[Congressional Record Volume 144, Number 15 (Wednesday, February 25, 1998)]
[Senate]
[Pages S1029-S1032]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                   HONORING THE MEMORY OF HARRY CARAY

  Ms. MOSELEY-BRAUN. Mr. President, I send a resolution to the desk

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and ask for its immediate consideration.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will report.
  The legislative clerk read as follows:

       A resolution (S. Res. 182) honoring the memory of Harry 
     Caray.

  The PRESIDING OFFICER. Is there objection to the immediate 
consideration of the resolution?
  There being no objection, the Senate proceeded to consider the 
resolution.
  Ms. MOSELEY-BRAUN. Mr. President, this resolution, which I introduce 
with my distinguished colleague from Illinois, Senator Dick Durbin, and 
which has been cleared on both sides of the aisle, honors the life of 
Harry Caray, a legendary American and Chicagoan, whom we lost last week 
at the age of 83.
  Harry Caray's death, which saddened Americans in every corner of this 
country, marked the end of an outstanding 53-year career as a baseball 
broadcaster. But before explaining why Harry was so beloved, let me say 
a few words about his journey from a poor St. Louis neighborhood to the 
Baseball Hall of Fame.
  Born in 1914, Harry Caray was orphaned in childhood and raised by an 
aunt. In 1943, while a salesman for a company that made basketball 
backboards, he wrote a letter to the manager at the St. Louis radio 
station KMOX, arguing he could do a better job of calling Cardinals 
baseball games than the station's then announcers. The manager helped 
Harry get a job at a radio station in Joliet, IL, where he began his 
career as a broadcaster. After moving to a radio station in Kalamazoo, 
MI, in 1945, Harry made his way back to St. Louis where he was hired to 
announce Cardinals games. For a quarter of a century, he was known as 
``the voice of the St. Louis Cardinals.''
  After parting ways with the Cardinals in 1969, Harry spent the 1970 
season broadcasting Oakland A's games. When he signed with the Chicago 
White Sox in 1971, the team's games were not broadcast on any major AM 
radio station, so Harry had to call them on a 5,000-watt AM station in 
LaGrange, IL, and on a small FM station in Evanston.
  Nevertheless, by his second year, Harry was drawing larger audiences 
on those stations than the 50,000-watt stations he was competing 
against.
  One night, White Sox owner Bill Veeck noticed that fans sitting under 
the broadcast booth joined in when Harry sang ``Take Me Out to the Ball 
Game'' during the seventh-inning stretch. Veeck decided to place a 
public-address microphone in the booth while Harry sang, and a new 
Chicago tradition was created. For more than two decades, Harry led 
Chicago baseball fans in song during every home game.
  In 1982, Harry signed on as the principal Chicago Cubs announcer. 
Forty-four percent of White Sox fans sampled in a Chicago Tribune poll 
said they would follow him to the North Side of the city. Cubs games 
are broadcast on superstation WGN-TV whose signal is carried by cable 
systems across the country, and it didn't take long for Harry to 
develop a national following.
  After suffering a stroke in 1987, Harry was inundated with cards and 
letters from fans around the United States. Due to the stroke, Harry 
missed the first six weeks of the 1987 season, and on his first day 
back, former Cubs announcer and then-President Ronald Reagan called the 
broadcast booth to wish him well. The President said, ``It was never 
the same without the real voice of the Chicago Cubs.'' Harry thanked 
him, then quickly reported, ``And in the excitement, Bob Dernier beat 
out a bunt down the third-base line.'' In other words, announcing the 
game was important to him. He always put the fans first.
  In 1988, Harry was inducted into the National Sportscasters and 
Sportswriters Hall of Fame, and in 1994 he was awarded entry into the 
National Association of Broadcasters Hall of Fame. Perhaps his greatest 
honor, however, came in 1989, when he was inducted into the 
broadcasters' wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y. In 
his acceptance speech, he said, ``I always tried, in each and every 
broadcast, to serve the fans to the best of my ability. In my mind, 
they are the unsung heroes of our great game.''
  And why did the fans adore Harry so much? The Tribune eloquently 
answered that question in an editorial memorializing him. `` 
`Broadcasting' doesn't fully capture what Harry Caray did,'' the 
editors wrote. ``He exulted in baseball; he reveled in it; he loved it 
and, by his vocal exuberance, infected others with that love.'' A man 
of the people, he surrounded himself with baseball fans. He often chose 
to broadcast games from the outfield bleachers (sometimes bare-chested, 
like his fellow fans) and was known to spend extraordinary lengths of 
time signing autographs and shaking hands.
  With Harry calling the games, fans knew that one of them was in the 
broadcast booth. He never failed to say exactly what was on his mind. 
If he thought a pitcher was doing poorly he would say, ``Get him out of 
there! He's got nothing today!'' Once, while calling a game in which 
White Sox shortstop Bee Bee Richard had made a couple of errors, Caray, 
noticing Richard pick up a hot-dog wrapper, quipped, ``It's the first 
thing he has picked up all night.'' His habit of speaking candidly 
frequently got him into trouble with his employers, but the fans loved 
him for it.
  His enthusiasm for the game of baseball and his zest for life came 
through in all his broadcasts. His trademark habits of shouting ``It 
might be . . . It could be . . . It is! A home run! Holy Cow!'' and 
booming ``Cubs win! Cubs win!'' endeared him to fans everywhere. He 
could make a routine play sound like an earthshattering event. As one 
fan wrote in the Chicago Sun-Times, his descriptions of baseball games 
on the radio were ``so visible, so exciting in the mind's eye that even 
reality paled in comparison.''
  Mr. President, there has been a great deal of concern in recent years 
about the state of major league baseball. Commentators have suggested 
that it has never fully recovered from the strike season a few years 
ago and that it is losing young fans to football and basketball. But 
baseball still captures the nation's imagination in ways that cannot be 
rivaled. It continues to be our national pastime. Recollections of 
great games and great players are still passed down from parents to 
children just as they have always been. Harry was part of the reason 
that the game continues to play a major role in the lives of American 
families. Consider this tribute, posted on the Web with a multitude of 
others, after Harry's death:

