King Kaufman

Blue horse, dirty victim

Harland Braun is Robert Blake's "very, very bright" attorney. Even Johnnie Cochran thinks he's gone too far.

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Blue horse, dirty victim

Bonny Lee Bakley. Robert Blake’s murdered wife.

Quick: What’s your mental picture right now?

If the answer is anything like “grifter,” “nude pictures,” “star stalker” or “used promises of sex to swindle men through lonely-hearts ads in newspapers,” then Harland Braun can congratulate himself on a job well done so far.

Braun is the attorney representing Blake, the former movie and TV star who Los Angeles police say is not a suspect in the May 4 killing of his wife, but who also has not been ruled out. He is flamboyant and, in legal circles, famous, having risen to prominence in the ’70s by successfully defending Charles Manson prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi in a perjury case. In the ’80s he defended movie director John Landis in the “Twilight Zone” manslaughter trial. In the ’90s he represented Los Angeles police officer Theodore Briseno in the Rodney King beating, at one point memorably comparing his client’s boots to ballet slippers.

Blake hired Braun immediately after Bakley was killed, and within hours Braun embarked on a strategy known in the legal racket as “dirtying the victim.”

“She’s been involved in these kind of con schemes where you bilk lonely men out of money with ads across the country,” Braun was quoted as saying in the initial news reports. “So there could be any number of people that would have had it in for her.” In the weeks since, there has been a constant stream of information and evidence from the Blake defense team, and just about all of it has been damaging to Bakley’s reputation.

It seems that you cannot talk to a Los Angeles attorney about Braun without hearing the words “excellent lawyer” and “brilliant” and “very, very bright.” But if you want to get a handle on just how aggressive Braun’s smear campaign on Bakley has been, understand that Johnnie Cochran thinks he has gone too far.

“Braun’s an excellent lawyer,” Cochran told Greta Van Susteren on CNN May 15. “I’m a little bit amazed, though, even for Harland, the way he’s attacked the victim, who’s not even buried. I mean, he’s attacking her, releasing stuff about her. It’s almost like, ‘Thou protest too much.’ And it’s a very strange case. Only in Hollywood that happened. You know, but I — he’s an excellent lawyer.”

Bakley, as you must know, was shot in the head as she sat in Blake’s car a block from a Studio City, Calif., Italian restaurant where they’d just eaten dinner. (Studio City is, in fact, just over the hill from Hollywood.) Blake says he’d left Bakley in the car and returned to the restaurant to retrieve a legally registered gun he’d left in a booth, and on his return found her slumped over and bleeding. He’d been carrying a gun, he said, because Bakley feared that someone might be stalking her, presumably because of her less-than-savory moneymaking activities.

Here’s some of what Braun has said about the 44-year-old Bakley: that the New Jersey native had just completed probation in Arkansas on a conviction for carrying false identification; that she used lonely-hearts ads to get men to send her money in the belief that they would get to meet her; that as part of these scams she sold pornographic pictures of herself and told the men who wrote her that she would have sex with them; that she was obsessed with celebrities and their world, and made it her goal to marry one; that she got pregnant with a child she thought was fathered by Christian Brando — son of Marlon and a veteran of a previous decade’s tawdry Hollywood-fringe scandal — before DNA tests showed Blake was the father; that audiotapes recovered in her bungalow after her death and turned over to police and the media revealed her talking on the phone with a friend and trying to decide whether she should “go with” Brando or Blake; and that she continued operating her scams after marrying Blake and moving onto his property despite a prenuptial agreement in which she’d agreed not to.

Braun, who didn’t return a phone call requesting an interview, has insisted that he’s merely trying to get the facts out, trying to force the LAPD to do a thorough investigation. He says the police are focusing solely on Blake and ignoring the fact that “there could be any number of people out there who would have a motive to kill” Bakley.

“Harland Braun is an excellent attorney,” begins Gloria Allred, the outspoken feminist lawyer who is even more famous than Braun — more famous than Blake, really — and who represents Sondra Blake, a former actress Allred refers to as Blake’s “only surviving ex-wife.” She calls Braun’s strategy “a pretty outrageous example” of dirtying the victim. “It’s one of the worst, because I have to believe as an attorney that Mr. Braun would not do this unless he were authorized by his client to do it. So that means Mr. Blake is in the process through his agent, namely his attorney, of smearing the mother of his child, a murder victim,” she says. The child, a girl, is now almost a year old.

