The Voice who ‘eats, sleeps and drinks Hawks basketball’ has no plans to stop (2024)

NEWNAN — Steve Holman woke up at 5:30 a.m. on Jan. 24, 2018. At 10 a.m., Holman attended the funeral Mass for his son, Steve Jr., at St. Jude the Apostle Catholic Church in Sandy Springs where Holman delivered a eulogy before burying the oldest of his two children at Arlington Memorial Park following the procession.

Holman composed himself and headed to then-Philips Arena for the reception, which was held in the Courtside Club where everything was paid for by the Hawks’ organization. Hawks owners Tony Ressler and his wife, Jami Gertz, attended Steve Jr.’s funeral and reception.

Later that night, the Hawks hosted the Toronto Raptors, which meant Holman had to work. There was never any question if he would take the night off. He was working. He had to.

“What was I going to do? Was I just going to sit at home and look at the walls and think about him?” Holman scoffed when asked if he considered taking a personal day. “It was a tribute to him, No. 1. For a couple of hours, it got me away from it. It wasn’t that hard to do.”

The Hawks ran a tribute video for Steve Jr. that night before tipoff and held a moment of silence. That’s when the emotions poured out of the longtime broadcaster, and he turned to 92.9 The Game’s Mike Conti and told him to be on standby just in case he wasn’t able to stop crying.

Holman pushed through. He equates those moments before games to being a player who might be banged up that night but somehow ends up playing. There’s too much adrenaline coursing through the bloodstream to not work, but he says, “The game ends, and you feel like you’re ready to be taken to the emergency room” because of how physically and emotionally drained he felt that day.

The decision to call the Hawks-Chicago Bulls game the night after Steve Jr. died from kidney and liver failure at 38 years old wasn’t difficult, either. Holman stayed in the hospice with his son on Jan. 19 until he passed away around 1 a.m surrounded by his family and close friends from the University of Georgia, where he graduated with a degree in speech communications, and Woodward Academy, where the school created a scholarship fundthat is given annually to a student who has journalism aspirations.

Holman powered through the game on Jan. 20 because that’s what his son would have wanted his dad to do. Steve Jr. listened to so many of his father’s games that he knew when the radio station was running an outdated advertisem*nt. Holman would know because Steve Jr. would text him during the game to tell him about it. Steve Jr. had to be near his phone or computer when the Hawks played because he never wanted to miss hearing his dad do what he loved as nearly as much as he loved his own family.

Holman prides himself on his 2,581 consecutive-game streak of calling Hawks games on the radio. He updates his Twitter bio as soon as the game tips off with his current magical number. Steve Jr. was more into the streak than his father. He would tell everyone he knew about his dad’s Cal Ripken-esque streak. The Baltimore Orioles legend played for 2,632 consecutive games. This is when Holman whips out his iPhone and says he’ll pass Ripken once Game 52 of next season tips off.

Perhaps by the grace of God, as Holman points out, his son’s final gift to his father was the ability to continue his streak. The Hawks had just finished a five-game West Coast trip on a Wednesday night in Denver. The next day Steve Jr. went to the hospital before transitioning to a hospice the following Monday. Atlanta played Monday and Wednesday night. Holman took a sweatsuit to the arena for those games and changed into it before spending the night with his son and his wife, Mary Jane, in hospice.

“The schedule worked out for me,” Holman said.

When Steve Jr. and Scott, Holman’s other son, were younger, Holman traveled with the team and missed many of their basketball and football games growing up. To be around his father more, Steve Jr. became a Hawks ball boy when he was 11 years old and continued that through his senior year of high school. That’s when their relationship truly blossomed because the car rides to and from the games were long, due to the constant Atlanta traffic.

But those endless conversations about the Hawks never stopped for the pair. If Holman — he’s unapologetically a homer — is the biggest Hawks fan in the world, his son was in contention to be the team’s No. 2 fan behind his father.

Holman joked that the night of his son’s funeral, former head coach Mike Budenholzer, not known to be overly warm, even gave him a half hug that equipment manager Zac Walsh sarcastically called heartfelt. But even with Budenholzer’s general standoffishness, Holman has called the Hawks his second family for more than three decades now.

