Harry Kalas, voice of the Phillies, passed away yesterday. When I hear his voice, it takes me back to my childhood neighbor Frank (rest his soul) who always had the Phillies game on, a More cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a local paper in front of his face as he sat on his front porch swing. If he wasn't on his porch, you may have found him tooling around in his swiss cheese Fairmont, white with highlights of iron oxide. Again, game on the AM push button radio. His daughter and I were friends and more often than not, we could be found in the back seat, giggling at Frank's seemingly ending supply of goofy sayings and witticisms; he always had a smile on his face and a laugh at the ready.
Frank has already been missed, and now Harry will be missed as well.
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again and again, i have read bits and pieces about how harry kalas has left a legacy of individual memories. i can remember being the garage at the old house with dad and harry's voice loud and clear on the radio on top of the fridge and the smell of early summer and the promise of a winning baseball game.
ReplyDeleteI still hear his timbre when I close my eyes.
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