       I'm a Yankees fan who is brokenhearted at the passing of 
     Harry. He brought such joy to all our lives. He was something 
     real in a pre-packaged age. He brought smiles to my 
     children's faces and helped bring together that beautiful 
     bond a parent and child can share through baseball. My whole 
     family will miss him and that wonderful booming voice.

  Harry recognized something about baseball and the role that it plays 
in American life that those of us who root for the Cubs and White Sox 
understand particularly well: The pleasure of going to a baseball game 
is only loosely connected to whether or not the home team wins. 
Baseball, a game without a clock played during the summertime, is about 
timeless days and languid nights. It's about grass and sunshine and hot 
dogs and a million other things that have nothing to do with which team 
is ahead. In only seven of Harry's 27 years in Chicago did the team for 
which he was broadcasting win as many games as it lost. But this was a 
minor point for Harry, for whom every game represented an opportunity 
to visit with fans and have fun. Over and over again, whether his team 
was winning or losing, he would say, ``You can't beat fun at the old 
ballpark.'' For Chicagoans and baseball fans all across the nation, the 
old ballpark will never be quite the same without him.
  I yield the floor.
  Mr. LOTT. Mr. President, will the distinguished Senator from Illinois 
yield?
  Ms. MOSELEY-BRAUN. I am happy to yield to the majority leader.
  Mr. LOTT. Mr. President, first of all, I commend the Senator from 
Illinois for the statement which she just gave. I couldn't help but 
smile throughout the entire remarks.
  Harry Caray was truly a person of passion and devotion, a baseball 
idol of the whole country, not only in just St. Louis but Illinois. 
When I was growing up as a kid going to college at the University of 
Mississippi, he was the voice of the St. Louis Cardinals. We didn't 
have any other southern teams. We grew up listening to him and loved 
him

