Great Movie Lines: from Terry Teachout
...if you had to boil down the plot of The Godfather 2 to the barest possible sketch, you might well come up with the following two lines that were provided by two different readers. Spoken by Fredo and Michael Corleone, respectively, they pretty much tell the most sad and revealing of all the stories that make up the Godfather epic:
Johnny Ola knows these places like the back of his hand.
I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Judging ‘Million Dollar Baby’
For the two of us, going to a movie requires planning. It's hard to be spontaneous when you're in a wheelchair, or trudging along beside one. But nothing was going to keep us from judging Clint Eastwood's controversial new movie for ourselves.
By Meredith Gould and Ruth Harrigan
Meredith
It's a Friday before noon. One doctor has already made a routine emergency visit this morning. Food shopping must happen before it starts snowing. But we're determined to take in a movie. It has been a challenging week, and Ruth and I simply must get out.
Ruth is a quadriplegic. I am her personal aide. We want to see Million Dollar Baby.
Ruth
Million Dollar Baby is up for an Academy Award in seven categories. It's about a female boxer who is coached by a curmudgeonly, old Catholic played by Clint Eastwood. Ultimately, the young boxer, played by Hilary Swank, sustains a severe spinal cord injury that leaves her paralyzed and on a ventilator. She asks her coach to help end her life. Eastwood's character, Frankie, finally agrees to do so after visiting his priest and searching his soul.
As I sat in my wheelchair watching the movie, I found myself thinking about how I felt after becoming a quadriplegic. Did I think about assisted suicide? Did I think my life was over?
The answer to both questions is yes.
Meredith
We're busy working through the logistics—whose car, which theater, what else we can jam in while taking on the so-called real world. We're fairly adept at anticipating and then managing all the hassles involved. Still, going anywhere—especially to a movie—requires planning. Spontaneity acquires a different meaning when you're in a wheelchair, or trudging along beside one.
Our big debate is whether we'll sit together. We already know the plot line: athletic young Maggie Fitzgerald gets a sucker punch that leads to a C1/2 complete spinal cord injury; begs coach to assist her suicide; (Catholic) coach takes her out by injecting a massive dose of adrenaline into her IV line. Act of courage? Act of love? The critics are jumping all over this one. So are the SCI (spinal cord injury) activists. We, however, are reserving judgment. Just barely.
Ruth
Certainly, life as I knew it before my spinal cord injury was over in many ways. At first, I did not want to live. I fantasized about escaping my paralyzed body. I didn't want to deal with the physical limitations I faced every day. I felt useless and hopeless. I didn't want to be a burden. I simply could not envision having any kind of life.
Meredith
Ruth has a slew of opinions about Clint Eastwood. I say it's bad enough that he no longer looks like the hunky Rowdy Yates of Rawhide, now I have to learn that he's no friend to the disability community? Ruth says everything they're posting online slams the movie for making death seem like the better option.
When she has time to read up on this stuff is beyond me, since anything having to do with personal hygiene is a major production and getting dressed can take up to three hours. Feeding consumes another hunk of time, although I will admit that some of that time is taken up with chatting and laughing. "It's just like going out to dinner," I tell curious able-bodied friends, "except I'm not the one eating."
Ruth
As an attorney, I'd certainly discussed Living Wills and Medical Directives with clients. Some asked that life be ended upon certain conditions, while others went great lengths to make sure I put into writing that every effort should be made to keep them alive.
As a Catholic, I've had my own struggle with the right to die. I knew that taking my own life would be considered a sin. But, I also believed that the God who gives us life, takes that life from us at the right time. The good Sisters of St. Joseph taught me that life is a sacred gift. Stewardship of my physical body during this earthly life does not include subjectively deciding under what circumstances I will usurp God's will.
Meredith
If we sit together, I know I'll pick up Ruth's vibes; even more so than usual. Since I know darn well we'll end up writing something, I want to create the illusion of independent thought. Is this possible? After all, our thinking about life and death has been formed by our Catholic beliefs about the sanctity of life. It has also been shaped by encounters with death—expected, unexpected, and thwarted. We've both had the dubious privilege of shutting off someone's life support after a lengthy process of informed consent. I've had the blessing of feeling life whisper goodbye from my father's hands. I've seen the presence of a loving, merciful God in all of it, although I cannot argue that point with intelligence; I'm guessing that Ruth, the attorney, can.
In addition, Ruth's mind and mine have melded with frustration from sparring with a health care system that makes the concept of "disability benefits' even more oxymoronic than it already is. It's a safe bet that we'll both have spasms if Million Dollar Baby has a hospital scene.
And then there's the amazing congruence that comes from the time Ruth and I spend together. There's nothing wrong with Ruth's brain, but I still have to get into it to become her hands, arms, legs, and feet. How to create space for psycho-social independence within the confines of near-complete physical dependence is a challenge. Privacy and intimacy acquire different meaning when you're in a wheelchair, or vacuuming around one.
Ruth
The Catholic Church has issued directives on euthanasia. A statement released by the Administrative Committee of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops in 1991, reads in part:
"Being able to choose the time and manner of one's death, without regard to what is chosen, is presented as the ultimate freedom. A decision to take one's life or to allow a physician to kill a suffering patient, however, is very different from a decision to refuse extraordinary or disproportionately burdensome treatment... As Catholic leaders and moral teachers, we believe that life is the most basic gift of a loving God—a gift over which we have stewardship but not absolute dominion."
I want people to see this film even though—and perhaps because—they know the ending. And then, I want them to get angry… Legislation has begun to reflect a different view. Oregon passed this country's first Death With Dignity Act in 1997. This reflects a shift from the traditional "sanctity of life" to a "quality of life" ethic, something Pope John Paul II has referred to as "The Culture of Death." Obviously, such legislation will lead to subjective and arbitrary standards. When and who will decide that the quality of a life is so low that life should be ended? And what about patients who are unable to speak or who are in the throes of a temporary depression?
Meredith
For the purposes of critiquing Million Dollar Baby, I think we should sit separately. Ruth is okay with that. "I'll shout when I want M&Ms," she says.
We banter about how we might exit the theater afterwards. "I could wail about wanting to die," says Ruth. "I could audibly mumble, 'just wait until we get home,'" I reply. We crack up laughing. Laughter is good medicine that doesn't require an elaborate, convoluted form of administration. We're not opposed to weeping, which I maintain makes for a great complexion. Mostly, we laugh because we can't afford the energy-leeching luxury of anything else.
Ruth
Having had my own painful adjustment to being a quadriplegic, I know that it's normal to feel depressed and, perhaps, even suicidal at first. Exactly how normal would it have been for me not to feel devastated by the loss of sensation and movement in my entire body? Of course I was depressed and—as I came out of shock to face the physical and psychosocial demands of life as a quadriplegic—grief-stricken.
Meredith
Neither of us is laughing by the end of this movie. Grabbing our coats, I'm up and out of my seat as the credits begin to roll. I plunk myself down in the only seat left in an otherwise empty row reserved for wheelchairs and turn to Ruth.
"Able-ist crap."
She says it first and we immediately start tripping over each other's sentences: "Like that bedsore would've become gangrene without anyone noticing." "How come that swanky rehab didn't send in a team of psychiatrists and social workers?" "Did you catch how they draped a cross over her ventilator?"
I’ve lived long enough to learn that a life of dignity, usefulness, and hope is possible for a quadriplegic. We go on about Million Dollar Baby for days and that's when I realize that for all its problems (e.g., the musical score is puerile), I've seen an important movie during this year's Lent. I don't want people to boycott this film. I want them to see it even though—and perhaps because—they know the ending. And then, I want them to get angry, not at God, but about flaws in the structural apparatus of faith (i.e., religion) that would make assisted suicide seem an appropriate response instead of becoming a living witness to suffering. I want viewers to wonder why the character of Maggie Fitzgerald has the determination to become a prize fighter but not enough spiritual strength to manage life as a quadriplegic. I especially want Christians to remember that throughout our history, the Spirit has lived large and worked well within broken bodies; something to ponder as we come to the Cross during this holy season.
Ruth
It took nearly a decade for me to arrive at a place of acceptance. I've chosen life, believing that it's not my place to decide to die because life is too difficult, inconvenient, or no longer to my liking. Some may feel the choice to commit suicide is a form of ultimate freedom. What I know is that by surrendering my option to play God, I've lived long enough to learn that a life of dignity, usefulness, and hope is possible for a quadriplegic. If only the character in Million Dollar Baby could've stayed in the ring of life long enough to discover this for herself.
February 25, 2005
------------------------------------------------------------------------
MEREDITH GOULD is the author of “Deliberate Acts of Kindness: Service as a Spiritual Practice” (Doubleday) as well as “The Catholic Home” (Doubleday) and “Come to the Table” (Plowshares Publishing). She welcomes readers comments at www.meredithgould.com
RUTH HARRIGAN is an attorney, disabilities rights advocate, and author. She is currently working on a book about spiritual inclusion and the Church. She welcomes comments at: http://imaquad.blogspot.com
Copyright © 2005, Meredith Gould and Ruth Harrigan. All rights reserved.
For the two of us, going to a movie requires planning. It's hard to be spontaneous when you're in a wheelchair, or trudging along beside one. But nothing was going to keep us from judging Clint Eastwood's controversial new movie for ourselves.
By Meredith Gould and Ruth Harrigan
Meredith
It's a Friday before noon. One doctor has already made a routine emergency visit this morning. Food shopping must happen before it starts snowing. But we're determined to take in a movie. It has been a challenging week, and Ruth and I simply must get out.
Ruth is a quadriplegic. I am her personal aide. We want to see Million Dollar Baby.
Ruth
Million Dollar Baby is up for an Academy Award in seven categories. It's about a female boxer who is coached by a curmudgeonly, old Catholic played by Clint Eastwood. Ultimately, the young boxer, played by Hilary Swank, sustains a severe spinal cord injury that leaves her paralyzed and on a ventilator. She asks her coach to help end her life. Eastwood's character, Frankie, finally agrees to do so after visiting his priest and searching his soul.
As I sat in my wheelchair watching the movie, I found myself thinking about how I felt after becoming a quadriplegic. Did I think about assisted suicide? Did I think my life was over?
The answer to both questions is yes.
Meredith
We're busy working through the logistics—whose car, which theater, what else we can jam in while taking on the so-called real world. We're fairly adept at anticipating and then managing all the hassles involved. Still, going anywhere—especially to a movie—requires planning. Spontaneity acquires a different meaning when you're in a wheelchair, or trudging along beside one.
Our big debate is whether we'll sit together. We already know the plot line: athletic young Maggie Fitzgerald gets a sucker punch that leads to a C1/2 complete spinal cord injury; begs coach to assist her suicide; (Catholic) coach takes her out by injecting a massive dose of adrenaline into her IV line. Act of courage? Act of love? The critics are jumping all over this one. So are the SCI (spinal cord injury) activists. We, however, are reserving judgment. Just barely.
Ruth
Certainly, life as I knew it before my spinal cord injury was over in many ways. At first, I did not want to live. I fantasized about escaping my paralyzed body. I didn't want to deal with the physical limitations I faced every day. I felt useless and hopeless. I didn't want to be a burden. I simply could not envision having any kind of life.
Meredith
Ruth has a slew of opinions about Clint Eastwood. I say it's bad enough that he no longer looks like the hunky Rowdy Yates of Rawhide, now I have to learn that he's no friend to the disability community? Ruth says everything they're posting online slams the movie for making death seem like the better option.
When she has time to read up on this stuff is beyond me, since anything having to do with personal hygiene is a major production and getting dressed can take up to three hours. Feeding consumes another hunk of time, although I will admit that some of that time is taken up with chatting and laughing. "It's just like going out to dinner," I tell curious able-bodied friends, "except I'm not the one eating."
Ruth
As an attorney, I'd certainly discussed Living Wills and Medical Directives with clients. Some asked that life be ended upon certain conditions, while others went great lengths to make sure I put into writing that every effort should be made to keep them alive.
As a Catholic, I've had my own struggle with the right to die. I knew that taking my own life would be considered a sin. But, I also believed that the God who gives us life, takes that life from us at the right time. The good Sisters of St. Joseph taught me that life is a sacred gift. Stewardship of my physical body during this earthly life does not include subjectively deciding under what circumstances I will usurp God's will.
Meredith
If we sit together, I know I'll pick up Ruth's vibes; even more so than usual. Since I know darn well we'll end up writing something, I want to create the illusion of independent thought. Is this possible? After all, our thinking about life and death has been formed by our Catholic beliefs about the sanctity of life. It has also been shaped by encounters with death—expected, unexpected, and thwarted. We've both had the dubious privilege of shutting off someone's life support after a lengthy process of informed consent. I've had the blessing of feeling life whisper goodbye from my father's hands. I've seen the presence of a loving, merciful God in all of it, although I cannot argue that point with intelligence; I'm guessing that Ruth, the attorney, can.
In addition, Ruth's mind and mine have melded with frustration from sparring with a health care system that makes the concept of "disability benefits' even more oxymoronic than it already is. It's a safe bet that we'll both have spasms if Million Dollar Baby has a hospital scene.
And then there's the amazing congruence that comes from the time Ruth and I spend together. There's nothing wrong with Ruth's brain, but I still have to get into it to become her hands, arms, legs, and feet. How to create space for psycho-social independence within the confines of near-complete physical dependence is a challenge. Privacy and intimacy acquire different meaning when you're in a wheelchair, or vacuuming around one.
Ruth
The Catholic Church has issued directives on euthanasia. A statement released by the Administrative Committee of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops in 1991, reads in part:
"Being able to choose the time and manner of one's death, without regard to what is chosen, is presented as the ultimate freedom. A decision to take one's life or to allow a physician to kill a suffering patient, however, is very different from a decision to refuse extraordinary or disproportionately burdensome treatment... As Catholic leaders and moral teachers, we believe that life is the most basic gift of a loving God—a gift over which we have stewardship but not absolute dominion."
I want people to see this film even though—and perhaps because—they know the ending. And then, I want them to get angry… Legislation has begun to reflect a different view. Oregon passed this country's first Death With Dignity Act in 1997. This reflects a shift from the traditional "sanctity of life" to a "quality of life" ethic, something Pope John Paul II has referred to as "The Culture of Death." Obviously, such legislation will lead to subjective and arbitrary standards. When and who will decide that the quality of a life is so low that life should be ended? And what about patients who are unable to speak or who are in the throes of a temporary depression?
Meredith
For the purposes of critiquing Million Dollar Baby, I think we should sit separately. Ruth is okay with that. "I'll shout when I want M&Ms," she says.
