An appreciation of Stan Hochman

IT WOULD be in the eighth inning or so, or the fourth quarter, in whatever press box you happened to be sitting, and the routine would be the same. Stan Hochman would turn toward you and any other Daily News writers in attendance and say, "Tidy-up time," which was the signal that the business on the field had been decided to his satisfaction and the business of deciding who was writing what was about to begin.

Tidy-up time. There was a physical act to it: Hochman was an inveterate note-taker and information-gatherer, and all of it was on paper, and on the top of the stack was a list of story angles torn from a notebook, things that he saw in the game that were worthy of a story. The process would begin with the piling of that paper and the straightening of the stack. I can still see him doing it, even though it's been more than a decade now. It's like it was yesterday.

But it wasn't yesterday, of course, because Stan died Thursday. It is all so stunning to everyone who knew him. He has been the face of Philadelphia sportswriting for the last 55 years. He entered the hospital 2 months ago as the same vibrant, energetic guy we had always known, even at age 86. Visiting him one day, he couldn't talk, but he smiled and his eyes brightened when he was told that his column on Dick Allen's failed Hall of Fame bid was one of the best-read columns of the week.

He loved the work, right to the end. He loved the writing, the radio, the television, the cameo on the "Rocky" movie, all of it. Stan was multimedia and multiplatform before multimedia and multiplatform were words. He did radio and television and newspaper writing in the 1960s and he did them in the 2010s. And sitting next to him on a set at Comcast SportsNet, he was still carrying the same little notebook with the same scrawled list of topics.

Stan was a homework guy. He also was a file guy. You would be sitting in the press box at RFK Stadium, pre-Internet, and talking about story angles and Stan would have manila folders in his briefcase, at the ready. If you ended up with Redskins coach Joe Gibbs as an angle that day, Stan would pull out his Joe Gibbs file and ask if you wanted it. Inside would be torn-out newspaper clippings of stories from the New York Times and The Sporting News and wherever, going years back. And if you ended up with Joe Theismann or Dexter Manley or Jack Kent Cooke that day, Stan had files on them in the briefcase, too.

The integrity of the man and his work were unmatched. He had a strong belief in the homework because it best informed your questions. He had a strong belief in the interview, because the best columns were when you could display a connection with your subject in the subject's words. He had a strong belief in fundamental fairness - that you give a guy his say, that you agree or disagree with it in your commentary, and that you show up the next time and let the guy tell you what he liked or didn't like about what you wrote.

That was the Stan Hochman transaction, a three-way relationship among the columnist, the athlete and the reader, a transaction based on honesty at its core. The athlete was rarely surprised at what Stan wrote, even if he didn't agree with it - and a lot of them did not agree. If he had remained a schoolteacher for more than a brief period at the beginning of his working life, Stan would have been known as a tough grader. But he was fair. He always said that was his goal, tough but fair, and he succeeded for a half-century.

Stan also was extremely competitive. I remember being a scared kid, screwing up my courage and asking Phillies manager Dallas Green a question in a postgame group interview in his office. After it ended, Stan came over to me and said, "That was a really good question and a good idea," and then he wiped the smile off of my face by adding, "But you screwed up. Don't ask in front of other people. Look," he said pointing at the group of reporters surrounding the player I had asked about. "They're all doing your story now. If you have a good idea, wait till they leave before you ask. Circle back."

That was Stan's favorite move, the circle back. You can't do it nearly as much anymore because most everything involves a camera and a crowd of reporters. It's the thing Stan disliked the most about the modern sports media because he believed his best work was the product of one-on-one relationships, and there just wasn't the chance to do it nearly as often.

Most people think about Stan and hear the voice: a little New York, a little gravel, a little disgust, as distinctive as his writing style. He would play the curmudgeon when it worked for him, or for a laugh, but that wasn't him. Stan was an enthusiastic cook, and he knew a good wine, and he liked ballroom dancing and the theater. Mostly, though, he was Gloria's husband, and Anndee's father, and Sasha's grandfather.

You cannot believe the way he lit up when he talked about any of them.

Gloria and Anndee are both published authors, and Stan was beyond proud of them. About 30 years ago, maybe even more, he had a picture taken with the three of them seated side by side, working at typewriters. He was at the very top of his profession.

"I'm the third-best writer in the family - and I'm not kidding," he said, laughing that laugh of his.

A year or so ago, I asked him about Sasha, and he was raving about something she had written. I reminded him about the old photo. He picked up the 30-year-old conversation without prompting.

"Now I'm fourth-best," he said.

And he laughed. That is what the people who knew him - beyond the tough columns, or the Joe Conklin impressions - will remember most. He loved the work. He loved his family. He loved his life.

The services for Stan Hochman will be Sunday, April 12 at 1:30 p.m. at Reform Congregation Keneseth Israel, 8339 Old York Road in Elkins Park, PA.

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