Jones was true pro, with pipes of velvet

This article was written by Nick Canepa of the San Diego Union Tribune. It is a marvelous tribute to Charlie. Please enjoy.

I remember so much more than The Voice. But when people think of Charlie Jones, it's what first comes to mind. The Voice. It was as though Charlie's began from a faraway place, from a fairy tale, and went through all kinds of Grimm trouble before it reached our ears. It was a sports voice, a football baritone that rustled the autumn leaves from their perches.

Fortunate as I was to spend quite a bit of time with this kind man, when we were together I couldn't help but think what The Voice was like when he was a child in Fort Smith, Ark. His first words probably scared his family and no doubt had something to do with “first-and-10” or calling the finish of a mile run.

Charlie passed away last week at 77, of heart failure, and his was a heart I never thought could fail. It was as big as his larynx. That's what I remember most about Charlie Jones. His graciousness, his generosity, his willingness to help people on the way up, his preparation, his literacy and his great love for family (his wife, Ann, is one of the all-time kicks), sports and travel.

“I never travel light,” he told me, and he traveled, sometimes logging hundreds of thousands of air miles over 12-month spans during his 38-year network career. He loved what he did, always saying he had the best job in the world.

He had such a great love for golf. It's sad his death came before the end of the U.S. Open, played out at Torrey Pines, close to his home above La Jolla Shores, where he lived from 1967.

He covered too many sports to mention here, but there were Super Bowls and the Olympics and Wimbledon. He was the voice of the Padres, Reds and Rockies. He was on the sideline for the first Super Bowl and eventually was honored with the Pro Football Hall of Fame's Pete Rozelle Award for his radio and television work. He wrote several books, including “Heaven Can Wait: Surviving Cancer,” in 2003. He worked 25 college bowl games and the 1986 World Cup in Mexico. He won an Emmy.

Charlie loved to tell a story about that World Cup. He was flying commercial from Mexico City, nonstop, to another town for a match. “There was this guy on the plane with a bunch of World Cup pins,” he said. “The guy told the pilot he'd give him some pins if he made an unscheduled stop in this other town. And the pilot did.” Jones, who did a turn in the Air Force, loved to fly. “He wanted to be a pilot so bad,” Ann says. “But he had a problem. He couldn't see.”

As a broadcaster, he sure could see, and he had a way of making you comfortable, because he always seemed comfortable. It didn't matter how many curves he was thrown.

“In football, I had over 60 different colormen (analysts),” Charlie once said. “In baseball, I had at least 10. I did 27 different sports and every one had a different man or woman (analyst). All the people I worked with, if I could have worked my career with Jerry Coleman, I'd be a lot healthier.”

Charlie loved to help. Maybe I should say his ego wasn't such that he was afraid to help. “He was the best coach,” says ESPN's Bill Walton, urged by Charlie to get into the broadcasting game. “He was always positive. He had a way of teaching you so you didn't want to quit.”

Merlin Olsen, the Hall of Fame Rams defensive lineman who worked with Charlie on the air and also as a partner in their production company, once carried him up the stairs of an old Colorado hotel when Charlie had a broken leg. “One of the most unique people I've ever met,” Olsen says.

Despite his pedigree, Charlie never allowed it to get in front of the laughter. There was enjoyment to him. A celebration of his life was held Wednesday at La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club, which was fitting, because this was a man who celebrated life.

For the first time, I met his sister, Virginia, a kind woman who comes complete with an Arkansas accent. If Charlie had an accent, it was hidden in those marvelous chops.

He loved to tell the story of working football at NBC with the late George Ratterman. At the time, George was sheriff of Newport, Ky., and was shutting down the casinos there, which didn't sit well with the bosses.
The two were about to do a Raiders game at Oakland's Frank Youell Field and George informed Charlie that the FBI had called and said there was a price on his head, that a sniper had been hired to rub him out from a high-rise during the game. “George,” Charlie asked, “do they know what you look like?”

We know what Charlie Jones looked like and sounded like. If you didn't really know him, you missed someone special. The voice has been silenced, but it remains loud and clear.

Written by Nick Canepa: (619) 293-1397; nick.canepa@uniontrib.com

Editors Note: This blog will be maintained and added to frequently by two of Charlie's friends, Kim Doren and Greg Anton. Should you care to contact us, please send us a comment note by clicking on the link below.