We banter about how we might exit the theater afterwards. "I could wail about wanting to die," says Ruth. "I could audibly mumble, 'just wait until we get home,'" I reply. We crack up laughing. Laughter is good medicine that doesn't require an elaborate, convoluted form of administration. We're not opposed to weeping, which I maintain makes for a great complexion. Mostly, we laugh because we can't afford the energy-leeching luxury of anything else.
Ruth
Having had my own painful adjustment to being a quadriplegic, I know that it's normal to feel depressed and, perhaps, even suicidal at first. Exactly how normal would it have been for me not to feel devastated by the loss of sensation and movement in my entire body? Of course I was depressed and—as I came out of shock to face the physical and psychosocial demands of life as a quadriplegic—grief-stricken.
Meredith
Neither of us is laughing by the end of this movie. Grabbing our coats, I'm up and out of my seat as the credits begin to roll. I plunk myself down in the only seat left in an otherwise empty row reserved for wheelchairs and turn to Ruth.
"Able-ist crap."
She says it first and we immediately start tripping over each other's sentences: "Like that bedsore would've become gangrene without anyone noticing." "How come that swanky rehab didn't send in a team of psychiatrists and social workers?" "Did you catch how they draped a cross over her ventilator?"
I’ve lived long enough to learn that a life of dignity, usefulness, and hope is possible for a quadriplegic. We go on about Million Dollar Baby for days and that's when I realize that for all its problems (e.g., the musical score is puerile), I've seen an important movie during this year's Lent. I don't want people to boycott this film. I want them to see it even though—and perhaps because—they know the ending. And then, I want them to get angry, not at God, but about flaws in the structural apparatus of faith (i.e., religion) that would make assisted suicide seem an appropriate response instead of becoming a living witness to suffering. I want viewers to wonder why the character of Maggie Fitzgerald has the determination to become a prize fighter but not enough spiritual strength to manage life as a quadriplegic. I especially want Christians to remember that throughout our history, the Spirit has lived large and worked well within broken bodies; something to ponder as we come to the Cross during this holy season.
Ruth
It took nearly a decade for me to arrive at a place of acceptance. I've chosen life, believing that it's not my place to decide to die because life is too difficult, inconvenient, or no longer to my liking. Some may feel the choice to commit suicide is a form of ultimate freedom. What I know is that by surrendering my option to play God, I've lived long enough to learn that a life of dignity, usefulness, and hope is possible for a quadriplegic. If only the character in Million Dollar Baby could've stayed in the ring of life long enough to discover this for herself.
February 25, 2005
------------------------------------------------------------------------
MEREDITH GOULD is the author of “Deliberate Acts of Kindness: Service as a Spiritual Practice” (Doubleday) as well as “The Catholic Home” (Doubleday) and “Come to the Table” (Plowshares Publishing). She welcomes readers comments at www.meredithgould.com
RUTH HARRIGAN is an attorney, disabilities rights advocate, and author. She is currently working on a book about spiritual inclusion and the Church. She welcomes comments at: http://imaquad.blogspot.com
Copyright © 2005, Meredith Gould and Ruth Harrigan. All rights reserved.
Friday, March 11, 2005
The Unpardonable Sin of Larry Summers
By Patrick J. Buchanan
Seven weeks have elapsed since Harvard President Lawrence Summers, at a gathering at MIT, ruminated on the reasons for the paucity of women scholars in the math and science departments. Since then, the scourging of poor Summers has not let up.
Though he has groveled as men will to keep prestigious posts, Larry Summers has failed to mollify his attackers. Why can they not accept his repeated apologies?
Answer: Because Summers committed an unpardonable sin. By saying that differences in “intrinsic aptitude” may explain the failure of women to achieve equally at the highest levels of math and science, Summers suggested that he believes superior intelligence may be linked to sex. He has questioned a defining dogma of the egalitarian faith.
Equally unforgivable, to Eugene Robinson of the Washington Post, Summers said that achieving “diversity” at Harvard may mean advancing the less qualified. Here is the passage that sent Robinson reeling and left Prof. Nancy Hopkins almost vomiting (“I felt I was going to be sick. . . . My heart was pounding . . . my breath was shallow”):
“When major diversity efforts are mounted,” said Summers, “and special efforts are made, and you look five years later at the quality of the people who have been hired . . . how many of them are what the right-wing critics of all of this suppose represent clear abandonment of quality standards?”
Underlying that assumption, says Robinson, “is the assumption that diversity means lowering standards. He is telling women and minorities at Harvard that they’re suspect, that they may well be unqualified . . . ”
You got that right, Mr. Robinson. And while Summers raised the issue in the form of a question, he did indeed suggest that conservatives, who say affirmative action produces a faculty of lower intellectual caliber, may just be right.
Summers revealed that he has dipped into the literature about the links between heredity and intelligence, and he may believe it. Moreover, he implies that he believes that hiring on academic ability alone may produce a faculty far less diverse than the one demanded by Robinson and Hopkins.
That Summers sinned against liberal orthodoxy is undeniable. But he has raised questions that will not go away. Is he right? Is there a link between heredity, intelligence and academic achievement? Is it true that the drive for diversity, using affirmative action and racial, ethnic and sex quotas, has degraded academic standards at Harvard? Summers would not be the first intellectual who, having tip-toed into this minefield, never returned.
By introducing into the argument Summers’ disciplining of the famed black scholar Cornell West and the qualifications, or lack of them, of Summer’s “white colleagues” and the “white male professors” at Harvard, Robinson puts the race card face up on the table. He is implying the Harvard president may harbor racist views.
Summers’ anguish aside, the episode is good for Harvard and good for America. For it has exposed both the intolerance of the Left to dissent to its core dogmas and the fraudulence of Harvard’s pretense to be a place where academic freedom reigns and all issues are open for discussion.
From the inquisition of Summers and the demand that he recant, or quit Harvard, it is clear that a central tenet of egalitarianism—that men and women are created equal in intellectual ability and any inequality of achievement is due to sexism or other extrinsic factors—is a subject that is forbidden for an Ivy League president or serious scholar to raise.
How does Summers get off the hook on which he is impaled?
Clearly, he believes that differences in intrinsic aptitude—i.e., nature, not nurture—may explain the absence of women scholars at the apex of the academy in math and science. His dilemma: If he now denies he believes it, he sins against truth. But if he says he believes it may be true, he is extra ecclesiam, outside the church, an avowed heretic, and excommunication from Harvard is the punishment.
The reaction to Summers reveals something else: a fear in the heart of the establishment of where a debate on the subject he pried open might lead. For if Summers is right, and sex does explain the difference in the test scores of women and men in math, what other differences might genetics explain?
An interesting question, in that social policy in America and our welfare state are premised on the proposition that there are no real differences in “intrinsic aptitude,” that everyone is equally equipped to succeed in school and life, even though it is apparent that we are not all equally gifted to succeed in other fields, from athletics to the arts, from music to military prowess. Can it be that biology is destiny?
By Patrick J. Buchanan
Seven weeks have elapsed since Harvard President Lawrence Summers, at a gathering at MIT, ruminated on the reasons for the paucity of women scholars in the math and science departments. Since then, the scourging of poor Summers has not let up.
Though he has groveled as men will to keep prestigious posts, Larry Summers has failed to mollify his attackers. Why can they not accept his repeated apologies?
Answer: Because Summers committed an unpardonable sin. By saying that differences in “intrinsic aptitude” may explain the failure of women to achieve equally at the highest levels of math and science, Summers suggested that he believes superior intelligence may be linked to sex. He has questioned a defining dogma of the egalitarian faith.
Equally unforgivable, to Eugene Robinson of the Washington Post, Summers said that achieving “diversity” at Harvard may mean advancing the less qualified. Here is the passage that sent Robinson reeling and left Prof. Nancy Hopkins almost vomiting (“I felt I was going to be sick. . . . My heart was pounding . . . my breath was shallow”):
“When major diversity efforts are mounted,” said Summers, “and special efforts are made, and you look five years later at the quality of the people who have been hired . . . how many of them are what the right-wing critics of all of this suppose represent clear abandonment of quality standards?”
Underlying that assumption, says Robinson, “is the assumption that diversity means lowering standards. He is telling women and minorities at Harvard that they’re suspect, that they may well be unqualified . . . ”
You got that right, Mr. Robinson. And while Summers raised the issue in the form of a question, he did indeed suggest that conservatives, who say affirmative action produces a faculty of lower intellectual caliber, may just be right.
Summers revealed that he has dipped into the literature about the links between heredity and intelligence, and he may believe it. Moreover, he implies that he believes that hiring on academic ability alone may produce a faculty far less diverse than the one demanded by Robinson and Hopkins.
That Summers sinned against liberal orthodoxy is undeniable. But he has raised questions that will not go away. Is he right? Is there a link between heredity, intelligence and academic achievement? Is it true that the drive for diversity, using affirmative action and racial, ethnic and sex quotas, has degraded academic standards at Harvard? Summers would not be the first intellectual who, having tip-toed into this minefield, never returned.
By introducing into the argument Summers’ disciplining of the famed black scholar Cornell West and the qualifications, or lack of them, of Summer’s “white colleagues” and the “white male professors” at Harvard, Robinson puts the race card face up on the table. He is implying the Harvard president may harbor racist views.
Summers’ anguish aside, the episode is good for Harvard and good for America. For it has exposed both the intolerance of the Left to dissent to its core dogmas and the fraudulence of Harvard’s pretense to be a place where academic freedom reigns and all issues are open for discussion.
From the inquisition of Summers and the demand that he recant, or quit Harvard, it is clear that a central tenet of egalitarianism—that men and women are created equal in intellectual ability and any inequality of achievement is due to sexism or other extrinsic factors—is a subject that is forbidden for an Ivy League president or serious scholar to raise.
How does Summers get off the hook on which he is impaled?
Clearly, he believes that differences in intrinsic aptitude—i.e., nature, not nurture—may explain the absence of women scholars at the apex of the academy in math and science. His dilemma: If he now denies he believes it, he sins against truth. But if he says he believes it may be true, he is extra ecclesiam, outside the church, an avowed heretic, and excommunication from Harvard is the punishment.
The reaction to Summers reveals something else: a fear in the heart of the establishment of where a debate on the subject he pried open might lead. For if Summers is right, and sex does explain the difference in the test scores of women and men in math, what other differences might genetics explain?
An interesting question, in that social policy in America and our welfare state are premised on the proposition that there are no real differences in “intrinsic aptitude,” that everyone is equally equipped to succeed in school and life, even though it is apparent that we are not all equally gifted to succeed in other fields, from athletics to the arts, from music to military prowess. Can it be that biology is destiny?
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
As posted on the Southern Appeal websiteL
Body and Soul: Interview with Legal Philosopher Robert P. George in World Magazine
INTERVIEW: Princeton scholar Robert P. George on the philosophy that underlies abortion, drug abuse, euthanasia, and the widespread decline of sexual morality |
by Marvin Olasky
Robert P. George is one of the most influential professors in the United States. A specialist in constitutional law and jurisprudence at Princeton University and a member of President Bush's Council on Bioethics, he has advanced degrees from Harvard Law School and Oxford, and has written Making Men Moral, In Defense of Natural Law, The Clash of Orthodoxies, and numerous law review articles.
WORLD: Overall, what's the best political and legal strategy now for the defense of marriage?
GEORGE: The institution of marriage has been damaged by laws and policies that compromise its integrity and weaken people's capacity to enter into marriage with a proper regard for its norms of permanence, exclusivity, and fidelity. These laws and policies—such as so-called no-fault divorce—reinforce and even encourage essentially anti-marital practices, and provide fertile ground for the flourishing of ideologies that pave the way for worse things.
"Covenant marriage" legislation is a step in the right direction. So is the elimination of laws permitting one spouse to divorce another in the absence of fault without the other spouse's consent. As we work for reform, we must also hold the line against the latest crop of misbegotten ideas, such as the legal recognition of nonmarital sexual cohabitation and the redefinition of marriage to include same-sex partnerships.
Since state and federal judges have signaled their intention to impose these ideas under the pretext of giving effect to constitutional guarantees, I support a Federal Marriage Amendment to preserve the legal definition of marriage as the union of one man and one woman, and to prevent activist judges from requiring states to enact "civil unions" or "domestic partnership" schemes.
WORLD: Why is it important to maintain that marriage creates, as the Bible says, a true one-flesh union?
GEORGE: The first and most fundamental reason is simply that it is true. The Bible discloses this truth beginning at the beginning, in Genesis. Great thinkers such as the classical Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle who did not have access to the revealed word of God in Scripture were also able to articulate the core of this truth, since it is not only a biblical principle but also a principle of natural law.
When a culture loses its grip on this principle, the public's understanding of the meaning and importance of marriage, and, indeed, the intelligibility of marriage as a uniquely valuable form of human relationship, begins to erode. The inevitable consequences include widespread nonmarital sexual cohabitation, rampant divorce, and the panoply of social pathologies that always accompany these phenomena. Everybody suffers, but children suffer most. Society's preeminent interest in marriage is its importance for the welfare of children.
WORLD: Why has our conventional sense of marriage become dualistic, with marriage seen as emotional vision, a union of souls, so that what happens with bodies doesn't matter?
GEORGE: It's part of a larger trend towards identifying the good or the valuable with pleasing experiences and psychological satisfactions. This helps to explain not only the decline of sexual morality in our culture, but also the widespread use of recreational drugs. Many people (including more than a few Christians) have come to view themselves as consciousnesses (or, for people who retain some level of religious self-understanding, as "souls") that inhabit bodies. Since the body is regarded as merely instrumental, rather than as part of the personal reality of the human being (considered as a dynamic unity of body, mind, and spirit), moral constraints of any sort on "nonharmful" drugs or "nonharmful" sexual practices of "consenting adults" seem arbitrary and even irrational.
This dualistic conception of persons and their bodies underwrites the evils of abortion, infanticide, and euthanasia. If human beings prior to the development of self-conscious awareness in infancy, or after its loss as a result of old age or infirmity, are not yet or no longer "persons," then what is wrong with killing them when they are inconvenient to us or because their organs can be harvested for transplantation or experimentation? Hence, the erosion of respect for human life in all of its stages and conditions.
WORLD: Most readers of this magazine have a biblical worldview and are inclined to accept your arguments. What do you say to those coming from a secular liberal perspective?
GEORGE: Most of my professional life is spent interacting with secular liberal academics. What I tell them is that they are living off the cultural capital of Judeo-Christian moral understanding and depleting it quickly. Most liberal academics say they favor marriage and just want it to be available to homosexuals and heterosexuals on equal terms. They support "tolerance," they say, and oppose "discrimination," but they misconceive both toleration and discrimination.
