To a Man with God’s Voice

I was driving up North Florida Avenue in Tampa, FL, rushing back to my office, when I heard the news. With an almost sickly sweetness, the female Fox News Radio broadcaster told me Harry Kalas, the thirty-nine years’ running voice of the Philadelphia Phillies, had died at George Washington University Hospital in Washington, D.C., having been rushed there after collapsing in the visitor’s booth at Nationals Park. I had grown up listening to his Phillies broadcasts.

The historic description of Mike Schmidt’s 500th home run in 1987 did not leap to my mind, nor did the World Championship teams of 1980 and 2008. Harry’s narrations for NFL Films and Westwood One Radio stayed out of the way. What did come up was an unique grief, the kind Mitch Albom described Morrie Schwartz as having upon being told he had Lou Gehrig’s disease. I wondered, as Morrie did, “Shouldn’t the world stop? Don’t they know what’s happened?” I would have added, “Don’t they know God has gotten His Voice back?” Alas, Life continued on, coldly and cruelly. The FedEx man gave me two packages for me to sign and I trod up the office stairs.

Even now, I still don’t believe it. Traffic proceeds hither and yon up and down Howard Avenue, to and fro across Swann Avenue. Here at Panera Bread on the corner, people eat and talk. If I had told them one of the men I grew up watching and listening to had died not six hours ago, I would be met with a glimmer of sympathy by some, an indifferent shrug by others. I’ve had neither time nor space to properly process the sorrow

Back home in Philadelphia, where Harry lived, worked and made a difference in the community, the creeks and streams that feed the Schukyill River run with tears. Certainly my father and stepmother, who are both avid Phillies fans, pad around in disbelief. Chris Wheeler, Garry Matthews and Tom McCarthy, Harry’s partners, maintained a steady voice, although it must have been so difficult. I cannot even imagine Eileen’s, Todd’s, Brad’s or Kane’s grief.

Of course, the game went on. The fireworks of Opening Day (which it was in D.C.) went off, just like they were supposed to, just like Harry the K wanted them to. I just looked at the scoreboard. Although it must have been the hollowest victory in the 126-year history of the ballclub, the Phillies won, just like Harry the K wanted them to. Life goes on. Until we’re Outta Here.