Steve Stone - Wheres Harry?: Steve Stone Remembers 25 Years with Harry Caray

with Barry Rozner

Copyright 1999 by Steve Stone and Barry Rozner
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any meansincluding photocopying and electronic reproductionwithout written permission from the publisher.

Published by Taylor Publishing Company
1550 West Mockingbird Lane
Dallas, Texas 75235
www.taylorpub.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Stone, Steve.

Wheres Harry? : Steve Stone remembers his years with Harry Caray / Steve Stone with Barry Rozner.

p. cm.

ISBN: 978-0-87833-233-5

1. Caray, Harry. 2. SportscastersUnited StatesBiography. 3. Chicago Cubs (Baseball team)History. I. Rozner, Barry. II. Title.
GV742.42.C37S86 1999
070.4'49796'092dc21
[B]

9911954
CIP

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

Printed in the United States of America

To all the fans who love baseball and have kept
a special place in their hearts for Harry Caray.
S.S.

To Amy, my wonderful wife.
To Madisyn and Stefanie, the light of my life.
B.R.

by Bob Gostas

Decades from now, no matter who is calling baseball in Chicago, through whatever technology, theyll all be compared to Harry Caray. As a symbol of the Cubs (and as a baseball spirit that endures despite the general decline of the game) only Ernie Banks, Ryne Sandberg, and Wrigley Field itself could compare with him. In recent years, among all Chicago sports personalities, only the two Mikes, Jordan and Ditka, were bigger than the man behind the mike.

For years, it seemed, Harry Caray was the Chicago Cubs. And yet, Chicago cannot claim the essential Harry Caray. In truth, his best work came in St. Louis as the voice of the Cardinals.

Back in the 50s and 60s, when baseball was the unquestioned national pastime and when radio, where baseball plays best, was still the primary outlet, Harry was at the peak of his powers. His outsized personality, his authentic passion for the game, and the distinctiveness of his style all combined with extraordinary broadcasting skills. What came out of radios all over St. Louis and the Midwest was so compelling that many clear-thinking people still contend that a Caray broadcast could be more vivid and exciting than attending the game.

I guess I should come clean here. I live in St. Louis. But hold on: I never set foot there until the mid-70s, after Harry was gone. I didnt grow up a Cardinals fan. Still, my introduction to Harry Caray came in childhood.

As a kid living on New Yorks Long Island, the Yankees and Mets werent enough to satisfy my appetite for baseball. This was the Stone Age, pre-ESPN, pre-superstations. The only way to get more baseball was to grab the keys to my fathers car and head for the driveway, where radio reception was best. There, at age ten or eleven, I remember turning the cars radio dial like a safecracker, calibrating the millimeters that separated one baseball voice from another. Through the crackle and static they were all there: Bob Prince from Pittsburgh, Ernie Harwell in Detroit, Chuck Thompson out of Baltimore. And on a clear night, from a thousand miles away, here came Harry Caray over KMOX. Not smooth and melodic like Red Barber, Mel Allen, or Vin Scully, but loud and bombastic. So full of energy and heart that even a young Yankees rooter began to believe Sportsmans Park might be the best baseball place on earth. That Stan Musial might be just as heroic as Mickey Mantle.

Years later our paths crossed. Long before I had established much in the way of professional credentials, Harry was very friendly and generous toward me, inviting me into the booth, taking me to dinner. I tried not to show it, but I could never quite get over the fact that I was now friends with the guy who years before had been that unmistakable voice in the night.

Then, as before, no one else had a style quite like Harrys. And it was a stylenot a shtick, like so much of what you hear today from broadcasters who think attitude can come off an assembly line. Or that a contrived catch phrase here and a hey look at me there makes for anything like the authentic personalities of great ones like Harry.

Once, apropos of nothing, it seemed, Harry told me stories of how entertainers befriended him. He counted many, Sinatra and Elvis included, as friends. And why not? Caray himself was a kind of performance artist, working from a broadcast booth instead of a stage.

The Harry Caray to whom Elvis listened has been a memory for quite a while. With age and illness, the skills had diminished, leaving only Harry himself. But he still had the voice, the windshield-size glasses, the love of the game that made him the fans announcer. And that was good enough.

Some guys can just hold an audience. Elvis knew it. Sinatra knew it. In baseball, no matter the score, fans have never left the park until Ruth, Mays, Sosa, or McGwire has had his last turn at bat. And even if the Cubs trailed by 10, no one ever left Wrigley Field before Harry Caray sang Take Me Out to the Ball Game. Only then was the experience complete. Only then was the show over. Hey, Elvis, wherever you are, your pal Harry has left the building.

There was, of course, sadness over Harrys passing, and he will long be missed. But what a life he led. And who wouldnt take this deal? You live into your early eighties, you do what you love doing right up until the end, and in the end this can be truthfully said: You made millions of people happy, and millions of people will never forget you. No might be or could be about it. He was... Harry Caray. The one and only.

At least once a day someone asks me about my favorite memory of Harry Caray. And until Feb. 14, 1998, Im sure that memory would have been of something related to one of our many nights out together.

But it was on that Valentines Daythe day he left this planetthat I called Harry in Palm Springs to talk about a number of things. Most of them were unimportant, but one thing he said will stay with me forever.

We made small talk for a while and I tried to get him to admit that he was about to turn eighty-four years old on March 1, instead of the seventy-seven he was claiming to be. And after we kidded each other for a while, I got down to the real reason for the call.

I had spent nearly a decade traveling with the Cubs and covering the team for my newspaper, the suburban Chicago Daily Herald. But because I had two young children at home, I was getting off the baseball beat and had become a sports columnist. I was thrilled because it was the best thing possible for my family, but it meant I wouldnt be seeing Harry every day anymore.

We had grown close over the years and I was avoiding this conversation, because I wasnt sure how he would react. I had spoken to him several times since I took the new job, but it wasnt until mid-February that I had the nerve to tell Harry the news.

When I told him what I was doing and that I wouldnt see him until late in spring training, Harry stunned me with his reaction.

Kid, youre doing the right thing for you and your family, Harry said without hesitation, catching me off guard. You have a bright future with that wife and those kids and Im glad for you. If I had it to do over again, I wouldnt have missed my kids growing up. I missed a lot in my life and I have regrets about that. Ive always said I dont have many regrets, and that might be the only one, but its a big one.