I try to show them the unsavory logical consequences of their willingness to equate sodomy with marital sexual love. To justify same-sex "marriage" one must abandon the concept of marriage as a one-flesh union of sexually complementary spouses. But if we do that—if we embrace the idea that marriage is fundamentally an emotional union of people who find their relationship enhanced by mutually agreeable sex acts of any type—we eliminate the rational ground for restricting marriage to two people (as opposed to three or five or eight) and for regarding marriage as intrinsically requiring mutual pledges of exclusivity and fidelity. People who accept same-sex "marriage" have no basis of principle (as opposed to mere sentiment or subjective preference) for opposing polygamy, polyamory (group marriage), promiscuity ("open marriages"), and the like. What then is left of marriage? Nothing.
Similarly, most secular liberal academics do not want to join Peter Singer in endorsing infanticide and the mass production of children to be killed in infancy for the purpose of harvesting transplantable organs. I try to show them that by accepting abortion they remove any principled moral basis for objecting to such a nightmarish view. After all, birth is of no moral significance. The child a moment or a month or nine months prior to birth is the same living human being as the child a moment or a month or nine months (or 90 years) after birth. My argument against the rather chaotic collection of moral views held by many secular scholars is not that they violate the tenets of Jewish or Christian faith (though they do); it is that they fail—sometimes spectacularly fail—the test of reason.
WORLD: What do you say to conservatives with a federalist perspective who want the same-sex marriage issue to be decided on a state-by-state level?
GEORGE: On their own terms they should favor a federal constitutional amendment to prevent the courts from imposing same-sex marriage nationwide, either by manufacturing a federal constitutional right to same-sex marriage or by ruling that Massachusetts same-sex marriages must be given "full faith and credit" by other states when same-sex couples from Massachusetts move into those states. We need more than that, though, and after the success of socially conservative candidates for the House of Representatives and Senate in the 2004 elections, we can get it. The "more" we need is a uniform national definition of marriage as the union of one man and one woman.
Here's why: Marriage is fundamental. Marriage is the basis of the family, and it is in healthy families that children are reared to be honorable people and good citizens. So marriage and the family are the basic units of society. No society can flourish when they are undermined. Until now, a social consensus regarding the basic definition of marriage meant that we didn't need to resolve the question at the federal level. Every state recognized marriage as the exclusive union of one man and one woman. (The federal government did its part at one point in our history to ensure that this would remain the case by making Utah's admission to the Union as a state conditional upon its banning polygamy.)
The breakdown of the consensus certainly does not eliminate the need for a uniform national definition. If we don't have one, then marriage will erode either quickly—by judicial imposition, unless judges are stopped—or gradually by the integration into the formal and informal institutions of society of same-sex couples who, after all, possess legally valid marriage licenses from some state. In the long run, it is untenable for large numbers of people to be considered married in one or some states of the United States yet unmarried in others. As Lincoln warned it would be with the evil of slavery in his time, it is inevitable that the country will go "all one way or all the other." Slavery would either be abolished everywhere or it would spread everywhere. The same is true of same-sex "marriage," in the long run—and perhaps even in the not-so-long run.
Body and Soul: Interview with Legal Philosopher Robert P. George in World Magazine
INTERVIEW: Princeton scholar Robert P. George on the philosophy that underlies abortion, drug abuse, euthanasia, and the widespread decline of sexual morality |
by Marvin Olasky
Robert P. George is one of the most influential professors in the United States. A specialist in constitutional law and jurisprudence at Princeton University and a member of President Bush's Council on Bioethics, he has advanced degrees from Harvard Law School and Oxford, and has written Making Men Moral, In Defense of Natural Law, The Clash of Orthodoxies, and numerous law review articles.
WORLD: Overall, what's the best political and legal strategy now for the defense of marriage?
GEORGE: The institution of marriage has been damaged by laws and policies that compromise its integrity and weaken people's capacity to enter into marriage with a proper regard for its norms of permanence, exclusivity, and fidelity. These laws and policies—such as so-called no-fault divorce—reinforce and even encourage essentially anti-marital practices, and provide fertile ground for the flourishing of ideologies that pave the way for worse things.
"Covenant marriage" legislation is a step in the right direction. So is the elimination of laws permitting one spouse to divorce another in the absence of fault without the other spouse's consent. As we work for reform, we must also hold the line against the latest crop of misbegotten ideas, such as the legal recognition of nonmarital sexual cohabitation and the redefinition of marriage to include same-sex partnerships.
Since state and federal judges have signaled their intention to impose these ideas under the pretext of giving effect to constitutional guarantees, I support a Federal Marriage Amendment to preserve the legal definition of marriage as the union of one man and one woman, and to prevent activist judges from requiring states to enact "civil unions" or "domestic partnership" schemes.
WORLD: Why is it important to maintain that marriage creates, as the Bible says, a true one-flesh union?
GEORGE: The first and most fundamental reason is simply that it is true. The Bible discloses this truth beginning at the beginning, in Genesis. Great thinkers such as the classical Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle who did not have access to the revealed word of God in Scripture were also able to articulate the core of this truth, since it is not only a biblical principle but also a principle of natural law.
When a culture loses its grip on this principle, the public's understanding of the meaning and importance of marriage, and, indeed, the intelligibility of marriage as a uniquely valuable form of human relationship, begins to erode. The inevitable consequences include widespread nonmarital sexual cohabitation, rampant divorce, and the panoply of social pathologies that always accompany these phenomena. Everybody suffers, but children suffer most. Society's preeminent interest in marriage is its importance for the welfare of children.
WORLD: Why has our conventional sense of marriage become dualistic, with marriage seen as emotional vision, a union of souls, so that what happens with bodies doesn't matter?
GEORGE: It's part of a larger trend towards identifying the good or the valuable with pleasing experiences and psychological satisfactions. This helps to explain not only the decline of sexual morality in our culture, but also the widespread use of recreational drugs. Many people (including more than a few Christians) have come to view themselves as consciousnesses (or, for people who retain some level of religious self-understanding, as "souls") that inhabit bodies. Since the body is regarded as merely instrumental, rather than as part of the personal reality of the human being (considered as a dynamic unity of body, mind, and spirit), moral constraints of any sort on "nonharmful" drugs or "nonharmful" sexual practices of "consenting adults" seem arbitrary and even irrational.
This dualistic conception of persons and their bodies underwrites the evils of abortion, infanticide, and euthanasia. If human beings prior to the development of self-conscious awareness in infancy, or after its loss as a result of old age or infirmity, are not yet or no longer "persons," then what is wrong with killing them when they are inconvenient to us or because their organs can be harvested for transplantation or experimentation? Hence, the erosion of respect for human life in all of its stages and conditions.
WORLD: Most readers of this magazine have a biblical worldview and are inclined to accept your arguments. What do you say to those coming from a secular liberal perspective?
GEORGE: Most of my professional life is spent interacting with secular liberal academics. What I tell them is that they are living off the cultural capital of Judeo-Christian moral understanding and depleting it quickly. Most liberal academics say they favor marriage and just want it to be available to homosexuals and heterosexuals on equal terms. They support "tolerance," they say, and oppose "discrimination," but they misconceive both toleration and discrimination.
I try to show them the unsavory logical consequences of their willingness to equate sodomy with marital sexual love. To justify same-sex "marriage" one must abandon the concept of marriage as a one-flesh union of sexually complementary spouses. But if we do that—if we embrace the idea that marriage is fundamentally an emotional union of people who find their relationship enhanced by mutually agreeable sex acts of any type—we eliminate the rational ground for restricting marriage to two people (as opposed to three or five or eight) and for regarding marriage as intrinsically requiring mutual pledges of exclusivity and fidelity. People who accept same-sex "marriage" have no basis of principle (as opposed to mere sentiment or subjective preference) for opposing polygamy, polyamory (group marriage), promiscuity ("open marriages"), and the like. What then is left of marriage? Nothing.
Similarly, most secular liberal academics do not want to join Peter Singer in endorsing infanticide and the mass production of children to be killed in infancy for the purpose of harvesting transplantable organs. I try to show them that by accepting abortion they remove any principled moral basis for objecting to such a nightmarish view. After all, birth is of no moral significance. The child a moment or a month or nine months prior to birth is the same living human being as the child a moment or a month or nine months (or 90 years) after birth. My argument against the rather chaotic collection of moral views held by many secular scholars is not that they violate the tenets of Jewish or Christian faith (though they do); it is that they fail—sometimes spectacularly fail—the test of reason.
WORLD: What do you say to conservatives with a federalist perspective who want the same-sex marriage issue to be decided on a state-by-state level?
GEORGE: On their own terms they should favor a federal constitutional amendment to prevent the courts from imposing same-sex marriage nationwide, either by manufacturing a federal constitutional right to same-sex marriage or by ruling that Massachusetts same-sex marriages must be given "full faith and credit" by other states when same-sex couples from Massachusetts move into those states. We need more than that, though, and after the success of socially conservative candidates for the House of Representatives and Senate in the 2004 elections, we can get it. The "more" we need is a uniform national definition of marriage as the union of one man and one woman.
Here's why: Marriage is fundamental. Marriage is the basis of the family, and it is in healthy families that children are reared to be honorable people and good citizens. So marriage and the family are the basic units of society. No society can flourish when they are undermined. Until now, a social consensus regarding the basic definition of marriage meant that we didn't need to resolve the question at the federal level. Every state recognized marriage as the exclusive union of one man and one woman. (The federal government did its part at one point in our history to ensure that this would remain the case by making Utah's admission to the Union as a state conditional upon its banning polygamy.)
The breakdown of the consensus certainly does not eliminate the need for a uniform national definition. If we don't have one, then marriage will erode either quickly—by judicial imposition, unless judges are stopped—or gradually by the integration into the formal and informal institutions of society of same-sex couples who, after all, possess legally valid marriage licenses from some state. In the long run, it is untenable for large numbers of people to be considered married in one or some states of the United States yet unmarried in others. As Lincoln warned it would be with the evil of slavery in his time, it is inevitable that the country will go "all one way or all the other." Slavery would either be abolished everywhere or it would spread everywhere. The same is true of same-sex "marriage," in the long run—and perhaps even in the not-so-long run.
Sam Francis: Obdurate for Truth
By Patrick J. Buchanan
Feb. 26, CHATTANOOGA, Tenn.
At the foot of Lookout Mountain, we buried Sam Francis today.
A shy, private man, Sam would have been embarrassed by how many would travel here to pay final respects. His Tennessee family told friends who came from all over the country that they had not really known how admired and beloved Sam was.
When God created him, He endowed Sam with a great gift—one of the finest minds of his generation. Sam did not waste it. As a student, he was a prodigy. By high school, he was winning citywide competitions in poetry and essay-writing. From Chattanooga, Sam went on to Johns Hopkins and, from there, to earn a Ph.D. in English history at the University of North Carolina.
Sam then came north to work for the Heritage Foundation, where he became an expert on international terror. He left to join Sen. John East, whose election had folks chortling that Jesse Helms was now "the liberal senator from North Carolina." Then, Sam took up his real vocation, journalism, joining The Washington Times, where he was soon winning national prizes for the quality of his editorials.
Sam became a rising star in the conservative firmament and began to write a national column. And that’s when Sam got into trouble. For the founding fathers of the conservative movement had passed on, their estate had gone to probate, and squatters and hustlers had swindled the Old Right out of its inheritance. Soon, others began to redefine conservatism, to impose limits on debate, to censor as heretics those who would not mouth the new party line.
In 1994, Sam merrily ridiculed Baptist churchmen who had issued an apology for slavery. As the preachers had never owned slaves and there was no Bible command against slavery, Sam asked, what exactly were the preachers apologizing for?
Cautioned to watch his step, he did not. For Sam cared about his convictions more than his popularity. As Minister Michael Milton of First Presbyterian eulogized at his gravesite, Sam was one with Flannery O’Connor in believing that "truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it."
Among the events that altered Sam’s life was the savaging of his friend and mentor, Mel Bradford, whom Ronald Reagan had chosen to chair the National Endowment for the Humanities. Neoconservatives had coveted the post and the honors a chairman could bestow. So a small cabal painted Bradford, a well-known scholar-critic of Lincoln, as a racist. "If they want it that bad," Mel told a friend, "let them have it."
Seeing how wounded Bradford had been, Sam was always there when one of his own was caught out in the open. Like his forebears in the Army of the Confederacy, Sam rode to the sound of the guns.
A proud "paleo," he mocked the neo-orthodoxy that the South was always wrong, Wilson and FDR had been right, and Dr. King was a paragon of virtue and patriotism. He delighted in mocking the tin gods of the New and Revised Conservative Bible.
What he cherished was the civilization and culture that had nurtured him. He loved Southern and American literature, history and heroes, and few men of his time were so widely read. Sam was convinced Western culture and civilization could not survive the dispossession or death of the European peoples who gave them birth. He opposed the mass immigration of non-Western peoples, cultures and creeds, and regarded as the "Stupid Party" a GOP that truckled to corporate contributors and refused to defend our borders.
A decade ago, Sam said as much at a conference and was gone from the paper. He never fully understood what he had done wrong. Said Milton: "Dr. Francis’ defense of the truth led many to admire him, befriend him and, at times, withdraw from him. The work of a prophet is a lonely calling."
With his intelligence, vast knowledge and droll wit, Sam was the most entertaining of dinner companions. His barbs and anecdotes about friends and adversaries had those at his table laughing so loud that other patrons in the restaurant wondered what was going on.
His death was a difficult one. Sam awoke at home on a Saturday late in January feeling terrible. No ambulance would come. So, he drove himself to the nearest hospital, where he underwent seven hours of surgery for an aortic aneurysm. Heavily sedated for weeks, as doctors feared he could not survive movement, Sam’s heart gave out when they tried to help him sit up in a chair.
I only spoke to Sam for minutes in those final days of his life. And my words here are too long delayed. But Sam’s passing left a hole in our hearts as it will in our lives. It is difficult to bear the thought I will not again see Sam’s big grin, as he sat down to dinner, spread a napkin over his ample lap and proceeded to divest himself of the latest witticisms he had invented.
May the Lord have mercy on my brave and generous friend.
By Patrick J. Buchanan
Feb. 26, CHATTANOOGA, Tenn.
At the foot of Lookout Mountain, we buried Sam Francis today.
A shy, private man, Sam would have been embarrassed by how many would travel here to pay final respects. His Tennessee family told friends who came from all over the country that they had not really known how admired and beloved Sam was.
