As I wrote earlier this week, HBO is airing a new documentary, Glickman, on Monday at 9 p.m. ET. It is a terrific film about one of the legendary voices in sports history. And there’s much more to the story that involves encounters with Antisemitism.

An old friend, Mike Leiderman, shared a story of a wonderful experience he had with Marty Glickman. Mike is a long-time Chicago journalist, sportscaster and producer. He runs his own media firm, Leiderman Productions.

Leiderman, though, grew up in New York. At the age of 12, he attended a memorable Knicks game.

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The quick story: My uncle Joe had a contact somehow and I got to sit next to Marty when he did a Knicks-Minneapolis Lakers game from the old 69th Regiment Armory in NY in the mid ’50s. I must have been 12 or 13. I knew it was a big deal, but didn’t realize how big it was. John and Jim Paxson’s dad played for the Lakers and the Knicks stunk – the Kenny Sears, Willie Naulls, Carl Braun, Richie Guerin Ray Felix Knicks.

Still, they were my home team and I was right next to them. Marty was an absolute prince. He set up a chair for me courtside, between him and his broadcast partner, Les Keiter (another legend in NY – he did the “re-creates” of Giants’ games in NY after they moved to San Francisco. “Here comes Willie around third. Here comes the ball and — HE BEAT THE BALL!! HE BEAT THE BALL!!)

But I digress.

The broadcast table was right next to the team benches and my little pre-bar mitzvah ears heard words from the coaches I was familiar with, but knew never to use around my parents. The coach – I think it was a guy named Vince Boryla – would curse at his players during each time out. Some of it must have carried into the microphones, especially since there was what I called “an underflow crowd” in the stands that afternoon. (In those NBA days, the Knicks would have to play at the Armory several times a season when Madison Square Garden was booked for the circus or rally or whatever. I still smell the horses in the Armory)  Finally, after one particular tirade, I remember Marty saying – in his usual understated tone: “Since our broadcast position is right next to the benches. you can hear lots of color coming from the huddles. (Pause) Sometimes too much color.”

Beautiful.

As the game went on, I thrilled to Marty’s calls, although I must admit I was equally taken by being so close to the action.  Marty, meanwhile, couldn’t have been nicer to a kid he didn’t know from Adam. Afterwards, I thanked him profusely in my early teen falsetto and told him I’d learned so much and hoped to be a sports play by play announcer one day.  “You should have told me that earlier,” he said with a wink. “I would have let you call the 3rd quarter.”  To this day, I believe he would have.

I was able to touch base with Marty several times as an adult; he was Gail Sierens’ coach when she debuted as the first female NFL play by play voice in Kansas City for a Chiefs-Seahawks game. (I covered for Entertainment Tonight.) Again, I introduced myself and whether Marty remembered our interaction decades before, he acted happy to hear about it.  Shortly before his death, he spoke at Spertus and talked about the 1936 Olympics and how he and Sam Stoller were dropped from the USA relay team at the last minute because of their being Jewish – not by Hitler, but by Avery Brundage and his band of anti-Semites on the US delegation. (Brundage was its head in Berlin before moving on to pollute the entire Olympic movement years later.)  The US Olympic Committee (or was it the IOC? doubt that) did give Marty his Gold Medal shortly before he died – as an apology. He told me it meant a lot to him, though.

Like I said, I can’t wait for the documentary.  I’ve been talking about him in my speeches for decades. He was special – a shaper of the craft and a great influence on me as well as all those “famous” voices.