Buck humble despite fame on TV, radio

He was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, the broadcasters wing, in 1990. It is a career that began in Holyoke, Mass., moved through Ohio State and ended up in St. Louis where he has been with the Cardinals since 1954. He is Jack Buck and the wit and nuances are still as sharp as Ty Cobb’s spikes.

The right hand shakes a little now, not all the time, but some.

“I’ve got a little case of Parkinson’s,” Buck chortles. “You know what is really frustrating? It’s that button on the left-hand sleeve of the shirt. I put my fingers there, but it just won’t button, that little SOB.”

He smiles that Jack Buck, all knowing, “I’ve got-a-better-one-coming” smile even as he says this.

We sit in Carindal manager Tony LaRussa’s office before a game, just talking, and that signature Buck voice gently ripples in the room. He is no longer the radio voice of the NFL this year, both he and Hank Stramm have been replaced.

“You know,” Buck says, “there was this game and you know I like to follow the betting odds on the games [he’s been known to see a pony run or two] and late in the game one of the teams scores. I actually said that made the score 13 1/2 to 6. I think that’s why I got fired.”

That slight and light chuckle is still there. He knows what is serious and what just passes on.

“There was this kid who wrote to me. He was wounded in Vietnam. Totally paralyzed. Listened to every game. I went to see him in the hospital and got pretty close. He wanted to come up to the booth to watch a game and see us work. He did. He never moans. I’d think you’d rather be dead, but I guess not.”

You lean forward to listen when Jack speaks. It is a quiet voice with great flow. Less is more.

“I’d think he’d rather be dead, but I guess not.”

That’s it. No more.

Buck was in the U.S. Army in World War II. He was wounded at the Remagen Bridge going into Germany in 1945. Years later he was talking the war over with another Hall-of-Fame announcer, Lindsey Nelson, and discovered they had both been wounded that same day at the same bridge in the same shoulder. Like most who saw battle, the impact is forever.

“I go to the VA hospital, always have,” Buck says. “This one kid was paralyzed. He went to school with a National League pitcher I won’t name. He asked me if I would get the pitcher’s autograph for him.

“So I go to this pitcher and tell him the story and the guy says, `Oh him. He’s been a pain all his life.”

Buck looks you in the eye.

“I just walked away. But, you know something? Every time that guy lost a game for the rest of his career, I just sort of clenched my fist and figured he got what he deserved.”

The sounds of Cardinal players dressing, playing pingpong, listening to jazz and hollering insults at one another has been the backdrop for most of Buck’s life.

“I’m working on a book now,” Bucks says. “Don’t know if anyone will be interested in it, but maybe with the background, the war, the games. Might be kinda fun.”

He smiles at the memories writing the book is bringing back.

“People ask me how I remember all those football players names [he did the NFL for years on network TV as well as radio]. I think of some of those calls. There’s a long pass. Caught at the 40. And there he goes. You know him. I hope they did, because I didn’t.”

Buck adds, “How about the other one I used to use? Some guy would take off on a long run and I wouldn’t know who it was, so I’d just say, `There he is, you can tell him by the way he runs.’ ”

There is that chortle again. After all these years and all the fame, he still does one thing that will forever define his humility. Whenever he introduces himself to anyone, unless is it someone of a long-standing relationship, he usually says, “Hi, I’m Jack Buck.”

The usual response is, “Oh, I know who you are.”

So does Jack Buck, and I can’t wait for his book.