When God created him, He endowed Sam with a great gift—one of the finest minds of his generation. Sam did not waste it. As a student, he was a prodigy. By high school, he was winning citywide competitions in poetry and essay-writing. From Chattanooga, Sam went on to Johns Hopkins and, from there, to earn a Ph.D. in English history at the University of North Carolina.
Sam then came north to work for the Heritage Foundation, where he became an expert on international terror. He left to join Sen. John East, whose election had folks chortling that Jesse Helms was now "the liberal senator from North Carolina." Then, Sam took up his real vocation, journalism, joining The Washington Times, where he was soon winning national prizes for the quality of his editorials.
Sam became a rising star in the conservative firmament and began to write a national column. And that’s when Sam got into trouble. For the founding fathers of the conservative movement had passed on, their estate had gone to probate, and squatters and hustlers had swindled the Old Right out of its inheritance. Soon, others began to redefine conservatism, to impose limits on debate, to censor as heretics those who would not mouth the new party line.
In 1994, Sam merrily ridiculed Baptist churchmen who had issued an apology for slavery. As the preachers had never owned slaves and there was no Bible command against slavery, Sam asked, what exactly were the preachers apologizing for?
Cautioned to watch his step, he did not. For Sam cared about his convictions more than his popularity. As Minister Michael Milton of First Presbyterian eulogized at his gravesite, Sam was one with Flannery O’Connor in believing that "truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it."
Among the events that altered Sam’s life was the savaging of his friend and mentor, Mel Bradford, whom Ronald Reagan had chosen to chair the National Endowment for the Humanities. Neoconservatives had coveted the post and the honors a chairman could bestow. So a small cabal painted Bradford, a well-known scholar-critic of Lincoln, as a racist. "If they want it that bad," Mel told a friend, "let them have it."
Seeing how wounded Bradford had been, Sam was always there when one of his own was caught out in the open. Like his forebears in the Army of the Confederacy, Sam rode to the sound of the guns.
A proud "paleo," he mocked the neo-orthodoxy that the South was always wrong, Wilson and FDR had been right, and Dr. King was a paragon of virtue and patriotism. He delighted in mocking the tin gods of the New and Revised Conservative Bible.
What he cherished was the civilization and culture that had nurtured him. He loved Southern and American literature, history and heroes, and few men of his time were so widely read. Sam was convinced Western culture and civilization could not survive the dispossession or death of the European peoples who gave them birth. He opposed the mass immigration of non-Western peoples, cultures and creeds, and regarded as the "Stupid Party" a GOP that truckled to corporate contributors and refused to defend our borders.
A decade ago, Sam said as much at a conference and was gone from the paper. He never fully understood what he had done wrong. Said Milton: "Dr. Francis’ defense of the truth led many to admire him, befriend him and, at times, withdraw from him. The work of a prophet is a lonely calling."
With his intelligence, vast knowledge and droll wit, Sam was the most entertaining of dinner companions. His barbs and anecdotes about friends and adversaries had those at his table laughing so loud that other patrons in the restaurant wondered what was going on.
His death was a difficult one. Sam awoke at home on a Saturday late in January feeling terrible. No ambulance would come. So, he drove himself to the nearest hospital, where he underwent seven hours of surgery for an aortic aneurysm. Heavily sedated for weeks, as doctors feared he could not survive movement, Sam’s heart gave out when they tried to help him sit up in a chair.
I only spoke to Sam for minutes in those final days of his life. And my words here are too long delayed. But Sam’s passing left a hole in our hearts as it will in our lives. It is difficult to bear the thought I will not again see Sam’s big grin, as he sat down to dinner, spread a napkin over his ample lap and proceeded to divest himself of the latest witticisms he had invented.
May the Lord have mercy on my brave and generous friend.
Monday, March 07, 2005
From The Baltimore Sun:
He defined era long gone, forever embraced
By John Eisenberg
March 7, 2005
CHUCK THOMPSON would have blushed at the suggestion that his death and Johnny Unitas' were in any way comparable. He didn't play the games, he just broadcast them. Unitas was the one on the field, the one who was important, the one whose death signaled the passing of an era.
But the news of Thompson's death yesterday at age 83 is just as shattering, just as sad, just as depressing for Baltimore as Unitas' death in 2002.
Thompson was older than Unitas at the end, and more infirm, his eyesight and memory failing. But just like Unitas, he represented so much to so many people here - so much that is vital and integral and personal.
If you grew up around here, Thompson was the sound of your childhood, the narrator of your memories.
Broadcasting baseball for a half century and football for three decades, he connected you to the Orioles and Colts, the teams you loved, the teams that turned you into sports fans.
Unitas and Brooks Robinson and their teammates played the games, but Thompson brought them into everyone's living rooms and made them human and touchable and sympathetic.
He brought them to life and brought Baltimore into the modern sports world as a major league town.
No one - no one - has done more to make sports better here.
"He's done it, the no-hitter. Tommy Phoebus has pitched a no-hitter. Go to war, Miss Agnes!"
That was Thompson's reaction after Phoebus, a Baltimore native, recorded the last out of an unfathomable no-hitter at Memorial Stadium on April 27, 1968. No one really knew what the last sentence meant, except that it meant Thompson was excited, almost as excited as Phoebus and the fans.
"Go to war, Miss Agnes!" became one of his trademarks, joining "Ain't the beer cold!" which he faithfully used after a clutch home run or a long touchdown pass.
But while he was best known for those trademark phrases, his real legacy is all those years of incomparably brilliant play-by-play.
Oh, sure, behind the microphone he was folksy and kind and venerable. But his mind was fast, his tongue faster, his on-the-fly judgments uncanny.
In some ways, his precise, rat-a-tat cadence was perfect for football, the faster game. But you never heard broadcasting perfection until you heard Thompson describing a long double to right-center with a runner on first.
That's a play with a lot of moving parts, too many for any mortal to describe in one breath, but Thompson depicted them so rapidly and vividly that you felt you were there.
One of the highest compliments you can pay any broadcaster is that you trusted him, and Thompson was as trustworthy as anyone who ever leaned into a microphone.
He got it right.
"There's a swing and a high fly ball going deep to left! This may do it! Back to the wall goes Berra. ... It is over the fence, home run - the Pirates win!"
That was his nationally broadcast call of Bill Mazeroski's World Series-winning home run in 1960 - simple, direct, vivid, a Baltimore guy making another town's history.
He got his first big break in Philadelphia when another broadcasting legend, By Saam, was delayed getting back to the booth after a pre-game ceremony. He came to Baltimore in 1949 to broadcast the games of the International League Orioles, and except for a brief time when he did baseball in Washington, he never left.
It isn't unusual for a broadcaster to be so closely associated with a city; many places revere an iconic behind-the-mike figure, often from Thompson's era.
But it is rare for a broadcaster to be as closely associated with teams in two sports, as Thompson was with the Orioles and Colts. For years, one of Baltimore's great barstool arguments was, "Do you prefer Chuck on baseball or football?" Of course, the arguments never lasted long, because Thompson was so superior at both.
As the years passed and he slowly removed himself from broadcasting, his voice became a symbol in this city, a symbol of the way things used to be, when there was Earl and 'Cakes and Oriole Magic and a beloved football team with horseshoes on its helmets.
Thompson's voice was just as definitive of that era, just as important, just as meaningful to the tens of thousands of people who spent years hunched over their radios, praying for victory.
For better or worse, that Baltimore is gone, layered over by new stadiums, new stars, new broadcasters, even a new football team.
Thompson's passing, like Unitas', emphasizes the sad reality that there's no going back to those days, but his voice lives on, not just on tape, but inside the heads of everyone who listened.
That voice stirs memories, and they are good memories, warm memories, some of the best that people in this city will ever own.
He defined era long gone, forever embraced
By John Eisenberg
March 7, 2005
CHUCK THOMPSON would have blushed at the suggestion that his death and Johnny Unitas' were in any way comparable. He didn't play the games, he just broadcast them. Unitas was the one on the field, the one who was important, the one whose death signaled the passing of an era.
But the news of Thompson's death yesterday at age 83 is just as shattering, just as sad, just as depressing for Baltimore as Unitas' death in 2002.
Thompson was older than Unitas at the end, and more infirm, his eyesight and memory failing. But just like Unitas, he represented so much to so many people here - so much that is vital and integral and personal.
If you grew up around here, Thompson was the sound of your childhood, the narrator of your memories.
Broadcasting baseball for a half century and football for three decades, he connected you to the Orioles and Colts, the teams you loved, the teams that turned you into sports fans.
Unitas and Brooks Robinson and their teammates played the games, but Thompson brought them into everyone's living rooms and made them human and touchable and sympathetic.
He brought them to life and brought Baltimore into the modern sports world as a major league town.
No one - no one - has done more to make sports better here.
"He's done it, the no-hitter. Tommy Phoebus has pitched a no-hitter. Go to war, Miss Agnes!"
That was Thompson's reaction after Phoebus, a Baltimore native, recorded the last out of an unfathomable no-hitter at Memorial Stadium on April 27, 1968. No one really knew what the last sentence meant, except that it meant Thompson was excited, almost as excited as Phoebus and the fans.
"Go to war, Miss Agnes!" became one of his trademarks, joining "Ain't the beer cold!" which he faithfully used after a clutch home run or a long touchdown pass.
But while he was best known for those trademark phrases, his real legacy is all those years of incomparably brilliant play-by-play.
Oh, sure, behind the microphone he was folksy and kind and venerable. But his mind was fast, his tongue faster, his on-the-fly judgments uncanny.
In some ways, his precise, rat-a-tat cadence was perfect for football, the faster game. But you never heard broadcasting perfection until you heard Thompson describing a long double to right-center with a runner on first.
That's a play with a lot of moving parts, too many for any mortal to describe in one breath, but Thompson depicted them so rapidly and vividly that you felt you were there.
One of the highest compliments you can pay any broadcaster is that you trusted him, and Thompson was as trustworthy as anyone who ever leaned into a microphone.
He got it right.
"There's a swing and a high fly ball going deep to left! This may do it! Back to the wall goes Berra. ... It is over the fence, home run - the Pirates win!"
That was his nationally broadcast call of Bill Mazeroski's World Series-winning home run in 1960 - simple, direct, vivid, a Baltimore guy making another town's history.
He got his first big break in Philadelphia when another broadcasting legend, By Saam, was delayed getting back to the booth after a pre-game ceremony. He came to Baltimore in 1949 to broadcast the games of the International League Orioles, and except for a brief time when he did baseball in Washington, he never left.
It isn't unusual for a broadcaster to be so closely associated with a city; many places revere an iconic behind-the-mike figure, often from Thompson's era.
But it is rare for a broadcaster to be as closely associated with teams in two sports, as Thompson was with the Orioles and Colts. For years, one of Baltimore's great barstool arguments was, "Do you prefer Chuck on baseball or football?" Of course, the arguments never lasted long, because Thompson was so superior at both.
As the years passed and he slowly removed himself from broadcasting, his voice became a symbol in this city, a symbol of the way things used to be, when there was Earl and 'Cakes and Oriole Magic and a beloved football team with horseshoes on its helmets.
Thompson's voice was just as definitive of that era, just as important, just as meaningful to the tens of thousands of people who spent years hunched over their radios, praying for victory.
For better or worse, that Baltimore is gone, layered over by new stadiums, new stars, new broadcasters, even a new football team.
Thompson's passing, like Unitas', emphasizes the sad reality that there's no going back to those days, but his voice lives on, not just on tape, but inside the heads of everyone who listened.
That voice stirs memories, and they are good memories, warm memories, some of the best that people in this city will ever own.
From The Baltimore Sun:
He defined era long gone, forever embraced
By John Eisenberg
March 7, 2005
CHUCK THOMPSON would have blushed at the suggestion that his death and Johnny Unitas' were in any way comparable. He didn't play the games, he just broadcast them. Unitas was the one on the field, the one who was important, the one whose death signaled the passing of an era.
But the news of Thompson's death yesterday at age 83 is just as shattering, just as sad, just as depressing for Baltimore as Unitas' death in 2002.
Thompson was older than Unitas at the end, and more infirm, his eyesight and memory failing. But just like Unitas, he represented so much to so many people here - so much that is vital and integral and personal.
If you grew up around here, Thompson was the sound of your childhood, the narrator of your memories.
Broadcasting baseball for a half century and football for three decades, he connected you to the Orioles and Colts, the teams you loved, the teams that turned you into sports fans.
Unitas and Brooks Robinson and their teammates played the games, but Thompson brought them into everyone's living rooms and made them human and touchable and sympathetic.
He brought them to life and brought Baltimore into the modern sports world as a major league town.
No one - no one - has done more to make sports better here.
"He's done it, the no-hitter. Tommy Phoebus has pitched a no-hitter. Go to war, Miss Agnes!"
That was Thompson's reaction after Phoebus, a Baltimore native, recorded the last out of an unfathomable no-hitter at Memorial Stadium on April 27, 1968. No one really knew what the last sentence meant, except that it meant Thompson was excited, almost as excited as Phoebus and the fans.
"Go to war, Miss Agnes!" became one of his trademarks, joining "Ain't the beer cold!" which he faithfully used after a clutch home run or a long touchdown pass.
But while he was best known for those trademark phrases, his real legacy is all those years of incomparably brilliant play-by-play.
Oh, sure, behind the microphone he was folksy and kind and venerable. But his mind was fast, his tongue faster, his on-the-fly judgments uncanny.
In some ways, his precise, rat-a-tat cadence was perfect for football, the faster game. But you never heard broadcasting perfection until you heard Thompson describing a long double to right-center with a runner on first.
That's a play with a lot of moving parts, too many for any mortal to describe in one breath, but Thompson depicted them so rapidly and vividly that you felt you were there.
One of the highest compliments you can pay any broadcaster is that you trusted him, and Thompson was as trustworthy as anyone who ever leaned into a microphone.
He got it right.
"There's a swing and a high fly ball going deep to left! This may do it! Back to the wall goes Berra. ... It is over the fence, home run - the Pirates win!"
That was his nationally broadcast call of Bill Mazeroski's World Series-winning home run in 1960 - simple, direct, vivid, a Baltimore guy making another town's history.
He got his first big break in Philadelphia when another broadcasting legend, By Saam, was delayed getting back to the booth after a pre-game ceremony. He came to Baltimore in 1949 to broadcast the games of the International League Orioles, and except for a brief time when he did baseball in Washington, he never left.
It isn't unusual for a broadcaster to be so closely associated with a city; many places revere an iconic behind-the-mike figure, often from Thompson's era.
