Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Joe Castiglione: Red Sox Radio Broadcaster for 21 years
The ANNOTICO Report

No, this is not an Obit, but a Tribute! And when you read it, how could you not admire such a man as Joe Castiglione, and be proud as to how he represents his Italian Heritage?

Castiglione is described as "hard worker, great guy, a wonderful human being, a very caring, kind person, great to deal with, intelligent with an encyclopedic memory, a genuine person, never seen angry, self-deprecating, always upfront, honest, guy, treats people well, unassuming, compassionate"

"He very seldom has a bad word to say about anybody. He's always been very good at keeping everybody close."

Perfection was expected, especially in school," Castiglione recalled. "You were expected to be an A student, and there were no excuses. We always had a fear factor. You didn't want to disappoint."

Joe Castiglione, a Hamden, RI, native, is the oldest of eight children, and is a throwback, to a bygone era, in the best sense. His late father, Frank, who attended Yale on scholarship, was a doctor - 60 years on the staff at the Hospital of St. Raphael in New Haven - as are both of Joe's Yale-educated brothers, each of whom was far superior athletically to Joe, a Yale reject and self-described klutz.

Castiglione's paternal grandparents, Guiseppe and Francesa, came from Sicily but met and married in New Haven in the late 1890s. Joe's mother, Pamela, who still lives in their Hamden home, was a stay-at-home mom who studied at the Yale School of Music and played the organ at various New Haven churches. Joe's father, a dermatologist who died last year at 88 the day after Thanksgiving, came home for lunch every day.

Joe dreamed of being a big league player. When he was 12 and playing in the city championships before about 3,000 fans at Hamden's Bassett Field, just up the street from his house. In the book, Castiglione recalls being supremely embarrassed when he let a hard-hit ball go between his legs at shortstop with the bases loaded, allowing all three runners to score.

He also recalls laying down a beautiful bunt but running so slowly that he was still thrown out at first. "That," he writes, "was pretty much the end of my baseball career." But it was the beginning of his broadcast career.

One of Joe Castiglione's more compassionate ongoing relationship has been with Uri Berenguer, who he met as a 12 yr old Cancer patient at Boston's Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, in 1994.

Joe has unusually close ties to his family, even as an Italian. Duke says, "He literally calls each of the three of us, five times a day, He knows everything that's going on every second of the day. But you have to do that when you're on the road as much as he is. It drives my mother nuts. He's always on the cellphone. She can leave us alone, but he can't. He wants every single detail. He's so into what we do; he cares so much."
=========================================
JOE CASTIGLIONE:
RED SOX RADIO BROADCASTER BRINGING THE NATION TO THE PEOPLE

Sports Business News
Headline Central
June 9, 2004

If your idea of a daily baseball companion is someone with a mellifluous voice, one of those buttery baritones, the 57-year-old straight iron gray hair, with wire-rim glasses,
Joe Castiglione, may not be your kind of broadcaster. With his nasal, high-pitched voice, he sounds like a guy suffering from a head cold.

And suffer he does, especially when the Sox are losing. Many longtime listeners swear that as soon as they tune in they can tell how the Red Sox are doing simply by the tone of Castiglione's voice.

"Initially, I was [turned off]," said newly retired Boston Herald sports TV columnist Jim Baker, who arrived in Boston the same year as Castiglione, 1983. "I came to like him. He had the high-pitched voice. It used to drive me nuts. I used to call him `Milk and Cookies' because he would put you to sleep. But I don't feel that way anymore. He doesn't have a strong voice, but he's a hard worker. That [voice] is the only negative I can think about. And if he grows on you, that's not a negative."

Although Baker was an early Castiglione critic, he recalls him fondly. He said that rather than shut him off, as people often do their critics, Castiglione remained his usual friendly, helpful self.

"I can't say I've ever seen him angry," former Red Sox general manager Lou Gorman said. "Joe's a great guy, a wonderful human being, a very caring, kind person. I found him great to deal with."

