Most
of the time, life’s moments seem to pass by in fast-forward. We find ourselves
standing at the counter at 10 p.m., making the kids’ lunches and wondering
where another day has gone. The list of things to do and places to be is
ever-growing, and the social media overload vies for any free time we might
have.
In
short, 21st-century society is desperately lacking in downtime – in
a chance to reclaim ourselves and reconnect with life beyond that to-do list.
Perhaps that’s why, despite the BuzzFeeds and Snapchats and Twitters, many
Americans have been reaching for podcasts and longform journalism in recent
years. It’s as though they are saying, “Enough is enough,” and crying out for
the power of deliberate storytelling.
We
all have known people in our family, friend group, school or workplace who knew
how to tell a story. We have sat down and listened to these people share
details and narratives that painted pictures in our minds. For my brother and
me, our grandparents were the key storytellers in our early lives. Our dad’s
mom told us about her Norwegian mother and Icelandic father immigrating to
America and adjusting to this new world. Our mom’s mother regaled us with tales
of her brother, who could light up a room, yet had passed away before we were
born.
Our
dad’s father died when we were young, but not before he had told us all about
his favorite baseball player as a child, Zack Wheat of the Brooklyn Dodgers.
And our mother’s dad, who lived until we were in our 30s, filled our lives (and
tape recorders) with tales of his brothers and sisters, minor-league baseball
career, marriage to our grandmother and battles with alcoholism. He was our
personal podcast before there were any, giving us stories we could file away
and download when life called for it – stories that were by turns gritty,
nostalgic and at times hilarious.
Our
grandparents, and their generation, are almost all gone now. But not
completely. Sunday, an 88-year-old California man bid goodbye to his job as
baseball’s premiere storyteller. His name is Vin Scully, and he called Dodgers ballgames
for 67 years, from 1950 all the way to this past weekend. His longevity is
unparalleled in baseball, but Scully’s gift was much more than sheer
perseverance. He was the best storyteller in a sport flush with them, and he
could make even a passing baseball fan feel enraptured in tales about players’
lives, American history and the unique quirks of baseball.
There
were a number of years in which Scully called World Series games for NBC, and
many of us heard him add stamps of literary brilliance to dramatic October
moments. For those who lived in Brooklyn and then Los Angeles, Scully’s voice
was part of the soundtrack to spring and summer, guiding them through three
score and seven years of Dodgers: from Jackie Robinson to Sandy Koufax to Maury
Wills to Steve Garvey to Fernando Valenzuela to Mike Piazza to Clayton Kershaw
to Corey Seager. And for those who used streaming or cable services to
subscribe to every Major League Baseball broadcast, Scully’s voice could still
be heard across the nation as he called Dodgers home games by himself in the
broadcast booth.
I
listened to Scully’s final broadcast on Sunday, as he told stories of great
Dodgers-Giants rivalries of old, while calling a game in which the San
Francisco Giants defeated the Dodgers to earn a playoff berth. Scully had grown
up rooting for the Giants, then spent more than three-quarters of his life
working for the Dodgers. It was a perfect sendoff for the great broadcaster,
and he signed off in class modest style, telling his listeners that he always
needed them much more than they needed him.
He
also departed by paraphrasing a quote from Dr. Seuss, telling us not to be sad
that it’s over, but rather to “smile because it happened.” With these words,
Scully was connecting his career with the essence of storytelling. We do tell
stories so that we can smile about the things that have happened, and this in
turn helps assuage the losses we experience, as well as the relentless passage
of time. These stories give us moments we can’t forget, and which we will pass
along to those younger than us. Be it a grandparent, a teacher, a good friend
or even a broadcaster, storytellers give us the chance to press pause on life,
and savor what is richest and most beautiful about this time we get on Earth.
Vin
Scully is still very much alive, and he will keep sharing stories with his
children, grandkids and great-grandchildren. He might even pop into a broadcast
booth now and then. But wherever he goes, he will leave us all much richer for
the time he spent with us, turning a nine-inning ballgame into the fabric of
life.
