Richie Ashburn

I first heard the terrible news about Richie Ashburn right after I got to the office Tuesday when Jim Stefano, a product manager, walked through the door and told me. "I knew that you were acquainted with him and wondered if you knew," Jim said. I hadn't. His message was awful; another part of my boyhood had passed. The mortality checks are getting more frequent. As a kid, I grew up watching No. 1 lead off for the Whiz Kids and I gloried in his success and that of his hustling, young teammates (even if that group helped drive my beloved A's out of town)

To an entire generation of Phillies fans, Richie Ashburn is the folksy, story-telling announcer with the dry wit and Nebraska farm-boy charm who spends parts of each game offering birthday wishes to fans. He's the pipe- smoking, grandfatherly type who always seems to have a delightfully understated I-remember-when story for whatever baseball situation he is describing. To another generation of Phillies fans, those born before the Eisenhower Administration, Ashburn is simply "Whitey" - the fleet centerfielder who led the National League in putouts nine times, who won two batting titles - and finished second three times - and who made foul-ball hitting an art, the man who will be inducted into the Hall of Fame on July 30. And to the person who is perhaps closer to him than anyone else, Ashburn is still the little boy who used to play baseball in his pajamas.

Jack Ashburn, grandson of late Phillies player and broadcaster Richie Ashburn, takes some swings as his dad, John Ashburn, looks on at the third annual Richie Ashburn Memorial Home Runs for Heart, a fund-raiser for the American Heart Association. The event, which continues at 9 a.m. today, is expected to draw more than 160 participants to Veterans Stadium.

As was the case with his late and well-known father, Richard Ashburn Jr.'s love for baseball runs deep. The Hall of Famer's eldest son, rarely straying from the game that grabbed his attention when he was a youngster, is a full-time hitting instructor and second-year head coach at Pottsgrove High. "I'm certain that a lot of it came from following my dad everywhere and being around the Phillies a lot," said Ashburn, who was a bat boy and clubhouse attendant for the club during his father's days as a broadcaster.

Richie Ashburn was part of my childhood. Summertimes during the '50s I would walk 15 blocks from my home to Connie Mack Stadium to watch Ashburn and those Whiz Kids play. Ashburn was the symbol of those 1950 National League pennant-winning Phillies: young, innocent and not the least bit intimidated. He could hit with the precision of a mathematician, run like a champion sprinter, scent the length and direction of any fly ball, turn and, always, it seemed, arrive at its final destination.

Pitcher Terry Mulholland stood in front of his locker, removing a snappy bow tie and staring across the San Francisco Giants' clubhouse. In a moment, he would begin sharing his thoughts about Richie Ashburn, but first he wanted to think and reflect and make sure he would say what he really wanted to say, had he been given a couple of hours. Mulholland did not merely associate with Ashburn during two tours of duty with the Phillies, from 1989 to '93, then for much of the '96 season.

"He was one of the last great sportsmen. He was not greedy, like many athletes now. He always stressed that baseball was a kid's game. His passion for the game and his personality made him great. " - Jose Burgose, East Oak Lane A generation of Philadelphia baseball fans has lost its voice, if not its soul. Every baby boomer who grew up in this blue-collar town when baseball was the undisputed national pastime learned The Game from Richie Ashburn. Their fathers taught them the rules, but Whitey taught them how it was played.

Jim Donahue spent a lot of his childhood and adolescence at old Connie Mack Stadium, watching Richie Ashburn roam centerfield and talking life and baseball with his dad in scenes that might only still exist in movies. The loving, living memories of those scenes are a big reason why Donahue worked tirelessly and collected 150,000 signatures since 1991, when Ashburn's name was bounced from Hall of Fame consideration - even printing bumper stickers with the now-famous "Richie Ashburn . . . . WHY THE HALL NOT?"

First, Princess Diana dies. Then Mother Teresa. Now, ex-Phillies star Richie Ashburn. OK, so Ashburn wasn't a mega-celebrity outside Phillies land or a living saint to any but diehard baseball fans. For Philadelphians, though, his death is probably enough to make some wonder if there's something to the old superstition that "bad things come in threes. " Folklorists say the belief that good or bad things come in threes is an ancient superstition that remains a strong modern belief.

As was the case with his late and well-known father, Richard Ashburn Jr.'s love for baseball runs deep. The Hall of Famer's eldest son, rarely straying from the game that grabbed his attention when he was a youngster, is a full-time hitting instructor and second-year head coach at Pottsgrove High. "I'm certain that a lot of it came from following my dad everywhere and being around the Phillies a lot," said Ashburn, who was a bat boy and clubhouse attendant for the club during his father's days as a broadcaster.

