Daily Press reporters recall encounters with late Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully
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The phrase “There’s no crying in baseball” is a falsehood.
For me, Rene Ray De La Cruz, the tears began flowing on Tuesday night when Dodger TV broadcaster Joe Davis announced that Hall of Fame broadcaster Vin Scully had died.
For many, including myself, the 94-year-old Scully provided the soundtrack of summer while entertaining and informing Dodgers fans.
The team announced that Scully, who retired in 2016 after a 67-year career in Brooklyn and Los Angeles, had died Tuesday at his home in Hidden Hills in the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles County.
The passing of Scully hit me almost as hard as the loss of my father, Gabino, who introduced me to the legendary broadcaster in 1961.
As an infant, my late father would hold me on his lap while watching and listening to Scully call Dodger games on our black-and-white TV set at our home in Victorville.
From a child, from March through at least September, Scully’s voice flowed through our home either on the radio or TV.
In 1971, my father took me to my first baseball game, the San Francisco Giants versus the Los Angeles Dodgers, at a place called Chavez Ravine.
Just before the first pitch, thousands of fans turned on their transistor radios, and the voice of Scully could be heard throughout the stadium.
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In 1976, when I was 15, Scully and I were the only passengers in one Dodger Stadium elevator.
Frozen with fear, I stared at him for about 90 seconds, not saying a word and not asking him for an autograph.
Just before exiting, Scully smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and told me, "Enjoy the game, young man."
Scully’s voice was there in 1979 when my prom date dumped me. I remember standing on the deck of the Queen Mary and watching an artist paint while we listened to Scully on the radio.
The soothing voice of Scully was there through my parent’s divorce, when my fiancé broke up with me, and during the loss of loved ones.
In 1988, I rubbed my wife’s pregnant belly and told my unborn daughter inside the womb to bring us good luck as Kirk Gibson stepped up to the plate during the 9th inning of the World Series.
"High fly ball into right field — she is gone!” said Scully, as the ball sailed over the wall. "In a year that has been so improbable, the impossible has happened.”
In 2011, I was requested to cover a story about the late master musician Thaddeus "Ted" Kowalski of Apple Valley, who was asked to play the organ inside the Vin Scully Press Box at Dodger Stadium.
After Kowalski played a few tunes, a smiling Scully met him, and the two chatted for about 10 minutes.
After their meeting, I asked Scully for an interview. With a wink and a smile, he placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Sure thing, young man.”
As I listened to Scully, my mind was flooded with hundreds of Dodger memories, including popular broadcast calls from “The Voice” of the Dodgers.
After our interview, Scully shook my hand and went to the broadcast booth. My son, Jacob, who snapped a photo of our interview, said, “Dad, are you ever going to wash that hand?”
I went to the press box cafeteria during the game to grab a drink when the door flew open and nearly hit me.
“I’m sorry, young man; I hope you’re OK,” said Scully, as he gently closed the door and hugged me.
At that moment, I wanted to ask Scully, “Will you please continue to hold me while you call Kirk Gibson’s 1988 World Series home run?”
Before game two of the 2017 World Series, my son and I were at Dodger Stadium watching Scully, and retired players Fernando Valenzuela and Steve Yeager take the field.
Fans gave Scully a standing ovation as he walked to the mound with a microphone and a baseball in hand.
“Somewhere up in heaven, Duke Snider, Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, and Gil Hodges are laughing their heads off,” Scully said. “Look who’s throwing out the first ball at the World Series.”
I echo the message of broadcaster and former Dodger Orel Hershiser, who reflected on the death of Scully.
A teary-eyed Hershiser said, "It's really hard because it's a portion of your life that you don't want to lose, and you keep seeing your idols, your friends, continue to pass. This is a very, very tough day."
Reporter Jose Quintero's encounter
In 2009, my friend, Arianna, who worked at Dodger Stadium, somehow got me into an area where the players exit an elevator and meet their families after games.
I was there to meet Manny Ramirez and have him sign a replica bat of his.
I met Ramirez, a bunch of other players, and got my bat signed. But that was far from the highlight of my night because before the players arrived, I saw Scully walking toward me.
Scully was hurrying to get home to his wife, but Arianna sweet-talked him into taking a photo with me.
He shook my hand and said, “Let’s do this, young man.”
You can see in the photo just how awkward I look standing next to him.
And just like that, we shook hands again, and I said thank you. I’m not sure if he said anything back.
Lord knows I didn’t need that or a conversation with him. The truth is, I have had countless conversations with him my entire life.
Scully’s voice was a constant in my household my entire life. Nothing was more pleasant than his voice starting a broadcast with “It’s time for Dodger baseball,” followed by “Hi, everyone, and a very pleasant good evening wherever you may be.”
I know so many random stories about former Dodgers because of Scully. None better than hearing Scully talk about Paul Lo Duca’s mom tossing batting practice.
But it wasn't the typical batting practice you might imagine. Lo Duca's mom would toss pinto beans to him in their backyard.
There are so many stories that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
But for now, this is me, Vin, wishing you a pleasant farewell wherever you may be.
Daily Press reporter Rene Ray De La Cruz may be reached at 760-951-6227 or RDeLaCruz@VVDailyPress.com. Follow him on Twitter @DP_ReneDeLaCruz.
This article originally appeared on Victorville Daily Press: Reporters recall meeting the late-Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully
