What Jerry Howarth Taught Me About Leadership
They say today is all about love, so here’s a confession:
I love Jerry Howarth.
I’ve never met the man, but I love talent, class, dedication and the Blue Jays.
So I love Jerry Howarth.
Jerry Howarth is the radio voice of the Toronto Blue Jays. The Jays were born six weeks after I was in 1977. My father was at each one of those births, and he’s loved both of us ever since (I think). Naturally his love of the Jays became mine.
Jerry joined the Jays broadcast team four years later in 1981. That’s about when I remember first hearing the Jays on the radio in the car with my Dad or on the deck at the cottage. I had never been to a baseball game, and it was a while before we’d get them on television, so major league baseball was created for me through the voice of Jerry and his broadcast partner Tom Cheek. I didn’t know what my heroes looked like playing baseball, but I knew what it sounded like when they played.
Seeing my first games live wasn’t exactly a letdown, but I wasn’t used to having to watch the game instead of Tom and Jerry painting its images in my mind. There weren’t stories and lessons during the breaks in the action. There was no explanation of obscure rules, or insights that helped you better appreciate the beauty of what had just happened on the field. There were just people yelling and eating.
Live baseball didn’t have a voice. And to me, baseball was supposed to have a voice.
You see, if you’re a baseball fan, you don’t remember moments. You remember the calls of those moments — how they were described as they happened. As such, the voice of your team is the voice of your memories.
I witnessed Jose Bautista’s “bat flip” live, yet my memory of that moment still features Jerry’s call:
“Fly ball, deep left field! Yes sir! There. She. Goes!”
When I heard the news of Jerry’s retirement yesterday morning, I pulled my car over and watched his call of that moment again. The goosebumps came, as they always do.
But for the first time, I realized something.
In the absolute bedlam that followed — in the midst of that deafening roar I swear shook the concrete under my feet that night…
Jerry Howarth didn’t say another word for almost a full minute.
I recently heard what has become one of my favourite leadership insights:
“In your life you will be given countless opportunities to shut the hell up. Seize every one that you can.”
To have the power to be heard yet recognize your voice is not called for is a powerful skill for any leader. And there was Jerry Howarth demonstrating how it was done.
It suddenly occurred to me: it’s likely that only my mother and my father have spoken more words to me in my life than Jerry Howarth. If I’ve grown up to share leadership insights, surely some of them were influenced by this man. What other leadership skills might he have helped teach me?
I realized that if you listened to “the voice of the Blue Jays”, you’d learn some pretty important lessons about how to be a great leader:
Shine by reflecting the light of others.
I’ve been moved to tears several times over the years by Jerry’s work on a broadcast. Not because of a win or a loss, but by his stories and tributes to people who loved the game.
Jerry loved people who loved baseball, and part of what made him so beloved is his commitment to using his platform to celebrate the contributions of others to the game, their teammates, and their communities.
Almost every game there was a birthday wish to an elderly fan, congratulations to a production assistant on the birth of their child, even a get-well-soon to the mother of a clubhouse manager. Jerry seemed acutely aware that while the focus was always going to be on the millionaires on the field, there was an entire community of people who helped put them there.
Midway through last season, I listened as he gave a half-inning long tribute to a former umpire who had just passed. I could hear him choke up as he described this man’s dedication to the game, the impact he had on the people around him, and how baseball was better because he had been a part of it. By the end I was crying myself.
Jerry didn’t talk about what baseball meant to him — he showed it through his commitment to highlighting those who contributed to the game and didn’t have a microphone.
Sometimes the best way to shine is to reflect the light of others. Just ask the moon.
Honour your team by honouring other teams
Jerry is pretty obviously a Jays fan. But in the 30 years or so I can recall listening to him on the radio, I can’t remember him ever saying “we” when talking about the Jays. Jerry wasn’t a member of the Blue Jays — Jerry called Jay games.
When Allan Trammell and Lou Whitaker turned a magical double play to kill a Jays rally, you could hear the admiration of a baseball fan in Jerry’s voice, not the disappointment of a “homer”. You’d hear him celebrate the skills of individual Jays not with hyperbole, but honesty — giving credit where credit was due. Kevin Pillar was not “the greatest centrefielder in baseball” he was, “one of the game’s best centre fielders, along with perhaps Kansas City’s great Kevin Kiermaier”. In the days before replay, when an umpire blew a call in the Jays’ favour, Jerry would tell you.