As was the case with his late and well-known father, Richard Ashburn Jr.'s love for baseball runs deep. The Hall of Famer's eldest son, rarely straying from the game that grabbed his attention when he was a youngster, is a full-time hitting instructor and second-year head coach at Pottsgrove High. "I'm certain that a lot of it came from following my dad everywhere and being around the Phillies a lot," said Ashburn, who was a bat boy and clubhouse attendant for the club during his father's days as a broadcaster.

As was the case with his late and well-known father, Richard Ashburn Jr.'s love for baseball runs deep. The Hall of Famer's eldest son, rarely straying from the game that grabbed his attention when he was a youngster, is a full-time hitting instructor and second-year head coach at Pottsgrove High. "I'm certain that a lot of it came from following my dad everywhere and being around the Phillies a lot," said Ashburn, who was a bat boy and clubhouse attendant for the club during his father's days as a broadcaster.

There has been much talk since Harry Kalas' death about his possible heavenly reunion with longtime broadcast partner and friend Richie Ashburn. I'd pay to see that: "The great Don Richard Ashburn! I've missed you these last 12 years, Whiteness. How 'bout a hug?" "Harry, would you want to rumple this handcrafted sweater? You know, this might not be the best time to bring this up, but I hope you realize there's no justice in the world. I mean, my body was always a finely tuned machine.

For David Hoppman, Harry Kalas was much more than an iconic broadcaster of Phillies games. He was a matchmaker. He was a pair of eyes. "I just wish I had the chance to thank Harry for being there all those years and for painting such beautiful pictures of the games," Hoppman said. "Harry helped me fall in love with baseball. Once you heard him, there was no way you couldn't be a fan for life. " Hoppman, who will turn 34 next month, has been blind since infancy. He began listening to Kalas call Phillies games on the radio in his family's home in Wernersville, Berks County, in the early 1980s.

For David Hoppman, Harry Kalas was much more than an iconic broadcaster of Phillies games. He was a matchmaker. He was a pair of eyes. "I just wish I had the chance to thank Harry for being there all those years and for painting such beautiful pictures of the games," Hoppman said. "Harry helped me fall in love with baseball. Once you heard him, there was no way you couldn't be a fan for life. " Hoppman, who will turn 34 next month, has been blind since infancy. He began listening to Kalas call Phillies games on the radio in his family's home in Wernersville, Berks County, in the early 1980s.

AS THE time went by and we all got older, I could always count on the Phils and Harry Kalas to bring me back to memories of yesteryear. Gone are the days of the transistor radio with Harry's voice in the yard, at the beach or the neighborhood barbershop. I'll sadly miss the memories of every kid impersonating Harry during a game of sandlot baseball. I met Harry this year during spring training for the first time - and sadly the last. He'll be dearly missed as a piece of my childhood has disappeared, never to be forgotten.

The relationship between Harry Kalas and his friend and broadcast partner Richie Ashburn is one that will never be duplicated. Kalas' bond extended to the entire Ashburn family. Ashburn's daughter, Jean, wrote to the Daily News yesterday to express her thoughts about Kalas' death.     Here are comments from Richard Ashburn, made this week, regarding the death of Harry Kalas:   Richard Ashburn

YOU CAN ALMOST count them on the fingers of an old fielder's mitt. There's Vin Scully of the Los Angeles Dodgers, of course. Bob Uecker in Milwaukee. Marty Brennaman in Cincinnati. Baseball broadcasters who have become synonymous with the teams they cover and the cities they work in. Denny Matthews has been calling games in Kansas City since the Royals franchise was established in 1969. Ditto Dave Niehaus, with the Seattle Mariners since 1977. Milo Hamilton is in his 25th year with the Houston Astros.

In all the years that sports have been played in Philadelphia, few people have had a greater impact for a longer time than Harry Kalas. For nearly 40 years, Kalas was the hugely popular voice of the Phillies. He was a Hall of Famer who brought the art of broadcasting a baseball game to its highest level. On a warm summer night, settled in a soft chair with a cool drink in hand, there was no richer experience than listening to Harry Kalas describe with that golden voice of his a Phillies ballgame.

It always dismayed Richie Ashburn that what most Philadelphians recalled from his Phillies career was the final game of 1950, when he threw out Brooklyn's Cal Abrams at the plate, preserving the pennant for those Whiz Kids. Ashburn, after all, was one of baseball's all-time best defensive centerfielders, a two-time batting champ, a base-stealer when that was rare, and the player with the most hits in the talent-rich 1950s. Now, 11 years after his death and 60 years after he arrived here to take root as a Phillie and later as the team's folksy broadcaster, there are Philadelphians who not only never heard of Abrams or the Whiz Kids but who also know Ashburn only as the namesake for Citizens Bank Park's outfield food court.