Read On: Recalling an interview with Dodgers legend Vin Scully
I’ve been interviewing people as a journalist for nearly 40 years — I am, indeed, older than dirt — and have thrillingly managed to chat up some true American icons. Not to drop names, but they include Liz Taylor, Shirley MacLaine, Martin Scorsese, Jerry Lewis, Lucille Ball, George Burns, Roseanne and Fred Rogers, among many.
However, on only one occasion was I appreciably nervous in advance of speaking to someone, so towering was his reputation and immense my respect for him.
That would be Vin Scully.
I’m not exactly alone in gushing this man’s praises. Scully is Los Angeles. Well, first he was Brooklyn, of course, since he started broadcasting Dodgers baseball games in (gasp) 1949. The team didn’t move west until 1958. And for 66 years, Vinnie has been the voice of the team.
But to call Vin Scully simply a sports announcer is the greatest of understatements. He’s a verbal maestro, a master of linguistic simplicity, a wizard of the word picture. As a little kid, Scully’s is the voice that came out of my transistor radio through innumerable summers glued to my ear — hidden beneath the covers at bedtime or inside the sleeve of my shirt during school.
Scully’s mellifluous, magical tones have provided the literal soundtrack to my life. As the only sportscaster with the balls and insight to work alone, it has always felt that Vinnie was speaking directly to me. And indeed, I have no reason to doubt this was, in fact, true.
I live in literal fear of the day when Vin is no longer there, as do tens of thousands of others. And as we learned this week, that day is unfortunately closer than any of us want to admit. We were told on Thursday that a “medical procedure” would prevent Scully from being at the microphone he seemed to be born beside during the entirety of the Dodgers’ postseason run, which continues with Game 2 tonight against the New York Mets.
We’re reassured that the man has signed on to do at least one more season with the team in 2016. But we also have to face the simple fact that — while the team promised us Scully was “resting comfortably” on Thursday — the man is 87 years old. It’s monumentally rare that 87 and steady employment go together. We’re lucky he’s made it this far.
However, we’re greedy. We can’t fathom that Vin Scully could ever retire, much less die, any more than we can envision a planet without oxygen and gravity.
This brings me back to the case of nerves I suffered upon learning, back in 1983, that I would have an opportunity to interview Mr. Scully. He was being pitched around by CBS Radio to promote his broadcast of that year’s World Series. And I bit. Hard.
Speak to Vin Scully? Are you friggin’ kidding me? It was, for me, literally like being presented the opportunity to speak with God Himself. So I spoke to the publicist, set up the time we would be speaking (as I recall, it was about four days later) and started getting excited.
Fast forward five whole minutes. My phone rings. I pick it up and hear, “Oh hi there Ray, Vin Scully here. I have a spare few minutes right now and figured we can just knock this out right now if you’re all right with that.”
Cue the hyperventilating.
OK, so first, Vin Scully said my name. That was instantly a huge leap for my head to make. Then he mentioned he was ready to speak now. Just he and I. As I had always fantasized it.
My 25-year-old brain simply couldn’t handle this. All I could do was stammer, “Oh h-h-h-hi V-v-v-v-vin. One s-s-s-s-second.”
I put Vin Scully on hold and struggled to gather myself. My mind raced. My heart was beating out of my chest. My breathing turned shallow. It felt like 10 minutes, though it was probably closer to 10 seconds, before I managed to reestablish control. My mind: “OK, Ray, you’re good. You went to journalism school — remember? You know how to do this. Just use your words. They’re in there somewhere. Ready? Go!”
I picked up the phone. I opened my mouth. But only air came out. I heard Vinnie on the other end saying, “Hello? Ray? Are you there?”
After nearly hanging up from the anxiety, I finally started talking maybe 15 seconds after that, though it was still slow going initially.
“Hi.”
“Oh, hi there, Ray. Are you ready now?”
Of course not, I thought. I’ll never be ready. But now I had no choice. As soon as I started forming actual syllables, Scully drove it from there and made it a breeze, pro that he is. I think I unprofessionally squealed all sorts of goofy accolades, and Vinnie took it all in modest stride.
As for me, I’m still star-struck. And I’m OK with that.
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RAY RICHMOND has covered Hollywood and the entertainment business since 1984. He can be reached via email at ray@rayrichco.com and Twitter at @MeGoodWriter.