That respect he showed opposing teams and players, along with and his willingness to describe what actually happened rather than what the audience wanted to hear, gave his voice tremendous credibility.
Respect and honesty, even to your competitors, and even when it’s not necessarily to your advantage, will often earn you a lot more respect than chest-beating, denying failures, and exaggerating accomplishments.
Empower without fear
I didn’t realize that Joe Siddall is a broadcaster because of Jerry Howarth.
When the 2014 Blue Jays season began in April, I remember listening to Jerry’s new broadcast partner and thinking, “wow…is Jerry ever carrying this new guy”. I figured the new addition to the booth was an experienced broadcaster struggling with some understandable nerves.
Turns out “the new guy” had never been in a broadcast booth before. In February, Jerry had seen an article discussing the death of Joe Siddall’s 14-year-old son Kevin from blood cancer. He sought out Joe’s email address and sent him a note of condolence. Joe immediately sent his thanks, saying “I look forward to seeing you when you come to Detroit this season.” He then added the joke, “or maybe in the broadcast booth one day.”
Jerry responded, “how about right now?” before submitting Joe’s name to the director of programming as his potential new partner. Two months later, Joe Siddall was a broadcaster.
At the time, Jerry Howarth was 68 years old and had been broadcasting Jay games for 33 years. He had every right to demand to work with a pro. Instead he chose to advocate for someone he knew would make his job more difficult. Then he worked to make that person better.
When I learned of this story, I couldn’t help but think of a former CEO I met while he was on his retirement trip. I asked him what he was most proud of when he looked back over his career.
“Drew,” he said. “I created a company filled with people who could do my job. I created a company where absolutely everyone wanted my job. But you know what? Not a single one of them wanted to take it away from me. They knew that every day I was in that role, I was going to try to find a way to make them better. I wanted to empower others without fear one of them would make me pay for it. The less fear I had of that happening, the less I had to be afraid of.”
Empower without fear. You’re creating allies, not threats.
Screw tradition
There is no sport that venerates its past like baseball. Unwritten rules over a century old still dictate how the game is played and players act. To be frank, baseball continues to do things that don’t really make sense because “it’s tradition”.
For instance, keeping team names that are profoundly insulting to entire cultures.
But Jerry Howarth hasn’t used team names like “Braves” or “Indians” for over 25 years. After the Jays beat Atlanta’s team in the 1992 World Series, a member of a Northern Ontario First Nation wrote Howarth a letter pointing out how deeply offensive those names and long-used expressions like “powwows on the mound” actually were.
Moved by the letter, Jerry wrote back and promised he wouldn’t speak the names on the air again. He’s kept that vow. Other broadcasters have cited his example and chosen to do the same. The fact is, everyone should.
To break with baseball tradition when you rely on the game for your livelihood takes a certain type of person. Taking a stand against something the majority feels “isn’t that big a deal” usually comes with consequences. But some fights need fighting.
What happens when someone charges the mound? At first they charge alone…but by the time they get to the real fight, they’ve usually got a whole team behind them.
There are certain things in our society calling us to charge the mound. Someone has to take the first step and get the benches moving.
Goodbye Friends!
It’s strange, as I said off the top, I’ve never met Jerry Howarth, but throughout this entire piece I’ve referred to him as “Jerry”. As I moved through it, I starting asking myself, “why exactly do I think I have the right to talk like I’m a friend of his?”
I suppose it’s because he told me to. He told us all to. Every single night. 162 nights a year. It was always the same greeting:
“Blue Jays Baseball is on the air! Hello friends, I’m Jerry Howarth.”
He told us we were friends…and then he acted like someone you’d want to be friends with.
It’s hard to say goodbye to your favourites. But goodbyes are part of sports.
I’m 40 years old. Thanks to my Dad, I’ve been a Jays fan for 40 years. I’ve watched a lot of the greats say goodbye: Bell, Barfield, Alomar, Halladay, Encarnacion, Bautista.
They were all Jays.
To me…Jerry Howarth was The Jays.
Thanks my friend. You touched ’em all.
