Harry Kalas died today. He hadn’t been well for the last few years. He had eye surgeries and heart surgeries and you knew it was a matter of time before we’d be writing the words Harry Kalas died today.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

Harry Kalas died today. A part of Philadelphia just died, today. It's like a part of my family died today. I love baseball because of Harry Kalas. I never had a favorite player growing up. Players came and went. But Harry was always there. Harry and Whitey were always there.

And then Whitey was gone. Just like that. One of the voices of my childhood was gone. My mom’s favorite player was gone. Harry was by himself. But the spirit of Whitey Ashburn lived on in Harry and lived on in all the fans that listened to him call games for the Phillies, and in the case of my parents’ generation, got a chance to watch him play the game.

Harry’s with Whitey now, laughing about the old times they used to have on the road. Joking about the terrible players in Phillies history and reveling in the success of the superstars. Just like they used to do in the booth every day.

Harry Kalas wasn’t born in Philadelphia. He wasn’t raised here. But he is as much a part of the fabric of this city than anyone. When you think of the list of all-time Phillies greats, before you get to Schmidt and Carlton and Roberts, to me you start with two names: Harry Kalas...and the Phillie Phanatic. Nearly all the positive memories I have of the Phillies as a kid revolve around either the Phanatic or Harry.

When I was a boy, my dad brought me into the press box during a Phillies game. I met some of the commentators and stood inside the booth while they called the game. Then, during a break in the action, in the hallway of the dank old Veterans Stadium press box, I met Harry Kalas. When he said my name it was as if he was calling the 500th home run of that Michael Jack Schmidt. What you heard all those years on TV and radio was indeed Harry’s voice. That’s Harry. It’s not some phony radio voice. That’s Harry.

Unmistakeable.

Two years ago, I was at the Philadelphia Sportswriters Association awards dinner and Harry was the emcee. That guy was the voice of everything -- from Phils games to highlight videos to the voice of NFL Films to prestigious banquets and even to announcing wedding parties (yes, he recorded the wedding party introductions for a friend of Nick). I had a front and center seat as Harry announced every honoree with the same panache as if he was calling game at the ballpark.

After the banquet ended, I was walking out to my car and I saw Harry, a customary cigarette in tow, standing outside and puffing away like he was a regular guy. He was a regular guy. I started to walk up to him to tell him the story of the first time I met him, but it had started to rain, and frankly, the man was in a banquet hall for three hours and really needed that cigarette. So I let him be and walked to my car with an awkward nod and a smile to myself. I never got a chance to tell him how much that meeting meant to me, how much the brief second he took to say hello and say my name -- Harry Kalas said my name -- meant to me as a kid. And still means to me.

When the Phillies won the World Series last year I was pacing my living room with nervous anticipation. Heading into the game I realized that there was no way Joe Buck was telling me my favorite team won the championship. Harry was doing it. I synced up my radio before the ninth inning to listen to Harry. Then I had the idea to tape it, which you can listen to right here. (Note: This is the entire final half inning. It’s everywhere, but I think other than listening live, we had it up first, which I felt was my own special tribute to the Phils, and in a way, to Harry). My wife and I celebrated the Phillies winning the World Series in silence with our arms raised in the air just so we didn’t pick up any audio on the call. Turns out, Wheels and the others in the booth did the same thing. That call was meant for Harry.

Harry Kalas got to call the last out of the World Series for the team he gave his life to. The Philadelphia Phillies are World Champions of Baseball. That’s how Harry said it, and that’s how his life ended. Champions.

Harry Kalas died today. The world lost a great voice. We lost a member of our family.

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