We note with sadness the death, at 99, of longtime Yankee announcer Bob Sheppard, and of the era he helped to define.
From his New York Times obituary:
From the last days of DiMaggio through the primes of Mantle, Berra, Jackson and Jeter, Sheppard’s precise, resonant, even Olympian elocution ”” he was sometimes called the Voice of God ”” greeted Yankee fans with the words, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Yankee Stadium.’
“The Yankees and Bob Sheppard were a marriage made in heaven,’ said his son Paul Sheppard, a 71-year-old financial adviser. “I know St. Peter will now recruit him. If you’re lucky enough to go to heaven, you’ll be greeted by a voice, saying, ”˜Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to heaven!’ ’
In an era of blaring stadium music, of public-address announcers styling themselves as entertainers and cheerleaders, Sheppard, a man with a passion for poetry and Shakespeare, shunned hyperbole.
“A public-address announcer should be clear, concise, correct,’ he said. “He should not be colorful, cute or comic.’
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I have a Bob Sheppard story but oddly enough no one has approached me about writing a eulogy. I’ll share it here, unsolicited, anyway.
Growing up a Mets fan, I never held any special reverence for Mr. Sheppard. My feelings for him were completely indifferent until we crossed paths in 1992 and I learned to hate his deep, deliberate style of annunciation. “Clear, concise, correct?” Not to me, Bob.
You see, Mr. Sheppard and I both hail from a small town in Long Island called Baldwin. We met at the 1992 Baldwin District Spelling Bee — he as the celebrity announcer/word reader, me as the representative from Brookside elementary. The winner would move on to the Nassau County Bee (and eventually onto the huge National Spelling Bee that has become a huge event and is televised on ESPN). I’m not sure if Mr. Sheppard’s involvement was a yearly thing or if I was just lucky to be 12 the year he decided to throw his hat into the spelling world, but either way, he dashed my hopes of spelling stardom.
After a few well-spelled words and several of my competitors were ousted, I approached the mic for another round. Mr. Sheppard gave me my next word: “tuuuurgiiiii….,” trailing off without a discernable end. I asked for a definition since I was totally stumped. Mr. Sheppard replied “Swollen or distended, as from a fluid.” “Turgic?” I hazarded, looking for some clarification before I got down to the actual spelling. “Yes, tuuuuuuurgiiiiiiiii…” was his response, so I safely assumed that I understood the way the word sounded and could guess at the spelling. “Turgic: T-U-R-G-I-C. Turgic.” Mr. Sheppard informed me that my answer was incorrect and instructed me to join the other fallen spellers at the back of the stage.
I can’t say that I was crushed or that I had any illusions of winning the competition, but I was upset to learn that the word that got me was actually turgid. Sure it was a word I’d never heard of, but I know I could have spelled it correctly had I been given a fair shake. This is my lasting memory of Bob Sheppard — a man loved and respected for his vocal clarity and impeccable pronunciation, but completely unable to say the word turgid. I guess it’s not a word that comes up much when announcing starting lineups, but I’m not bitter anymore.
I forgive you, Bob and hope that wherever you are, you’ve gotten over your terrible speech impediment.
Good Heavens, Dan, what a heartbreaking story. I can see why you’ve been taking it out on our students ever since…