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the way he called the game. And he truly is a national treasure. He 
will really be missed. He made the game something really special.
  So I thank the Senator from Illinois for calling to the attention of 
this body the contribution that he made.
  I thank the Senator very much.
  Ms. MOSELEY-BRAUN. I thank the majority leader for his gracious 
comments and for his eloquent statement in behalf of Harry.
  I yield to my distinguished senior Senator from Illinois.
  Mr. DURBIN. I thank my colleague.
  Mr. President, do we need to ask unanimous consent to extend the 
remarks in morning business?
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator has a right to speak.
  Mr. DURBIN. I thank the President.
  Mr. President, I rise today to pay tribute to one of baseball's most 
colorful contributors, Harry Caray. I join my colleague, Senator 
Moseley-Braun, in cosponsoring this resolution.
  Baseball fans, from Chicago to St. Louis to Oakland, often heard 
Harry's trademark greeting over the last 53 seasons. He used to start 
out by saying, ``Hello everybody, this is Harry Caray at the 
ballpark.'' Harry was a fan's friend, the guy who spoke for us all, our 
eyes and ears in the broadcast booth. Every day from April to October, 
he invited us aboard for an irresistible ride, to enjoy a kid's game 
and have the time of our lives doing it.
  Harry Caray was more than baseball's goodwill ambassador, he was ever 
youthful, a voice who crossed the generations. He was the pied piper of 
fun, the white-haired kid in the oversized horned-rim glasses who made 
us feel better for the experience of sharing the game he loved from our 
seats at home listening to a radio or in front of a television set.
  Harry Caray broadcast his first St. Louis Cardinals game in 1945, 
five days after the death of President Franklin Roosevelt and his final 
game with the Chicago Cubs last year. He met every president from Harry 
Truman to Bill Clinton.
  As a boy, I tuned in KMOX from across the river in East St. Louis 
many a night. While I was supposed to be asleep, I heard Harry Caray 
rooting hard and hoping for a Cardinal victory or, like the fan he was, 
bemoaning a misplay or failure in the clutch with those disheartened 
words ``Popped it up!''
  But, Harry taught us never to give up hope, especially when someone 
like Stan ``The Man'' Musial came to the plate. ``Musial waves that 
magic wand,'' Harry would say. ``He's in that familiar stance. Now the 
pitch. Here it comes. There she goes!!! It might be, it could be, IT 
IS! A HOME RUN. HOLY COW!!!''
  I will remember forever in 1966 as a kid fresh out of college going 
to Sparta, IL, just south of St. Louis, late at night to meet with a 
party official, and it was dark outside. There were no street lights. I 
had a street address. But I couldn't see the numbers on the houses. I 
had to get out and walk around. It was in August. You would have 
thought that they had a PA system in that town with Harry Caray on it. 
Everybody was sitting in the backyard and on the front porch listening 
to KMOX and the Cardinals from house to house and yard to yard. You 
didn't miss a play. That is the kind of devotion that Harry Caray 
brought.
  In 1970, after 25-unforgettable seasons in St. Louis, Harry Caray hit 
the road. He stopped in Oakland, but he needed the hot-blooded passion 
the Midwest brought to the game. So back he came a year later to a new 
town, Carl Sandberg's City of Big Shoulders, to announce White Sox 
games. It was a match for the ages. Chicago, the raucous city that 
never slept, fun, exciting, alive, and Harry Caray, who loved the city 
and its people so much he couldn't get enough of it. Chicago 
reciprocated in kind as witnessed by the unprecedented outpouring of 
tributes this past week.
  After eleven seasons, the bloom wore off the rose on the South Side, 
so he crossed town. With the superstation power of WGN carrying Cubs 
games, and another Sandberg, Ryne, to extol, Harry Caray became the 
first genuine superstar on cable television, selling baseball and the 
Cubs around the world.
  Another memory I have was having been elected to Congress and I made 
one of my first trips out of the country to Costa Rica. I went into San 
Jose, Costa Rica, checked into a hotel in the middle of the day, walked 
in, put my suitcase down, flipped on the light, turned on the TV, and 
there was Harry Caray's voice in San Jose, Costa Rica, again 
broadcasting the Cubs.
  Harry Caray missed out on just three things during his 16-years with 
the Cubs: a World Series, retirement that he never sought, nor desired, 
and the thrill of sharing the mike on a day-to- day basis with his 
grandson, Chip.
  A few years ago, Harry, his son Skip who does such outstanding work 
with the Atlanta Braves, and Chip, broadcast a Cubs-Atlanta game. It 
was the only time three generations of one family, the Carays, ever 
called a major league contest.
  In Illinois, only one thing is more contentious than politics. It's 
baseball. Downstate from Springfield south is Cardinals' country. Up 
north, Cub fans are every bit as vocal and spirited. Then, there's the 
intra-city matter of the Cubs versus the White Sox. One man, and one 
man alone bridged that gulf. To paraphrase Harry, now here was the only 
guy who broadcast baseball games for the Cardinals, White Sox, and 
Cubs, and remains loved by all.
  Mr. President, Harry Caray's nonstop sprint through life lasted 83-
far-too-brief years. As someone put it the other day, Harry joined 
another team this week--the ``Angels.''
  If old Harry is up there, and I am sure he is, there is one thing I 
can guarantee. The cherubim, the seraphim, the saints, and the heavenly 
choirs will be taking a break from singing ``Amazing Grace,'' and will 
join old Harry in a chorus of ``Take me out to the ball game.''
  So long, Harry, and thanks for all those great memories.
  Ms. MOSELEY-BRAUN. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the 
resolution and the preamble be agreed to en bloc, and that the motion 
to reconsider be laid upon the table.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. If there is no further debate, the question is 
on agreeing to S. Res. 182 submitted by the Senators from the great 
State of Illinois. If there is no objection, the resolution and the 
preamble to the resolution are agreed to.
  The resolution (S. Res. 182) was agreed to.
  The preamble was agreed to.
  The resolution, with its preamble, reads as follows:

