He raises the call

It is his voice that catches your attention.

The accent is at once sharp and fluid, a remnant of his youth in South Africa. And as famed thoroughbred trainer Bob Baffert puts it, “His calls give me goose bumps.”

Trevor Denman, the voice of Santa Anita, has been calling horse races for as long as he can remember.

“When they go to a gate, I go back to being a 12-year-old,” he says with a laugh. “That never changes.”

For 84-year-old Carmen Miceli of Studio City, a racetrack regular, comparisons are futile.

“Trevor Denman is a legend,” he said. “The best race caller in the country.”

Legendary voices are not new to Los Angeles. Among the Hall of Famers: Vin Scully, who is beginning his 58th season with the Dodgers; the late Chick Hearn, who had a consecutive-games streak of 3,338 with the Lakers, and the Kings’ Bob Miller, regarded as this country’s best hockey announcer.

Sometimes overlooked is Denman, who is working the winter meeting at Santa Anita, a job he has had since 1983. And today he will be calling the famed Santa Anita Handicap.

As Denman steps into his close-fitting booth in the upper tier of the grandstand where the view is, indeed, grand, it is clear that he is at home in his workplace.

The inside track of grass, so green it must be spring, the outside track of dirt dappled with hoof prints. And, in the background, the blue-green San Gabriels invite stares.

“I never get tired of that view,” said Denman, 54, who takes in this postcard-worthy scene through a wall of glass. “It’s as if those are synthetic mountains.

“And then you have Del Mar. Different view, but the beauty is the same.”

Yes, he is the voice of Del Mar too, every summer -- a job he has had since Hall of Famer Harry Henson retired in 1984.

Then, every September, Denman heads east to Pomona to call the thoroughbred races at the Los Angeles County Fair.

As he stepped to his window perch overlooking Santa Anita, stand-mounted binoculars at the ready, a relaxed and smiling Denman began answering a question, then suddenly stopped.

“Excuse me for one second,” he said, turning to the microphone.

“The horses are approaching the starting gate,” he said, alerting the sea of people below him, a human ebb and flow controlled by the track schedule.

He turned back to finish answering the question, then stopped again.

“Excuse me for one more second,” Denman, said, leaning in to the binoculars and delivering his trademark call: “And away they go.”

It is as if he has been doing this all his life -- and, for all practical purposes, he has.

As a youngster in South Africa, Denman dreamed of being a jockey. At 14, he stood 4 feet 9 and weighed less than 70 pounds. He grew, though, and so he did the next-best thing.

Living in an apartment that overlooked the Durban Turf Club, Denman practiced calling races into a tape recorder. When the track had an opening for an assistant announcer, he got the job. He was 18.

He came to the U.S. in 1981 to explore job opportunities and was hired two years later to announce the Oak Tree meeting at Santa Anita.

Did Denman envision such a long stay at Santa Anita?

“Growing up in South Africa, you’re always looking at the big daddies, which would be England and the United States,” he said. “When I came out here, I certainly hoped it would go places.”

It has, thanks to his ability to speed-paint a race in words that give it life in unexpected ways.

“He revolutionized race calling in this country,” says veteran handicapper Jeff Siegel. “Before he came here from South Africa, race callers simply gave you the horse and the margin that horse was in front or behind, as if they were reading off a race chart. Trevor told you how the race was developing.”

Horseman Gary Dimkich of Arcadia agrees.

“You can see a horse race with your eyes closed,” he said. “He is that good.”

Jimmy O’Hara, longtime maitre d’ at the Turf Club at Santa Anita, can still hear the Denman call that won him over.

“I remember ... when he came here for Oak Tree. A horse was in tight on the rail, and Trevor said, he was ‘scraping the paint off the fence.’

“Before Trevor, announcers would tell you what you just saw, 15 seconds later. Trevor tells you what you’re going to see, 10 seconds early. When he says a horse is ‘moving like a winner,’ you can close your eyes and go cash your ticket.”

Gifted with what he calls a phenomenal memory, Denman spends about an hour going over the daily race card until its details are as familiar as his own name.