But Charles Weisselberg, a professor at UC-Berkeley’s Boalt Hall law school, points out that Braun’s strategy may be an attempt to prevent Blake from being hastily arrested. “He may be doing it because this is a high-profile case and he wants to take some heat off the district attorney, who may be feeling some pressure to go at Mr. Blake,” Weisselberg says. “In other words, you’ve got an elected district attorney in Los Angeles, and an elected district attorney doesn’t want the public to feel that he’s soft on somebody because of their celebrity status, and this tactic may in part make it easier for the district attorney to go slow with Mr. Blake.”

Lea Purwin D’Agostino is a deputy district attorney in Los Angeles who opposed Braun for 10 months as the prosecutor in the “Twilight Zone” manslaughter trial in 1986 and ’87. In one famous incident during that trial, an incident D’Agostino says she doesn’t remember because it was just one among many, Braun called her “pond scum.” Now, she says, they’re good friends.

“I certainly know Harland Braun very well, and he’s a very, very, very bright man and a brilliant attorney, and if I were in trouble I’d certainly want someone like Braun on my side,” she says — and this is apropos of nothing, but she sounds like Lauren Bacall on the phone. “But you know, do I agree with his policy of attacking a victim and smearing a victim? Absolutely not. But this is something, there’s an adage: The best defense is a good offense, and that’s what he’s doing.”

Allred isn’t so sure it’s a good strategy, though. “I think it’s going to have a different impact than it might have pre-O.J. Simpson, when Nicole Brown Simpson was trashed. People are a little bit more sophisticated now,” she says, “especially L.A. County Superior Court juries are a little bit more sophisticated about defense tactics, and the attack on the mother of Mr. Blake’s child I don’t think is going to go over very well. I mean, whatever she did, she didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

How did it take so long for us to get to O.J. Simpson? Just as the TV show that made Blake a household name in the ’70s, “Baretta,” was a pale rewrite of an earlier series called “Toma,” the matter of Bakley’s murder has seemed to exist as a shadow version of the 1994 killings and subsequent trials that held this country riveted in a way that, even just a few years later, seems a little hard to believe.

You have your B-list celebrity, your late-night murder, your strange, hard-to-swallow alibi (why did he leave her alone in that car if they were afraid she was being stalked? Why didn’t they park in the restaurant’s lot instead of on a dark side street? Allred and the Bakley family attorney, Cary Goldstein, have both used the word “absurd” in describing Blake’s story), your high-powered attorneys, your tourists hanging around outside the star’s house, your endless nattering on Geraldo Rivera, Larry King & Co. You even have your Italian restaurant where a last meal was eaten.

The football star turned actor turned strange man liable for the wrongful death of his ex-wife and her friend has even weighed in, expressing compassion for Blake in an interview on the TV show “Extra” and urging him “not to watch TV, Robert, whatever you do.”

Blake isn’t as glamorous as Simpson, who after all was one of the great athletic heroes of his century, and Bakley certainly wasn’t as pretty or sympathetic as Nicole Brown Simpson. And perhaps what’s really missing is Kato Kaelin, although it could be argued that the Kato character was the victim in this sequel. But even if the Bakley case won’t ever rise to the level of “trial of the century” — only one case in the next 99 years will, right? — it’s still a high-profile case, and that means trouble for everyone involved.

“There’s intense press coverage, obviously, and actually that hurts the prosecution in many cases,” says D’Agostino, the L.A. prosecutor, speaking generally because she can’t comment on the Bakley case, which her office might someday prosecute. “The media, the tabloids, for example, go and seek out witnesses, they interview them and they pay them before they even testify, which of course destroys them as witnesses for the prosecution, and sometimes precludes us from even being able to call them as witnesses.”

And then once the case reaches trial, “you know that everything you do is going to be analyzed and second-guessed,” D’Agostino says. “As a prosecutor, if you stop and think about it, it isn’t a heck of a lot of fun working under the conditions of being second-guessed by, you know, sometimes panels of experts on the boob tube, mostly experts from New York, who don’t know California law. And if they do know California law, the bottom line is that none of these experts really knows your case.”

