Ernie Harwell: 1918-2010
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This past September, the Detroit Tigers’ beloved broadcaster, Ernie Harwell, announced that he had contracted an incurable form of cancer, and would not seek treatment.
For everybody who knew him, or felt like they did – which, really, is just about all of us – it hit hard. We were losing our baseball buddy, our grandfather, our friend.
The only person who didn’t seem shaken by the news was Ernie Harwell. He said, “Whatever's in store, I'm ready for a new adventure. That's the way I look at it."
Harwell was a deeply religious man, buthe never wore it on his sleeve. He simply lived it. He was, truly, at peace.
But I was not. Like just about every sports writer who knew him, I felt compelled to write about him.
I wrote about our family trips up north, which were always accompanied by Harwell’s comfortable cadences filling our station wagon. Harwell didn’t simply broadcast baseball games. He turned them into stories. In Harwell’s world, a batter didn’t merely strike out. He was "called out for excessive window shopping," or "caught standing there like the house by the side of the road.”
Unlike today’s announcers, who prattle on with mindless patter and pointless stats, Harwell treated his listeners to healthy doses of "companionable silences," something Zen masters refer to as the delicious “space between the notes.” Harwell often said the quiet allowed the listeners to enjoy the sounds of the ballpark itself, which he felt was richer than his own voice. When Harwell called the game, you not only heard the crack of the bat, you heard the peanut vendors.
Harwell was born in Georgia in 1918, a time and a place that valued relaxed conversations on the porch. He grew up listening to Atlanta Crackers games on a crystal radio set. The power of those broadcasts probably hit Harwell more than most. His dad suffered from multiple sclerosis, and rarely left his wheel chair. The highlight of his day was listening to those ball games.
At age 29, Harwell became the Crackers’ play-by-play man. Just two years later, in 1948, Harwell caught the ear of the Brooklyn Dodgers. They were so impressed, they traded their catcher for Harwell, making him the only broadcaster in baseball history to be traded for a player.
Harwell went on to set the record for most games broadcast, including 41 seasons for the Tigers. When Sports Illustrated picked its all-time baseball dream team a few years ago, they included a spot for their favorite radio announcer. They bypassed some real legends – like Mel Allen and Vin Scully and even Red Barber – to tap Harwell, a true Hall of Famer.
He told me Willie Mays was the best player he’s ever seen, that Jackie Robinson was the most courageous, and that a lovable Tigers pitcher named Mark “The Bird” Fidrych, who used to get on his hands and knees to groom the mound, "was probably the most charismatic guy we’ve ever had here in Detroit. A real breath of fresh air."
In 1997, I was lucky enough to cover spring training for The Detroit News. My first day I was sitting on a bench, watching infield practice, when Ernie Harwell sidled up next to me. We sat there, watching baseball, and chatting like old friends – just the way everyone one of us imagined we already were, listening to him on the radio all those years. He invited me for dinner that night with his wife Lulu. We enjoyed a long talk, and he picked up the tab.
I wrote a story about him nine years ago. On the morning of September 11, 2001, I woke up to the phone ringing. It was Ernie Harwell, calling to thank me for the article. Who does that? That day, of course, soon turned tragic, but Harwell’s little act of humanity will always stand in my mind as such a poignant contrast to everything that followed that day.
A few times over the years, I invited him to call in to a talk show I was hosting. “Just ask,” he always said, “And I’ll come running.”
Eight months ago, I closed my piece by saying, I wish there was something I could do for him now. If he just asked, I’d come running.
I had to deliver that line in the studio a few times before I got through it without getting too choked up. The next morning, after the piece ran, an old friend called to thank me. Who does that? Ernie Harwell, that’s who.
It’s a strange sensation, knowing it’s probably going to be the last time you’ll talk. I kept it short – I didn’t want to be greedy with his time – but I had to tell him how much I appreciated hearing from him. He said, “Well, John, we go back a loooong way. Thanks for the wonderful story. God bless you. Good bye.”
After we hung up, I sat therefor a few minutes. We went back about 13 years – not really that long for a man who had friends going back more than a half-century– and I’m sure he read better stories than mine that week alone. But he still took the time to call.
So, thank you, Mr. Harwell,for all the wonderful stories.
God bless you.
Good bye.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
Thank you, John.
