=====About Always By My Side=====================
Three-time National Sportscaster of the Year Jim Nantz
tells the behind-the-scenes stories of some of the
most dramatic moments in American sports while paying
tribute to the man who inspired him to pursue his
broadcasting dream--his beloved father, who has fallen
victim to the ravages of Alzheimer's disease.
Vividly written in exciting, you-are-there replay style,
"Always By My Side" gives readers an insider's look into
an unprecedented sixty-three-day stretch from February
through April of 2007, when Jim Nantz became the first
broadcaster to call the Super Bowl, the Final Four, and
the Masters. However, this remarkable voyage took on a
bittersweet tinge as Nantz was unable to share it with
his dad. The devoted son felt his father's presence every
step of the way, and used this championship journey to
celebrate the people, venues, and moments that tapped into
all the goodness that his dad--and his dad's generation--
represents.
In recounting the highlights of more than two thrilling
decades with CBS Sports, Nantz recalls how legendary
voices of his youth--such as Jim McKay, Chris Schenkel,
Pat Summerall, Jack Whitaker, and Dick Enberg--sparked his
imagination and shaped his style.
=====Always By My Side=====================
Nonfiction: Always By My Side
A Father's Grace And a Sports Journey Unlike Any Other
by Jim Nantz and Eli Spielman (nonfiction)
Publisher: Gotham Books
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 9781592403615
ALWAYS: Part 1 of 5
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CHAPTER ONE
May 26, 1995, had been shaping up as "just another day at the
office"--albeit an office whose desk faces a television camera, a
monitor bank, and a bay window that, on this one Friday afternoon,
was set up to overlook the 18th green at the Colonial Country Club
in Fort Worth, Texas. My parents, Doris and Jim, had come up from
Houston to visit me, and as a bonus they got to cheer on one of my
college roommates, Blaine McCallister, who was playing in the PGA
Tour's grand old tournament, the Colonial. I was also blessed to be
surrounded by my CBS "family"--in particular, Ken Venturi, our
analyst, who sat to my right; the legendary producer/director Frank
Chirkinian, who was, as we say in TV, "in my ear"; and Frank's
protege, associate director Lance Barrow, who sat just to
Chirkinian's left in the production truck. There I was, thirty-
six years old, and about to celebrate my tenth anniversary at CBS
Sports, the very network where I had envisioned myself working ever
since I was in grade school. In my first decade, I had already been
privileged to broadcast virtually every sport the network had to
offer. In short, I was fulfilling my lifelong aspiration to narrate
the great stories of American sports.
What would I have done with my life had I not been fortunate enough
to defy the odds and land behind CBS's anchor desk? Well, perhaps I
might have been content to 'sell them' that desk, joining my father
in his office-furniture wholesale business. That was always the
fallback plan, something I could do to help make life easier for Dad
in his later years. Now, though, I was developing a far better
father-son business model--one that centered on the three things,
besides his family, that Dad loved most: traveling, meeting people,
and sports. My schedule was growing more and more hectic. Wherever I
turned, the demands on my time continued to increase. So I thought,
why not enlist my father as my full-time, on-the-road business
partner? He had plenty of management experience, and no one had
better people skills. We'd work as a team, traveling together
regularly, just as we did when I was growing up.
"Everywhere you go, people absolutely love you. Besides, there's no
one whose advice I value more," I told him as I tried to pitch this
concept. "Dad, there will be plenty for you to do, and besides, I
need you!" I must have told him on a dozen other occasions--and I
really felt that way. No matter how I worded my argument, he would
invariably deflect it with a noncommittal, "We'll see, Son."
My father's fierce independence didn't surprise me. He never wanted
anything handed to him--or even 'perceived' to be handed to him--
from anyone, including me. For the time being, Dad was more than
content to remain a "free agent." Whenever our schedules allowed,
he'd join me at a big football game that I was calling--or the Final
Four or the Masters. Then, when it was time for me to go on the air,
he would stop watching the event--and simply stare at 'me.' Somehow,
he could do this for hours on end--sitting silently just off camera,
listening on a spare headset as the producer orchestrated all the
different elements that bring a telecast to life. Out of the corner
of my eye, I could see him beaming with pride, that beatific smile
etched onto the world's friendliest face, as if he could hardly
believe that all of this was really happening to his only son.
"'Oh, my God!'" I muttered reflexively when my father entered the
tower that day with about three minutes to air. I'd never seen Dad
like this: His eyes were disoriented. His face looked confused.
His speech was halting and barely coherent. We rushed to get him
something to drink and some towels. Dad was a "young" sixty-six--
vibrant, active, and strong. But on this sweltering afternoon, the
heat and humidity--and his haste to make it back to the tower in
time for the start of the broadcast--had left him seemingly overcome
by exhaustion and dehydration. Instead of taking a few sips of
water, as he might usually do, I watched him gulp down two full
bottles.
"Listen, Dad, why don't you go over to our CBS hospitality suite
in the clubhouse. Cool off, catch your breath, and then come back
here," I told him. "We've got all weekend together, so you take
your time--there's no rush." Normally, he would have waved off my
suggestion, insisted that he was "just fine, Son," and propped
himself into his regular front-row seat so he could fixate on my
every move. Instead, he nodded slowly and turned for the door at
the back of the tower and started down the steps.
'And so for Ken Venturi and all the crew, this is Jim Nantz, saying
so long from Fort Worth, Texas. We'll see you again tomorrow at
three Eastern time on CBS.'
The moment I finished signing off, Frank Chirkinian gently
instructed, "Jimmy, don't get off headset yet." Frank's booming
bark was now modulated to a solicitous whisper as he asked me, "Are
you sitting down?" Instantly, it dawned upon me--and on Ken Venturi,
who was at my side, also listening--that my father had not returned
to the tower. I had assumed that once Dad had gone inside, he
probably made some new friends--as he invariably does--and decided
to stick around, tell some jokes, and watch the broadcast with them
from the comfort of the air-conditioned clubhouse.
"First, let me assure you that your dad is 'just fine,' Jimmy,"
Frank said. "But he was taken to a nearby hospital. Apparently, as
he left your tower, he collapsed at the base of the stairs. Your
mother insisted that I not tell you while you were on the air. I've
been getting regular updates for the last ninety minutes, and we've
got a car waiting to take you to see him. Now, Son--don't you worry.
Everything is going to be all right."
=========Abouth The Author=================
Jim Nantz, the 2007 National Sportscaster of the Year, is the
signature face and voice of CBS Sports. He has covered nearly every
one of the network's sporting events since 1985.
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