Can it really be nine years since the death of Sam McKee?
by Bob Heyden
March 8, 2017 was the day we lost him — 3,285 days ago, 108 months and nine Hambletonians.
This year marks the 10th anniversary of his memorable — maybe his greatest —call of Always B Mikisetting the new world record of 1:46 at The Red Mile in October 2016. Sam was just short of 55.
Why look back now you ask? Why not wait for the 10th next year? Because the times we live in seem to need his voice, his guidance, his presence, more than ever.
We are talking about almost a decade here, and many don’t know why it’s called the Sam McKee Memorial Broadcast Set at The Meadowlands or why the U.S. Pacing Championship was renamed for him. Many only knew McKee in passing. Some just knew the name.
The empty feeling? Yes, it’s there, but it is not unwelcome, because there is a steady reminder of his near 54 years pretty much everywhere. The nine years since have affirmed what we knew would be the case, no duplication, no clone, no one quite like him.
In an unrelated recent conversation Hall of Fame trainer Linda Toscano said, “Irreplaceable. Absolutely. There’ll never be another Sam McKee.”
For those who just reached their seat and have only heard McKee’s name, or maybe not even that, let me try to sum up — synopsize — his time with us.
He was an announcer, analyst, jack-of-all-trades, with a very healthy respect/reverence for the sport’s history. His days at Detroit Race Course would often see him with a mop in one hand and a ledger sheet in the other. If harness racing ever sponsored a tool belt, McKee’s likeness would appear on every one. He was the ultimate bunkermate. He had a memory like a herd of elephants. Any praise aimed in his direction was immediately deflected. When watching the volleyball game at the picnic, you would never see McKee, because he’d be mowing the outer edges of the lawn or out getting more ice. He set a glittering example of how one SHOULD act, often without saying a word. You thought his decency overload was special, but for him it was simply Tuesday.
He helped anyone and everyone, and always on the QT. Not counting the late Troy Sylvester, I never saw anyone smile more. He dodge-balled negativity and sidestepped landmines, all the while clearing the way for you and I. He gave up his seat constantly, heck, to this day you probably didn’t even know it was his.
There was no such thing as “out of the way’ in McKee’s world. Since 2017 I have heard six or seven stories about McKee giving someone a ride some six or eight hours the other way! Twice, at least, it was on the very first day he met them!
McKee had an intuitive and forever respect for your journey. He cared about how you got here, where you came from, where you’re going, and if he could help in any way. And that applied to your kids, too.
3285 days have not erased the example he set. He just rolled up his sleeves and did it. He set goals and met them. Your purpose was often his too. He would proudly march with you only after directing the camera person to focus on you.
A couple of generations ago we were told to “Be Like Mike.” We can only hope to be somewhere near doing that going forward emulating McKee.
Famous film director Billy Wilder once said, “You are as good as the best thing you’ve ever done.”
There were/are a lot of choices at the McKee buffet. He was very much like you and I, but I couldn’t keep up with him. He was a whirling dervish, and one who tried his darndest to cast a unifying net over the industry. He was a father, friend, fighter, and a commanding presence in the room before saying anything.
He meant so much to so many. His girls were always first, and it still seems his day had a better than 24-hour allotment.
This is not some after-the-fact glorification you usually get when someone passes. It is more of a remembrance — an intro — and in some cases, a re-intro. The fog of the last nine years has lifted only presenting a far clearer picture of the person McKee was.
His legacy, in so many ways, is us. You and I. A kind of pinky-swear to do whatever we can going forward for the industry and all those around us. Almost 55 years was clearly not enough for many of us, but let’s instead celebrate what we got. For those new to the block, let me recount something I said in his obit, with a small addition.
I always felt that Sam had some divine guidance very early on that helped him set sail on this unparalleled journey. I thought a nun, right around when Sam was 5 years old, stood behind him, took him gently behind the shoulders, and gingerly pushed him forward into the world with only two words: “do good.” She never needed or suggested a GPS. Come to think of it, neither did we.