The love he has for this organization and the love it has given back to him has made this past year without his biggest fan easier. That’s why he shows up to every single game energized.

State Farm Arena is his second home, and he has no plans to abandon it soon. Holman, 65, never wants to retire and wants to break former Los Angeles Lakers broadcaster Chick Hearn’s streak of 3,338 consecutive games. That should take roughly nine seasons, give or take depending on playoff games.

If his son’s death won’t stop him from missing a day of work, the only way he imagines he’ll ever stop is his own mortality.

“I think (Hawks CEO) Steve Koonin said I would probably keel over with my cold hands around the microphone,” Holman said with a laugh. “They’ll have to peel my hands away from the microphone as they cart me off. That would be fine with me. As long as I feel good and sound OK and don’t pee on myself, then I’m going to keep doing this.”

Lawrence, Mass., has a history of the working until death.

Pemberton Mill, one of the numerous mills in the city, had such unsafe work conditions the building ultimately collapsed and led to the death of 145 workers in 1860.

To power the wool mills, workers had to build deep canals on the north and south banks of the city. The work was so dangerous that death was common.

One of the most important labor strikes in early U.S. history also happened in the city. In 1912, textile workers opposed a law reducing a woman’s work week from 56 hours to 54. Due to the reduction in hours, pay also decreased.

The workers opposed the reduction in hours and wanted increased wages if they couldn’t work more. The Lawrence Textile Strike was successful as mill owners gave its workers raises of up to 20 percent.

Lawrence was a booming suburb of Boston in the early 1900s. Wood Worsted Mill was so large that some in the city called it the “Eighth Wonder of the World.” The textile industry collapsed in the 1950s, and Lawrence became a depressing area right around the time Holman was born in 1954.

Holman’s father, Harry, was a draftsman in the Navy who worked on an aircraft carrier with Gerald Ford. Harry went to Rancho Mirage, Calif., every year as Ford would throw reunion parties. His job as a draftsman was monotonous to Harry, and he didn’t enjoy it much. The day Harry turned 62 he retired.

But that Lawrence work ethic was instilled in him. Whether he was sick or not, he wouldn’t take a day off. He felt it was his obligation to show up every day. That’s where Holman’s unquestioned work ethic is formed. His father didn’t like his job, and he always showed up. Holman loves his job, so the least he can do is show up every day.

It was in his father’s Chevrolet Bel Air where Holman first heard Boston Celtics announcer Johnny Most’s voice. Holman immediately was drawn to Most’s thick Boston accent. When he was 8 years old, Holman decided he was going to be a radio broadcaster like Most one day. Holman wrapped a white string around a pencil, pretended it was his stick microphone and narrated Celtics games in his head.

When he got to high school, Holman was involved in a prep club during his junior year, and the organization would bring in professionals from the city on Wednesday nights. It would bring in doctors, lawyers, and one night, Bruce Arnold, the program director of radio station WCCM, and Bill Borrelli, a broadcaster, attended the event. Holman told them about his dream as an 8-year-old, and they let him go to the studio after school and practice.

Holman caught a break when his friend Luke Griffin was drafted into the Navy around Thanksgiving 1971, opening a spot at the station. The first weekend Holman worked was Thanksgiving weekend. It was a big deal to be on local radio in Lawrence, so whenever the radio station needed Holman to fill in, the assistant principal would go to his classroom and tell him the radio station needed him, so he was able to leave school early.

Normally, he would get to the radio station at 6 a.m. and make his way to school around 8:30 a.m. The radio station was just up the street from the school, so he was able to walk to the station with ease.

The summer between his junior and senior year, Curt Gowdy, the longtime voice of the Boston Red Sox and owner of WCCM, called Holman into his office. The blustery cowboy from Wyoming had a large office, and his presence was intimidating.

