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Bernie Miklasz: Wherever we gathered, Jack
Buck was there
The great, familiar, famous voice has gone silent now. For decades, Jack Buck
provided the soundtrack of the St. Louis summer. He brought baseball to life for
generations of Cardinals fans. Each season he took us from April to October. He
was our companion, our tour guide, our historian, our friend, the man we
entrusted with this precious St. Louis tradition of baseball.
He was there in backyards, when families gathered around a grill and a picnic
table to listen to the Cardinals on KMOX.
He was there on the front porches of a breezy, cozy evening, his friendly voice
meeting us under the night-time stars. His voice was in the hospital rooms,
providing comfort for patients who wanted to stay in touch with their favorite
team. He was in the nursing homes, and the schools, and the golf courses, and on
the lakes. All we needed were batteries for the radio, and he would take care of
the rest.
He was under the pillow, late at night, as kids smuggled their radios into bed,
to stay up late and monitor a distant game from the West Coast. He provided the
lullaby, as the youngsters drifted off to sleep, happy in knowing that the
Cardinals were winning the game.
He was in the car, traveling with us, a pal who always made us feel closer to
home, no matter where the road led us, as long as we could receive the radio
signal that all but placed him on the passenger side, going along for the ride.
He described them all, from Stan Musial to Bob Gibson to Ozzie Smith to Mark
McGwire to Albert Pujols. His words were the link that connected them all. He
was there at Sportsman's Park, and he was there at Busch Stadium, and he was at
all the road games. When you heard his voice warming up in that first broadcast
from spring training, you knew that baseball was about to return, and it was
time to be hopeful, time to worry, time to wait and see what the new season
would bring.
He was part of the family. How many grandparents and parents and sons and
daughters shared the experience of listening to Cardinals games together? There
could be friction in the family. Maybe a dad and his son weren't getting along.
And maybe Jack Buck helped bring them back together, because the Cardinals were
a common bond.
He was the guy who never said no to kids who wanted an autograph, or anyone who
wanted him to pose for a photo. He emceed dinners and fund-raisers, ate more
banquet chicken than any person in this city's history, and raised millions of
dollars in charity.
And he was the funniest speaker we've ever heard. His one- liners, his zingers,
were legendary. He could have been a comedy star, as big as anyone in the
business. The best playbook in town was Jack Buck's joke book; those who had to
do public, sports-related speaking snatched Jack's best material and used it as
their own.
Jack went national, calling football games and baseball games for the networks,
but always returned home. He never sold out, never forgot where he lived. He
never wanted to be in New York, or Los Angeles. On these trips out of town, he
always left his heart in St. Louis, and St. Louis was the only place he wanted
to live. And the other prominent national broadcasters in our town through the
years — Bob Costas, Dan Dierdorf, Dan Kelly — followed suit.
For a tough guy who survived a blast of shrapnel in World War II, he was a soft
touch. He'd see a poor person on the street and peel off $20. He was a lavish
tipper, the favorite of bellhops and waiters around the nation. One time, during
the NFL season, a visiting team's PR man traveled to St. Louis to advance the
game, and he was all alone on Thanksgiving. At least until Jack Buck found out
about it, and had him over to the house to enjoy the dinner that Carole Buck had
prepared.
Nearing the end of the life, as he battled Parkinson's disease, Jack Buck
realized how much he wanted to live. The sweetness within him found a fulfilling
outlet through poetry. He would sit down and scrawl a poem. He'd read it to his
friends with a wavering voice, overcome by emotion. And when he stopped reading,
Jack would pull a hanky from his pocket to wipe away the tears, and you knew how
much he savored each moment of being alive.
In Jack's final days, his dear son Joe Buck would read to Jack late at night in
the hospital room. Joe would lovingly read all of your letters and cards and
notes. Jack Buck, 77, knew he was dying, but he held on longer than the doctors
believed was possible. Joe Buck said the fans sustained his father. Joe would
read the beautiful tributes, all of the stories about how Jack had enriched
their lives. And with the lights dimmed, in the quiet of the night, Joe would
look close into his father's eyes, and he could see his dad smiling. On the
night Jack Buck died, the Cardinals defeated the Anaheim Angels 7-2 with Joe
doing a masterful job of putting his emotions aside to call the game on TV, to
serve the fans. Just what you would expect from Jack Buck's son. That's a
winner.
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