But it is rare for a broadcaster to be as closely associated with teams in two sports, as Thompson was with the Orioles and Colts. For years, one of Baltimore's great barstool arguments was, "Do you prefer Chuck on baseball or football?" Of course, the arguments never lasted long, because Thompson was so superior at both.
As the years passed and he slowly removed himself from broadcasting, his voice became a symbol in this city, a symbol of the way things used to be, when there was Earl and 'Cakes and Oriole Magic and a beloved football team with horseshoes on its helmets.
Thompson's voice was just as definitive of that era, just as important, just as meaningful to the tens of thousands of people who spent years hunched over their radios, praying for victory.
For better or worse, that Baltimore is gone, layered over by new stadiums, new stars, new broadcasters, even a new football team.
Thompson's passing, like Unitas', emphasizes the sad reality that there's no going back to those days, but his voice lives on, not just on tape, but inside the heads of everyone who listened.
That voice stirs memories, and they are good memories, warm memories, some of the best that people in this city will ever own.
He defined era long gone, forever embraced
By John Eisenberg
March 7, 2005
CHUCK THOMPSON would have blushed at the suggestion that his death and Johnny Unitas' were in any way comparable. He didn't play the games, he just broadcast them. Unitas was the one on the field, the one who was important, the one whose death signaled the passing of an era.
But the news of Thompson's death yesterday at age 83 is just as shattering, just as sad, just as depressing for Baltimore as Unitas' death in 2002.
Thompson was older than Unitas at the end, and more infirm, his eyesight and memory failing. But just like Unitas, he represented so much to so many people here - so much that is vital and integral and personal.
If you grew up around here, Thompson was the sound of your childhood, the narrator of your memories.
Broadcasting baseball for a half century and football for three decades, he connected you to the Orioles and Colts, the teams you loved, the teams that turned you into sports fans.
Unitas and Brooks Robinson and their teammates played the games, but Thompson brought them into everyone's living rooms and made them human and touchable and sympathetic.
He brought them to life and brought Baltimore into the modern sports world as a major league town.
No one - no one - has done more to make sports better here.
"He's done it, the no-hitter. Tommy Phoebus has pitched a no-hitter. Go to war, Miss Agnes!"
That was Thompson's reaction after Phoebus, a Baltimore native, recorded the last out of an unfathomable no-hitter at Memorial Stadium on April 27, 1968. No one really knew what the last sentence meant, except that it meant Thompson was excited, almost as excited as Phoebus and the fans.
"Go to war, Miss Agnes!" became one of his trademarks, joining "Ain't the beer cold!" which he faithfully used after a clutch home run or a long touchdown pass.
But while he was best known for those trademark phrases, his real legacy is all those years of incomparably brilliant play-by-play.
Oh, sure, behind the microphone he was folksy and kind and venerable. But his mind was fast, his tongue faster, his on-the-fly judgments uncanny.
In some ways, his precise, rat-a-tat cadence was perfect for football, the faster game. But you never heard broadcasting perfection until you heard Thompson describing a long double to right-center with a runner on first.
That's a play with a lot of moving parts, too many for any mortal to describe in one breath, but Thompson depicted them so rapidly and vividly that you felt you were there.
One of the highest compliments you can pay any broadcaster is that you trusted him, and Thompson was as trustworthy as anyone who ever leaned into a microphone.
He got it right.
"There's a swing and a high fly ball going deep to left! This may do it! Back to the wall goes Berra. ... It is over the fence, home run - the Pirates win!"
That was his nationally broadcast call of Bill Mazeroski's World Series-winning home run in 1960 - simple, direct, vivid, a Baltimore guy making another town's history.
He got his first big break in Philadelphia when another broadcasting legend, By Saam, was delayed getting back to the booth after a pre-game ceremony. He came to Baltimore in 1949 to broadcast the games of the International League Orioles, and except for a brief time when he did baseball in Washington, he never left.
It isn't unusual for a broadcaster to be so closely associated with a city; many places revere an iconic behind-the-mike figure, often from Thompson's era.
But it is rare for a broadcaster to be as closely associated with teams in two sports, as Thompson was with the Orioles and Colts. For years, one of Baltimore's great barstool arguments was, "Do you prefer Chuck on baseball or football?" Of course, the arguments never lasted long, because Thompson was so superior at both.
As the years passed and he slowly removed himself from broadcasting, his voice became a symbol in this city, a symbol of the way things used to be, when there was Earl and 'Cakes and Oriole Magic and a beloved football team with horseshoes on its helmets.
Thompson's voice was just as definitive of that era, just as important, just as meaningful to the tens of thousands of people who spent years hunched over their radios, praying for victory.
For better or worse, that Baltimore is gone, layered over by new stadiums, new stars, new broadcasters, even a new football team.
Thompson's passing, like Unitas', emphasizes the sad reality that there's no going back to those days, but his voice lives on, not just on tape, but inside the heads of everyone who listened.
That voice stirs memories, and they are good memories, warm memories, some of the best that people in this city will ever own.
From The Baltimore Sun:
The voice at the heart of the Orioles, Colts
By Michael Olesker
March 7, 2005
His was the Voice of Summer. Across five decades of Baltimore Orioles baseball, those familiar tones arrived in bedrooms and barrooms, in kitchens and in cars strung out along dark lonesome roads. The athletes came and went with the years, as athletes do, but Chuck Thompson held things together. He brought us the ballgames of summer, and these helped turn us into a community.
He was there every autumn, too, in a now-vanished ballpark on 33rd Street where he led the Sunday worship services for a religion called the Baltimore Colts. It was Chuck who helped forge that holy communion between the team and the town. "The voice of God in Baltimore," broadcaster Ted Patterson once called him.
Remember how it was? If you listen to your imagination, you can still hear the echoes of Chuck from his press box pulpit:
"Unitas pitches to Moore. Now here's Lenny, moving laterally along the 35. He's got Parker in front of him. Moore slips away from Nitschke at the 40. He ducks Adderley at the 45, and he's got Mackey knocking people down at midfield. Here's Lenny moving into Packer territory, throwing a hip, bobbing and weaving ... "
Remember? For half a century, in the midst of cheering thousands, Chuck's was the voice at the heart of it. He did what announcers are supposed to do: He gave us an honest accounting. He created a ballpark inside our heads. He painted the human face of the team on the field. He became a keeper of the clubs' histories and an igniter of the public imagination.
And he did it in the present tense. When he did baseball, you didn't hear the crack of the bat and then that embarrassing pause while the announcer figures out what's happening and tries to put words around it. Thompson's eye and his verbal machinery worked in harmony. He was talking to you the instant bat and ball connected, and he kept up with the play until it was over.
Remember Brooks Robinson's miracles behind third base? Remember the 1970 World Series, when Lee May's bullet was hit so ferociously that it carried Brooksie deep into foul territory? Here's Chuck's call, at laser speed:
"The 2-2 to May. Swing, ground ball, third-base side. Brooks Robinson's got it, throwing from foul ground toward first base. It is ... in time!"
So much going on so quickly, and he was right on top of it, as it was happening.
In football, he was even better. For most radio announcers, the game is murderous. It's 22 men in organized chaos. They give you a ball carrier's name and a yard line if you're lucky, and then their press box spotter slips them the tackler when it's over. Then they search their memory and try to re-create the play from a nearby TV monitor. Chuck brought us the news as it was happening; he put you in the moment.
"Here's Moore, bobbing and weaving..."
"The guy's amazing," Vince Bagli was saying at Memorial Stadium some years back. Bagli was Chuck's sidekick for so many Colts games. "Night before the game, Chuck's always in his room, going over the numbers. Matching up the player and the number. After all these years, making sure he's got it perfect when he's on the air."
He was the veteran who approached each game with utmost respect for his listeners. To hear his voice doing an Orioles game - relaxed, amiable, floating breezily across a summer's evening - was to hear a gentleman neighbor drop in for a chat.
He was good company. You can't keep company around for half a century if you don't find him delightful - and Chuck was here from those early days when we were just getting to know our modern teams.
One day - it was Jerry Hoffberger's funeral, actually - I sat next to Chuck as he reminisced about how it all started for him. Thompson and Hoffberger, who owned Orioles' sponsor National Brewing Co. and later became the owner of the ballclub, "first sat down in 1955. It wasn't much of a conversation. He stuck out his hand and said, 'Kid, we got a deal.' And, for 23 years, that was it. We never had a contract. It was just a handshake, and it was good enough."
Then Chuck lifted his left hand and held up a wristwatch. On it was the commercial visage of a generation that linked Thompson, and broadcasts, and Maryland: Mr. Boh, the mustachioed National beer mascot. "Ain't the beer cold?" Chuck would cry. Jerry Hoffberger sold beer, and Thompson's voice sold a community an identity: The Land of Pleasant Living.
He was fine on television, but he was great on the radio, where you watched the game inside your head. Mark Harris, author of the great baseball novel Bang the Drum Slowly, once wrote:
"Radio was awe. The awe was produced by remoteness. ... Television reduces awe. In the days of radio, we scarcely knew the faces of the players, and so they were gods in ways the modern player can never be, whose face is familiar to us; whose stances and style we so clearly see; who sweats, who spits, who tugs at his crotch; whose tight fitting uniform in living color reveals his merely mortal form."
Chuck produced awe in real time. He did it by reporting the truth, and he did it with a sense of humor, too. Still vivid is the memory of 1958, when Unitas was sidelined for several games with a punctured lung. Then, on his first play from scrimmage, he found Lenny Moore and heaved a 60-yard touchdown bomb.
Behind his microphone, Thompson dryly asked, "How rusty can a guy get?"
It was Chuck and the late John Steadman who helped create the religious fervor around the Colts. It was Steadman who used to blow a horn in the press box when the Colts would score a touchdown. It was John's little rebellion against the stiffness of all those allegedly objective sportswriters.
One night years later, at the Bay Cafe, Chuck mentioned the horn. He said he and John took a little boat out on the Chesapeake Bay one day, and they played taps and then buried the horn at sea.
"Look at this," Chuck said as he told the story. He pointed to his bare arms. "I've got goose bumps."
That's what Chuck Thompson gave us for half a century: goose bumps. And it wasn't just because the beer was cold.
The voice at the heart of the Orioles, Colts
By Michael Olesker
March 7, 2005
His was the Voice of Summer. Across five decades of Baltimore Orioles baseball, those familiar tones arrived in bedrooms and barrooms, in kitchens and in cars strung out along dark lonesome roads. The athletes came and went with the years, as athletes do, but Chuck Thompson held things together. He brought us the ballgames of summer, and these helped turn us into a community.
He was there every autumn, too, in a now-vanished ballpark on 33rd Street where he led the Sunday worship services for a religion called the Baltimore Colts. It was Chuck who helped forge that holy communion between the team and the town. "The voice of God in Baltimore," broadcaster Ted Patterson once called him.
Remember how it was? If you listen to your imagination, you can still hear the echoes of Chuck from his press box pulpit:
"Unitas pitches to Moore. Now here's Lenny, moving laterally along the 35. He's got Parker in front of him. Moore slips away from Nitschke at the 40. He ducks Adderley at the 45, and he's got Mackey knocking people down at midfield. Here's Lenny moving into Packer territory, throwing a hip, bobbing and weaving ... "
Remember? For half a century, in the midst of cheering thousands, Chuck's was the voice at the heart of it. He did what announcers are supposed to do: He gave us an honest accounting. He created a ballpark inside our heads. He painted the human face of the team on the field. He became a keeper of the clubs' histories and an igniter of the public imagination.
And he did it in the present tense. When he did baseball, you didn't hear the crack of the bat and then that embarrassing pause while the announcer figures out what's happening and tries to put words around it. Thompson's eye and his verbal machinery worked in harmony. He was talking to you the instant bat and ball connected, and he kept up with the play until it was over.
Remember Brooks Robinson's miracles behind third base? Remember the 1970 World Series, when Lee May's bullet was hit so ferociously that it carried Brooksie deep into foul territory? Here's Chuck's call, at laser speed:
"The 2-2 to May. Swing, ground ball, third-base side. Brooks Robinson's got it, throwing from foul ground toward first base. It is ... in time!"
So much going on so quickly, and he was right on top of it, as it was happening.
In football, he was even better. For most radio announcers, the game is murderous. It's 22 men in organized chaos. They give you a ball carrier's name and a yard line if you're lucky, and then their press box spotter slips them the tackler when it's over. Then they search their memory and try to re-create the play from a nearby TV monitor. Chuck brought us the news as it was happening; he put you in the moment.
"Here's Moore, bobbing and weaving..."
"The guy's amazing," Vince Bagli was saying at Memorial Stadium some years back. Bagli was Chuck's sidekick for so many Colts games. "Night before the game, Chuck's always in his room, going over the numbers. Matching up the player and the number. After all these years, making sure he's got it perfect when he's on the air."
He was the veteran who approached each game with utmost respect for his listeners. To hear his voice doing an Orioles game - relaxed, amiable, floating breezily across a summer's evening - was to hear a gentleman neighbor drop in for a chat.
He was good company. You can't keep company around for half a century if you don't find him delightful - and Chuck was here from those early days when we were just getting to know our modern teams.
One day - it was Jerry Hoffberger's funeral, actually - I sat next to Chuck as he reminisced about how it all started for him. Thompson and Hoffberger, who owned Orioles' sponsor National Brewing Co. and later became the owner of the ballclub, "first sat down in 1955. It wasn't much of a conversation. He stuck out his hand and said, 'Kid, we got a deal.' And, for 23 years, that was it. We never had a contract. It was just a handshake, and it was good enough."
Then Chuck lifted his left hand and held up a wristwatch. On it was the commercial visage of a generation that linked Thompson, and broadcasts, and Maryland: Mr. Boh, the mustachioed National beer mascot. "Ain't the beer cold?" Chuck would cry. Jerry Hoffberger sold beer, and Thompson's voice sold a community an identity: The Land of Pleasant Living.
He was fine on television, but he was great on the radio, where you watched the game inside your head. Mark Harris, author of the great baseball novel Bang the Drum Slowly, once wrote:
"Radio was awe. The awe was produced by remoteness. ... Television reduces awe. In the days of radio, we scarcely knew the faces of the players, and so they were gods in ways the modern player can never be, whose face is familiar to us; whose stances and style we so clearly see; who sweats, who spits, who tugs at his crotch; whose tight fitting uniform in living color reveals his merely mortal form."
Chuck produced awe in real time. He did it by reporting the truth, and he did it with a sense of humor, too. Still vivid is the memory of 1958, when Unitas was sidelined for several games with a punctured lung. Then, on his first play from scrimmage, he found Lenny Moore and heaved a 60-yard touchdown bomb.
