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Anguish Aside, Kalas Was Second To None
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| Harry Kalas died Monday at the age of 73. The longtime Phillies broadcaster will be remembered not only for his perfect voice but also for how he treated others over his 39 years with the team. (Bill Greenblat/UPI) |
By BRENDAN F. QUINN, The Bulletin
Philadelphia — Since approximately 1:20 p.m. Monday, Philadelphia has been immersed in an indescribable spell of heartache.
The sudden and shocking death of Harry Kalas has overwhelmed a town that’s tougher than pine tar. Despite not being a native, the 73-year-old managed to ingrain himself into the fabric of Philadelphia.
As the city copes, most remembrances have been driven by emotion and drawn from a relationship that lasted nearly four decades. The outpouring has not been as much about how talented Kalas was, but how genuinely beloved he was and will continue to be. Regardless of age, every fan in Philadelphia feels he or she had some sort of bond with Kalas. It’s because he spent 162 days a year sitting down to chat with the entire Delaware Valley.
Since the crushing news of Kalas’ death arrived from Washington, endless clips of his mastery at the microphone have flickered on televisions and pumped out of radios.
Every snippet is more memorable than the last.
Each evokes the passion that the man had for the Phillies.
All bring long-lost childhoods flooding back.
Undoubtedly, sentiment is going to remain the same for the foreseeable future. But once emotions are pushed to the side, revisiting Kalas’ silvery sermons will rouse the most glaring of notions — the man was one of the finest, purest and most dulcet play-by-play men to ever call a game.
“Harry was one of the great talents in our business, without a doubt,” said Seattle Mariners announcer Dave Niehaus, who won the Baseball Hall of Fame’s Ford C. Frick Award for “major contributions to baseball” as a broadcaster in 2008, six years after Kalas won it. “He’s one of the icons in our business. ... I’ve always been a huge fan of his.”
“He was a multitalented fellow with a wonderful voice,” added Los Angeles Dodgers legend Vin Scully, a longtime friend.
From coast to coast and corner to corner, admiration for Kalas’ ability and affection have mounted to Everest levels. His uniqueness as a play-by-play man is what ultimately separated him from the others.
At La Salle University, baseball historian Dr. John Rossi, a professor emeritus of history, sees Kalas as a hybrid of the game’s two most vaunted announcers.
“There are two types of announcers in baseball and they all go back to two legendary announcers — Red Barber and Mel Allen,” Rossi explained yesterday from his office in La Salle’s Olney Hall.
Barber and Allen, who shared the inaugural Frick Award in 1978, were two eminent broadcasters that contrasted each other vividly. As a play-by-play man for 33 years, most notably as the voice of the Brooklyn Dodgers, Barber was an uncomplicated announcer that let the game tell the story and focused on analysis. Then there was Allen, who chattered nonstop as Yankees broadcaster from 1939 to 1964, spitting out jokes and nicknames throughout the games.
When Kalas came onto the scene with the Houston Astros in 1965, he dovetailed the two styles.
“Kalas combined the best of those two schools,” said Rossi, who has three research-intensive baseball books to his name, including one on the epic collapse of the 1964 Phillies. “He brought together the dramatic school and the straightforward, tell-it-how-it-is school. He got all emotional and enthusiastic, but at the same time, he knew when to let the scene paint its own picture.”
According to Rossi, who has followed the Phillies since 1946, Kalas not only combined the methods of Barber and Allen, but also a pair of Phillies’ broadcasters that came before him — By Saam and Gene Kelly.
Some brief background: Throughout the 1940’s, Saam worked with a revolving door of partners in the Phillies’ radio booth. He brought a business-like approach to the profession and was revered for his work. In 1950, Saam went to the Philadelphia Athletics and the Phillies hired Gene Kelly and dubbed him, “The Voice of the Phillies.” He was colorful, entertaining and set a great scene.
In 1955, Saam joined Kelly with the Phillies after the A’s moved to Kansas City and the two worked side by side. Then, in 1963, Saam was dealt a pair of new partners — Bill Campbell and a former player named Richie Ashburn. Over the next several years, the camaraderie between the three grew, as did the fan base of their broadcasts.
And that brings us to 1971. Kalas came from Houston to replace Campbell (to the dismay of many Philadelphians) and teamed with Saam and Ashburn until 1975 when Saam worked his final day in the Phillies’ booth.
From then on, it was Harry Kalas — an amalgam of Saam and Kelly — and Richie “Whitey” Ashburn. It’s safe to assume that you know the rest from here.
“Harry and Ashburn … that worked perfectly,” Rossi noted with an accompanying nod.
And now, tonight, all these years later, the Phillies’ broadcast booth will be without Harold Norbert Kalas for the first time in 38 years. These last few years, though many said his gift was waning, Kalas wasn’t in the winter of his career — he was in the harvest.
