I grew up in South Bend, Indiana and a huge part of my life was going to Notre Dame football games with my family and friends. At these home games, big or small, winning or getting crushed, I fondly remember a particular part of the game.
Late in the game, a man named Sgt. Tim McCarthy would come over the loudspeaker and say:
““May I have your attention please? This is Tim McCarthy with the Indiana State Police.”
As a young child I remember the loud, overwhelming roar of the old Notre Dame football stadium. The collective passion for the team and, usually, good natured dislike of the opponent (except maybe USC?) would either rise us to heights or drop us to depths.
The sadness or joy was always accompanied by a Spinal Tap type “loud” experience.
And then a moment would draw near when Sgt. McCarthy was meant to come on. Those of us who came to games somewhat regularly, could feel it coming in spite of the noise.
And the MOMENT this man would announce himself, the ENTIRE stadium would go silent. Somehow even the visitors understood it or were gently encouraged to listen in. ALL of our attention turned to him.
Sgt. McCarthy would then go on to tell about a 45 second story encouraging safety around driving and often drinking (well before drinking and driving was a thing to point out). Although that wasn’t the reason everyone was silent.
He regularly ended the announcement with a cheesy joke. Including gems such as:
“Remember, the reason we hammer about safety is to keep you from getting nailed!”
“The automobile replaced the horse, but the driver should stay on the wagon!”
And the silence was replaced by audible laughter from probably 50% of the crowd.
I recall the number of times my Dad would explain the joke to me. I honestly don’t recall if he used some of the same lines every time and it actually didn’t matter.
It was like he was the first stand-up comic I ever heard perform. It was a sweet, connective, fun moment.
I’m convinced that an adult talking about safety was a big part of how I found security when I was so young and couldn’t always feel safe. It was clarity.
Now I spent most of my younger years at Notre Dame football games sitting in Row 60-ish. I generally went to the Armed Services games or the other blowouts and every game felt special. Into my teenage years I ended up going to almost all of them.
And Sgt. McCarthy would come on and make a joke no matter the size, scope, score of the game.
I took my daughter to the ND/Georgia game a couple years ago compliments of my dear friend Mike, the whole experience was magical.
And the moment came for him to make the announcement. The stadium has changed, modernized and is beautiful, but different. I had actually forgotten about that moment.
And instead of Sgt. McCarthy, I heard Muffet McGraw make the announcement. Now I think the world of her, she was an incredible coach.
And I felt robbed. I don’t even know if he had relinquished the role or not at that point, but I really wanted my daughter to hear it.
Alas, that didn’t’ happen.
Sgt. McCarthy was a humble guy who was amazed at his popularity and the announcement’s.
Now nobody else will hear him again. Yet there is a group of my dearest, longest term friends who can still feel and hear his voice.
We can still remember the near reverent stadium wide silence.
We can access the feeling of enjoying his silly jokes.
To me it feels innocent, it feels safe. It felt real.
I hope that somehow I can take what he so freely gave us and remember to bring that to people in my life today.
Article on Sgt. Tim McCarthy
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