Behind his microphone, Thompson dryly asked, "How rusty can a guy get?"
It was Chuck and the late John Steadman who helped create the religious fervor around the Colts. It was Steadman who used to blow a horn in the press box when the Colts would score a touchdown. It was John's little rebellion against the stiffness of all those allegedly objective sportswriters.
One night years later, at the Bay Cafe, Chuck mentioned the horn. He said he and John took a little boat out on the Chesapeake Bay one day, and they played taps and then buried the horn at sea.
"Look at this," Chuck said as he told the story. He pointed to his bare arms. "I've got goose bumps."
That's what Chuck Thompson gave us for half a century: goose bumps. And it wasn't just because the beer was cold.
From The Baltimore Sun:
Chuck Thompson: 1921 - 2005
'A class all to himself'
Broadcaster: The Hall of Fame announcer came to Baltimore in 1949 and won over the hearts of the city.
By Ed Waldman
March 7, 2005
Chuck Thompson, whose familiar radio voice painted the picture of Baltimore sports for more than half a century, died yesterday morning after suffering a stroke Saturday. He was 83.
Mr. Thompson, known for his catch phrases "Ain't the beer cold!" and "Go to war, Miss Agnes!" came to Baltimore in 1949 to broadcast the games of the International League Orioles and never left.
"He was a joy to work with," said Vince Bagli, Mr. Thompson's longtime announcing partner with the Colts. "He was the best who ever worked in this area. Other than [for] Brooks Robinson, the best ovation [at an Orioles game] was when they said that Chuck Thompson was going to Cooperstown."
Said former Colt Tom Matte, now a radio analyst for Ravens games: "In my opinion, he was probably the greatest announcer I've ever known. He had a class all to himself. He had the greatest voice in the world."
Mr. Thompson died at 8:17 a.m. yesterday. He was stricken shortly after 7 a.m. Saturday at the Mays Chapel home he shared with his second wife, Betty, and was rushed to Greater Baltimore Medical Center, according to his brother-in-law, Fred Cupp.
Craig Thompson told reporters at GBMC yesterday that his father died "very peacefully, in his sleep," with his family by his side.
"This city of Baltimore has lost a good friend," Craig Thompson said. "And the sports media has lost one of the greatest voices of all time."
He asked that the news media respect the family's privacy and said it will be releasing more information in the coming days.
Mr. Thompson's health had declined in recent years. In 2000, he was forced to stop calling play-by-play on Orioles games part time because he suffered from macular degeneration, which made it impossible for him to read documents or follow the ball. He also suffered from some dementia and short-term memory loss, his brother-in-law said.
"He was without a doubt a giant in the business," said Jim Hunter, a current Orioles announcer. "As far as I'm concerned, he'll always be the voice of the Orioles. He was Mr. Oriole. You could even argue as much as Brooks [Robinson] and Cal [Ripken Jr.] were."
Veteran sportscaster Ted Patterson featured Mr. Thompson in two of his books, The Golden Voices of Baseball and The Golden Voices of Football.
"He was a throwback to an era when the broadcasters painted the pictures," Mr. Patterson said. "And he was tremendous at it."
In 1993, Mr. Thompson received the National Baseball Hall of Fame's Ford C. Frick Award, which, while not signifying induction into the Hall, is the highest honor a baseball announcer can receive.
"It was well-deserved," Mr. Bagli said. "It was overdue. But he never had the national profile. He never wanted to leave here. He had chances. But he loved Baltimore."
Said former Orioles manager Earl Weaver: "He did his job, he did it every day, and he did it as well as anybody could do it. He's going to be remembered, and there are going to be a lot of tapes that will still be played of some of Chuck's calls during all those fantastic years that the Orioles had."
To the day of his death, Mr. Thompson's voice could be heard on radio in commercials for a number of local companies.
Mr. Thompson was born in Palmer, Mass., on June 10, 1921. His family moved to Reading, Pa., in 1927, just before he began first grade.
While in high school, Mr. Thompson worked as A singer with dance bands, earning $1 a night for singing eight songs and $5 for a New Year's Eve gig.
Earning $5 a game
He broke into broadcasting in 1939, calling the games of Albright College for WRAW radio in Reading. He earned $5 a game.
He was inducted into the Army on Oct. 5, 1943, and after 17 weeks of basic training was sent to Europe aboard the Queen Mary. A sergeant, he fought in the Battle of the Bulge.
After an honorable discharge in August 1945, Mr. Thompson resumed his broadcasting career with WIBG, a radio station in Philadelphia.
Besides being a fine announcer, Mr. Thompson's career was marked by being in the right place at the right time.
He broadcast his first major-league game in 1946 when the Philadelphia Phillies' regular announcers were delayed getting to the radio booth because they had been honored on the field between games of a doubleheader and the elevator operator wasn't there to bring them back.
"The next thing I knew, Whitey Lockman was coming to the plate to start the second game and I just started talking," Mr. Thompson told The Sun in 1993.
When the veteran announcers finally made it back, a station executive instructed them to "sit down and work with the kid," Mr. Thompson recalled.
Then, in 1948, Mr. Thompson was supposed to do color commentary on the radio broadcast of the Navy-Missouri football game from Baltimore.
The play-by-play announcer got sick, and Mr. Thompson had to do the game by himself.
A few days later, the Gunther Brewing Co., which owned the broadcast rights to the International League Orioles, offered him the job of replacing Bill Dyer. To sweeten the offer, Gunther threw in the job of broadcasting the pro football games of the All-America Football Conference Colts.
It was the start of a wonderful love affair between Mr. Thompson and Baltimore.
"He got to Baltimore and became a legend in the town," Mr. Hunter said. "If you were a fan, you followed your favorite team with Chuck behind the mike, and that includes the Orioles and Colts. And that's rare for someone to be identified so strongly with two teams."
When the St. Louis Browns moved to Baltimore in 1954, the National Brewing Co. acquired the team's broadcast rights, and Mr. Thompson was temporarily out of a job. But before the next season, an agreement was struck allowing Mr. Thompson to call Orioles games.
In 1957, a dispute between National Brewing and Gunther Brewing, which was still his employer, forced Mr. Thompson to leave the Orioles to call Washington Senators games. During those years, he was also hired by NBC to call its Game of the Week telecast.
It was during the 1960 World Series between the Pittsburgh Pirates and New York Yankees that Mr. Thompson made an error that, in his 1996 autobiography, he called "easily the most embarrassing moment of my career behind the microphone."
Bill Mazeroski hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of the seventh game to win the Series for Pittsburgh. The homer, off pitcher Ralph Terry, made the final score 10-9. But Mr. Thompson said the Pirates' second baseman had gotten the hit off Art Ditmar and announced the final score as 10-0.
Given a chance to correct the error on a souvenir record the Pirates produced, Mr. Thompson declined. "I figured it had gone on the air that way, so it wouldn't be honest to change it," he wrote.
In 1962, Mr. Thompson returned to broadcasting the Orioles. Mr. Cupp said his brother-in-law's loyalty to National never wavered.
Once, while taking former Orioles star Boog Powell out for crabs at Bo Brooks, Mr. Thompson told the manager he wanted "the biggest crabs that they had," Mr. Cupp recalled.
"The manager came out with the crabs in an American Beer box," he said. "An American Beer box. You know how Chuck was with National Brewery. He said, 'I'm not going to take those crabs. No way.'"
Twice retired
Mr. Thompson called Orioles games until his first retirement in 1987. In 1991, he came back to work part time and continued on a limited schedule until 2000.
"He was such a gentleman," said Jeff Beauchamp, vice president and station manager of WBAL radio, Mr. Thompson's longtime employer. "I don't know if he had any enemies. He was never too busy to shake a hand or sign an autograph. And that's why he had earned that respect around the community.
"He had a distinctive style. It was a very rich style that was familiar to Baltimore, and people felt comfortable with him. He was someone they trusted."
Another moment in the national spotlight for Mr. Thompson came in 1958, when he was part of NBC's telecast of the National Football League championship, won by the Colts in overtime against the New York Giants and dubbed by many as "the greatest game ever played."
Mr. Thompson shared the booth with Chris Schenkel. The two announcers flipped a coin to decide who would do the play-by-play for which half, according to Mr. Thompson's recollection in Mr. Patterson's book. Mr. Schenkel won the toss and chose the second half, giving Mr. Thompson the job for the overtime period.
'Phrases that will live'
In a statement yesterday, Gov. Robert L. Ehrlich Jr. said: "'Go to war, Miss Agnes!' and 'Ain't the beer cold!' are phrases that will live with the generation that experienced one of the greatest sports announcers of all time. Our hearts go out to Betty and the entire Thompson family."
A memorial Mass will be celebrated Thursday at 11 a.m. at Cathedral of Mary Our Queen, 5200 N. Charles St. A private funeral is planned, and there will be no public viewing.
In addition to his wife - whom he married in 1989 - and son, survivors include a daughter, Susan Perkins, and eight grandchildren.
Mr. Thompson's first wife, Rose, died in 1985. Their daughter, Sandy Kuckler, died of breast cancer in 2001.
Sun staff writers Laura Cadiz, Christian Ewell, Bill Free, Mike Klingaman and Roch Kubatko contributed to this article.
Chuck Thompson: 1921 - 2005
'A class all to himself'
Broadcaster: The Hall of Fame announcer came to Baltimore in 1949 and won over the hearts of the city.
By Ed Waldman
March 7, 2005
Chuck Thompson, whose familiar radio voice painted the picture of Baltimore sports for more than half a century, died yesterday morning after suffering a stroke Saturday. He was 83.
Mr. Thompson, known for his catch phrases "Ain't the beer cold!" and "Go to war, Miss Agnes!" came to Baltimore in 1949 to broadcast the games of the International League Orioles and never left.
"He was a joy to work with," said Vince Bagli, Mr. Thompson's longtime announcing partner with the Colts. "He was the best who ever worked in this area. Other than [for] Brooks Robinson, the best ovation [at an Orioles game] was when they said that Chuck Thompson was going to Cooperstown."
Said former Colt Tom Matte, now a radio analyst for Ravens games: "In my opinion, he was probably the greatest announcer I've ever known. He had a class all to himself. He had the greatest voice in the world."
Mr. Thompson died at 8:17 a.m. yesterday. He was stricken shortly after 7 a.m. Saturday at the Mays Chapel home he shared with his second wife, Betty, and was rushed to Greater Baltimore Medical Center, according to his brother-in-law, Fred Cupp.
Craig Thompson told reporters at GBMC yesterday that his father died "very peacefully, in his sleep," with his family by his side.
"This city of Baltimore has lost a good friend," Craig Thompson said. "And the sports media has lost one of the greatest voices of all time."
He asked that the news media respect the family's privacy and said it will be releasing more information in the coming days.
Mr. Thompson's health had declined in recent years. In 2000, he was forced to stop calling play-by-play on Orioles games part time because he suffered from macular degeneration, which made it impossible for him to read documents or follow the ball. He also suffered from some dementia and short-term memory loss, his brother-in-law said.
"He was without a doubt a giant in the business," said Jim Hunter, a current Orioles announcer. "As far as I'm concerned, he'll always be the voice of the Orioles. He was Mr. Oriole. You could even argue as much as Brooks [Robinson] and Cal [Ripken Jr.] were."
Veteran sportscaster Ted Patterson featured Mr. Thompson in two of his books, The Golden Voices of Baseball and The Golden Voices of Football.
"He was a throwback to an era when the broadcasters painted the pictures," Mr. Patterson said. "And he was tremendous at it."
In 1993, Mr. Thompson received the National Baseball Hall of Fame's Ford C. Frick Award, which, while not signifying induction into the Hall, is the highest honor a baseball announcer can receive.
"It was well-deserved," Mr. Bagli said. "It was overdue. But he never had the national profile. He never wanted to leave here. He had chances. But he loved Baltimore."
Said former Orioles manager Earl Weaver: "He did his job, he did it every day, and he did it as well as anybody could do it. He's going to be remembered, and there are going to be a lot of tapes that will still be played of some of Chuck's calls during all those fantastic years that the Orioles had."
To the day of his death, Mr. Thompson's voice could be heard on radio in commercials for a number of local companies.
Mr. Thompson was born in Palmer, Mass., on June 10, 1921. His family moved to Reading, Pa., in 1927, just before he began first grade.
While in high school, Mr. Thompson worked as A singer with dance bands, earning $1 a night for singing eight songs and $5 for a New Year's Eve gig.
Earning $5 a game
He broke into broadcasting in 1939, calling the games of Albright College for WRAW radio in Reading. He earned $5 a game.
He was inducted into the Army on Oct. 5, 1943, and after 17 weeks of basic training was sent to Europe aboard the Queen Mary. A sergeant, he fought in the Battle of the Bulge.
After an honorable discharge in August 1945, Mr. Thompson resumed his broadcasting career with WIBG, a radio station in Philadelphia.
Besides being a fine announcer, Mr. Thompson's career was marked by being in the right place at the right time.
He broadcast his first major-league game in 1946 when the Philadelphia Phillies' regular announcers were delayed getting to the radio booth because they had been honored on the field between games of a doubleheader and the elevator operator wasn't there to bring them back.
"The next thing I knew, Whitey Lockman was coming to the plate to start the second game and I just started talking," Mr. Thompson told The Sun in 1993.
When the veteran announcers finally made it back, a station executive instructed them to "sit down and work with the kid," Mr. Thompson recalled.
Then, in 1948, Mr. Thompson was supposed to do color commentary on the radio broadcast of the Navy-Missouri football game from Baltimore.
The play-by-play announcer got sick, and Mr. Thompson had to do the game by himself.
A few days later, the Gunther Brewing Co., which owned the broadcast rights to the International League Orioles, offered him the job of replacing Bill Dyer. To sweeten the offer, Gunther threw in the job of broadcasting the pro football games of the All-America Football Conference Colts.
It was the start of a wonderful love affair between Mr. Thompson and Baltimore.
"He got to Baltimore and became a legend in the town," Mr. Hunter said. "If you were a fan, you followed your favorite team with Chuck behind the mike, and that includes the Orioles and Colts. And that's rare for someone to be identified so strongly with two teams."
When the St. Louis Browns moved to Baltimore in 1954, the National Brewing Co. acquired the team's broadcast rights, and Mr. Thompson was temporarily out of a job. But before the next season, an agreement was struck allowing Mr. Thompson to call Orioles games.