"I'm used to it," Castiglione said of the criticism of his voice. "I've lived with that throughout my career. People have mentioned it, written about it. If that's the only thing negative, I'll accept it. ... I compensate by describing the play as vividly and as accurately as I can. The ball is only in play eight or nine minutes out of three hours. It doesn't take much effort to be descriptive in that time."

For baseball broadcasters such as Castiglione and his partner, Jerry Trupiano, the real key is keeping things interesting during all the dead time when the ball isn't in play. For that, Castiglione keeps a notebook full of index cards on every Red Sox and opposing player, constantly updating them with information he gathers year-round talking to scouts and baseball executives.

Castiglione's knowledge and encyclopedic memory draw high marks from other broadcasters, who downplay his lack of a classic broadcasting voice.

"I think his content and his personality and passion overcome that," said the sweet-voiced, 86-year-old Tigers broadcaster Ernie Harwell, who has been doing major league games since 1954. "The best thing is to be yourself. I really believe a bad original is better than a good copy. I think Joe's strength is that he's such a genuine person. People respond to that."

Of the charge that he is a "homer," Castiglione, who wears a 1986 Red Sox American League championship ring, said, "I've heard that before. I take that as a compliment. I'm not embarrassed by that. I live with these guys. I travel with these guys. I want them to win. It's better for them, it's better for me, and it's better for New England. I know that journalistically that might not be ideal. But I think the human emotion supersedes that in this case. ... I can't be a [homer like legendary announcers] Bob Prince or Harry Caray. I don't think I could be a Johnny Most. That's a different era."

But in many ways, Castiglione, the oldest of eight children, is a throwback, in the best sense. Maybe it's because his late father, Frank, who attended Yale on scholarship, was a doctor - 60 years on the staff at the Hospital of St. Raphael in New Haven - as are both of Joe's Yale-educated brothers, each of whom was far superior athletically to Joe, a Yale reject and self-described klutz.

Or maybe it's because the self-deprecating Castiglione, who followed his broadcasting dreams despite an Ohio-based career (Youngstown, Cleveland) that for more than a decade had all the lift of a leaky balloon, doesn't know how to act self-important.

"Joe's gift is friendship," said former Indians first baseman Andre Thornton, Castiglione's friend for 30 years. "Joe was always an honest, upfront guy. He treats people well. He's unassuming. When you see so many people in that field that are self-promoting, Joe would be the antithesis of that. He's an anomaly."

Duke Castiglione, the oldest of Joe's three children, went to Loomis Chaffee and is now an early morning sports anchor at WCBS-TV in New York.

"It was awesome," he said of growing up as Joe Castiglione's son. "He's my best friend. Dad always taught me, `Be yourself. Don't take yourself too seriously. This is not the most important job in the world.' My mother [Jan, a third-grade teacher], she's got a way more important job than my father and I do."

Castiglione's job has made him an amateur authority on America's cities - at least those in the American League. His book "Broadcast Rites and Sites - I Saw It on the Radio With the Boston Red Sox" - devotes more pages to his baseball travels, including restaurant and museum recommendations, than to his childhood and broadcasting career.

"Joe is very intelligent, compassionate," former Red Sox manager Joe Morgan said. "He very seldom has a bad word to say about anybody. If you read his book, you'll see that sticks out pretty easy. He's all knowledge."

Castiglione never saw the ball go between Bill Buckner's legs - he had already gone down to the Red Sox locker room to cover their World Series celebration - but as a history buff he does have a morbid fascination with far worse horrors. When the Red Sox went to Dallas to play the Rangers in April, Castiglione phoned the rooming house where Lee Harvey Oswald lived to find out if Oswald's former apartment was available. Embarrassed, he hung up when the landlady asked him how many were in his family.

"He has a warped sense of humor that we all love," said Jan, his wife of 32 years.

"Perfection was expected, especially in school," Castiglione recalled. "You were expected to be an A student, and there were no excuses. We always had a fear factor. You didn't want to disappoint."