Even more troubling for the prosecution in a case that potentially involves a celebrity such as Blake, D’Agostino says, is that it’s just plain hard to convict famous people. “We don’t have royalty in America,” she says, “and movie stars have become our royalty, and it’s very difficult. People are very starstruck. Let’s not mince words about it, they are, and that makes it hard.”

Weisselberg, the law professor, agrees. “With a high-profile defendant, one who doesn’t have a criminal record, it seems like the jury really is able to afford the person the presumption of innocence,” he says. “And there are many people in the criminal justice system who think that folks with prior criminal records or people represented in run-of-the-mill cases are not looked at the same way by the jury.”

Weisselberg says high-profile cases are “just another animal. There’s just so much more going on.”

One of the things going on, maybe, is the tainting of the jury pool. That’s what Braun’s critics say he’s been trying to do — plant the idea in potential jurors’ minds that Bakley was a tawdry figure, that Blake didn’t kill her, someone from her shadowy past did.

If pretrial publicity becomes too heavy, a change of venue can be ordered, usually at the behest of the defense. But that doesn’t seem likely in the Bakley murder.

“A typical case with a change of venue might be a high-profile homicide case in a relatively modest-size county, where lots of people in the county knew the victim, or everybody followed the case,” Weisselberg says. “It’s hard for me to imagine that the level of publicity thus far in the Blake case has tainted a jury in a county the size of Los Angeles to the degree that a fair trial can’t be found there. That’s kind of hard for me to imagine.”

That means prosecutors may someday have to deal with a jury that’s been exposed to the L.A. media excitement surrounding the case, which, while not reaching Simpson levels, has been and will likely continue to be formidable. That potential jury will have been worked on by a master in Harland Braun. A Los Angeles Times profile of Braun painted him as something of a loose cannon, prone to saying outrageous things at any time.

D’Agostino says he’s no loose cannon. “I think Harland knows exactly what he’s doing,” she says. “I think because a lot of the comments that he makes are so off the wall, people don’t realize how bright he is, and I sometimes think perhaps he does that to mask the brilliance.”

Can a jury overcome this sort of thing and reach an impartial verdict?

“They do say that they will only judge a case by the admissible evidence that’s presented in a court of law and will remain fair and impartial and try to set aside whatever they’ve learned outside of the court of law,” Allred says. “Having said that, they’re human beings, and it’s hard to unring a bell once it’s been rung. If you’ve seen an elephant in a room and someone says, ‘Forget that you’ve seen that elephant in the room,’ it may be difficult.”

That bell that’s been rung and can’t be unrung is a favorite metaphor for lawyers. D’Agostino uses it too, and she also recalls a movie called “Heat of Anger,” in which Susan Hayward played a lawyer defending a prominent client. “She’s in front of a jury, and I just always think of this particular line,” D’Agostino says. “There was this incredible amount of publicity on that particular case, and she tells all the jurors to close their eyes, and she stands in front of them as only this beautiful Susan Hayward could do, and she says, ‘Now I want you to think of anything in the world that you want to think about except a blue horse. Whatever you do, do not think of a blue horse. Whatever you do, do not think of a blue horse.’

“And then she pauses for a while — of course you can’t do this in court — and she says, ‘Open your eyes,’ and she looked at them and she started smiling and she says, ‘And of course, that’s all any of you could think of was the blue horse because I told you not to.’”

Maybe you can’t do it in court, but you can still do it. And as Robert Blake waits in seclusion at an undisclosed location, Harland Braun is painting a giant blue horse for some future jury to try not to think about.

“Harland really is an excellent attorney,” D’Agostino says. “He truly is.”

The Year in Sanity: Jim Joyce

His blown call cost Armando Galarraga a perfect game. But from the moment he realized his mistake, he was golden

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The Year in Sanity: Jim Joyce** CORRECTS PERFECT GAME TO WEDNESDAY, NOT TUESDAY ** Home plate umpire Jim Joyce calls a strike during the first inning of a baseball game between the Detroit Tigers and Cleveland Indians in Detroit Thursday, June 3, 2010. Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga lost his bid for a perfect game with two outs in the ninth inning on a disputed call at first base by Joyce on Wednesday night. (AP Photo/Paul Sancya)(Credit: Paul Sancya)

Armando Galarraga was a journeyman Detroit Tigers right-hander who shocked the baseball world on June 2 by throwing a perfect game against the Cleveland Indians. Except, of course, the game wasn’t perfect, because with two outs in the ninth inning umpire Jim Joyce called Jason Donald of the Indians safe at first base when Donald clearly should have been called out to end the game.

