Uncle Sol Starting a thought farm

God Bless You, Mr. Harwell

Sitting on the picnic table in the backyard on an August afternoon, I watched my father playing cribbage with my grandfather. Propped up on the table, next to the cribbage board, sat a small radio with an analog dial, tuned in to the ball game. Listening to the game through Ernie's voice I could see the field and the action as well as I could have had I been there. The only thing missing was the smells of popcorn and hot-dogs. I sat and wondered how he knew where all those folks catching foul balls were from. I fancied he had a seating chart in front of him with the home towns of all the fans.

Many a spring and summer afternoon of my childhood was spent just like this. Me, dad, grampa, a cribbage board and Ernie Harwell. All of us enjoying the shade of that old tree, and loving the game of baseball.

You see, to me, the game itself is intertwined with Ernie's voice. Even today, eight full years since Ernie called his last game, when I turn on the radio to listen it always seems an impostor has invaded the broadcast booth. I'm sure that the guys they have on their now are all wonderful people and I'm sure that they are as good, or better than the radio announcers for most teams. It's just not the same. Even though I still enjoy it - even though I still love it - without Ernie's voice, it's no longer sacred. It no longer brings to mind all of those wonderful memories.

But today, thinking upon his passing, I still cherish those memories. I cherish those summer afternoons sitting in the back yard. Those days by my grandma's pool, huddled in the small cabana with my cousins, hanging on every word. Hoping that Lou Whittaker would pull through with a clutch hit. Hoping that Kirk Gibson would knock another one out of the park. Waiting for that strikeout from Jack Morris, that you knew was coming. Jumping up and down in my grandfather's living room while Gibson rounded third after hitting that monumental home run in game 5 of the 1984 World Series. Watching in awe as Larry Herndon caught that last out of the 9th inning, making the Tigers World Champions. And Ernie was there. Every time.

Yesterday, listening to the radio on my afternoon drive home from work, I heard caller after caller talk about their experiences with Ernie. The owner of a small baseball card store that ran into him on a golf course and asked him if he would record an answering machine message for him - and he gladly did. The sound engineer working back stage for a Tigers event that Ernie approached, just to thank him for the job that he was doing. The mother who frequented the same grocery store as Ernie and his wife, who talked about how Ernie always remembered her name, asked how she was doing and always took time to talk to her young children. Caller after caller, letting the world know how knowing Ernie Harwell made the world a better place for all of them.

I did not know Ernie, personally. I never had the pleasure of meeting him. But for me, the reason I had to pause upon hearing of his passing, was because I knew it was time to say goodbye to all of those memories of my own. I miss those days sitting in the back yard with grandpa and Dad. I miss all of it. Hearing Ernie's voice over the transistor was part of it.

So, today it is with a sad heart that I send my love to all who knew and loved him. And to him I say, thank you. Thank you for being a small part of some of my most wonderful childhood memories. God bless you, Mr. Harwell.

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