“He said, ‘Steve?’ I said, ‘Yes, Mr. Gowdy?’ He said, ‘We are going to make you full-time. It’s $110 a week and all of the records you can steal,”‘ Holman said. “That was in 1971. That money wasn’t bad back then, especially for someone who was still in high school and living at home. As I was walking out the door, he said, ‘And you get Blue Cross, too.’ I said, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gowdy.'”

Holman did everything at the radio station: news, sports, played records — the first one he played was Todd Rundgren’s “I Saw The Light.” He hosted a show called Purely Personal where callers would buy, sell and swap items — the radio equivalent of Craigslist. Throughout the week, he called industrial softball games and high school football and basketball games, and he got $25 per game.

With his new full-time job, Holman went behind his parents’ back and bought a Chevrolet Camaro. It was $97 per month.

“My father lit into me,” Holman said with a laugh. “He was like, ‘You stupid so-and-so. I’m not helping you with that damn car.’ I think their mortgage was $97 a month, too. It was a lot easier to get a car back then because they didn’t have any computers to run your credit score. My father was friends with someone at the bank, and he knew me. I told him I was full-time, and he let me get it.”

His father didn’t think being in radio could actually be a sustaining career. There were times when he worried about his son’s career, but Holman said he was supportive. When Holman broadcast high school games, his father helped him set up. When Holman got the job at WCCM full-time, one of the first things he did was request a Celtics media credential. His dad went to the games with him, too, because the Celtics were that friendly with regard to letting him attend the games with his son.

The reason Holman wanted to go to the Celtics games, however, was to potentially meet his idol and the man who inspired his career. Holman saw Most at several games before gaining the courage to introduce himself. He thought maybe somehow Most would let Holman sit next to him for some games and let him keep score for him.

Most let him, and it turned out to be the defining moment of Holman’s life.

Holman got Most the English Oval cigarettes he smoked during the game and filled Most’s thermos with coffee while he sat there and kept score of the game.

A November 1976 game against Denver started the routine until Most lost his voice in the middle of the game. Most didn’t have an analyst with him or a backup. It was Most, Holman and Most’s radio engineer. So at 22 years old, Holman’s idol handed him a stick microphone, the one he replicated with his pencil and string, and he finished the game.

“It sounds like a geeky thing, but I was ready for that since I was 8 years old,” Holman said. “I knew every tagline. I knew them all. I would watch games at home and do the play-by-play in my mind. I would be Johnny Most. Then it finally happened.”

The nerves did come after the game because it was a moment of, “What just happened? Did I really just replace my idol at 22 years old?” He did a good enough job that he was asked following the game if he could travel to Detroit with the team for its game against the Pistons. Holman did a few more games as Most recovered and called some the following season before landing a job with the CBS station, WEEI, in Boston. That’s when his dad finally believed his son could have a long-lasting career in radio.

Mike Wheeler was Holman’s boss at WEEI before moving to Atlanta to help start WGST. One of Wheeler’s first calls was to Holman.

The night before he came to Atlanta in August 1980, the New England Patriots were in Oakland for a preseason game against the Raiders. Holman did the pregame, halftime and postgame from the studio in the Prudential Tower in Boston.

The next morning, Holman uprooted his life to Atlanta. He was picked up from the airport by Dale Russell, who was a young reporter at WGST at the time and is now a senior investigative reporter for Fox 5. That night, in no surprise, Holman got to work. He headed to Atlanta Fulton County Stadium where he broadcast the pregame, halftime and postgame show for a Falcons and Cincinnati Bengals preseason game. The following Monday, Holman went to the studio at 550 Pharr Road and walked in the back door when he was stopped by a producer who said, “Oh, you must be the new guy!” WGST had him on air 30 minutes later, and he has been working since.

Holman primarily broadcast Falcons games for the first five years before taking over the Hawks’ announcing job in 1989 from John Sterling, who is now the legendary voice of the New York Yankees.

People in Lawrence thought Holman was crazy to leave the New England area because most people who lived in Lawrence stayed for their entire lives. Holman thought he would be in Atlanta for a few years before moving back to Boston and getting one of the premier radio gigs for a team when a spot opened.

