A moment of silence for someone who, thankfully, never had many of them. The airwaves won’t be the same without you, Jack.
On the tinny speaker of the car radio, on the fuzzy black-and-white TV and on the round-screen color console model that replaced it, there was always Jack Brickhouse.
He was the first voice of Chicago sports, a giant in the broadcasting business but just one of the guys when he got behind the microphone. For those of us who grew up in the Chicago area, Brickhouse is the narrator on the sports soundtrack of our childhood.
There were more disappointments than celebrations, but that doesn’t tarnish the memories. Having covered the Cubs for the better part of four decades, Brickhouse is said to have witnessed more bad baseball than anyone in history. “Hey,” Jack always said of the Cubs, “any team can have a bad century.”
HOO BOY!
Critics called Brickhouse a homer, but he was our homer, and he spoke straight to the hearts of the city’s loyal and long-suffering fans.
“In the fantasy of my dreams,” wrote Brickhouse in “Thanks For Listening,” his 1986 autobiography, “I imagine myself as the announcer for a Cubs-White Sox World Series–a Series that would last seven games, with the final game going extra innings before being suspended because of darkness at Wrigley Field.”
WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY
Brickhouse did the 1959 World Series between the Go-Go Sox and the Dodgers, but he never got to do the honors for the Cubs. In 1945, the last time the Cubs made it to the Fall Classic, Brickhouse was doing Sox games for WJJD.
“It’s August; we’re doing the road games by ticker, with no air conditioning in the studio. I’m trying to hold the audience with the Sox battling for seventh place. Through the open window you could hear the Cubs up the street winning a pennant.”
DON’T TOUCH THAT DIAL
Pro wrestling was a programming staple in television’s early days, and Brickhouse was never ashamed of his association with the sport.
“We used to say there were two kinds of people,” said Brickhouse, “those who watched wrestling on television and those who watched but didn’t admit it.”
OVER AND OUT
Sadly, Brickhouse’s last season as a full-time baseball broadcaster, 1981, was shortened by a strike. He soon realized retirement had its upside.
“One advantage now,” said Brickhouse, “is if it isn’t a good game I can get up and leave.”
WHAT’S IN A NAME
Early in his career, a talent agent suggested that Brickhouse change his last name because people might remember his unusual moniker instead of the names of the people he was covering.
Brickhouse kept the name and dropped the agent.
“My idea of a career,” said Brickhouse, “is not anonymity.”
Mission accomplished, Jack.
