Remembering Harwell

Last week, I began a blog post with a quote from the Bible to describe the change in season.

"For, lo, the winter has passed..."

As much as I enjoy quoting the Tanakh, by quoting that phrase, I was quoting legendary Tigers announcer Ernie Harwell, whose soothing, Georgia accent meant the beginning of spring (and more importantly baseball season).

Ernie died yesterday at the age of 92.

Some will remember his catchphrases (the above phrase that he used during the first broadcast each spring, "Like a house by the side of the road", "that ball is long gone", "two for the price of one", etc), but it was Ernie the person who left an indelible mark on Detroit, the State of Michigan, and baseball fans.

For anybody who grew up listening to Tigers broadcasts, Ernie was the voice of summer. There is no logical reason why, growing up in Detroit in the 1990s, baseball would be someone's favorite sport. But Ernie's presence in the booth made listening to games so pleasant and enjoyable no matter how pathetic the Tigers were.

And just by listening to Ernie's broadcasts for the first 14 years of my life and never actually meeting the man was enough for him to be one of the people I most admired. His personality came across through the radio waves, through how he told stories, and narrated the game. He never made himself part of the game. He maintained a professionalism and a humility that was admirable. In an era where broadcasters and journalists increasingly made themselves part of the story, Ernie stayed out of it. He came across as a complete mensch.

When I was 14, I attended an event at the Jewish Community Center that was featuring Ernie. I think it had something to do with a new book he had just written. I realized that I had left my copy of the book at home and didn't have anything for him sign. And like any baseball-obsessed kid, autographs meant everything to me. I felt around in my pocket and realized that I had my baseball yarmulke. I asked Ernie to sign my yarmuulke, and he told me that he had never signed one before but that he would gladly sign it.

Like any other pieces of memorabilia, I should have stored it in a safe place. But with my Ernie Harwell-signed kippah, I was so happy that I wore it around my high school until I could find a replacement baseball kippah.

It was my first personal interaction with Ernie (although listening to him on the radio felt like he was talking directly to you, he was actually speaking to millions of people), and he came across just as he did on the radio - completely down to earth.

A couple of years later, I was interviewed by the Detroit Free Press, and I mentioned that Ernie was one of the people that I most admired. The night that the piece appeared in the paper, the phone at my house rang. It was Ernie. He called me to thank me for the nice things I had said about him in the newspaper. Ernie Harwell, the voice of the Tigers, called my house to thank me for something I said about him in the paper.

The amazing thing is that I know this was just the kind of person Ernie was.

After high school, I worked as an usher at Comerica Park and would often see Ernie around the ballpark. He was always friendly, and when we spoke, he said he remembered signing the kippah and calling me about the article. When some of his friends came to a game and were sitting in my section, he would talk to me for a few seconds before heading back up to the booth. Seeing him around the stadium, he treated everybody else with this same level of respect.

He was a different kind of person.

Judging by the public's reaction to his retirement, his illness, and his death, it is clear that people admired him for much more than simply being the voice of the Tigers.

What made him so memorable isn't what he did in the radio booth and in his life. It is how he did it - with a level of respect, humility, and outreach - that sets him apart.