There are some who say he has lost his enthusiasm, a criticism he rejects.

“A major factor is the break I get by not working the Hollywood Park meet,” he said. “I honestly believe if I still worked year round -- that means Hollywood Park -- I would have lost it by now. I may have gotten a little jaded working 50, 52 weeks a year. But with the type of schedule I have, I’m continuously recharging my battery and never get bored.”

During the breaks in his work schedule, Denman and his wife Robin, who is from Minnesota, like to go to the 109-acre farm they own near Wabasha, Minn., in the southeastern part of the state.

About 45 head of dairy cattle graze on about 30 acres of pasture, and the rest of the property is woodland.

“I’m not a farmer, so I rent out the dairy part and someone else handles the farming end of it. But I’ve always been an animal lover,” Denman said.

His love of animals extends to his animal-rights charity work, including the Arcadia-based Pegasus Foundation, which helps find homes for retired thoroughbreds.

Denman describes himself as a loner and, by design, does not hang out with jockeys, trainers or anyone else in horse racing.

“It’s all about the perception,” he said. “I don’t want to be seen having dinner with a trainer or a jockey, because then someone might think I favor that trainer or jockey.”

That is not to imply that Denman is antisocial. He has a boyish grin, a sheepish laugh and a charming personality. But it is his announcing that wins people over.

Trainer Mel Stute remembers a race Denman called at Del Mar his first year there.

“Ray Sibille was the jockey on the horse that was pulling away from the field, and Trevor said, ‘He’s looking back and likes what he sees.’ ”

Trainer Nick Hines says his favorite Denman call was at Del Mar, when Solar Launch, trained by Bob Marshall and ridden by Kent Desormeaux, set the track record for seven furlongs in 1992.

“As Solar Launch flew past the finish line, Trevor said, ‘And the palm trees swayed.’ ”

Denman knows people see him as unique and thinks he knows why.

“I regard myself more of a racing commentator than a racing announcer,” he said.

Jockey Alex Solis sees it another way.

“He is passionate about horse racing,” Solis said, “and he is passionate about his job.”

Denman is not flawless, however. Consider the 2006 Breeders’ Cup races that he called for ESPN:

First, he said he didn’t see that Street Sense, the Juvenile’s runaway winner, was way out in front and miscalled the leader around the final turn. He corrected his mistake before the finish, saying, “Street Sense couldn’t have been more impressive.”

Then, in the Distaff, he didn’t see a trailing Pine Island break down and throw her jockey. The fall caused the filly’s fatal leg injury. Viewers didn’t know it.

“I just didn’t see it, and you can’t call something you don’t see,” Denman said, explaining how the sight line in the booth at Churchill Downs was different from what he is used to.

Dave Miller, ESPN’s coordinating producer of horse racing, understands.

“Did he have a perfect day?” Miller asked. “No. But because of that would we even consider not bringing him back? No. We think the world of him and look forward to him calling many more Breeders’ Cups.”

Said Denman, “If you’ve been around long enough, call enough races, things are going to happen. You just have to do damage control and keep them to a minimum.”

Denman sees the contradiction of loving the open spaces of Minnesota, where the closest farmhouse is a mile away, and of loving his 8-by-10 workplace, big enough for him -- he’s 5 feet 8 -- a small couch, a chair, some reference books and not much else. But he wouldn’t change a thing.

“I’m just so lucky to be at Santa Anita, which is one of, if not the best, racetracks in the entire world,” he said. “Just Santa Anita would be great. Then throw in Del Mar ... it’s magical.”

In an interview with The Times’ Grahame L. Jones in 1986, Denman said he couldn’t envision himself calling races for the rest of his life.

“Twenty years down the road, I’m hoping to become a steward,” he said at the time.

Denman laughed when reminded of those words.

“Well, let’s see, I was 33 then,” he said. “When you’re 33, you think anything over 50 is old, and you can’t imagine doing the same job for that long.”

And, no, he no longer wants to be a steward.

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larry.stewart@latimes.com