Galarraga responded with a you’ve got to be kidding me smile for the ages, then retired one more batter for a one-hit shutout. He later said he hadn’t argued because he was in shock.

But it was Joyce’s response that turned this terrible tale into one that’s almost heart-warming. Not as heart-warming as a journeyman pitcher tossing a perfect game, mind you, but pretty toasty.

Having asked to see the video replay after the game, an emotional Joyce spoke to reporters: “It was the biggest call of my career and I kicked it. I just cost that kid a perfect game,” he said. “I missed it from here to that wall. I had a great angle, and I missed the call.” He also asked to speak to Galarraga, apologized to him and hugged him. Offered the next day off by his superiors, Joyce declined, saying he was ready to face what he assumed would be a hostile reaction from the Detroit crowd.

This eminently reasonable, grown-up reaction stood out because baseball umpires are ordinarily cloistered. They have what amounts to lifetime tenure. They don’t face reporters, rarely admit mistakes publicly and are not held accountable for their actions in any way that’s visible to the players or public. Don’t like that call? Replays showed the ump got it wrong? Tough.

Galarraga said he’d forgiven the umpire, and Joyce’s response to his error has been widely praised beyond baseball. He’s become a go-to example of how to handle mistakes in politics, religion and — especially because his straight-forward behavior came in the midst of BP’s oil-spill debaclebusiness.

Less than two weeks after the blown call, ESPN surveyed major league players for their opinions about umpires. Their overwhelming choice as the best in the business: Jim Joyce.

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Why I’m against baseball’s instant replay

The technology won't necessarily rob the game of heart, but it definitely won't fix what's wrong

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Why I'm against baseball's instant replayThe Major League Baseball instant replay display is shown in the umpires room before the National League baseball game between the Philadelphia Phillies and Chicago Cubs in Chicago, Illinois August 28, 2008. REUTERS/Steve Green/Pool (UNITED STATES)(Credit: Reuters)

For the third straight baseball postseason, umpires have been making critical, high-profile mistakes in game after game, and there’s a growing drumbeat among media and fans that Major League Baseball has to do something about it. And not just any something, but one specific something: instant replay.

The entire conversation about umpiring has been predicated on the assumption that the only solution to the problem is a technological one, which is fascinating — and maybe just a little troubling — because everyone in the conversation knows two things: There are acres of room for improvement that has nothing to do with technology, and the technology itself is far from perfect.

We know from other sports, especially NFL football, that video replay is hardly perfect. Putting aside the unnecessarily long delays that accompany video replay in the NFL, it’s a simple fact about video that it does not always provide conclusive evidence of what happened. Camera angles can be as deceptive as the naked eye.

And more important, the NFL’s replay system is a laboratory of unintended consequences. Introduced for the same reason many people want to introduce replay to baseball — to put an end to egregious officiating mistakes — it has become the lord of officials. It has changed the way officials call games. Refs now err on the side of the reviewable call, or make no call at all so replay can be possible. They have changed the way they call fumbles and completions. Watch an old NFL game from before replay and you’ll be struck at the difference in officiating and rules interpretation.

People will argue over the specifics of those last two paragraphs, but there’s no one familiar with replay who doesn’t know that replay is far from perfect, that despite — I would say because of — replay being entrenched in the NFL for years, officiating is still such a problem that a huge number of fans can convince themselves that a recent Super Bowl was fixed by the refs.

Yet the only anti-replay argument that ever sees the light of day is the Luddite one: Instant replay would rob baseball, that most human of games, of an essential human element.

That’s a valid argument, but it’s a religious one. No one is ever going to be argued off of it, and if you don’t buy it, you’re not going to be talked into it.

But it’s interesting that the argument against it goes like this: Instant replay might not be perfect, but it’s better than what we have now, so we should use it. That argument ignores a vital question. Is instant replay better than some other solution?

