It has been 20 years, a generation, since the ubiquitous voice that nearly every ºüÀêÊÓƵan immediately recognized last spoke.
But all this time later, the robust legacy of Jack Buck lives on.
It was two decades ago, on June 18, 2002, that iconic Cardinals broadcaster Buck succumbed to a variety of infirmities that had left him hospitalized for the final 5½ months of his nearly 78 years.
It mattered little whether you’d just seen Buck the night before or knew him only through your radio’s speaker. He was a friend and de facto family member to hundreds of thousands near and far, spread across the Cardinals’ massive radio network as well as the mighty reach of its flagship station, KMOX (1120 AM) in ºüÀêÊÓƵ. It’s a bygone, low-tech era in which announcer-listener relationships often were personal.
When Buck began calling Cardinals games, in 1954, ºüÀêÊÓƵ was the westernmost and southernmost outpost in the majors. Although the Athletics arrived in Kansas City the next year, the ºüÀêÊÓƵ broadcasters helped make the Cardinals the team in the eastern half of the South, the Southwest and Great Plains.
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That loyalty has been handed down for generations, to this day leaving descendants of those fans Redbirds rooters even though there now are teams in Colorado and Texas, in addition to Kansas City.
“Jack had a lot to do with that,†said John Rooney, who currently is in Buck’s old seat, as the team’s lead radio broadcaster. “People related to him.â€
It’s a vastly different world now than when Buck was in his prime. That was pre-internet, social media and smartphones, when televised games were few. Even by the early 1970s, only 25 or so Cards contests were shown per year — none at home. And despite the later introduction of cable and its rapid growth, by 2002 (the year Buck died) the TV schedule was only at about 120 of the team’s 162 games. Now there are only a handful that aren’t on over-the-air or cable television.
So the distinctive, gravelly voice of Buck — first with Harry Caray and later alongside Mike Shannon — was not just the radio soundtrack of the Cardinals, but of summer in general to legions of listeners. From backyard barbecues with the game vibrating on plastic transistor radios or blaring from a powerful boombox, to the guy at the next gas pump echoing the broadcast off the front of the building, to Buck’s calls crackling on the scratchy intercom at the local hardware store, he was a welcome companion.
“His pacing, his sense of timing†were masterful, Rooney said. “And that voice. He had the knack of saying the right thing at the right time.â€
Buck called Cardinals games for 47 seasons. He teamed with fellow Hall of Fame baseball broadcaster Caray in the 1960s, when the Cardinals won three National League pennants and two World Series, then ascended into the lead role after Caray was fired following the 1969 season. Following a transition period, he spent his last 30 seasons alongside Shannon.
"It was a special relationship by far," Shannon has said.
Radio voices give way to TV stars
When Buck got started, TV was in its infancy and broadcasting a big-league team on radio might have been the most glamorous job in all of sportscasting. And it remained that way for decades.
In fact, local radio announcers were deemed so essential that they were used on World Series telecasts from 1964-75 to accompany the national broadcaster (usually Curt Gowdy or Joe Garagiola). Caray got the call for the Cardinals’ three appearances in that era.
The list of legends was long. It included Red Barber, Mel Allen, Vin Scully, Ernie Harwell, Jack Brickhouse, Russ Hodges, Bob Prince, Chuck Thompson. They were big names in their markets, some nationally, too.
But those days were becoming numbered. The transition to national broadcast “stars†was given a huge boost by the success of “Monday Night Football†in the early 1970s, when the presence of announcers Frank Gifford, Howard Cosell and Don Meredith often overshadowed the NFL games they were calling. Meredith dubbed it “Mother Love’s traveling freak show.â€
Joe Buck, now 53, was raised in those changing times and accompanied his dad to Cardinals games and grew up around the team.
“If I was doing games into a tape recorder, it probably was in the back of my mind,†he said of one day following his dad in the booth.
He started in radio by broadcasting games of the Cards’ top farm team, the Louisville Redbirds, when he was 19, then joined the big-league booth a short time later. But as time progressed, his dream changed. He was just 25 when he was one in a stable of young broadcasters hired as Fox began televising sports in 1994, and soon realized his path to success was paved there.
“I knew my dad and Mike weren’t going anywhere,†Buck said. “TV became an opportunity to get more innings.â€
He became Fox’s lead baseball announcer when it got that sport a couple years later, then its top NFL play-by-play man in 2002. His growth paralleled the rise of star power in the booth and the related ascent of social media and other new platforms that diminished the role of radio.
“I consider myself a TV guy,†Buck now says. “My dad considered himself a radio guy. I grew up in TV.â€
The blissful days of baseball on the radio were over, but Buck says he doesn’t think his father ever looked at it like he had broadcast in a special era.
“He thought more about the players he covered than it being the Golden Age of baseball broadcasters,†he said. “It was all about them, it was the Golden Age of players.â€
The bottom line of all of this for modern-day, top-flight broadcasters is the financial bottom line — a huge one. After more than a quarter century at Fox, Joe Buck moved to ESPN this spring primarily to call “Monday Night Football.†His reward: reportedly $75 million over five years. That actually is less than some salaries recently agreed to for other prominent sportscasters. Local baseball broadcasters certainly are nowhere near that $15-million-a-year range.
