This man came into my home every summer evening for 16 years (from 1967, when I discovered baseball, to 1983, when I moved out of Michigan). I can still hear his voice in my mind's ear. Rest in peace, Ernie. You did your work.
Addendum: Mark Spahn sent a link to this reminiscence by John J. Miller.
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 