                              S. Res. 182

       Whereas for more than 50 years, Harry Caray 
     enthusiastically provided a unique vision of baseball in his 
     broadcasting of thousands of games, first for the St. Louis 
     Cardinals, then the Oakland Athletics, followed by the 
     Chicago White Sox, and finally the Chicago Cubs;
       Whereas Harry Caray was born in St. Louis in 1914, orphaned 
     at the age of 4, and raised by family friends in St. Louis;
       Whereas Harry Caray began his professional baseball 
     broadcasting career in 1944 for the St. Louis Cardinals, and 
     spent 25 years calling Cardinal games;
       Whereas in 1971 Harry Caray began his 11 year stint with 
     the Chicago White Sox where, in 1978, he began the tradition 
     of leading the fans in the singing of ``Take Me Out to the 
     Ball Game'' during the 7th inning stretch;
       Whereas in 1982 Harry Caray moved to the broadcast booth 
     for the Chicago Cubs, a switch that would eventually make Mr. 
     Caray a national celebrity thanks to the popularity of the 
     Cubs on cable television;
       Whereas in the winter of 1987, Harry Caray suffered a 
     stroke and for the first time in his career missed the 
     broadcast of an opening day game, and yet, he never talked of 
     retiring from the game he loved and soon was back in the 
     booth at Wrigley Field;
       Whereas the uncharacteristic honesty of Harry Caray made 
     him immensely popular with fans;
       Whereas Harry Caray once said ``My style is a very simple 
     one, be entertaining, be informative and, of course, tell the 
     truth. If you don't have the reputation for honesty, you just 
     can't keep the respect of the listener.'';
       Whereas Harry Caray's exuberant voice and his trademark 
     shout of ``Holy Cow'' are known to baseball fans across the 
     Nation;
       Whereas Harry Caray was inducted into the National 
     Sportscasters and Sportswriters Hall of Fame in 1988, the 
     Baseball Hall of Fame in 1989, and the National Association 
     of Broadcasters Hall of Fame in 1994;
       Whereas Harry Caray became a major supporter of various 
     Chicago organizations that supported and housed orphaned and 
     troubled children;
       Whereas on February 18, 1998, Harry Caray passed away after 
     a long career enjoyed by millions; and
       Whereas Harry Caray is survived by his wife of 22 years, 5 
     children, 5 stepchildren, 14

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     grandchildren and a great grandchild, and by baseball fans 
     across the Nation: Now, therefore, be it
       Resolved, That the Senate honors the life of Harry Caray.

                          ____________________