By Jon Weisman
Over the past several weeks, I have written stories, edited stories, read stories, looked at photos old and new, watched video, heard calls from the 1950s to the present, all trying to capture Vin Scully before he bids us, his audience, farewell.
The comfort is that there will be no shortage of ways to remember Vin, to relive and revive our keepsakes of him. You’d often come away from a Vin Scully broadcast with a wonderful story or some remarkably clever one-liner — much of which has been preserved, especially in recent history.
It’s the sensory experience of Vin in the present that will be gone forever. Sharing the moment in time with him.
His lack of attention to his own departure has reinforced that. His focus on what’s in front of him, rather than what’s moving past and behind him. Vin himself lives so in the moment, that riding on his airwaves becomes something of a spiritual journey. I’m cringing a bit as I write those words, fearing they sound far too over the top, but I don’t know that there’s a better description of his effect.
Vin has touched me in a way no one else has.
In the remaining few hours we have with Vin, do nothing more than just enjoy this connection we have had. Because this moment will pass, even if the memories will always remain, and the spirit will never die.