ALS FIGHTER WILL NOT LOSE VOICE
Shares sports stories with ‘Greatness’
The title of John Martin’s forthcoming book is “Waiting for Greatness: Memories and Musings of a Sports Television Cameraman.”
“I always said I was going to write a book,” said John, re- laxing in his man cave in the back of his family’s Newton home as we watched NESN’s coverage of a recent Red Sox game against the Washington Nationals. “And if you’re wondering about the title, it’s simple: If you work in sports media, that’s what you do. I’ve always said that whenever you’re covering a team you’re waiting for greatness.”
What you’ll find, then, is lots of stories about great games, great players and great coaches. And it’s not just that John was a NESN videographer — or “cameraman,” to use his old-timey term — that qualifies him to tell these stories. In John’s line of work the good ones do so much more than aim and shoot. And make no mistake about it: John was one of the good ones. He saw plenty the rest of us missed.
But what you won’t find in the book is any mention of John’s battle with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, commonly referred to as Lou Gehrig’s disease, or ALS. It’s the ALS that finally forced John to retire from NESN last summer after 19 years behind the camera, and it’s the ALS that has inspired hundreds of friends, co-workers and everyday Boston sports fans to rally around him.
The impromptu sports bar that blossomed on his front stoop came to be known as Cafe Martin, which inspired those Cafe Martin baseball caps, which has helped John understand what Lou Gehrig was talking about on July 4, 1939, when the Yankees legend, himself battling ALS, told a packed house at Yankee Stadium he was “the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”
“Between my friends, my NESN family and the Boston sports media, the support has been unbelievable,” John said. “And, really, the BSM — that’s what I call the Boston Sports Media — has been so wonderful to me. I knew I had a lot of friends in the Boston sports media, but I guess it never occurred to me how tight our group is. It’s amazing.”
But why no mention of ALS in the book?
A lot of it has to do with his and wife Adrienne’s two kids, Kaia, 14, and Gabby, 7.
“When all this went down, Adrienne and I made the point not to let this interfere with our kids,” he said. “We’re not big drama people. When I’m having one of those moments, the kids don’t see it. They obviously see what’s happening to me. They know. And they know what’s going to happen.”
It’s not so much that there are bad days, but bad moments. And it’s during those bad moments, John said, “when I say to myself, ‘Just take me. Do it.’ But it doesn’t last long. In 21 months (since being diagnosed) I have not had a full bad day. You have pockets of a bad day. But a full bad day? No.
“So we don’t sit around saying, ‘Boo hoo, the sky is falling,’” he said. “The kids are living. I’m living. Adrienne
and I try very hard to keep everything as normal as possible, to the point where Kaia just finished middle school and got all A’s and B’s. And Gab, she’s 7, she’s doing great in school as well.”
John’s a pretty good student himself. Though he decided to keep ALS out of the book, he’s done plenty of studying up on this dreadful disease. Part of his education involved reading about Pete Frates, the former Boston College baseball captain who has been fighting the disease since being diagnosed in 2012.
“My only previous affiliation with ALS was interviewing Pete and his parents,” said John. “I interviewed him several times. And I was at Fenway when they did a big Ice Bucket Challenge at first base. I shot that.”
During the hour or so we talked, he said, “I shot that” about a dozen times. And then there’s the wall next to his bed: It’s covered with collages showing the press passes from some of the thousands of events he covered over the years. You’ll also find photos of John yukking it up with some of the many athletes he covered, including Red Sox legend Pedro Martinez, who made a visit to Cafe Martin last summer.
Yes, his main concern is his family, and the ongoing hope that his girls will keep getting those good grades. But he clearly misses the biz. He misses the games, the athletes, the palling around with an inexhaustible lineup of press box characters.
Mostly, he misses the waiting for greatness.
“I especially felt that with this past season’s Bruins team,” he said. “I really wish I could have covered that team. I liked them. I liked them a lot. I like the way Rick Nash plays, and I really like the kids, (Jake) DeBrusk, the others. DeBrusk has such skills, man.
“I just like that there was such a good blend of kids and veterans,” he said. “Aren’t there teams you wish you could have covered? For me, last year’s Bruins were that team.”
John isn’t walking any more. But that doesn’t bother him nearly as much as the toll ALS has taken on his ability to speak. His words are now delivered ever slower, and with more deliberation, and, well, how else to say it: John Martin has always had an opinion about everything.
“Losing my legs is one thing,” he said. “But losing my voice, that makes me very unhappy.”
Not less than a minute later, John brought the talk back to his literary project. And now, stretched out on the bed, with his Frank Zappa hair and his Frank Zappa beard and his frank disposition, he said, “Look, I put a lot of work into it. It’s good. So plug my book, you (double expletive).”
It gets one to thinking: We have the hundreds and hundreds of packages John did for NESN. Now we have “Waiting for Greatness.” So while he will soon lose the ability to speak, John Martin will never lose his voice.
This man’s voice is, and forever, a big part of the Boston Sports Experience.