"Ladies and gentlemen, may we have your attention please. Today you are part of the 131st consecutive Michigan Stadium crowd of over 100,000 fans who have witnessed the success of the Wolverines in this stadium.
"The University of Michigan Athletic Department thanks you for your continued participation in college football's all-time record for home crowd attendance ..."
The words sound different from inside the press box. Even standing right next to Howard King, the public address announcer at Michigan Stadium for the past 25 years, his words are muffled and drowned out by the echo of the speakers that pump his voice to the crowd. The fans, however, hear him loud and clear, as evidenced by the roar which goes up at the now-familiar mention of the day's attendance.
King has had to modify his phrase this year; because of an enlargement to the University of Tennessee's football stadium, Ann Arbor's Big House is no longer host to the "largest crowd watching a football game anywhere in America," as King had proclaimed it to be for years.
Gary Fischer, who sits to King's right and relays game information, has a frown on his face. He doesn't seem to like the new phrase very much.
"Maybe," Fischer cracks, in a joking reference to the Tennessee faithful, "you could call us 'the largest crowd anywhere in America - that can read.'"
Howard King has handled the public address duties for Michigan home football games since 1972. His initiation into the world of announcing, however, was not as promising as you might expect, considering his quarter-century of service for the Wolverines. The first time he called a game was for his high school football team in Wooster, Ohio.
"I was a sophomore in high school," King says. "I'm sitting in English class on Friday afternoon, and the principal's voice comes on over the public address system: 'Attention everybody, the public address announcer for tonight's football game is sick. If anybody would like to be the announcer, please report to the principal's office.'
"Well, I just got up and walked right out (of class). You're not supposed to do that."
The principal, apparently unaware of the ramifications of giving an excitable high school sophomore a microphone, agreed to let King do the job.
"I was terrible," King says. "I did just exactly what a kid would do - I got excited, I started to yell, I tried to do the play-by-play.
"On Monday, the principal called me into his office and said, 'Never ever think about being a public address announcer again.'"
Naturally, King decided right then and there that he would, in fact, return to the press box. He took some public speaking classes, and by the time he was a senior, he was doing the announcing again.
After he graduated from high school, King went on to the College of Wooster, where he seriously considered a career in journalism, even becoming editor of the school newspaper. In addition, he helped pay his way through college by working as a part-time radio announcer. He then spent a year in graduate school, before enlisting in the Marines as a fighter pilot.
"The Korean War was on," King says, "and I decided it wasn't noble to be at home in graduate school. So I got in the service."
After the war, King returned to the College of Wooster, where he became Dean of Men. He spent 13 years in that position, during a time when the Vietnam War had college students everywhere in a frenzy. Wooster is just 25 miles from Kent State University, where demonstrations in 1970 culminated in the deaths of four people. King recalls those days as a worrisome, upsetting time.
"I really burned out with Vietnam," he says. "The Wooster National Guard Unit was the Guard Unit that went over to Kent State. When those people were killed by bullets - you know, I'm an ex-Marine, I'm supposed to be a killer - I was appalled."
In 1972, King decided he was ready for a change.
"Campus (at Wooster) had been in turmoil. I had said I didn't want to be a dean past (age) 40. I turned 40 and two days later, I moved here."
Apparently, it was a good decision, because King has been here ever since. And he doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon.
"I love Ann Arbor, just love it. Terrific place. It was much more 'small-town' (when I first moved here) than it is now. There was no Briarwood Mall, it was easier to get around, and for some reason it didn't seem as congested - you could park. But it's still got a small-town flavor."
When King first arrived in Ann Arbor, an insurance agent he was referred to just happened to be Bob Ufer, the longtime "Mee-chee-gan" football announcer. Call it fate. Ufer informed King of an opening in the public address position at Michigan Stadium, and one thing led to another.
"They had been having auditions throughout the summer, and I just made it in time for the last round," King says. "I had never been inside Michigan Stadium, being from Ohio.
"Geez, I walked into that press box, and looked out at this huge empty stadium ... I was astounded. I had no idea."
Even more of an eye-opener for King was the way the crowds behaved back in the early '70s - before alcohol was banned from Michigan Stadium.
"The fans now don't get as wacky (as they did) back when I started. God, when the crowd left there was nothing but Boone's Farm wine bottles. At Wooster, if I had a student drinking at a game, I'd boot him out of school.
"But not here," he laughs. "Oh, my God, there wouldn't be any students here on Monday!"
In addition to the football games, King also handled the basketball announcing duties for 20 years. It was at one of these games, in Crisler Arena, that King ran into a sticky situation with the immortal Bo Schembechler.
"Bo didn't have much use for a lot of media people," King says. "He could be, in some ways very charming, in other ways very difficult. His level of commitment was so high that he would, I think, half-way lose it sometimes.
"He almost killed me one time. In the late 70's, Perry Bullard was our state representative, and Bullard had introduced legislation to legalize marijuana.
"Bo hates drugs. He hates dope. He hates everything (to do with drugs). He is just absolutely rigid on that."
Apparently, Bullard was in attendance at a Michigan basketball game to present Schembechler with an award. According to King, it was "one of those political things that these guys do to get a little attention."
At halftime, King introduced Bullard to the crowd, then walked off the court to go get a hot dog. And then the fun began.
"So I give Bullard the mic," King says, "and there's a great burst of applause, because just at that same time, Bo walks out.
"So Bullard, this guy, he takes the mic and says, 'Thank you for that applause. I take that as approval for my introduction of legislation to legalize marijuana.'" Here King pauses and chuckles, as if he still can't believe it.
"Bo turned around and walked right off. He just left. So there's Bullard standing there, looking like a fool, which he was.
"(Then assistant football coach) Bill McCartney told me that Bo had decided it was my fault. And he was so angry that they didn't know what he was gonna do."
King is 64 years old and semi-retired now, so he has more time for golf and his other hobbies. He is a member of the University's Flying Club, and he has been flying planes since he was 12 years old. Two bouts with cancer have kept him out of the skies for the past few years, but his health is good now, and he says he'll get back in the air sometime soon.
"If anyone ever tells you to do chemotherapy for the fun of it," he jokes, "don't do it."
King is also involved in the University Musical Society, and he has emceed and helped judge the interfraternity "Mr. Greek" contest on campus. For Howard King, it all comes down to this: He's enjoying himself.
And so are the people he's working with. His crew at the football games includes Fischer, and four other men - three dentists and the president of a bank - who rove the sidelines in headsets, radioing play-by-play information to the press box. Not one member of the group - not even King - is paid for his duties. King says what they do receive is far better than money.
"There are literally hundreds of people who are part of (Michigan football) who get nothing," King says, "except they get to be part of something that's really very exciting, and very good.
"The social perks that I've gotten, and the friendships that I've made have made it more than worthwhile. I enjoy it so, so much."
Perhaps this is best summed up by the situation of Gary Fischer, King's press box partner. Several years ago, Fischer moved to Houston. But rather than give up his press row seat for Wolverine football games, Fischer flew back to Michigan for Saturday home games - so he could volunteer. He has since moved back to Ann Arbor.
"It really does keep you young," King says of the job. "At least in your attitudes, and your thinking. I love it. I don't want to quit. I want to do it as long as I believe I'm meeting my standards."
Judging from the responses of more than 100,000 Michigan football fans, it sounds like they, too, want Howard King to stick around for a while.
Warren Zinn/Michigan Daily