[il-talk] Robert Greenberg

[Don Gillmore]

Please Rest In Peace Friend.

Death Notice: ROBERT GREENBERG. Robert "Bob" Greenberg, died after a long
illness, dearly beloved and precious son of Loretta, nee Slutsky, the late
Sidney; fond brother of Arlyne Shiffman; many nieces, nephews and friends.
Private burial. Sign Guestbook at chicagotribune.com/

Blind sportscaster's memorable legacy. Eric Zorn. Bob Greenberg was the most
remarkable person I've ever met. . It wasn't just that he was a blind
sportscaster -- a man who overcame what you'd think would be a disqualifying
disability and went on to cover games, provide color commentary and produce
feature stories for major radio stations -- but also that he was larger than
life in every way. His voice. His body. His gestures. His tenacity. His
swagger. His memory. All were huge. How remarkable was he? So remarkable
that, Monday evening, the day before we learned Greenberg had died at age 67
in Williamsburg, Va., his name came up several times in conversations I had
with friends from the public radio world, even though none of us had seen
him for more than 20 years. We were gathered at the visitation for Carole
Nolan, the visionary former schoolteacher who transformed WBEZ-FM from a
sleepy, part-time, classroom-of-the-air project of the Chicago Board of
Education into one of the nation's premier public radio stations. She died
July 5 at age 80. The story goes that Nolan hired Greenberg in 1975 when the
station was still covering occasional high school football and basketball
games, and he'd sit with the play-by-play announcer to offer reflections on
the action he could not see. It was dumbfounding," said Craig Alton, who
engineered many of those early games. Bob did hours of homework, then had
all his statistics in a stack of Braille cards in front of him. A player
would score, and his fingers would go flying and then he'd say, 'You know,
that was fourth time that ... Listeners had no idea he was blind. Greenberg
lost his sight shortly after birth but never considered that a reason not to
pursue a career in sports broadcasting -- a particularly bravura goal given
that the disabled were even more pigeonholed then than they are today. He
sat in the press box and interviewed athletes in the locker room at major
Chicago sporting events for more than a decade. That he achieved his goal
was a heartwarming story. But Greenberg was not a particularly heartwarming
guy. He was loud and blustery, stubborn and occasionally obnoxious. He was
known to push his way clumsily through media scrums, interrupt other
reporters' interviews and even play "the blind card" to get reluctant
athletes to talk to him. It probably served him well. Once the novelty of
being a blind sportscaster wears off, you have to bring the goods -- get the
tape, know your stuff -- because no one's going to hand them to you out of
pity. I met Greenberg when I covered the radio beat in the early 1980s and
got to know him after I married a WBEZ producer for whose show he used to
file reports. His confidence, the matter-of-factness with which he assumed
his role and demanded respect, was striking. And the stories -- Greenberg
knocking over a table of food in the White Sox locker room while wandering
about seeking interviews; Greenberg shoving forth his microphone after
asking a question of a pro basketball player and striking him in an intimate
place -- were hilarious. But as WBEZ became more of a newsy, National Public
Radio outlet, Greenberg's rat-a-tat sports reports sounded increasingly out
of place. And in 1990, when the station broke ties with the public schools,
Greenberg was among the staffers who weren't rehired. He continued to find
broadcasting gigs here and there but never regained the prominence he had at
WBEZ. For the last seven years of his life, even as he was battling cancer
and a foot injury that left him unable to walk, he co-hosted a weekly sports
talk show on the Internet. It was totally inspiring that he refused to let
blindness get in his way," said NPR "Weekend Edition" host Scott Simon,
whose desk was near Greenberg's in the late 1970s when the network and WBEZ
shared office space in the Loop. Only one time did he mention it," said
Simon, who is now based in Washington. He told me that he thought he had a
pretty good image in his mind what a football play looked like and what a
basketball game looked like. But the one thing he couldn't imagine was a
home run in baseball. He said the sound of the crowd during a home run is
totally different than anything else in sports -- the drama, the rising
expectations -- and that he really wished that just once he could see that.
Simon said he's bringing his family to Wrigley Field this weekend to see the
Cubs. I want them to hit one for Bob," he said. Maybe he can see them now."
---------- Services will be private. Share memories of Bob Greenberg at
chicagotribune.com/zorn. ct12 0184 120713 N S 0000000000 00001215.
ILLUSTRATION: Photo(s). Photo: Bob Greenberg covered sports for WBEZ-FM when
it was a Chicago Board of Education station.