Like most New Haven sports fans, especially Italian Americans, the Castigliones were Yankees fans. Joe's father taught him how to read a box score and Joe dreamed of being a big league player.

For him, the dream died when he was 12 and playing for Botwinik Brothers Factory in the city championships before about 3,000 fans at Hamden's Bassett Field, just up the street from his house. In the book, Castiglione recalls being supremely embarrassed when he let a hard-hit ball go between his legs at shortstop with the bases loaded, allowing all three runners to score. He also recalls laying down a beautiful bunt but running so slowly that he was still thrown out at first.

"That," he writes, "was pretty much the end of my baseball career."

After that, he was content with announcing family Wiffle ball games in the backyard. His idol was Yankees broadcaster Mel Allen.

"He was like our coach," said brother Frank, 50, a Hamden dermatologist and one of four siblings who still live within a mile of their childhood home.

Brother Charlie, 48, a plastic surgeon at Hartford Hospital who lives in West Hartford, was the family's best athlete. He pitched Yale to back-to-back victories over Harvard and also backed up Stone Phillips at quarterback.

By then, big brother's voice had already been all over the dial and the East Coast. As a freshman at Colgate, Castiglione, billed as "Joey C., The Big Cheese," hosted a Saturday night rock 'n' roll show on the campus radio station. At 18, he was the public address announcer for a New Haven women's softball team, the Wonderettes. In 1968, he did taped play-by-play for the Meriden Shamrocks, a semipro football team in the Eastern League.

He got his master's from Syracuse in 1969 and was paid $2.25 an hour to do radio color commentary on Syracuse basketball. His first full-time job, working for a Youngstown, Ohio, radio station, paid $140 a week. At a Youngstown ski club function - klutz Castiglione doesn't ski - he met his wife.

She was his crowning triumph amid a series of career disappointments. In Youngstown, he was later a TV sports anchor on the 6 and 11 o'clock news. He got an extra $15 a game doing Youngstown State football and basketball play-by-play.

"If I hired a color man," Castiglione said, "I was told I would pay him out of my $15. I was my own color man."

Two years later, he became the weekend sports anchor at WKYC-TV in Cleveland. In 1979, he took a risk by leaving the station to do play-by-play for 40 Indians games, although the TV station's contract with the team was in its last year. When the station lost the baseball rights at the end of the season, Castiglione lost his job. He was hired by Ted Stepien, the new Cavaliers owner, who was launching an ambitious cable channel covering the Indians and Cavaliers. It folded a year later, and Castiglione, with a wife and three young children, became a freelancer.

Castiglione was occasionally discouraged, but never deterred.

"It was his dream," Jan said. "You have to admire someone that has a dream and goes for it. It hasn't been easy. I don't think he would have survived in this business if he didn't have a thick skin. When I look at some of the younger people today, they give up too easily, when the first person tells them, `You're not that good.'"

Finally, a break. The break, as it turned out. Casey Coleman, son of Red Sox announcer Ken Coleman, had succeeded Castiglione as weekend anchor at WKYC-TV. One day he mentioned that his dad was looking for a partner on Red Sox broadcasts. Although he had done only two major league radio broadcasts in his life - filling in for Indians announcer Herb Score - Castiglione, with Ken Coleman's endorsement, got the job.

He wasn't exactly rolling in dough. The $45,000 salary he agreed to was $20,000 less than what Stepien, a soft touch, paid him in Cleveland. It was January 1983, and Castiglione, at 36, was so happy to have landed his first full-time major league broadcasting job that he didn't even ask for moving expenses.

While Jan and the children stayed in Cleveland with a house that wouldn't sell, Joe commuted to Fenway via bus and subway from Framingham, where he lived at the Suisse Chalet for $26 a night.

"The worst part," he said, "was packing my trunk and taking it to the basement each time we went on a road trip so I wouldn't be charged for the room while I was away."

