Harry Carson, a Beacon institution, has seen it all

Announcer has been in Bulldogs' booth since 1947

By Sean T. McMann
Poughkeepsie Journal

 

Karl Rabe/Poughkeepsie Journal Beacon High School football public address announcer Harry Carson makes announcements during a Beacon game on Sept. 14. Carson has been announcing Bulldog games for over 50 years.

Karl Rabe/Poughkeepsie Journal Harry Carson has been public address announcing Beacon High School football games since 1947.

It's autumn, 1947.

When kids in Beacon turn the radio dial, they hear Jackie Robinson finishing his rookie season with the Brooklyn Dodgers, and the president's evolving Truman Doctrine, in between jitterbugging to Benny Goodman.

Fast forward to autumn, 2002.

Youngsters listen to Derek Jeter comment on his Yankees' latest victory on the Internet. They watch President Bush outline his plan for Iraq before they rap along with P. Diddy and Eminem CDs.

In over 50 years, sports heroes have come and gone; political figures have changed the world; and musical fads played themselves out.

But one familiar fixture in Beacon has remained: Harry Carson.

For more than a half-century, the Fishkill resident -- born and raised in Beacon -- has public addressed Beacon High School football games.

''I don't do anything overnight -- here today and gone next week,'' said Carson, who just finished his 54th regular season behind the Bulldogs' microphone. Beacon hosts Yonkers in a postseason game Saturday. ''I'll be doing it until the school decides they don't want to pay me any more.''

The Yankees have Bob Sheppard. The Los Angeles Lakers had Chick Hearn. Beacon has Carson.

In 1947, Carson earned his football job the way many soldiers who had recently won World War II earned their military job: He was drafted.

''I was the only one in town with a PA system,'' said Carson, who was approached by school officials to use that system to call games. ''I knew absolutely nothing about football. I just played it by ear.''

Roaming the sidelines from 35-yard line to 35-yard line -- ''That's how far the microphone cord stretched'' -- Carson called the action, his voice resonating through his sound system, which was powered by two six-volt batteries.

Carson's voice wasn't new to Beacon residents.

Started in radio

In 1946, he began a radio career at Newburgh's WGNY before later moving to a Poughkeepsie-based station. He returned to WGNY before entering the service, where he continued in radio.

Since then, countless thousands of fans have heard Carson call games; but few spectators, he said, take the time to meet the man behind the microphone.

''I've never had too much contact with the fans. I'm just a voice they hear at a game,'' Carson said. ''Half the time to them, it's just noise. But if you make the slightest mistake, there's an uproar. If there's nothing wrong, silence prevails.''

Carson's voice is anything but ''noise'' to Joe Sweat.

''It's really big for the team, knowing he's behind us,'' said Sweat, Beacon's senior running back. ''We hear everything down there on the field. We appreciate it a whole lot -- the team and the coaching staff.''

Tony Truscello said he has listened to Carson's baritone voice for the past 10 years.

Truscello, who recently wrapped up his first regular season as head coach of the Bulldogs, said he respects Carson's professionalism.

''He came to me in the preseason, asking me for my roster,'' the coach said. ''He wants everything at least the night before, so he's ready for when he does it.''

Community honors work

The school community has also recognized Carson's work.

Fourteen years ago, the Beacon athletic program's varsity club presented Carson with a ''Voice of the Bulldogs'' jacket. In 1999, Carson was inducted into the school's sports Hall of Fame, a year before his brother, former football player Floyd Jones, earned an induction.

''He has pretty much seen every football player who has ever played at Beacon,'' Truscello said.

That irony wasn't lost on Carson, who hasn't let a minor heart attack and two artificial hips slow him down.

''I am now seeing the grandsons of the kids who played football back in 1947,'' he said.

And those grandsons are still appreciative.

''Even in some years when we haven't won that much, he's stuck by us,'' Sweat said. ''He has also been a great fan for all those years.''

Not that Carson's voice reflects favoritism. Rather, the announcer said he prides himself on his objectivity.

''Principals and superintendents have congratulated me because I don't show partiality,'' Carson said. ''I show no favoritism. That's been one of my guiding lights ever since I've been doing football.''

Now in his his seventh decade of calling Beacon games, Carson said what began as a request by the school has turned into a labor of love.

''It's been work. It's been a long learning process,'' Carson said. ''But it's been fun, and I've enjoyed every minute.''