Outta Here! Harry Kalas Died

Harry Kalas' death is personal loss

Phillies voice linked fathers and sons

By Pat Lester

Of The Morning Call

April 14, 2009


I lost a piece of my childhood Monday.

It was 1:55 p.m. when I heard the numbing news that permanently changed summertime and the sport I love.

Inexplicably, Harry was gone.

The death of Harry Kalas, the lovable, cigar-puffing voice of the Phillies, represented more than just the loss of a warm, poetic, grandfather figure. This wasn't about ''outta here'' or ''struck 'im out.'' It wasn't about Michael Jack Schmidt home run calls or off-key renditions of ''High Hopes.''

This was about a young kid in the backyard on a sun-drenched June afternoon, daydreaming, swatting away flies and tossing around a baseball with his dad.

It was the loss of a link between a son and his father.

The sound of Harry's voice has always evoked images of my old man digging around in the back yard, cutting the grass or fooling around with us kids.

We didn't have a whole lot of money back then. So we did what any other die-hard Phillies fans did on the weekend. We clicked on my dad's beat-up old radio, spent five or 10 minutes twisting the tuner, waited and prayed that we'd have some sort of reception.

Our ears were trained for that sudden build-up in Harry's voice.

''Swing and a long drive, watch this baby...''

We'd run from our chores and toward the static-filled sound, shooting smiles at each other.

''Home run, Von Hayes. And the Phillies lead it 1-0.''

We'd clap our hands, pump our fists or give a ''yeah,'' and then get back to work.

At an awkward time when young boys and dads often don't have a lot to say to each other, baseball means a lot to a father-son relationship.

And it meant even more when Harry was serving as the middle man between a strict and stubborn 40-year-old and a self-centered adolescent. I'm not sure why. I guess you can say his voice was like your favorite blanket on a cold fall evening -- warm and reliable.

I can still remember my dad kneeling down in the garden with the radio playing as background noise and giving a sudden chuckle when Whitey -- Harry's former partner Richie Ashburn -- would make an off-handed comment.

When you think about it, Harry really was a family member. With few exceptions, he'd be in our house 162 times a year, far more than any other relative. When he came, he was always welcomed. When he left, he always did it with care and love, win or lose, and we loved him for it.

To this day, March has held a significance to me that most others couldn't comprehend.

It marks the Phils return to spring training and inevitably Harry's return to the dial.

Every February, when I begin my countdown to Harry, my wife lovingly rolls her eyes. I don't think she fully understood what it meant.

So when I heard the news Monday, I was crushed. Fighting back my emotion and trying to collect myself, my thoughts immediately went to my father and those warm summer days in the Poconos.

Although I couldn't reach him Monday afternoon, I did leave a message: ''Dad, I don't know if you heard,'' I said, choking up, ''but Harry Kalas died today.''

And then it hit me.

I'll never get to experience with my 2 1/2-year-old son what I had with my father and Harry.

The sport that I love has changed forever.

And it hurts.

Pat Lester is a Morning Call reporter.