Truth be told, you could barely hear Roger Emrich’s rich baritone voice from the sealed confines of the AT&T Stadium press box.
Clearly, this was our loss.
To us in the local media, Roger’s booming delivery was better known and enjoyed over the car radio or, when we were so blessed, from across the table at the pregame meal.
We lost a dear friend Sunday. The outpouring of love and respect for Roger from the local media stands as undeniable testimony of that.
Newspapers and broadcast outlets from around the area posted personal stories, quoting Twitter tributes and prompting Facebook tears. WFAA-Channel 8 began its Sunday night news show with a report on the reaction to Roger’s death.
How many public address announcers have inspired that?
He was more than a voice in a stadium, though. If you listen to radio, there was Roger Emmm-rick (as he liked to pronounce it when signing off) giving the sports updates a few times each hour. If you followed high school sports, there was a good chance that Emrich did your team’s PA or play-by-play.
In addition to his long tenure at the Texas State Network and at KRLD and 105.3-The Fan, Roger worked at radio stations in Louisiana, Denton and Austin, even handling the play-by-play for the Longhorns women’s basketball team for a season.
He was the Raj Mahal, a nickname that stuck. He called everyone “podnuh,” whether you were one of his New Orleans homeboys or not.
I was proud to say I was. The best we could figure, Roger and I knew each other for at least 40 years. We met in the old newsroom at the New Orleans Times-Picayune, where Emrich had been brought aboard as a part-timer, straight out of suburban Gretna’s West Jefferson High.
Years later, we would laugh at the old stories. Roger had them by the dozens, all in vivid (sometimes too vivid) detail.
We shared a treasured common mentor – our former assistant sports editor, Will Peneguy, a dear friend.
We shared the same New Orleans sports icons growing up – Rusty Staub, Archie Manning, Pistol Pete Maravich.
We used to share restaurant reviews of our old favorite places –the best roast beef po-boy (Liuzza’s on Bienville), the best red beans and rice (Mandina’s, but only on Mondays, Roger said) and the best fried seafood (some place in Marrero, the Raj Mahal insisted, but then he was always a West Bank boy).
We both met our future brides on the campus of the University of New Orleans. Roger met Cris in a parking lot while on his way to call a basketball game at the gymnasium that served for years as the Privateers’ home court, the same gym that used to serve as a “date” when the future Mrs. LeBreton and I first met.
Roger and I also were both in the military. I was in the Army and served a tour in Vietnam. Emrich joined the Air Force and, at one point, ended up working for a radio station at an air base on the Greek island of Crete. We both later used the GI Bill to complete our college degrees, Roger earning his from Loyola of New Orleans.
We found that we had played baseball at the same playgrounds while growing up – Kirsch-Rooney Park, Muny, Perry Roehm. Roger had a story about them all, like some home run that had landed on Forshey Street.
He knew the names of all the guys that were on my school’s state championship basketball team. He could tell you every play from the football game that won West Jeff the 1970 state title. He was a walking encyclopedia of sports, a trait that followed him to Texas.
Alas, we also shared the indignities of our apprenticeships covering high school sports for the Times-Picayune, which meant we both covered games for the paper’s editor of high school sports, a gentleman named John Joly.
Joly could be jolly, but not often. He was like the Sopranos of New Orleans high school sports. If you wanted your track meet covered, you called Joly at the Picayune. If your game needed an official scorer, you called Joly at the Picayune. And bring your wallet.
Joly never actually covered your track meet or your semi-pro doubleheader. Rather, he would send one of his minions (us) to do it – and then skim his “fee” off the top.
Which is how Roger and I both served time covering Sunday semi-pro baseball games in the tiny press box at Mel Ott Park. The assignment was labor-intensive – gather the lineups, handle the public address duties, serve as official scorer for both games, prepare the final box scores, and then drive back from the West Bank of the river to the newspaper’s offices on Howard Avenue.
For this, we would receive $20. The league was paying Joly $25 and, unbeknownst to us, he was pocketing the extra five.
Roger, of course, would have done the gig for free, as it turns out. He became a fixture on the PA at Mel Ott Park.
When the park opened its $6.5-million multipurpose center in 2013, Gretna officials announced there would be a hall of fame to honor sports professionals who got their start in the city’s recreation program and residents who have made a difference.
The Raj Mahal was in its inaugural class, inducted alongside two former NFL players with West Bank roots.
A couple of years later, he was inducted into the Texas Radio Hall of Fame.
He didn’t talk much about either honors, though, saving his proud moments for updates on his son Ted’s broadcasting career.
Ted’s wife Katie was a high school classmate of our daughter, and he had introduced himself to me one night at the Ursuline Academy theater, saying, “Hey, I think you know my father . . .”
Yes, I did.
As Ted has discovered these past two days, a great many people knew and loved Roger Emrich, whose bountiful voice was exceeded only by his kind and immense heart.
I’m going to miss you, podnuh.