If you’ve been around as long as most of the people who are in the most public part of this argument — media figures and baseball officials — technology has been a series of miracles in your life. You can carry a supercomputer in your pocket that connects you to anywhere in the world all the time? Are you kidding? I’m not even 50 and I remember when it was a big deal that someone could leave you a taped message when they called your house — the only place you could have a phone — and you weren’t there.

Got a problem? Technology can probably fix it, and if not, just wait a little. It’s coming. Marvelous times.

But I think we sometimes forget that technology isn’t the only fix, and it isn’t always the best one, and not just for squishy reasons having to do with idealizing human error. Human error is a bad thing, and technology is often fantastic at doing away with it. But it can also do away with some good human things, like judgment and holistic problem solving.

Think about law enforcement for a moment — and sports officiating is essentially law enforcement. Which is more effective at fighting crime, an elaborate system of video surveillance or a program of job training, substance abuse education and treatment, community investment and so on? Or if that’s too liberal-sounding for you, focus in tighter. If you’re a parent, which is more effective at getting your kids to behave like solid citizens, spy cams around the house or engaged, loving parenting?

If you wanted to design a system that would result in poor umpiring, you would design Major League Baseball’s system. It’s positively medieval. Umpires essentially have lifetime tenure. They are sequestered from the media and answer only to a review system that is as secretive as it is pointless, since it hardly ever results in umpires losing their jobs. Instant replay won’t change that lack of accountability.

“We never know why or when they are fined, or reprimanded or held accountable,” Oakland A’s pitcher Brad Ziegler told ESPN’s Amy K. Nelson last week. “Any time a player is punished, suspended or sent down to the minors, the public knows about it. It would be a lot easier to communicate with umpires if everyone was held to similar standards. Our statistics as players are a lot more quantifiable than the umpires’.”

I am something of a Luddite when it comes to instant replay, not because I’m anti-technology — I have a long-distance line to New York in my pocket, and the call is free? Score! — but because I think baseball has been smart about being slow to change over the last century-plus. Replay would suddenly, irreversibly alter a game that has a pretty good history of solving its problems without radical, game-altering solutions.

I don’t believe baseball should absolutely avoid instant replay because instant replay is evil. I believe it should try to tackle the organizational problems that are leading to the poor umpiring rather than slap an electronic band-aid on them.

Nelson’s ESPN story is about a planned winter meeting between the grumbling players association, baseball officials and the umpires. Nelson describes such a meeting as “rare,” which is a problem right there. Shouldn’t the three parties involved in this major issue for Major League Baseball talk to each other more than rarely?

It’s a good step. I’m not too hopeful it’s going to lead to a new era of transparency and reform. No one from the umpires or Major League Baseball would comment for the story.

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Hard times? TV can be your lottery ticket

If you can get your sob story on the tube, you're gold. But what about the other millions of desperate Americans?

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Hard times? TV can be your lottery ticketA food line at the Community Kitchen in Harlem

A tweet from NBC reporter Ann Curry:

Ok, here’s a smile: update on our doc on recession/poverty. I love America

http://bit.ly/btt50h

Here’s the text you get when you “share” the video report Curry’s tweeting about:

Overwhelming response to Dateline’s poverty report

A development to the story we brought you about struggling families in Ohio who have been pushed over the edge by this recession. ††There’s been a response from people wanting to help.

http://bit.ly/btt50h

So it’s that old TV thing. NBC does a story on “Dateline” about families struggling through the recession in rural Ohio, and letters and donations and job offers come pouring in from all over the country.

The retired Air Force vet has “job offers in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Arizona, Iowa.” Someone sent him $5,000. A woman reads through tears from a letter she’s received: “In a couple of weeks I will be able to send you some money to help with expenses. I hope this letter raises your spirits and that you know I really do care. Most of all, you have a friend in me. You are going to be OK, and so are your children. I will be thinking of you, sweetie, and praying that lots of other people send you much-needed money.”

She says, “It’s really hard to believe that someone you’ve never met could actually care that much.”  

The food pantry lady has gotten 500 phone calls and donations from Texas, California, Florida, Iowa, Massachusetts, Maine and Canada. She says, “I just can’t even describe how good it feels to know that there are so many people out there that really do care.”

