Although my grief has let up, like a lot of other Detroiters, I deeply felt the loss of Ernie Harwell the golden voice of the Detroit Tigers. It’s amazing to me how I could so deeply feel his loss, although I had never physically met him.  However, my childhood memories of The Tigers are associated with what I call “the trinity”: shelling in front of the TV, as I watched Sparky Anderson’s craggy face and, on occasion, listening to Ernie Harwell’s soothing voice.

I had closely listened to 97.1 FM to their sports talk and have watched the newscasts.  I don’t remember where I heard it but someone said that they could just listen to him reading the phonebook and it would sound like the most interesting thing in the world.  Hell, I even heard a story of a guy that ran into him at Comerica Park a few years back and asked him to record the message to his business’ voicemail.  Not only did Ernie grant him the request, he did three takes until he nailed it.  Talk about perfection.  Ernie joked about how normally he would charge but would do it free for him.  Talk about a class act.

I have lost my own grandfather over 20 years ago.  In a similar way, there is something comforting about my memories of Ernie.  I so wish now that I could have met him somewhere, some place.  I never had the good fortune and I feel that I have lost out because of that.   However, I know that he was such a deep, integral part of why I love(d) baseball.  This was before I grew out of watching it, became disillusioned after 1994-1995 baseball strike and becoming a baseball atheist after the steroid scandals.  Nonetheless, I will hold on forever to my memories of Ernie. As I fight back the tears, I know that somewhere up in heaven Ernie will still be calling those games as only he could do.  He’s loooooooonnnnnnggggggg gonnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeee. Rest in peace, Ernie.

Author: José A. Rodríguez