Everyone knows what’s been lost with the death of Harry the man.
But Harry the talent?
Well, let’s just say, we were spoiled.
Brendan F. Quinn can be reached at bquinn@thebulletin.us
The sudden and shocking death of Harry Kalas has overwhelmed a town that’s tougher than pine tar. Despite not being a native, the 73-year-old managed to ingrain himself into the fabric of Philadelphia.
As the city copes, most remembrances have been driven by emotion and drawn from a relationship that lasted nearly four decades. The outpouring has not been as much about how talented Kalas was, but how genuinely beloved he was and will continue to be. Regardless of age, every fan in Philadelphia feels he or she had some sort of bond with Kalas. It’s because he spent 162 days a year sitting down to chat with the entire Delaware Valley.
Since the crushing news of Kalas’ death arrived from Washington, endless clips of his mastery at the microphone have flickered on televisions and pumped out of radios.
Every snippet is more memorable than the last.
Each evokes the passion that the man had for the Phillies.
All bring long-lost childhoods flooding back.
Undoubtedly, sentiment is going to remain the same for the foreseeable future. But once emotions are pushed to the side, revisiting Kalas’ silvery sermons will rouse the most glaring of notions — the man was one of the finest, purest and most dulcet play-by-play men to ever call a game.
“Harry was one of the great talents in our business, without a doubt,” said Seattle Mariners announcer Dave Niehaus, who won the Baseball Hall of Fame’s Ford C. Frick Award for “major contributions to baseball” as a broadcaster in 2008, six years after Kalas won it. “He’s one of the icons in our business. ... I’ve always been a huge fan of his.”
“He was a multitalented fellow with a wonderful voice,” added Los Angeles Dodgers legend Vin Scully, a longtime friend.
From coast to coast and corner to corner, admiration for Kalas’ ability and affection have mounted to Everest levels. His uniqueness as a play-by-play man is what ultimately separated him from the others.
At La Salle University, baseball historian Dr. John Rossi, a professor emeritus of history, sees Kalas as a hybrid of the game’s two most vaunted announcers.
“There are two types of announcers in baseball and they all go back to two legendary announcers — Red Barber and Mel Allen,” Rossi explained yesterday from his office in La Salle’s Olney Hall.
Barber and Allen, who shared the inaugural Frick Award in 1978, were two eminent broadcasters that contrasted each other vividly. As a play-by-play man for 33 years, most notably as the voice of the Brooklyn Dodgers, Barber was an uncomplicated announcer that let the game tell the story and focused on analysis. Then there was Allen, who chattered nonstop as Yankees broadcaster from 1939 to 1964, spitting out jokes and nicknames throughout the games.
When Kalas came onto the scene with the Houston Astros in 1965, he dovetailed the two styles.
“Kalas combined the best of those two schools,” said Rossi, who has three research-intensive baseball books to his name, including one on the epic collapse of the 1964 Phillies. “He brought together the dramatic school and the straightforward, tell-it-how-it-is school. He got all emotional and enthusiastic, but at the same time, he knew when to let the scene paint its own picture.”
According to Rossi, who has followed the Phillies since 1946, Kalas not only combined the methods of Barber and Allen, but also a pair of Phillies’ broadcasters that came before him — By Saam and Gene Kelly.
Some brief background: Throughout the 1940’s, Saam worked with a revolving door of partners in the Phillies’ radio booth. He brought a business-like approach to the profession and was revered for his work. In 1950, Saam went to the Philadelphia Athletics and the Phillies hired Gene Kelly and dubbed him, “The Voice of the Phillies.” He was colorful, entertaining and set a great scene.
In 1955, Saam joined Kelly with the Phillies after the A’s moved to Kansas City and the two worked side by side. Then, in 1963, Saam was dealt a pair of new partners — Bill Campbell and a former player named Richie Ashburn. Over the next several years, the camaraderie between the three grew, as did the fan base of their broadcasts.
And that brings us to 1971. Kalas came from Houston to replace Campbell (to the dismay of many Philadelphians) and teamed with Saam and Ashburn until 1975 when Saam worked his final day in the Phillies’ booth.
From then on, it was Harry Kalas — an amalgam of Saam and Kelly — and Richie “Whitey” Ashburn. It’s safe to assume that you know the rest from here.
“Harry and Ashburn … that worked perfectly,” Rossi noted with an accompanying nod.
And now, tonight, all these years later, the Phillies’ broadcast booth will be without Harold Norbert Kalas for the first time in 38 years. These last few years, though many said his gift was waning, Kalas wasn’t in the winter of his career — he was in the harvest.
Everyone knows what’s been lost with the death of Harry the man.
But Harry the talent?
Well, let’s just say, we were spoiled.
Brendan F. Quinn can be reached at bquinn@thebulletin.us
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| Dawkins To Return On December 27 | Kalas Died Of Heart Disease |
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