drawing obituary cartoons. The only time I break my self-imposed moratorium on obit cartoons is after the death of someone I truly respected.

Hall of Fame Detroit Tigers broadcaster Ernie Harwell is such an individual. He was a legend, his voice was like comfort food and he was a class act to boot.

I first met Harwell years ago during a book signing. The Free Press had just published a collection of my cartoons and, as coincidence would have it, my paper had also recently published a book of Harwell’s columns that he wrote for the Free Press.

If I ever needed a lesson in humility, selling copies of my book in a booth adjacent to a booth where Ernie Harwell was selling copies of his book was it.

I sold a respectable number of books that day, but the crowd of people lined up to buy Harwell’s book was enormous. When the crowd died down, Harwell introduced himself and suggested that we exchange books. I’m not sure he was really interested in a copy of my book, that wasn’t the point.

Harwell had put himself in my shoes – some poor sap with the unenviable job of trying to sell a book next to a local legend. He sensed that I might be feeling a little embarrassed and was reaching out to me, a complete stranger.

In a world where the rule seems to be that fame goes hand in hand with pretentiousness, Harwell was the exception.

I ran into him again years later in the press box at either the baseball All-Star game, or the World Series (I don’t remember which) and Harwell remembered me. Proving that even as he was pushing 90, his memory was still better than mine.

People like Harwell, who become famous yet maintain a sense of humility, don’t come along too often. When such people leave us, they’re missed.

[Scott Garner]

Awesome story Chuck! Thanks for sharing that with us.