The recent passing of Jack Whitaker marks the end of an era in sports broadcasting, particularly for those who hold Thoroughbred racing in high regard. As a sports enthusiast and aspiring journalist, I, like many, eagerly anticipated Whitaker’s magazine segments on CBS Sports. His work, alongside his close friend and mentor Heywood Hale Broun, exemplified a profound understanding and reverence for the world of racing.
Whitaker, Broun, Chic Anderson, and Frank Wright were the cornerstones of horse-race broadcasting at CBS during its golden age. They possessed a unique ability to uncover and articulate the compelling human and equine stories woven into the fabric of racing. Their commentary, infused with wit and insight, celebrated the charm, majesty, and inherent mystery that lay beyond the dry statistics of past-performance lines. This level of appreciation, sadly, seems to be a rarity among many contemporary horseplayers.
Before the advent of television, the print media laid the groundwork for sophisticated racing coverage. I endeavored to follow in the footsteps of predecessors like my dear friend, the late Bill Nack. It was Nack who connected me with Dick Sandler, the esteemed sports editor at Newsday. During my 17 years at the publication, where I was fortunate to earn writing awards, Sandler instilled in me the principle that the most effective way to tell a story was to “begin with a narrative.” My ability to reach that point was significantly aided by Nack’s early interest and consistent encouragement, always pushing me to improve with each subsequent column.
One of my earliest experiences receiving Nack’s guidance involved the perplexing and sudden death of Swale, the 1984 Belmont Stakes champion. I recall struggling with how to begin my report – should I open with a dramatic Belmont Stakes narrative or directly address the shocking circumstances surrounding Swale’s demise? The seasoned broadcasters of that era would have known precisely how to proceed. While I didn’t know Whitaker or Broun intimately, and had limited contact with Anderson, I knew Frank Wright well from his time as a trainer and commentator on New York’s WOR-TV. Their influence was undeniable, yet literary role models, particularly in sports and the rich scholarly tradition of horse racing, are now scarce.
Whitaker’s passing serves as another poignant reminder of a bygone era where the pursuit of truth and the art of language held significant importance. In a time when perspective is most needed, these scholars of sport have largely vanished. Such is the cycle of life, death, and the transformative power of the internet. It was a profound honor to have known, read, heard, and learned from these individuals. They were more poets than pundits, wordsmiths of the highest caliber who possessed the gift of creating mythic legend in the moment.
Reflecting on Whitaker’s impact, it was Bud Lamoreaux, creator and executive producer of the CBS Morning News with Charles Kuralt, who helped me recall Whitaker’s exceptional work, particularly his coverage of the 1973 Belmont Stakes. Lamoreaux noted, “What is lost in all of those feel-good moments is the performance of the CBS broadcast team headed by Jack Whitaker. He was the silver-tongued orator from Philadelphia who could turn a phrase as quickly as Secretariat could get to the wire.” Lamoreaux further elaborated on Whitaker, Broun, Wright, and Anderson, stating they were “old school CBS… They were just better than all the rest. They could look in the CBS eye and viewers knew they were getting the real deal – no hyperbole… just some straight talk. And oh what sweet talk it was.” In the midst of overwhelming hyperbole surrounding Secretariat’s monumental 31-length victory, Whitaker delivered the perfect understatement: “I believe Dick Butkus could have ridden this horse today and won.” He then shifted focus to the stoic racetrackers, observing, “Today, I actually saw people crying.”
Whitaker himself had role models, including Eric Sevareid, Red Smith, and Broun. Upon Broun’s passing, Whitaker penned a tribute: “He gave the genre a rich and rare dimension, which unhappily departs with him. He had the authentic fan’s enthusiasm for the games and the players, but he also had an unerring talent for spotting the sham and the hype. I will miss his colorful anecdotes… his droll humor and marvelous writing. Heywood Hale Broun was a comfortable man of substance and his departure leaves us all diminished.”
As my own career progressed, I encountered figures like Jimmy Breslin. Andy Beyer introduced me to Richard Valeriani, a reporter whose nightly dispatches from Vietnam or outside the Capitol during Watergate were unparalleled. Standing on his feet in a war zone, Valeriani masterfully made sense of complex geopolitical events, a skill reminiscent of those who once chronicled the Morning Telegraph – Joe Palmer, George Ryall (Audax Minor), Joe Hirsch, Charles Hatton, and Barney Nagler. These journalists, though not always mentors in person, were guiding lights through their words. Valeriani, a devotee of Saratoga, would visit the press box annually, not only for the racing but also to place a bet. Sometimes our counsel proved fruitful, other times not, but he always returned with a beaming smile, asking, “Hey Pricci, whadda’ ya’ got today?”
Upon hearing of Whitaker’s death, my immediate thought, much like Lamoreaux’s, was of Secretariat’s Belmont Stakes performance, a moment that encapsulated my respect and appreciation for a beloved colleague. Another unforgettable, albeit tragic, racing memory is the euthanization of the champion filly Ruffian after her match race with Foolish Pleasure at Belmont Park. In that moment, Whitaker’s grief was palpable as he addressed the camera, uttering words that captured the fragility of equine athletic careers: “One false step and years of planning and breeding and training and loving come to an end – a horse with speed and stamina and heart – a horse, like the Bible says, whose neck is clothed in thunder.”
Frank Deford, introduced to me by Nack, shared a similar quality. “I never wanted to be an editor,” he once confessed. “I just wanted to write, and it didn’t make any difference whether it was fiction or nonfiction, or short stories, or whatever.” However, he also offered a dose of humility: “In Hollywood, writers are considered only the first draft of human beings.” Now, in the wake of these journalistic giants, the question lingers: who is left to teach us their art?
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