How would Buck’s dad have reacted to the TV sportscasting incomes?
“He would have been blown away,†Joe Buck said. “And he would have given me nonstop (grief) about it.â€
But with his astonishment, he’d also be proud.
“While saying that to me, he be telling all his friends, ‘Hey, did you hear how much my son is making? Let me tell you.’ That would be my dad.â€
Cardinals TV lead announcer Dan McLaughlin, 48, also grew up in ºüÀêÊÓƵ while the radio-television baseball broadcaster shift in emphasis was taking hold. Entering the 2002 season, he had the enviable position of having two offers from which to choose — staying with the team’s television productions, for which he had been doing a partial schedule, or moving to radio for more money.
“I was floored to be asked but, I was also very aware that I wasn’t Jack or Mike,†McLaughlin recalls. “They were legends. I was just starting to get somewhat established by doing the TV work, some Cardinal radio, and it was the explosion of more games on TV. ... I thought that the best way to create my own path was to do the TV. Twenty-five years later it has seemed to work out just fine. I’ve been extremely fortunate.
“I’ve called more TV games than anybody in the history of this organization,†he added. “That means a lot to me and I’m very proud to have done this for 25 years. It’s given me a life and a career that I never thought I would have.â€
An impact beyond baseball
Jack Buck is best known for his baseball broadcasting prowess, but he did much more. He also was an accomplished football announcer, working 18 seasons with commentator Hank Stram as the national radio voice of “Monday Night Football†and the Super Bowl, as well as broadcasting some ºüÀêÊÓƵ Cardinals NFL and Hawks NBA games. He also was behind the radio microphone for the Blues’ inaugural season.
He has been inducted into the announcers’ section of the baseball and pro football halls of fame — as has Joe, making them the only father-son combo so honored.
As a master of ceremonies, Buck could mix glibness, humor and compassion to keep an audience enthralled no matter the size. From those at a small local club function to a major event such as the Baseball Writers’ dinner, he’d keep them on the edge of their chairs — either ready to fall off laughing or gripped by a poignant story.
He also hosted entertainment and news programming on KMOX, branching out from sports. Many believed he could have been as smooth as Johnny Carson had he decided to go the late-night TV talk show route.
“He was the whole package, the best ever,†Rooney said. “He did it all flawlessly.â€
Buck wasn’t perfect. He was married twice, and his first family wasn’t happy when he left. But he endeared himself to many ºüÀêÊÓƵans through his countless acts of kindness. Buck helped raise millions for charities and was a big tipper — whether it be a young attendant at a car wash, a waitress or anybody else providing him a service. There even are stories about Buck giving stranded individuals a ride home from the ballpark.
“His legacy is so much more than being behind a mic,†McLaughlin said. “To me, his legacy is about trying to make this a better place to live and to help people. It was his generosity, and kind and giving spirit that resonated with people. It still does today. He made everybody feel special.â€
In short, a guy from humble beginnings in Holyoke, Massachusetts, who had six siblings and grew up through the Depression, enjoyed sharing his success. That’s why his legacy remains so strong, his son Joe believes.
“It had less to do with his broadcasts, it was more about how he cared about people,†he said, adding that his dad was working on charitable endeavors even while hospitalized for the final time.
“That’s the hardest part of his legacy to live up to,†he said. “I’m in awe of everything he did when he was at his sickest.â€
He’s now been gone for two decades, but Joe says their bond remains tight.
“I dream about him about five times a week if not every night,†he said. “He’s very vivid in my mind. Many nights when I go to bed we’re doing a game together.â€
Final thoughts
When Buck died, the tributes poured in — not just via words, but also actions. Numerous people arrived from out of town for the funeral, some going to extremes to be there.
Former Cardinal Jack Clark was the Dodgers’ hitting coach at the time and flew from Los Angeles after the team’s game the night before the service, then flew back shortly afterward.
Entertainer Tony Orlando, who was friends with Buck for many years, performed in Las Vegas the previous evening, then flew to Los Angeles to connect to a red-eye flight to ºüÀêÊÓƵ. After the farewell, he flew back to Vegas in time to be on stage that night.
“I just felt the need to be there,†Orlando once said. “It was a worthy trip. ... I was tired, but mostly what tired me out was that it was draining to see the hurt in everybody. ... There was a solemnness, it was an amazing reaction from a city. I know this may be a stretch for some people, but not for people in ºüÀêÊÓƵ: It reminded me of when (President) John F. Kennedy died, the tremendous weight that was on the common person on the street. Everybody was feeling his loss. ... It was a privilege to know him, it was an honor to be there at his funeral.â€
From celebrities to politicians to a high school kid vacuuming his car, Buck treated them the same.
“He’d make people feel important — and he never was fake,†Joe Buck said. “He wasn’t handed anything and he never forgot where he came from, a loving family. People appreciated that. Almost every day I hear from somebody who says he made a difference in their life.â€
But it was Jack Buck who considered himself the lucky one. He once was asked what he would say to the Lord when he arrived in Heaven.
“I want to ask him why he’s been so good to me,†Buck said.