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Chick Hearn
As a voice is stilled, memories are stirred

IT WAS THE spring of 1977. I was 12 years old, living in Landover, pondering my upcoming ascent to high school and sitting at a crossroads. I needed a baseball team to call my own, and it was obvious by then, six years after the Senators moved, that my hometown was not going to provide me with one. I swallowed hard and told myself, "It's the Orioles or nothing." One night soon after, on the transistor next to my bed, I tuned in the D.C. station carrying the games. Guess who was there to welcome me to Orioles baseball, to Memorial Stadium and to Baltimore? Chuck Thompson, of course. The franchise couldn't have asked for a better salesman. For that matter, neither could...

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