2005: Saying Goodbye to a Friend: Jack Welsh Found Dead – by Howie Reed

(APR 2, 2005) Saying Good-bye to an old friend. Sports Writer/race caller/pal Jack Welsh was found dead in his apartment on Monday Evening. He was more than a figure on the sporting scene in Las Vegas he was a true “one off” as they say in England. He was a 18th Century Gentleman forced to live in the 21st Century and doing very well thank you.

Jack was a graduate of the University of Kentucky which meant that he always carried that touch of gentleman around with him. He proudly served in the United States Marines. The time frame for that could have been in any period of time from the Spanish American War up to and including Korea. At times he wrote for newspapers in Montréal and Philadelphia with stops in between. He was a flac for a minor league hockey team in Detroit and called harness race’s in Ohio. He covered boxing, football. Gaming and horse racing. If that were the extend of Jack Welsh he would have been a remarkable person.

It was the personal Jack that set him apart from the  crowd. Jack Welsh was a 100% certifiably character. AT  the time of his passing it’s was hard to determine his  age cause he wasn’t into the age thing. When others  “Old goats” where whining about their aches and pains  (and he had plenty) he was getting on with his daily  routine. He read four or five newspapers each and  every day except Sunday. He got mad at the local  Sunday paper cause it was so big with so little in it.   His TV was always on. If he found something that he   though you should be watching he’d give you a call.
His phone calls were legend. He had a love hate  relationship with his telephone.

The phone would ring. “Is this Howie Reed the  handicapper?”, he yell. That was the typical greeting from Jack Welsh. His opening greeting was the only  part of a Jack Welsh phone call that was predictable.  He always yelled cause he also had issues with his  hearing aid. “Jack I can’t hear you ?” “CAN YOU HEAR  ME NOW ? I got to get a new phone. You must have the  same cheap phone I have.” Once at lunch with a group  of other scribes Jack was talking really loud. “Jack you’re talking really loud.” “CAN YOU HEAR ME ? I’VE  GOT THIS NEW HEARING AID.” “Jack turn your hearing aid down we hear you fine.” On night the phone rang, “Is  this Howie Reed the handicapper ?” “Yes Jack.” ‘What  television show am I watching ?” “Jack I don’t know.
I’m not there?” In one phone call Jack informed me  that an 18 ounce can of Miller Genuine had more beer in  it than a 12 ounce can. Always good to know stuff  like that.

Jack loved his MGD (which I will take credit for  introducing him to), a nice cigar and talking about anything. Many night after a fight we would adjourn to the refreshment area and talk away what was left of the night. Jack may have been a Kentucky Gentleman but he was also one tough son-of-a-gun. In his early Vegas days he covered a NHKL game at the outdoor facility at Caesar’s Palace.

Leaving the press box high above the rink he tripped.  He broke his shoulder and other parts of his body.   National Radio Talk Show Host, a struggling beginner  in Las Vegas at the time, Pappa Joe Chevalier told of  the incident one night at dinner. “Yea we saw jack  rolling down the stairs and thought, “That’s it. We’ll  never work another day in our lives. We’re rich now.”   But no Jack. “I didn’t need that much. They paid for  the hospital.” “If it had been me it would be called  Pappa Joe’s Caesar’s Palace now.”

Jack was in his late 70’s but never claimed or applied  for social security. “I didn’t need it.” Finally he was convinced to apply. “Is this Howie Reed the  handicapper? You won’t believe how easy it was to apply for social security. They had all my records. I   don’t get much but it will pay for the apartment.”

Jack would talk about the past with the relish of one  that had lived a full life. Even though he was a throw   back to a more gentler past he was always looking   ahead to the future. In the years I had the honor to  know him, I never saw him get mad or say anything   negative about another person. It just wasn’t in his  nature. To Jack everyone was his friend. They were.

Last Friday night he and I were to hook up for a few  MGD’s, a cigar and some Kentucky Derby talk after the  Friday Night Fights at the Plaza in downtown Las Vegas.

This would have turned into a replay of the Friday  night before the Derby in 2002. It was May 3, 2002  and we were celebrated the fact that I had a $42.00  dollar winner in that afternoons Kentucky Oaks. I had  given Jack the filly Farda Amiga which he didn’t bet.  This was a chance for a few MGD’s and a little  Kentucky Derby talk. In the Derby he liked War Emblem.

“Jack the sports book is only 50 feet, walk over and  bet it now. Then sleep in tomorrow.” “I’ll do it in awhile.” As the hour’s passed , the spirits flowed and  the smoke billowed I would peak at my watch ever so  often. Finally at 5AM I had to call a time out. “Jack  I got to go. Going to a Derby Party tomorrow, well  actually today, and have to go home and get pretty.   Meeting at the hotel at 9 AM.” “Have just one more.”   “Can’t.” “Jack do you want me to bet War Emblem for  you today ?” “No, I’ll get up.”

The Derby Party was a success. That is if you judge  success by having way too many adult beverages and  never cashing a ticket. Finally got home about 5:30 in  the afternoon much the worse for wear. I was greeted  by a ringing phone. “Is this Howie Reed the  handicapper ?” “Yes Jack.” ‘What times the Derby on?”  “Jack it’s over. War Emblem won and paid $43.00.” “I  knew it.” “Jack, did you bet it ?” “No was doing some  other things.” I learned that “doing some “other  things” was code for falling asleep. Jack could never  understand why anyone would eat dinner before 8 or 9
o’clock. “I don’t understand how you can eat so early  ?” “Jack it’s 6:30. Normal people eat at this hour.   Normal people don’t stay up all night.” Jack Welsh  wasn’t normal. He was a character in a world with too  dam few true characters. Make no mistake he was a darn fine writer. He could find, report and write a story  with the best. His journalistic integrity was the  best.

Many a night I have been ringside with Jack when the  venue is silent and the boxing traditional ten count  is rung for one “of our own” who’s passed on. It’s  boxing’s way of remembering those that have been a  part of and served the sport. Friday night I though  about what might have been. Beer, cigars and good  fellowship. A dissection of the Kentucky Derby on the  next Saturday. When that day arrives and the  University of Louisville Band plays My Old Kentucky  Home, I’ll think of my friend Jack Welsh as I sip a  Mint Julep, puff on a fine cigar and whip a tear from  my eye. Each year when the Derby comes around I’m  going to remember Jack Welsh and what his friendship  meant. How much he loved life and how life loved him.  I know he’s watching from above. I can almost hear him on Friday night as the ring bells tolled out his  absence asking ,“ Is this Howie Reed the handicapper?  Who are those Bells tolling for ?” “Jack my friend  this time the bell toll for you. Go with God.”

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This is a sad addition to the death of Jack Welsh:

The Las Vegas Sun reported the following:  ” Welsh’s body goes unclaimed; military burial still possible – Thursday, May 12, 2005 | 9:16 a.m.