Today, Castiglione earns $225,000 in the first year of a three-year contract with Entercom, whose Boston-based WEEI is the flagship station for Red Sox games. His two sons and daughter are grown - middle child Tommy is a doctor - but even if the radio is off, the sound of their father's voice is always close at hand.

"He literally calls five times a day," Duke said. "He calls my brother and sister five times a day, too. He knows everything that's going on every second of the day. But you have to do that when you're on the road as much as he is. It drives my mother nuts. He's always on the cellphone. She can leave us alone, but he can't. He wants every single detail. Whether he's bored, I don't know. He's so into what we do; he cares so much."

Castiglione also makes time to be involved in many young people's lives. Since 1985, he has taught a radio/TV course at Northeastern University. And for the last seven years during the fall semester, he makes a weekly two-hour drive from his suburban Boston home in Marshfield, Mass., to Franklin Pierce College in Rindge, N.H., where he also teaches. The control rooms and broadcast booths at Fenway and the FleetCenter are full of twentysomethings taught or mentored by Castiglione. Don Orsillo, who does play-by-play on Red Sox telecasts, is one such proud protégé.

But for sheer Castiglione adoration, few compare with Uri Berenguer. Berenguer, who was born in Panama, was 4 when his mother, Daisy, brought him to Boston's Dana-Farber Cancer Institute for treatment of bone cancer. Doctors in Panama had said they would have to amputate one of his legs.

Doctors in Boston saved the leg, but young Uri's life was a steady series of surgeries (seven), tumors, radiation and chemotherapy. As part of his work with the Jimmy Fund, the Red Sox's official charity that supports the Dana-Farber, Castiglione met Uri, then 12, on a hospital visit in 1994. He learned that Uri was a nephew of former major league pitcher Juan Berenguer.

Taken with Uri's personality, Castiglione invited him to sit with him in the broadcast booth at Fenway.

"When you're a 13-year-old kid and a cancer patient," Uri recalled, "anybody can be a sunshine in your life. He was the sunshine of my life."

The relationship flourished, and when Uri was 15, Castiglione hired him to be his statistician. After high school, Uri worked in the Red Sox community relations office and learned to be a producer/engineer for the team's Spanish-language broadcasts. Last season, at 21, Uri, while working toward his degree at Northeastern, became the team's Spanish-language play-by-play man, the youngest broadcaster in the major leagues.

"I became part of [Castiglione's] family," said Uri Berenguer, who was pronounced cured of cancer in February 2003. "He went to my [high school] games, as a father would. For my high school graduation he took me to Atlanta and Florida because he remembered that I grew up as a Braves fan [Uncle Juan pitched for the 1991 pennant-winning Braves]. That's something that only somebody who loves you would do.

"He's been nothing less than a guardian angel to me. A mentor, an inspiration. To me, he's the epitome of a man. He's always willing to help someone out. It's one thing to be willing, but to actually do it is another thing, and he does it. I wouldn't be in broadcasting with the Red Sox if it wasn't for him. If there was a person you had to nominate for the nicest person in the world, my vote would go to Joe Castiglione. I can't see anyone ever saying a bad thing about Joe. I've told Joe and Jan that the day Joe retires, I'll buy him and his wife a home in California. I owe it to them because of all he's done for me."

The letters and calls of thanks come from everywhere. Jan Castiglione said that one of Joe's former students who lives in Taiwan e-mails him every year on Taiwan's teacher appreciation day to tell Joe that he has nominated him for teacher of the year.

Of her husband, she said, "He's always been very good at keeping everybody close."

When he isn't e-mailing or phoning his vast circle of friends, relatives and students, he's preparing for his annual bulk mailing - Christmas cards.

Of course, Castiglione receives many more than he sends. That's how it is when your true voice, your heart, is a powerhouse.

Much of this report courtesy of The Hartford Courant's Alan Greenberg.

SBN
http://www.sportsbusinessnews.com/index.asp?story_id=36519