Bob Ford: In silence, fans honor Kalas

And for hours, they kept arriving.

They came before dawn, through the bright morning, and until just past noon, a seemingly endless red river that formed outside the third-base gate, flowed into the stadium, across the field, and back into the first-base stands.

The mourners passed the casket at a rate of more than 25 per minute for more than five hours. The Phillies estimated that about 9,000 fans filed through the gates.

They reached out to touch the closed white coffin that bore the remains of broadcaster Harry Kalas yesterday, letting their hands slide along its smooth surface as they passed. They made the sign of the cross, some genuflected. They spoke to Harry. Many took pictures and then moved on.

Most of the fans would settle into the seats along the first-base line to wait for the 1 p.m. memorial tribute planned by the Phillies. Some simply stood in the line, paid their respects, got back in their cars, and left with the sense of an obligation repaid.

Eventually, the family, friends, dignitaries, former players, current players, front-office workers, politicians, and all the members of the official party would arrive, too, and the team produced a wonderful memorial. It was befitting of a real celebrity but remained tasteful as it played out on the wonderful green geometry of the field under the first faultless blue sky of spring.

What transpired during that hour and 45 minutes - and wouldn't Harry have loved the time of game? - was exceptionally well done, but it still paled next to the mute tribute of the fans as they waited their turns and shuffled respectfully through a building built for joy and not sorrow.

In the stands, it was nearly silent, a reflection of the silence that has settled on Philadelphia since Kalas died Monday in the press box at Nationals Park in Washington as he prepared to broadcast the 6,163d regular-season game of his career with the Phillies.

His notes were there on the table when he was found unconscious, the outline of the next story he would tell. The one he never got to tell.

Since then, the city and its citizens have struggled with the finality of his passing at age 73. He was a constant friend, even to those who never met him, a comforting bit of continuity at a time when professional sports teams change with head-spinning regularity. He was a bit of a scamp, a lover of good times, and, beyond that, possessed one of the great and most recognizable broadcasting voices of his generation.

Above all, he was Philadelphia's. The city lent him to other sports and other pursuits, but this was his home and his heart.

Steve Sabol of NFL Films said yesterday that as he crossed the Walt Whitman Bridge on his way to the tribute, he thought of one of Whitman's poems in which the two great sounds of Earth are said to be the sound of the sea and that of the wind.

"I'd add a third," Sabol said. "The voice of Harry Kalas rising to the roar of the crowd."

That may be a bit hyperbolic - at least from Whitman's point of view - but it resonated yesterday, just as the famous calls made by Kalas reverberated around the yawning ballpark. Home runs and strikeouts, victories and championships.

The list of speakers included Gov. Rendell and Mayor Nutter; current pitcher Jamie Moyer, who began listening to Kalas as a 9-year-old in Souderton; team president David Montgomery; and Mike Schmidt, to whom Kalas bequeathed a fuller, richer name.

"Michael Jack Schmidt," the former player said yesterday during his turn at the microphone, dragging it out in loving, polysyllabic imitation of Kalas' own rendition.

The most touching speaker was 20-year-old Kane Kalas, Harry's youngest son and an aspiring opera singer who has sung the national anthem at the park on a number of occasions.

Unlike most of those who knew Kalas' voice so well, he also knew it away from the field, knew it when trouble was something more than the bases loaded. Knew it when he needed to be comforted and reassured.

"Hearing his voice, you'd know that everything would be OK," Kane Kalas said.

And that was the real magic of Harry Kalas. If he was there, everything would be all right. Today might not be a win. Yesterday might not have been a win. Perhaps tomorrow didn't look so good, either.

Eventually, though, Harry would be able to talk us out of the woods and into the clearing. If he couldn't, nobody could.

It is why that long red river of people came yesterday, from the early morning until the end of the tribute when the casket was passed symbolically through hundreds of hands belonging to players, broadcasters, colleagues, team officials, and friends to the hearse that waited for him and waits for us all.

He passed through and now he has left us alone, wondering once again, not as sure as before, if everything really will be OK.EndText