“It turns out that this is our home. I’m an Atlantan,” Holman said. “My boys grew up Atlantans. The youngest (Scott) was born at Northside Hospital, so he’s an actual Atlanta baby. You don’t find too many these days in Atlanta. Steve (Jr.) was only nine months when we moved here. It’s home now. I can’t think of a place I’d rather live.”

His goal when he first started doing radio was to be a lifer with one organization like Most with the Celtics or Hearn with the Lakers. Holman wanted to be the voice that kids listened to and would one day have children and tell them, “That’s Steve. He’s the voice of the Hawks!” Holman loves taking pictures with fans and will never turn down a conversation. It’s extra special when he does have those who are in their late 30s or 40s approach him with a child and tell their son or daughter they have been listening to Holman call Hawks games for more than three decades now.

“I wanted to be that person people listen to forever,” Holman said. “I love to meet people who say they listen. I’ll be in the bank or Publix, and people sometimes say, ‘I know your voice!’ They then usually say, ‘You sound just the same as you do on the radio,’ and I say, ‘Well, yeah, this is how I talk.’ It’s not a fake voice. I get a kick out of it. People take pictures with me, and I love it.

“I love being the voice of the Hawks and being known as that.”

Equipment manager Zac Walsh was one of those kids who grew up listening to Holman on the radio. Walsh and his dad listened to the games nearly every time the Hawks played and especially after one of Walsh’s high school games. Fast forward roughly 15 years, and Holman considers Walsh, who has been with the organization 17 years, to be his third son.

Before every game, home or on the road, Holman hangs out in Walsh’s office 30 minutes before Lloyd Pierce’s news conference. Holman and Walsh are so close their co*ckapoos are related: Gowdy, named after the man who hired Holman to his first job in high school, and Penley, named after artist Steve Penley.

Chatting with Walsh is part of Holman’s daily game-day routine. Before arriving at the arena, Holman stops at Starbucks where he already has his go-to order — venti triple skinny vanilla latte, extra hot — plugged into his app. He walks 4.06 miles per day on the treadmill, a nod to Boston Red Sox icon Ted Williams, who hit .406 in 1941. Holman timed his walk to 61:08, a hat tip to Red Sox great Carl Yastremzki, who wore No. 8. The treadmill’s incline always has to be set to 4, too, for Moses Malone, one of Holman’s favorite basketball players.

The treadmill routine started six or seven years ago after he went for a physical, and his doctor, Francis Long, told Holman that his vitals were not good and if he wanted to see his grandchildren grow, he needed to change. Holman was 215 pounds at the time. The following day he joined NRG Fitness in Newnan and lost 60 pounds in six to eight months and has kept off the weight since.

Holman is a connoisseur of lavish restaurants. If Walsh, who sets the locations for the team’s dinners on the road, doesn’t know of a place to go or is on vacation somewhere, he asks Holman where to eat. So now when Holman eats steak, he has vegetables with it instead of potatoes.

The one vice he has is his Maker’s Mark. He has a glass of the bourbon after every home game.

“I credit that to my streak, too,” he said. “How many days are there in a week? That’s how many days I drink a co*cktail.”

Another reason why Holman has been able to broadcast 2,581 straight games is he never lets any type of sickness develop. Once he feels something coming on, he calls his ear, nose and throat doctor, Bob Gadlage. Gadlage has a few clients who are in the entertainment business so he understands the demands of the job and knows how important it is for them to continue working.

There was a game this season in February when Holman was fighting a cough. He sent Gadlage a message, and Gadlage phoned in a prescription to the nearest drug store near the team’s hotel. Holman’s personal medical advice is to never wait until you’re sick to treat your illness. Getting in front of it is the key to longevity.

What would happen if Holman was so sick he couldn’t actually call the game that night?

“Don’t worry about that because he would call in on his cell phone and patch him in on the way to the hospital, so he can call the game,” said Brandon “Home Team” Leak, a broadcaster for 680 The Fan.