This is absolutely par for the course, it’s what happens every single time there is a sob story on the TV, but here’s the thing: People don’t care. They just respond to what’s on television.

There are folks right down the street in Texas, California, Florida and Iowa who need food and basic supplies. There are good, capable people, some of them retired military, right down the street in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Arizona and Iowa who are looking for work. And, after NBC’s report, those people still need the basics and are still looking for work. And those people who sent the heartfelt letters and the donations and the job offers likely never moved a muscle for those people down the street.

A guy who drove to the food pantry with a Hefty bag of donations tells the food pantry lady, “Cincinnati Ohio’s thinkin’ of ya,” and she gives him a big hug. Really, guy who drove 170 miles to Lottridge to find someone to give your Hefty bag of stuff to? Because where were you and the rest of Cincinnati before NBC aired its report?

Curry, who is among the best in the business and whom I don’t mean to beat up on, gets “a smile” out of this, as she should. She did a good piece about people who are struggling, her viewers responded in overwhelming fashion and the people she reported about are deeply moved by their good fortune.

If you focus in tightly enough, it really is a wonderful thing. That a relatively tiny group of people in Ohio actually did get a lot of help they weren’t going to get without that TV report. It was like a little miracle, and you’d have to have a hard heart indeed not to be touched by the young mom reading the letter or the hardworking food pantry lady who is suddenly able to provide so much more help to so many more people. I love America too.

But back your view out to the larger picture and what you see is something much more depressing.

Obviously, the people who sent money and goods and job offers had both the means and willingness to help their neighbors in need, but instead they helped some people they saw on TV. Now, I suppose it’s possible that every one of them, from the donor of $5,000 to the Hefty bag guy from Cincinnati to the job offerers in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Arizona and Iowa, is doing just as much for lots of other people closer to home and not on the TV.

I would just be willing to bet a lot that they aren’t.

What Curry’s story suggests is that the generosity of the American people can solve the problems of a lot of folks who need help — as long as they can get on TV. Getting on TV is a lottery ticket, and the depressing part of it is that if you’re in trouble, your chances of getting on TV are about the same as your chances of winning the lottery.

What about all the desperate people who didn’t have a TV network drop out of the sky into their local food pantry? How do we turn their story into “a smile”? Because there are clearly people out there willing to help. There just isn’t enough TV to go around.

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Worst! Calls! Ever!

Slide show: Umpire Jim Joyce's error ruined Armando Galarraga's perfect game. How does it stack up against history?

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Worst! Calls! Ever!Dallas Stars Brett Hull (22) raises his arms after scoring the game winning goal on Buffalo Sabres goalie Dominik Hasek in the third overtime of Game 6 to win the Stanley Cup Finals in Buffalo, NY, Sunday, June 20, 1999. (AP Photo/Charles Krupa)(Credit: Associated Press)

Umpire Jim Joyce’s blown call Wednesday night, which cost Detroit Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga a perfect game, is already the stuff of legend. Was it the worst blown call in history?

It was the worst blown call in Jim Joyce’s history, that’s for sure. And surely the worst in Galarraga’s until-now ordinary baseball career. Because it merely affected a line in a record book — Galarraga would have been the 21st pitcher in MLB history to throw a perfect game, dating to 1880 — it lacks the historical heft of the greatest officiating mistakes.

View the slide show

Remembering Ernie Harwell

To know the longtime voice of the Detroit Tigers, through the radio or in person, was to love him

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Remembering Ernie HarwellFILE - In this Oct. 3, 1993, photo, Detroit Tigers broadcaster Ernie Harwell pauses during a break in the action in the Tigers' baseball game against the New York Yankees at Yankee Stadium in New York. The Tigers say Harwell has died. He was 92. (AP Photo/Paul Hurschmann, File)(Credit: AP)

The best three days I ever spent on the clock were the three days I spent in Detroit with Ernie Harwell, the longtime voice of the Detroit Tigers, in 2002, his last year in the broadcast booth.

Harwell died Tuesday at 92, eight months after announcing that he had terminal cancer that he would not treat. John Lowe of the Detroit Free Press, in what will surely be the definitive obituary, quotes Harwell at the time: “I’m ready to face what comes. Whether it’s a long time or a short time is all right with me because it’s up to my Lord and savior.”

