myerstownherald.com

By ERIC FISHER
We have lost our voice.
That is the poignant way Phillies president David Montgomery described the impact of Harry Kalas’ death.
But Kalas was so much more than a voice. Yes, his rich baritone virtually assured Kalas of a lifetime job in broadcasting. But his voice alone would not have turned this long-time Phillies broadcaster into a beloved figure.
Kalas was more than a voice. He was a friend. Even though most of his listeners never met him, they felt as if they knew him. Kalas was an old friend who showed up each spring and visited through the fall.
Sometimes Kalas visited us in our living rooms. Other times he accompanied us in our cars. When the Phillies were on the West Coast, sometimes he even joined us in our bedrooms, easing us to sleep with his soothing voice or jolting us awake with the excitement of his signature home run call.
Broadcasters have a vastly underrated role in connecting fans to their teams. Players come and go, but broadcasters can remain in place for years. In some instances, they become the face, and voice, of the franchise. That is why Montgomery also described Kalas as the heart and soul of the Phillies.
Kalas died during his 39th season broadcasting Phillies games. But longevity is not what made this Hall of Famer so memorable.
There are many broadcasters who can accurately describe the action. Kalas could do that.
There are many broadcasters with a love for the game. Kalas certainly possessed that as well.
But there are few broadcasters who can accurately describe the action, convey a love for the game, and connect with fans on a personal level. Kalas could do it all. Nobody I’ve heard ever did it better.
Kalas connected with fans because he was so genuine. The voice was genuine. In the hours after Kalas’ death, Phillies shortstop Jimmy Rollins remarked that some people thought Kalas only used that voice on television and radio – until you met him and heard him speak exactly the same way.
That was one of the keys to Kalas’ popularity: he was the same away from the broadcast booth as he was inside it.
Fans are pretty good at spotting a phony. But they’re also good at sensing genuineness and honesty.
Kalas was genuine. Not only was his voice the same, but he was the same person. I never heard a story about Kalas “big-timing” someone because he was Harry Kalas. He had time for everyone, from the star player to the common fan.
Kalas genuinely loved Phillies fans. He told them so on many occasions, including at the end of his Hall of Fame acceptance speech. He meant every word of it. And the fans knew it. That’s why a large crowd is expected for Kalas’ public memorial service Saturday at Citizens Bank Park.
Another aspect of Kalas that fans could sense was genuine was his love for baseball. That wasn’t an act. Kalas loved the game. Even when the Phillies weren’t playing well – and there were plenty of barren years during Kalas’ 38-year tenure – he always sounded enthusiastic. You never got the sense that he was going through the motions.
For 38 years, Kalas’ mellifluous tones provided the soundtrack of our summers.
Home run, Michael Jack Schmidt!
Struck him out!
Juan Samuel races into third with a stand-up triple!
And, of course, “Outta here! Home run … (fill in your favorite Phillie).”
Even as I write these signature calls, I can hear Kalas’ distinctive way of saying “Juan Samuel” or “Mickey Morandini.” His pronunciation – and enunciation – was simply perfect.
Another aspect of Kalas’ style that I admired was his ability to convey emotion without screaming. Too many hometown broadcasters rely on screaming to convey excitement and emotion. By contrast, Kalas conveyed excitement and emotion by changing his pitch. Rarely, if ever (although I’m certain someone has an example), did Kalas scream, yet nobody could accuse Kalas of failing to rise to the occasion.
One of Kalas’ distinctive talents was being able to rise to the occasion. When a big play occurred, Kalas was at the top of his game.
One instance when Kalas didn’t rise to the occasion, however, was the 1980 World Series. He didn’t rise to the occasion because he wasn’t allowed. Major League Baseball sold exclusive rights to national broadcasts, so the local announcers weren’t allowed to broadcast World Series games.
Phillies fans protested so vociferously that Major League Baseball changed that policy shortly thereafter. During a one-on-one interview with Kalas in July of 2002, the week before his Baseball Hall of Fame induction, tears filled his eyes and his magnificent voice appeared ready to crack as he told me how much he loved Phillies fans for lobbying for him and his broadcast partner and close friend, Richie “Whitey” Ashburn, to broadcast World Series games.
Thanks to Phillies fans, Kalas was able to broadcast the 1983 World Series. Unfortunately, the Phillies lost. A great moment was missed.
Twenty-five years later, however, the Phillies won their second World Series. Kalas finally had his big moment.
Kalas had another big moment last week when he threw out the first pitch on the day when the Phillies received their World Series rings. Then, Monday, he was gone.
Harry Kalas was pronounced dead at George Washington Hospital, but, fittingly, his final waking moments were spent in a broadcast booth.
He spent his life doing exactly what he wanted to do. Exactly what he was put on this earth to do.
In my experience, nobody has ever done it better.
Thank you, Harry. And say hello to Whitey for us.