Holman isn’t sure what he would do if the Hawks weren’t a part of his life anymore. He lives on a golf course in Newnan yet doesn’t play golf. Offseasons are challenging for Holman because he says he has no hobbies. The day I met him for lunch, he told me if I needed to speak to him more, he likely was going to be free because his only two hobbies that fulfill him are calling Hawks games and eating at luxurious restaurants.

“I’ve never seen someone love the Hawks as much as he does,” Walsh said. “People say they love the Hawks, but it’s in his blood. Everything he does is about the Hawks. That’s literally it.

“He is Mr. Hawk. It’s him, Harry (the mascot) and Dominique (Wilkins).”

Holman wants to continue calling Hawks games for the rest of his life. The only way he’ll stop is if the Hawks retire him. Al McCoy, one of Holman’s closest friends and mentors, is the radio broadcaster for the Phoenix Suns. McCoy just turned 86 and has no plans to stop. Gary Gerould, the radio broadcaster for the Sacramento Kings, is 78 and just signed a three-year deal. There’s nothing Holman would rather do with his life. He says every night he walks into the arena feels like the first time he stepped foot in the Boston Garden. He still gets excited to just be on the team bus where he usually sits with Pierce.

“I look at it as it being a part of my life, and this is my family,” Holman said. “I have my family and my Hawks family. If I ever retired, what would I do? I hope they keep letting me do this forever. If it was up to me, I’ll do it forever.”

This new generation of Hawks has re-energized Holman. He says he’s as excited about this team and the way the organization runs now as he has been in many years. The young players all make it a point to interact with him, too. John Collins always says, “Good morning, Voice. How you doing, Voice?” After Trae Young’s buzzer-beater against the Philadelphia 76ers late in the season, Holman screamed, “Doncic who?” The clip was played on “SportsCenter.” The following day, Young approached Holman and said, “Hey, Voice! We made it on ‘SportsCenter!'”

“They picked some winners in players but people, too,” Holman said. “I think that was one of the things (general manager Travis Schlenk) really wanted — good people. I can’t wait for the season to start again. It’s good to feel that. I felt this past season was one of my more enjoyable seasons. We didn’t win a lot of games, but you know there’s a plan and headed in the right direction. Lloyd is the perfect person for the job. Not only can he relate to the young guys, but he’s been through this in Philadelphia. He’s got the experience in Cleveland. He’s been a breath of fresh air for the people who are with the team the entire time.

“He knows what he’s doing in coaching. He’s my ninth coach. I’m hoping he’s going to be here for a long time. I would like to get a ring someday, too. I do feel like we’re closer to that than any time, maybe even closer than that 60-win team. You never had that feeling, not like now where everything is in place, and we have the right people running things. It’s going to be so much fun this year.”

Holman doesn’t mind if you call him a homer because he feels like his bosses are Hawks fans. If they didn’t like the job he does, they would have replaced him years ago. Most was the ultimate Celtics homer, and now Holman is the ultimate Hawks homer, and he wouldn’t change a thing about that.

This past Easter, Holman was in Mississippi visiting Scott and his family. Holman took his grandson, Connor, 7, to Chick-fil-A and let him play on one of the playground sets. One of the kids playing with Connor asked Holman if he was a grandpa. Connor interjected and said, “That’s my grandfather. He’s the voice of the Atlanta Hawks.” Holman said the kid looked confused as he had no idea what it meant, but being associated with the Hawks brings Holman unquestionable joy.

Besides winning a ring, Holman hopes to one day receive the Curt Gowdy Media Award given annually by the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame to outstanding basketball writers and broadcasters. The award, obviously, would mean a great deal to Holman because Gowdy gave him his first start in the industry.

But even if he never receives the most prestigious award in the industry, he’s already living out the dream he had as an 8-year-old.

“To me, it’s the greatest job in the world because it’s the job I always wanted when I was a kid,” Holman said. “How many people can actually say that? There aren’t many who can say that they had a dream when they were 8 years old and it came true. I played it in my mind so many times that I was actually going to do this. And for it to happen? I can’t believe it sometimes.”

(Top photo of Steve Holman: Courtesy of the Hawks)