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When I was student in Detroit, I lived on Woodward Ave. just beyond Belle Isle, an area that had seen far better days. No air conditioning, my window opened over Woodward and stayed open during the humidity of August. All I had to do to listen to the game was put my ear to the night air, for seemingly every passing car had Ernie calling the game. The Tigers were in ascendance in the early 80's and being at the ballpark was getting cool again. I sat in the centerfield bleachers many times, but the game wasn't "the game" without hearing Ernie. I'm going to Target Field today to see the Tigers play in the new Twins' stadium, but to me, baseball is a game played on the radio and Ernie is the music.
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Aarrgg, I meant Jefferson Ave, not Woodward!!
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Thank you Bake.
It continues to amaze how one man could have so many personal connections with so many -- myself included. He's the closest thing to a saint we're likely to see for a lo-o-o-ng time.
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John, thanks. It's amazing to think of the impact of one good man. Because, as Ernie might have said, he wasn't a hero, he wasn't a world changer - he was just a good guy who was lucky enough to have a great job that he loved and that he was good at, and who always knew that it was about the game, and not him. Until today, that is - today should be all about Ernie.
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I remember he said "caught standing there like the house by the side of the road" a little differently, or maybe that was you pretending to be him. In all seriousness, he will be missed.
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John:
Your words express the sentiments of all those who listened to, and appreciated the voice of Ernie Harwell over the years. It is a fitting tribute to a truly great sportcaster.
Dr. Ed Kornblue
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John, you may know Jack Lessenberry, who is the Senior Political Analyst for Michigan Radio. At his blog-style webpage at Michigan Radio's website, Lessenberry has written, "Nobody realized how much of an icon [Harwell] had become until Bo Schembechler became president of the Tigers and decided not to renew his contract after the 1991 season."
Now, I know that Bo was the President of the Tigers at that time. But was the decision to non-renew Harwell for the '92 season made by Bo? It was my understanding that it was not Bo's decision, although I expect that Bo never went to the extent of saying, "If you fire Harwell, you'll be firing me too, Mr. Monahan..."
Anyway, I'm not sure how misleading Jack Lessenberry's comment was; I suspect that there is much more that is relevant to that story, that was not included by Jack Lessenbarry. Did you speak to Bo about Ernie Harwell before Bo's passing?
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Hello Mr. Brown,
I do know Jack Lessenberry, of course. We've only met a few times, always amiably, but we're in touch mainly through our work on Michigan Radio. I have great respect for his work, and enjoy his regular dispatches from the front lines of the political battleground.
I did hear his comments -- as part of a great package Vince Duffy et al put together at Michigan Radio, literally overnight -- and while I agreed with most of it, he did repeat a few common misconceptions.
First, it is not true that Bo knew nothing about baseball. He pitched his Barberton High School team to the state finals, I believe (where he lost the title game) and pitched for Miami (Ohio) too. He often went to UM baseball games, he lured Bud Middaugh to Ann Arbor from Miami (Ohio) -- and later fired him, of course -- and he was close friends with Sparky Anderson and Jim Campbell. They urged Tom Monaghan to hire Bo as the team's president.
In his brief tenure in that role, he actually did a very good job. He wasn't managing the team -- he knew his limitations -- but he knew how to develop athletes. He overhauled the facilities in Lakeland, he gave each minor league team a permanent hitting and pitching coach, and he generally earned high marks from the baseball people around him. (Much of this is in the book we coauthored.)
It's also true, however, that he was not always a PR whiz, witness his comment that he would not be "chained to a rusting girder," at the old Tiger Stadium. But it's not true that he wanted Harwell fired -- not even close. The Tigers -- very stupidly, in my opinion -- hired a Chicago consulting firm to analyze their marketing approach, and the firm recommended they fire Harwell to attract a younger audience. If hiring the firm was stupid, their advice was even dumber -- and showed absolutely no understanding of Tiger baseball culture. One line I had to cut about Harwell was his remarkable cult following among younger fans.
Schembechler, against their advice, got Harwell an extra year, but he did not prevent the firing. He did, however, take the fall for Monaghan, et al, thinking such loyalty was expected and would be returned. He was wrong about that, too, of course, but that's the sequence of events, and Bo's (relatively) limited role in the story.
That said, it was probably his lowest moment in sports. But, clearly, he recovered from it, and, I believe, enjoyed the rest of his years better than any coaching icon I can think of.
Hope that clears it up -- and then some!
Thanks for reading and listening, and thanks for writing. I always appreciate the comments.
-John
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