The Time Capsule: Former UI announcer, food expert dies

On a Saturday in the mid-1980s, I was driving to Iowa City to work security at a football game. This was choice duty—state car, per diem, free pass to the game.

 Troopers, as was always the case on game day, were working the interstate, and I listened as a pilot called out speeders to officers on the ground.   Approaching the zone a black Cadillac passed me. It had personalized Hawkeye license plates bearing the letter “Z,” and was going faster than the law allowed. 

“Black car,” the pilot radioed, “in the left lane at 85.” 

A well-known broadcaster, I assumed, was about get a ticket. 

Not so.  “He just went by you,” the pilot barked.

“It was Zabel,” the ground trooper answered, and the crew went back to clocking motorists who were on a less crucial mission.   

Jim Zabel died a couple of weeks ago, a man grown so old there are adult Iowa fans who never heard him call a game. In my brother’s view, they didn’t miss much. He is among those who point out that Zabel was prone, in the excitement of a game, to become confused as to who was carrying the ball, or making the tackle and just which players were and were not on the field. His analyst and spotters found it necessary to make frequent corrections.  Long-time color man Ed Podolak once said, “Zabel calls the plays, I actually see them.” Still, we loved Jim for his combination of radio voice and an enthusiasm that was comparable, in my view, to that of Harry Caray. 

Harry called baseball with precision and exuberance—at least while in his youth.  As he grew older and his visits to the concession stand became more frequent he was inclined, in the late innings, to lose track of things. We forgave him, though, just as we overlooked those moments when we wished Zabel would, instead of cheering, tell us what happened.  Old gold and black was in his veins, doing play-by-play for more than half a century, and when he was told to leave the booth it must have broken his heart.   

I didn’t really know Zabel, having met him only a time or two when we both happened to be at the same Des Moines steak house.  He liked Christopher’s and he liked Babe’s and, it was often said, he especially liked having someone else pick up the tab.  During a 1989 roast, a former Iowa quarterback, Randy Duncan, made this observation, “some men are born cheap, some men achieve cheapness, some have cheapness thrust upon them. All of these epitomize Jim Zabel.”   

His name is on the title page of three cookbooks, although his role in writing them was marginal. They came as a result of a daytime radio program dating to the 1950s.  Zabel’s callers were mostly housewives, often interested in acquiring or sharing a recipe and he was glad to oblige. 

When I telephoned his home in Arizona to ask for a couple of his favorite recipes, I wasn’t sure what the reception would be.  He was as cordial, though, as if we were long-time best friends.  We spoke very little sports. Instead he gushed about the finest steakhouse, the best chili, the origins of what he called his “famous blue punch.”  The email I’d previously sent asked for a few minutes of his time. He gave me an hour or more, rattling off one recipe and food related experience after another.      

He lived a full life, said he’d enjoyed pretty much all of it, and on game day, he could drive 85 with immunity. No one should ask for more.   

Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.