I grew up not listening to Ernie Harwell but to the man who replaced him in the Brooklyn Dodgers booth in 1950, Vin Scully. I hadn’t come to know Harwell until 1999, when baseball broadcasts were still streamed online for free and Harwell had returned to the radio side after five years on TV. Like generations of Michiganders, I quickly fell for his warmth, his charm, his knowledge of the game, his old-timey broadcast voice.

When he announced that 2002 would be his last season, I wanted to write about him, so I got in touch with him through the Tigers, asking if I could come to Detroit for a few days, hang out with him, shadow him. A day or so later there was a voicemail message. That incredible voice was right on my phone! I saved it for as long as I could. I wish I still had it:

“King, this is Ernie Harwell from Detroit. I don’t know that there’s much to write about me, but sure, come on up.”

I had planned to write about a fundamental shift in the way people follow baseball, about how Harwell was one of the last of the old radio men who were identified with a team as much as any player, often more than any player. Now, with most games on TV, far more games on national TV, larger squads of announcers and the Internet providing more baseball information than any one person could ever absorb, fans weren’t dependent on that one broadcaster to serve as the conduit to their team.

Yes. Well, it seemed interesting in my head. A little of that stuff made it into the piece, but after about 10 minutes with Ernie Harwell, I knew that my story couldn’t be about anything but Ernie Harwell.

It’s hard to talk about what kind of guy Ernie Harwell was without sounding like you’re talking about a guy on the night of the day he died. But it was just as hard when he was still alive. I spent three days with him, and he was unfailingly kind, generous, cheerful, energetic, positive and humble. And not just with me. At 84 years of age, he was tireless, making sure as he roamed the ballpark — which he did a lot — that every fan who wanted a moment with him — and there were many — got the moment he or she wanted.

I talked to a lot of people about Ernie Harwell that summer, and in the eight years since then I’ve talked to more people about him and I’ve heard and read many things said about him, and I’ve never heard a hint that the man I came to know in those three days wasn’t the genuine article. It may be that there has never been an unkind word said about Ernie Harwell.

Jon Miller, the ESPN and San Francisco Giants announcer, was hurrying across a field when I sidled up to him asking if I could talk to him for a minute. He kept walking as he asked what I wanted to talk about. “Ernie Harwell,” I said, and he stopped on a dime. All of a sudden, I had his attention and he grew animated as he told stories about Ernie.

Mike Shannon, the longtime St. Louis Cardinals broadcaster, was pressed for time just before a game one day but he told me to sit in the press box and wait for him. Minutes before the first pitch, he leaned out the door of his radio booth. “Where’s the guy who wanted to talk about Ernie Harwell?”

Ty Cobb liked Ernie Harwell, for crying out loud. Ty Cobb didn’t like anybody.

“He’s so generous with his time,” I wrote back then, “that a reporter in town for three days to research a story on him confesses on the third day that he’s just about run out of questions to ask.” That reporter was me, of course. We were sitting in an empty broadcast booth in the Comerica Park press box when I told him that. He looked out at the field for a few seconds, then started throwing out some suggestions, things I might want to ask about.

It sounds silly to say, but after spending time with Ernie I told myself that I would try to be a better person, more generous, more cheerful, more optimistic, more kind. More like Ernie Harwell. I failed miserably at this, of course, but I’ve returned to that thought fairly often over the years, and I like to think I’ve moved just a tiny bit in an Ernie-like direction.

Here’s the story I wrote about Ernie. I think I worked harder on it than on anything I’ve ever written. I did things I never do. I made outlines, wrote things on index cards and arranged and re-arranged them.

I swung for the fences, wanting to do justice to the living legend and the time I’d had with him. I used a flamboyant structure, organizing the piece around Ernie’s call of a single game, weaving his epic story between snippets of a thoroughly ordinary contest between two lousy teams, the Tigers and the Kansas City Royals.

I’m not sure it worked. But you don’t get to hang out with the greats that often, and it’s less often that you end up liking them. I wasn’t going to write just another piece about Ernie Harwell in his last year.

A few days after it ran he sent me an e-mail thanking me for the piece. “Best thing that’s ever been written about me,” he wrote. I’m sure he said that to every single person who ever wrote a story about him. And here’s the thing: I’m sure he meant it every time.

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