Graham McNamee was as big as they are; Boxing, Baseball, College and Pro Football

by Curt Smith

Early 1920s America worshiped the celebrity of the self-made man. Like the nation
itself, the new medium of “the wireless”—commercial radio—became increasingly in
bloom.

In 1921, Westinghouse Network stations in Newark and Springfield, Massachusetts,
aired radio’s first World Series. Columnist Grantland Rice announced from field level,
Harold Arlin and Tommy Cowan giving half-inning bulletins. “Cowan sat atop . . . a
building in a tiny shack,” observed the Newark Call. At the wire’s other end was a man
at New York’s Polo Grounds, telling Cowan what occurred. Meantime, five miles from the Polo Grounds, a piano player pictured himself replacing.

Rice as radio’s quintessence. Graham McNamee was born July 10, 1888, grew up in
the Pacific Northwest, clerked for the Rock Island Railroad, and at 22 moved to New
York with his mother. The divorcee insisted that her son take voice lessons. In 1921,
Graham began as a professional, flaunting, said The New York Sun, “a justness, care,
and style.”

In May 1923, he entered Manhattan’s A.T.&T. Building on lunch break from jury duty,
won a WEAF audition, and soon called boxing. That October, the tenor became Series
color man. Stations from Washington to Massachusetts, The New York Times reported,
“will radiate the contests . . . simultaneously with WEAF . . . connected with special land
wires to microphones.” At first McNamee said little. By Game Four, though, his born-for-
the wireless voice replaced W.O. “Bill” McGeehan’s on play-by-play.

The Series ended on Monday. By Saturday, WEAF got 1,700 letters. “With so few
radios,” said broadcaster Jack Brickhouse, “it’s like a million now.” Ultimately, McNamee
described foreign visits, coronations, and at least 10 sports, including football and
marbles. “How do you do, ladies and gentlemen of the radio announce?” he began,
closing, “This is Graham McNamee speaking. Good night all”—radio’s first leading man.
“During the year, few clubs used radio,” announcer Jack Buck recalled. “The emphasis
was on the network World Series, where McNamee stood alone.” In 1925, after rain
pelted Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field, Heywood Broun noted, “[Graham] made me feel the
temperature and tension,” McNamee’s coat cloaking the microphone. Next year the first
network was christened: NBC’s “Red” (music/comedy) and “Blue” (public affairs).
Graham did the next nine Series—his rhetoric often more riveting than the game.

“You must make each of your listeners” he said, “though miles away from the spot, feel
that he or she too is there with you in the press stand, watching the pop bottle thrown in
the air; Gloria Swanson arriving in her new ermine coat; [Giants manager John]
McGraw in his dugout, apparently motionless, but giving signals all the time.” In 1927,
Graham was there for the Yankees’ sweep of Pittsburgh; 1929, Hack Wilson’s .471
onslaught; 1933, Mel Ott’s homer off outfielder Fred Schulte’s glove. “The Series was
sport,” Buck said, “and McNamee was the Series.” The headliner knew it. So did writers
of the day.  “I will freely admit,” Graham said, “to being an entertainer first and broadcaster second.”

On January 1, 1927, he broadcast NBC’s first Rose Bowl, etching Pasadena’s greenery.
That fall Ring Lardner typed: “I don’t know which game to write about, the one I saw or
heard Graham McNamee announce.” Once a reporter pierced the air: “McNamee, will
you pipe down?” Bile flowed from fear. “Radio threatened papers,” said Buck. “Why read
if you could hear?”

In 1934, Graham motored to Detroit. “In just about 15 minutes, the World Series will be
opened by the umpire who will howl ‘play ball,’” he said, adding, “All hint of rain has
been dispelled.” Next year, Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis rained on
McNamee’s parade. “He chose announcers,” said legendary Red Barber, “and thought
Graham overblown.” Baseball’s Pinza missed his first Classic since 1922. He never
called another big-league game.

For a decade, Graham’s name, apart from voice, defined gravitas. “If an event was big,”
said equally famed Voice Mel Allen, “McNamee was there.” In April 1942, he graced
“Elsa Maxwell’s Story Line,” his broadcast ending, “This is Graham Namee, saying,
‘Good night, all, and good-bye.’” Next day he entered the hospital, dying of a
streptococcus infection.

Broun observed: “McNamee justified the whole activity of radio broadcasting. A thing
may be a marvelous invention and still dull as wish water.” Only personality could turn
water into wine. “He has been able to take a new medium of expression and through it
transmit itself—to give it vividly a sense of movement and of feeling. Of such is the
kingdom of art.”

Next: Pat Flanagan, the Father of the Re-creation.

CURT SMITH is the author of 18 books, including Voices of The Game, to Esquire
magazine among the “100 Best Baseball Books Ever Written.” His other books include
Long Time Gone, on 1970s America; The Presidents and the Pastime, a history of
baseball and the White House; and a biography, George H. W. Bush, of the 41st
President, for whom Smith also wrote speeches during Bush’s time in office. Since

1998, the former Saturday Evening Post senior editor has been the Senior Lecturer of
English at the University of Rochester.