In 1957, a dispute between National Brewing and Gunther Brewing, which was still his employer, forced Mr. Thompson to leave the Orioles to call Washington Senators games. During those years, he was also hired by NBC to call its Game of the Week telecast.
It was during the 1960 World Series between the Pittsburgh Pirates and New York Yankees that Mr. Thompson made an error that, in his 1996 autobiography, he called "easily the most embarrassing moment of my career behind the microphone."
Bill Mazeroski hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of the seventh game to win the Series for Pittsburgh. The homer, off pitcher Ralph Terry, made the final score 10-9. But Mr. Thompson said the Pirates' second baseman had gotten the hit off Art Ditmar and announced the final score as 10-0.
Given a chance to correct the error on a souvenir record the Pirates produced, Mr. Thompson declined. "I figured it had gone on the air that way, so it wouldn't be honest to change it," he wrote.
In 1962, Mr. Thompson returned to broadcasting the Orioles. Mr. Cupp said his brother-in-law's loyalty to National never wavered.
Once, while taking former Orioles star Boog Powell out for crabs at Bo Brooks, Mr. Thompson told the manager he wanted "the biggest crabs that they had," Mr. Cupp recalled.
"The manager came out with the crabs in an American Beer box," he said. "An American Beer box. You know how Chuck was with National Brewery. He said, 'I'm not going to take those crabs. No way.'"
Twice retired
Mr. Thompson called Orioles games until his first retirement in 1987. In 1991, he came back to work part time and continued on a limited schedule until 2000.
"He was such a gentleman," said Jeff Beauchamp, vice president and station manager of WBAL radio, Mr. Thompson's longtime employer. "I don't know if he had any enemies. He was never too busy to shake a hand or sign an autograph. And that's why he had earned that respect around the community.
"He had a distinctive style. It was a very rich style that was familiar to Baltimore, and people felt comfortable with him. He was someone they trusted."
Another moment in the national spotlight for Mr. Thompson came in 1958, when he was part of NBC's telecast of the National Football League championship, won by the Colts in overtime against the New York Giants and dubbed by many as "the greatest game ever played."
Mr. Thompson shared the booth with Chris Schenkel. The two announcers flipped a coin to decide who would do the play-by-play for which half, according to Mr. Thompson's recollection in Mr. Patterson's book. Mr. Schenkel won the toss and chose the second half, giving Mr. Thompson the job for the overtime period.
'Phrases that will live'
In a statement yesterday, Gov. Robert L. Ehrlich Jr. said: "'Go to war, Miss Agnes!' and 'Ain't the beer cold!' are phrases that will live with the generation that experienced one of the greatest sports announcers of all time. Our hearts go out to Betty and the entire Thompson family."
A memorial Mass will be celebrated Thursday at 11 a.m. at Cathedral of Mary Our Queen, 5200 N. Charles St. A private funeral is planned, and there will be no public viewing.
In addition to his wife - whom he married in 1989 - and son, survivors include a daughter, Susan Perkins, and eight grandchildren.
Mr. Thompson's first wife, Rose, died in 1985. Their daughter, Sandy Kuckler, died of breast cancer in 2001.
Sun staff writers Laura Cadiz, Christian Ewell, Bill Free, Mike Klingaman and Roch Kubatko contributed to this article.
From TarHeelBlue.com:
The End
By Adam Lucas
The end was going to be all wrong.
There was no way Jawad Williams, Melvin Scott, and Jackie Manuel could go out with a loss. It was not possible. It was not part of the script. It just wasn't right. Don't you understand? They were not going to get to shed happy tears, not the kind that are supposed to flow on Senior Day. They were going to be frustrating tears, tears that make you want to punch a wall.
There it was on the Smith Center scoreboard. Duke 73, Carolina 64. The Tar Heels had played 17 minutes of the second half and had 17 lousy points to show for it.
What about the postgame speeches? How are the seniors going to revel in the adulation that should rightfully be theirs when they've lost their final home game? It is not right. It does not make sense. It made you want to break something, made you want to ball up your paper and fire it into a corner somewhere where it would sit, undisturbed, for days.
This can't happen. Not today.
And then Jackie Manuel is missing a shot, and then Sean May is missing a shot, and then Jawad Williams is tipping it back in. 73-66 Duke, 2:40 left. A low buzz, barely a murmur. It seemed so unlikely.
Except in the Carolina huddle, where the head coach was telling his team something simple: "Believe."
"Me personally, I just, I don't know, you know when you get that feeling like everything is supposed to be right on this day?" David Noel said. "You find some way to get in a drought but it always turns out right? That's the feeling I had. And that's the feeling the team had when we came out of the huddle."
But still there was so far to go. Seven points in 2:40 against a good foul shooting team, against a team that was doing most everything right. Seven points. It seemed like too much.
Then, a Duke turnover. Raymond Felton did not seem particularly hurried. He knew.
And then it all became a rush. Two free throws for Marvin Williams and Sean May getting a three-point play and Felton missing a leaner and Noel knocking the ball away and the Heels getting a timeout and then Felton missing a free throw but tipping the ball to Marvin Williams who made the shot and you can't hear the whistle because it's so loud but then you realize he was fouled! and you are high fiving someone you don't know and they are giving you a hug and you don't know them but yeah it feels pretty good and you have just noticed that you can't hear anything.
And then Redick. Why has it got to be Redick? Why does he have to be taking the shot? The ball stays in the air forever. Shouldn't this be against the rules? Should he be allowed to shoot a helium-filled basketball? Really, is it ever going to come down?
You know what this means. You know that the ball finding the net would be a crusher, would instantly cause 21,750 people to go silent. Redick has said before, this is what he loves. He likes to hear crowds go quiet on the road.
This crowd is not quiet. This crowd is watching the ball bound off the rim, watching Sean May rebound Daniel Ewing's last-second follow shot, watching ushers hold their arms out to their sides in a vain effort to keep a mass of humanity from emptying onto the court.
This crowd is thinking that this ending is exactly right.
Be honest. At that very moment, you felt like jumping as high as you could and also felt like you wanted to sink to your knees. Pure jubilation and pure exhaustion.
That is how Jawad Williams felt. After Roy Williams had cleared the floor of happy students (the words, "This is Senior Day, and we're going to do it the right way!" have a magical effect), after every senior had gotten a snip of the regular season championship net, after Sean May had walked over to every cheerleader and dance team member and shaken their hands, Jawad Williams had to sit down.
His teammates were celebrating around him. His home career was ending. Four years, 62 home games, losses to Hampton, Davidson, Ohio. From virtually the same spot where he sat, Jason Capel beat Binghamton with a three-pointer.
Now this.
"I just had to reflect for a minute," he said. "I remember coming in here and losing to Hampton and Davison, just beating Binghamton. I had to reflect on everything I've been through since I came here."
They did address the crowd, did soak in the cheers that seemed like they would never end. The current Tar Heels and the coaching staff took a seat to watch their seniors say farewell to people who have watched them fail, succeed, and grow over the past four years.
"I'd like to thank the coaching staff for helping me find myself," Jackie Manuel said.
That's when those tears came for the head coach. That's when Roy Williams had to wipe his eyes.
Assistant coach Joe Holladay walked out of the Carolina locker room after the game with a broad smile. He kept it simple. He did exactly what most people did after this game--looked at people they knew and just shook their heads. No words. Just a smile and a shake of the head.
But then he added two quick sentences.
"Can you believe that?" he said. "You couldn't write a book with that ending."
The end.
And maybe, just the beginning.
The End
By Adam Lucas
The end was going to be all wrong.
There was no way Jawad Williams, Melvin Scott, and Jackie Manuel could go out with a loss. It was not possible. It was not part of the script. It just wasn't right. Don't you understand? They were not going to get to shed happy tears, not the kind that are supposed to flow on Senior Day. They were going to be frustrating tears, tears that make you want to punch a wall.
There it was on the Smith Center scoreboard. Duke 73, Carolina 64. The Tar Heels had played 17 minutes of the second half and had 17 lousy points to show for it.
What about the postgame speeches? How are the seniors going to revel in the adulation that should rightfully be theirs when they've lost their final home game? It is not right. It does not make sense. It made you want to break something, made you want to ball up your paper and fire it into a corner somewhere where it would sit, undisturbed, for days.
This can't happen. Not today.
And then Jackie Manuel is missing a shot, and then Sean May is missing a shot, and then Jawad Williams is tipping it back in. 73-66 Duke, 2:40 left. A low buzz, barely a murmur. It seemed so unlikely.
Except in the Carolina huddle, where the head coach was telling his team something simple: "Believe."
"Me personally, I just, I don't know, you know when you get that feeling like everything is supposed to be right on this day?" David Noel said. "You find some way to get in a drought but it always turns out right? That's the feeling I had. And that's the feeling the team had when we came out of the huddle."
But still there was so far to go. Seven points in 2:40 against a good foul shooting team, against a team that was doing most everything right. Seven points. It seemed like too much.
Then, a Duke turnover. Raymond Felton did not seem particularly hurried. He knew.
And then it all became a rush. Two free throws for Marvin Williams and Sean May getting a three-point play and Felton missing a leaner and Noel knocking the ball away and the Heels getting a timeout and then Felton missing a free throw but tipping the ball to Marvin Williams who made the shot and you can't hear the whistle because it's so loud but then you realize he was fouled! and you are high fiving someone you don't know and they are giving you a hug and you don't know them but yeah it feels pretty good and you have just noticed that you can't hear anything.
And then Redick. Why has it got to be Redick? Why does he have to be taking the shot? The ball stays in the air forever. Shouldn't this be against the rules? Should he be allowed to shoot a helium-filled basketball? Really, is it ever going to come down?
You know what this means. You know that the ball finding the net would be a crusher, would instantly cause 21,750 people to go silent. Redick has said before, this is what he loves. He likes to hear crowds go quiet on the road.
This crowd is not quiet. This crowd is watching the ball bound off the rim, watching Sean May rebound Daniel Ewing's last-second follow shot, watching ushers hold their arms out to their sides in a vain effort to keep a mass of humanity from emptying onto the court.
This crowd is thinking that this ending is exactly right.
Be honest. At that very moment, you felt like jumping as high as you could and also felt like you wanted to sink to your knees. Pure jubilation and pure exhaustion.
That is how Jawad Williams felt. After Roy Williams had cleared the floor of happy students (the words, "This is Senior Day, and we're going to do it the right way!" have a magical effect), after every senior had gotten a snip of the regular season championship net, after Sean May had walked over to every cheerleader and dance team member and shaken their hands, Jawad Williams had to sit down.
His teammates were celebrating around him. His home career was ending. Four years, 62 home games, losses to Hampton, Davidson, Ohio. From virtually the same spot where he sat, Jason Capel beat Binghamton with a three-pointer.
Now this.
"I just had to reflect for a minute," he said. "I remember coming in here and losing to Hampton and Davison, just beating Binghamton. I had to reflect on everything I've been through since I came here."
They did address the crowd, did soak in the cheers that seemed like they would never end. The current Tar Heels and the coaching staff took a seat to watch their seniors say farewell to people who have watched them fail, succeed, and grow over the past four years.
"I'd like to thank the coaching staff for helping me find myself," Jackie Manuel said.
That's when those tears came for the head coach. That's when Roy Williams had to wipe his eyes.
Assistant coach Joe Holladay walked out of the Carolina locker room after the game with a broad smile. He kept it simple. He did exactly what most people did after this game--looked at people they knew and just shook their heads. No words. Just a smile and a shake of the head.
But then he added two quick sentences.
"Can you believe that?" he said. "You couldn't write a book with that ending."
The end.
And maybe, just the beginning.
Carolina/Duke Postgame Quotes
Carolina comes back to win it
By UNC Athletic Communications
HEAD COACH Roy Williams
Opening Statement:
"Well it was a heck of a finish to say the least. We have played four games against Duke since our staff came back and all four of them have gone down to the last minute. It's been a little wild the last two. They were able to get us three times in a row, so maybe the moon was just right. It was our chance.
"I love the competitiveness of our team when we were down nine inside three minutes. I told them that if they were to make a total commitment to every possession on the defensive end and every possession on the offensive end that we would have a chance still at the end. I think that's what they did.
"Needless to say we are also very fortunate. We were going to try to foul when there was about 37-38 seconds left. Yet we ended up forcing a loose ball and we ended up getting that and a timeout. We tried to make a play; we were not going to hold for the last shot. We were going to try to make something happen then have a chance to tip it in or extend the game if we did not score. Raymond [Felton] made a nice move and got fouled, made the free throw and then in probably one of the most impressive things of the whole game was how aggressively Raymond went after the offensive rebound on his own missed free throw. Marvin came up with it and that's talent, that's not coaching. He put the ball back to the basket, made the free throw. We are fortunate they missed. We didn't do a great job, I wanted to hold them to one shot. We talked about that all year long in practice. We worked on a 'must-stop'. We had to get two 'must-stops' in a row. So at the timeout that's what we talked about. We had to stop them and finish it by getting the rebound. We gave them a second opportunity but Sean [May] was able to get that last rebound.
"Twenty-six points and 24 rebounds is a big-time effort. We had some players that had some unbelievable efforts and that was one of them. I can't enough positive things about Duke. They have had some problems this year with injuries, but those guys that stayed on the court for them are 100% heart. I have total respect for them and the job that Mike does. I feel very lucky, and very fortunate to have won."
On his energy:
"I felt that there was a couple times where I really just wanted to see if I could help them. But that means that coaching is taking credit and that's not what I'm trying to do. There's no question I was into the game. I think that was pretty evident. I did ask them for a total commitment. Somebody told me one time that every game somebody gives in. But I don't think either of these teams gave in today. I asked my team to not bring anything back to the locker room and those last three minutes I promised them we would have a chance."
On the postgame celebration:
"I'm big on letting kids celebrate. We will be criticized for it like every thing you do in coaching you're going to be criticized for. Somebody's not going like it and that's just part of it. I'm big on kids enjoying themselves. I'm big on kids thanking the fans. The idea of them talking to the fans after the game is something I stole from Coach [Bobby] Knight at Indiana. He did that with their players. We were fortunate enough to win nine conference championships in my 15 years at Kansas and most of the time when we were at home we cut down the nets. I think it's okay in college athletics to let kids celebrate. It's not an insult to anybody else but if some people don't like it, it's okay. The other part of it is, those three seniors, 8-20, I think they deserved to have some fun. Coach Smith told me, I have asked him several questions, and he said "you are the boss". So I said we are going to cut down the nets.
