The ol’ redhead

February 25, 2022 William A. Gralnick

William Gralnick. Photo courtesy of William Gralnick

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February is another month pregnant with Brooklyn Dodgers’ birthdays. Two standouts for me as a young fan were Roger Craig and Joe Black. There was something about Black that rang my bells. He was big, black, and strong. He was an ace “fireman” before the days of counting pitches and having a 7th inning reliever, an 8th inning reliever, and a closer. The manager called for Joe Black, and he was expected to be all of those things. Yet when it comes to picking this month’s birthday boy, there’s no question in my mind the person is Walter Lanier Barber from Columbus, Mississippi.

The ol’ Redhead, as he was known, was the voice of the Brooklyn Dodgers even when he wasn’t. I’ll tell you a bunch about Red Barber, but what he will always be remembered for is calling games for “Dem Bums.” Walter Lanier Barber was born in the deep South, at a time when the South was really deep. When his mother state had only 1.8 million people in 1908, and much of what is known as the Mississippi Delta was almost totally devoid of anything but animals, snakes and such, the Barbers added Red to their family. There were “Negroes” and “Indians, “along with the whites,” mostly Choctaw. Treaties were just being negotiated when he grew up. At that time, the government (the white men) and the Indians were locked in serious struggles over land and rights. I don’t have the census figures for 1908 handy, but today Columbus, Ms. is home to a whopping 28,000 people, 63% of whom are black. Put it this way, the big picture of 1908 Columbus was small. Until recently, besides Barber, its fame was being the largest maker of toilet seats in America. His homespun style of broadcasting was “doin’ what came natchurly.”

There is no record of the Barbers being more or less racist than the norm. We can assume that young Walter was brought up in and around people who reflected the deep South norms for which Mississippi has become infamous. That made it ironic that Barber became an important if less known part of the Dodger’s racial integration. Many know the story of the embrace the Kentucky-born Pee Wee Reese gave Jackie Robinson on the field. Few know that Red Barber was the first non-board person of the Dodgers to be told by Walter O’Malley that the Dodgers would be breaking the color barrier and the “breaker” would be Jackie Robinson.

Maybe O’Malley thought someone from Columbus, Ms. would need time to adjust. Maybe he thought the voice of the Dodgers needed to do research, so he’d have a lot to say about Robinson other than the fact that he was black and the first to break that line. All that speculation is unnecessary because of what made the Ol Redhead the consummate broadcaster. He was sort of like the Joe Friday of the booth—just the facts. Or may the Colombo of detective work. Barber had a keen eye for what went on around the diamond; he called them as he saw them. Another piece of his greatness was that you could tune into any inning of a game and not be able to figure out who was winning until he told you the score. His tone was baseball, not winning or losing, yes what was happening that created wins and losses but not “fansmanship.” Harry Carey and Mel Allen were his opposites.

Barber began his big-league career with the Cinncinati Redlegs. He called their games for four years, 1934-1938. Next came his glory years, the voice of the Dodgers. He was in the booth from ’39 to’53. And then in a stunning move, typical for professional sports, he hired on with the New Yankees. He and O’malley were at odds over several things, including renegotiating his $50,000 salary. I was even more shocked at that than when the hated arch-rival NY Giant, Sal Maglie was traded to Brooklyn. It would be akin to Walter Cronkite leaving CBS for another network. His broadcast career ended when the Yankees fired him. The reason? Really petty, also typical of sports. Because of his tried-and-true style of announcing. The Yankees were used to the rants and raves, always pro, about his sainted Yankees. One day Barber found himself in the booth, looking out at an almost empty stadium of fans watching a meaningless makeup game. Remember, no color commentators. There was a clear difference though, between radio and TV broadcasting. All the radio guys had to get used to saying less, having it mean more, and letting the TV camera fill in the rest. To see an empty Yankee stadium was a rare sight, so he called for the cameraman to pan up and out. Folks’ eyes told them more than the Ol Redhead could have put into words. To the Yankee ownership “downing” of the great Yankee Stadium was akin to sedition, and that was it for Barber, who by the way, stayed in and around the game for years doing events, giving speeches, even late in the game starting his own radio show about baseball from north Florida where he lived and died.

So, the man who came from the place named “Possum Town” by the Choctaws ended his fabulous run as one of the most famous voices in sports broadcasting, dying at age 84 in Tallahassee, Fl. In the 1970s, with Mel Allen, he became the first recipient of the Ford Frick Broadcaster’s Award and is a member of the Broadcasting Hall of Fame. After that, in 1993, he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. So as February 17 comes and goes, we say, RIP, old-timer. You deserve to be remembered.