The Day I met Ernie Harwell

I woke up this morning to the sad news that baseball broadcaster extraordinaire Ernie Harwell passed away last night from bile duct cancer, at age 92.

For those who didn't grow up or get to experience listening to Mr. Harwell on the radio, it would be hard to describe the bond that exists between him and us, even though most of us never met the man. He represents warm summer days, the smell of hot dogs and cigarette smoke in the air, and the greenest grass you ever saw as you walk into old Tiger Stadium. You sit with him in your back yard with a beer and good friends, or as you're doing yard work, or as you lay in bed after midnight listening to the late game on the west coast. Your mind's eye can see Tram and Lou turning that double play, Al Kaline hauling one in at the warning track, Lolich mowing down the Cards three times, or Gibby taking Goose Gossage deep. Or the man from Onstead catching the foul ball. Ernie is baseball - the joys, the trials, the hopes, the dreams, and the memories of summers past - for all of us who had the privilege of listening to him over the years. He is the connection to Cobb and Stengel and DiMaggio and Williams and Robinson and all the names large and small from the history of baseball, because he knew them all, and had stories for each of them.

A few years back, after he had retired from broadcasting, Ernie came to my building as part of his work with Blue Cross. He was signing autographs and posing for pictures and talking with his fans. I had brought a copy of his book "Tuned to Baseball" and I hoped to ask him to autograph it, but I began to get cold feet about going up there. What do you say to a legend? How do you strike up a conversation with a man like him, like it's nothing at all? I almost didn't go, but my friend down the hall, Eddie, kicked my butt about it, and told me how much I would regret it if I didn't go up there. So I did. I screwed up my courage and went up to the room he was in.

There were quite a few people there, and there was Ernie standing behind a table with Blue Cross "stuff" on it, signing baseballs and whatever else was handed to him. My first thought on seeing him in person was what a tiny man he was. He seemed to be about 5'-6", and might have weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. Not at all what I expected. But the big smile and the warmth you could feel even through the radio were there. When it was my turn I handed him my book, and he said "Wow - that's an old one" as he signed the inside flyleaf. I don't even remember what I said to him beyond telling him my name and thanking him for the autograph. I shook his hand and went back down to work. And that was it.

I told Eddie this morning how glad I was that he didn't let me off the hook when I was about to chicken out, because I got to meet Ernie instead of regretting for the rest of my life that I chickened out and didn't go.

So Godspeed, Mr. Harwell. I hope to meet you again when I get to heaven, and hopefully I won't be so tongue-tied then! Until that day, you have a place in the hearts and memories of a great multitude, who today are grateful for all that you gave us as we remember your life.

Thanks, Ernie.