DUKE HEAD COACH MIKE KRZYZEWSKI
Opening Statement:
"Well it's a great game, just a very intense basketball game just like the one in Cameron. Just like the one in Cameron, it came down to the last possession and they were better than we were in the last possession. We're going to make some mistakes. We made a couple of them at the end, but overall, we didn't make a lot of mistakes to put us in a position where we're winning. I thought our guys did well. [Sean] May was fantastic. If you get 24 rebounds in this day and age, it's remarkable. That's just a magnificent individual performance. I thought both teams played hard and well. Our defense in the second half was terrific and some of our offensive execution, but they made some big plays down the stretch and we didn't and they won and they deserved it because they did that. Well, I'm proud of our guys. We have to close the chapter to this book, the regular season, and our guys were at every ball game. I'm proud of them, and hopefully we can get even a little bit healthier and do well in the next two tournaments."
On what the Heels did against Redick in the 2nd half:
"They just kept constant pressure. I thought J.J. missed some open-he's human. He had open looks, but you also know that they're going to keep fighting. So you're just going to get it for that fraction. He just missed some shots and then they played really good defense. It's that combination."
On the play of Shelden Williams:
"Well, you have maybe two of the best big guys in the country playing great basketball. In this day and age where everyone focuses on guards and outside shooting and things like that, they were both terrific in their own way. Shelden's defense, when he's playing like that, makes us an outstanding defensive team."
On the number of deflections he thinks his team got in the second half:
"I just wish we had one that went to a turnover in the last three minutes. Both teams played really hard. It was an effort between these two programs and this game and obviously, we're disappointed, but we lost to a great program and classy group of kids and classy coach. We had two great games this year, the two of us. Two of the best in college basketball with Duke and North Carolina."
On what he had set up in his final possession:
"Well we had (J.J.) off of a couple of screens and we got a good look. It was in and out. So, that was a good thing, and then we got another one. We were going to win the game, and went with our best player to win it. We'll do that again if we ever have a chance to be in a situation like that."
Carolina comes back to win it
By UNC Athletic Communications
HEAD COACH Roy Williams
Opening Statement:
"Well it was a heck of a finish to say the least. We have played four games against Duke since our staff came back and all four of them have gone down to the last minute. It's been a little wild the last two. They were able to get us three times in a row, so maybe the moon was just right. It was our chance.
"I love the competitiveness of our team when we were down nine inside three minutes. I told them that if they were to make a total commitment to every possession on the defensive end and every possession on the offensive end that we would have a chance still at the end. I think that's what they did.
"Needless to say we are also very fortunate. We were going to try to foul when there was about 37-38 seconds left. Yet we ended up forcing a loose ball and we ended up getting that and a timeout. We tried to make a play; we were not going to hold for the last shot. We were going to try to make something happen then have a chance to tip it in or extend the game if we did not score. Raymond [Felton] made a nice move and got fouled, made the free throw and then in probably one of the most impressive things of the whole game was how aggressively Raymond went after the offensive rebound on his own missed free throw. Marvin came up with it and that's talent, that's not coaching. He put the ball back to the basket, made the free throw. We are fortunate they missed. We didn't do a great job, I wanted to hold them to one shot. We talked about that all year long in practice. We worked on a 'must-stop'. We had to get two 'must-stops' in a row. So at the timeout that's what we talked about. We had to stop them and finish it by getting the rebound. We gave them a second opportunity but Sean [May] was able to get that last rebound.
"Twenty-six points and 24 rebounds is a big-time effort. We had some players that had some unbelievable efforts and that was one of them. I can't enough positive things about Duke. They have had some problems this year with injuries, but those guys that stayed on the court for them are 100% heart. I have total respect for them and the job that Mike does. I feel very lucky, and very fortunate to have won."
On his energy:
"I felt that there was a couple times where I really just wanted to see if I could help them. But that means that coaching is taking credit and that's not what I'm trying to do. There's no question I was into the game. I think that was pretty evident. I did ask them for a total commitment. Somebody told me one time that every game somebody gives in. But I don't think either of these teams gave in today. I asked my team to not bring anything back to the locker room and those last three minutes I promised them we would have a chance."
On the postgame celebration:
"I'm big on letting kids celebrate. We will be criticized for it like every thing you do in coaching you're going to be criticized for. Somebody's not going like it and that's just part of it. I'm big on kids enjoying themselves. I'm big on kids thanking the fans. The idea of them talking to the fans after the game is something I stole from Coach [Bobby] Knight at Indiana. He did that with their players. We were fortunate enough to win nine conference championships in my 15 years at Kansas and most of the time when we were at home we cut down the nets. I think it's okay in college athletics to let kids celebrate. It's not an insult to anybody else but if some people don't like it, it's okay. The other part of it is, those three seniors, 8-20, I think they deserved to have some fun. Coach Smith told me, I have asked him several questions, and he said "you are the boss". So I said we are going to cut down the nets.
DUKE HEAD COACH MIKE KRZYZEWSKI
Opening Statement:
"Well it's a great game, just a very intense basketball game just like the one in Cameron. Just like the one in Cameron, it came down to the last possession and they were better than we were in the last possession. We're going to make some mistakes. We made a couple of them at the end, but overall, we didn't make a lot of mistakes to put us in a position where we're winning. I thought our guys did well. [Sean] May was fantastic. If you get 24 rebounds in this day and age, it's remarkable. That's just a magnificent individual performance. I thought both teams played hard and well. Our defense in the second half was terrific and some of our offensive execution, but they made some big plays down the stretch and we didn't and they won and they deserved it because they did that. Well, I'm proud of our guys. We have to close the chapter to this book, the regular season, and our guys were at every ball game. I'm proud of them, and hopefully we can get even a little bit healthier and do well in the next two tournaments."
On what the Heels did against Redick in the 2nd half:
"They just kept constant pressure. I thought J.J. missed some open-he's human. He had open looks, but you also know that they're going to keep fighting. So you're just going to get it for that fraction. He just missed some shots and then they played really good defense. It's that combination."
On the play of Shelden Williams:
"Well, you have maybe two of the best big guys in the country playing great basketball. In this day and age where everyone focuses on guards and outside shooting and things like that, they were both terrific in their own way. Shelden's defense, when he's playing like that, makes us an outstanding defensive team."
On the number of deflections he thinks his team got in the second half:
"I just wish we had one that went to a turnover in the last three minutes. Both teams played really hard. It was an effort between these two programs and this game and obviously, we're disappointed, but we lost to a great program and classy group of kids and classy coach. We had two great games this year, the two of us. Two of the best in college basketball with Duke and North Carolina."
On what he had set up in his final possession:
"Well we had (J.J.) off of a couple of screens and we got a good look. It was in and out. So, that was a good thing, and then we got another one. We were going to win the game, and went with our best player to win it. We'll do that again if we ever have a chance to be in a situation like that."
From The News and Observer:
These Heels making their own history
By Ned Barnett
CHAPEL HILL -- The banners and memories of the Smith Center carry so much weight of the past you sometimes forget they're still making history there.
On Sunday, there wasn't any doubt. North Carolina basketball history is alive. So alive, the Tar Heels came back from the dead. Down by nine with three minutes to go, Carolina bumped, scrapped and just plain willed itself to a 75-73 victory over Duke.
It was a classic ending to a classic basketball game in a classic rivalry.
It was "Senior Day" and a freshman's day. It was a J.J. vs. May day.
It was up and down, and back and forth, miss and make and in and out and finally a cascading Carolina roar as a sea of blue flooded the floor.
With history watching from the rafters, the Tar Heels fashioned three no-surrender minutes that will be remembered for a long time.
The Blue Devils, too, will find them hard to forget.
"Both teams played really hard," Duke coach Mike Krzyzewski said. "It was an effort befitting these two programs and this game."
Lots of things happened between the point when Duke's Lee Melchionni hit a 3-pointer to put Duke up 73-64 with 3:07 to play and when Daniel Ewing missed Duke's last, desperate shot.
What the sequence was ultimately about wasn't just Carolina beating the Blue Devils, but the Heels vanquishing some light blue demons. Seniors who had started their careers during the disastrous 8-20 season ended their final regular season with the exhilarating discovery that luck has a good side and it can be on your side if you work for it.
The win also lifted a small, but growing burden from the back of coach Roy Williams. He was on the verge of going 0-4 against the man he was brought back to Chapel Hill to beat, Krzyzewski. Instead he's 1-3 and the owner of the last victory. That looks better and certainly must feel better for a man who has physical aversion to losing.
The Carolina win brought the Heels good news on several fronts. It clinched the regular-season ACC championship and earned the Heels the top seed in this week's ACC Tournament. It may also have lifted Carolina (26-3, 14-2 ACC) in the national rankings from from No. 2 to No. 1.
There were also ACC honors on the line. Both Williams and Krzyzewski are competing for ACC coach of the year. Duke's J.J. Redick and Carolina's Sean May are both worthy of Player of the Year honors.
Despite Carolina's victory, Williams and May may still fall short of those honors. That Krzyzewski could come so close to sweeping Williams with less talent testifies to the remarkable coaching job he is doing this year.
Redick, after scoring 17 in the first half, was shut out in the second half. But the points don't show how disruptive Redick is even when he's not scoring. Just the threat of him on the floor -- and Krzyzewski makes sure Redick is almost always out there -- shapes the entire game.
If Redick isn't doing the damage himself, he's drawing the defense and feeding someone else who does. On Sunday, that someone else was Melchionni, who nearly buried Carolina by burying five second-half 3-pointers.
Ewing and Shelden Williams provide support and balance to the Redick attack, but sometimes he seems starkly alone. At one point Sunday, Redick was on the floor with the underwhelming lineup of Ewing, DeMarcus Nelson, Patrick Johnson and David McClure. When McLure stepped to the line for a foul shot, Carolina fans chanted, "Who are you?"
Krzyzewski and Redick are carrying Duke (22-5, 11-5 ACC) further and higher than a team that was swept by Maryland deserves to go. But if they are making more from less, Williams and May are fully exploiting Carolina's opportunities. May, with a monstrous line of 26 points and 24 rebounds, is tapping a talent that's even greater than the high expectations he brought to Carolina.
Williams said May collects so many rebounds because he has, "A nose for the ball, a want to go get it, maybe the best pair of hands I've ever been around, and the idea that he can get the ball that's 3 or 4 feet away. ... He's 6-8 is all he is, but he plays the full 6-8 all the time because his hands are so active in going after it. ... We don't win without him."
Yet there was more to it than May, Williams said.
"North Carolina won that game today. It wasn't about any individuals," he said.
On Sunday, the Tar Heels added to their great moments and left behind their worst.
"I don't think that anybody would have said in four years that this program would have turned around the way it did," May said. "We've all come in here and done our part and we're not done yet. We've got a long way to go. That's why we didn't quit."
These Heels making their own history
By Ned Barnett
CHAPEL HILL -- The banners and memories of the Smith Center carry so much weight of the past you sometimes forget they're still making history there.
On Sunday, there wasn't any doubt. North Carolina basketball history is alive. So alive, the Tar Heels came back from the dead. Down by nine with three minutes to go, Carolina bumped, scrapped and just plain willed itself to a 75-73 victory over Duke.
It was a classic ending to a classic basketball game in a classic rivalry.
It was "Senior Day" and a freshman's day. It was a J.J. vs. May day.
It was up and down, and back and forth, miss and make and in and out and finally a cascading Carolina roar as a sea of blue flooded the floor.
With history watching from the rafters, the Tar Heels fashioned three no-surrender minutes that will be remembered for a long time.
The Blue Devils, too, will find them hard to forget.
"Both teams played really hard," Duke coach Mike Krzyzewski said. "It was an effort befitting these two programs and this game."
Lots of things happened between the point when Duke's Lee Melchionni hit a 3-pointer to put Duke up 73-64 with 3:07 to play and when Daniel Ewing missed Duke's last, desperate shot.
What the sequence was ultimately about wasn't just Carolina beating the Blue Devils, but the Heels vanquishing some light blue demons. Seniors who had started their careers during the disastrous 8-20 season ended their final regular season with the exhilarating discovery that luck has a good side and it can be on your side if you work for it.
The win also lifted a small, but growing burden from the back of coach Roy Williams. He was on the verge of going 0-4 against the man he was brought back to Chapel Hill to beat, Krzyzewski. Instead he's 1-3 and the owner of the last victory. That looks better and certainly must feel better for a man who has physical aversion to losing.
The Carolina win brought the Heels good news on several fronts. It clinched the regular-season ACC championship and earned the Heels the top seed in this week's ACC Tournament. It may also have lifted Carolina (26-3, 14-2 ACC) in the national rankings from from No. 2 to No. 1.
There were also ACC honors on the line. Both Williams and Krzyzewski are competing for ACC coach of the year. Duke's J.J. Redick and Carolina's Sean May are both worthy of Player of the Year honors.
Despite Carolina's victory, Williams and May may still fall short of those honors. That Krzyzewski could come so close to sweeping Williams with less talent testifies to the remarkable coaching job he is doing this year.
Redick, after scoring 17 in the first half, was shut out in the second half. But the points don't show how disruptive Redick is even when he's not scoring. Just the threat of him on the floor -- and Krzyzewski makes sure Redick is almost always out there -- shapes the entire game.
If Redick isn't doing the damage himself, he's drawing the defense and feeding someone else who does. On Sunday, that someone else was Melchionni, who nearly buried Carolina by burying five second-half 3-pointers.
Ewing and Shelden Williams provide support and balance to the Redick attack, but sometimes he seems starkly alone. At one point Sunday, Redick was on the floor with the underwhelming lineup of Ewing, DeMarcus Nelson, Patrick Johnson and David McClure. When McLure stepped to the line for a foul shot, Carolina fans chanted, "Who are you?"
Krzyzewski and Redick are carrying Duke (22-5, 11-5 ACC) further and higher than a team that was swept by Maryland deserves to go. But if they are making more from less, Williams and May are fully exploiting Carolina's opportunities. May, with a monstrous line of 26 points and 24 rebounds, is tapping a talent that's even greater than the high expectations he brought to Carolina.
Williams said May collects so many rebounds because he has, "A nose for the ball, a want to go get it, maybe the best pair of hands I've ever been around, and the idea that he can get the ball that's 3 or 4 feet away. ... He's 6-8 is all he is, but he plays the full 6-8 all the time because his hands are so active in going after it. ... We don't win without him."
Yet there was more to it than May, Williams said.
"North Carolina won that game today. It wasn't about any individuals," he said.
On Sunday, the Tar Heels added to their great moments and left behind their worst.
"I don't think that anybody would have said in four years that this program would have turned around the way it did," May said. "We've all come in here and done our part and we're not done yet. We've got a long way to go. That's why we didn't quit."
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