For more than four decades his voice was embraced by millions, a calming baritone in a sea of Lakers bedlam.
Yet in the most unfair of twists, on the night his career ended he was silent and alone.
Three months ago, Lawrence Tanter was walking through his bedroom when he suddenly collapsed while losing all strength in his arms and legs.
He fell and couldn’t get up. He lives alone, so he couldn’t cry out for help. He was able to secure his phone, but he says he was too stubborn to call 911.
“I wanted to get up by myself,” he said. “I knew I would eventually get up by myself.”
But this 6-foot-7 bear of a man was too weak to get up by himself. Listening to a Lakers road game on a bedside radio, he remained on the floor and eventually fell asleep until finally summoning his oldest friend the next morning.
“I got there and I’m like, why didn’t you call sooner?” Joe Williams said. “I told him, ‘I know you’re a warrior but, c’mon man, this is serious.’”
Serious enough to be diagnosed as a stroke. Serious enough to quietly end the most sonorous, soothing stretch in local sports history.
For 43 years as the Lakers’ iconic public address announcer, Tanter has been the coolest sound in the city, the measured, reassuring voice that decorated the team’s two hype-filled homes with gravitas and grace.
When the Lakers announced his retirement last week as he continues to battle effects from the March 17 stroke, the man known to everyone as simply “LT” closed his career with taciturn perfection, summing up a Lakers lifetime in eight words.
“It’s been a great run,” he intoned this week from a hospital bed, his pipes still the strongest part of him. “I’ve been blessed.”
It is Lakers fans who have been blessed, gifted with a voice that, whenever they attended a game, reminded them they were home.
“LT is in every way a part of Laker history,” said former Laker and current broadcaster Mychal Thompson. “He too is a Laker legend.”
When the retirement news broke with the Lakers announcing they were moving LT into an advisory role — a classy good-bye — fans everywhere broke out their LT best.
“Toooo many steps.” … “James Woooorthy.” … ”LeBronnnn James.”
And, of course, everybody’s favorite…“Llllaker Girlsss.”
“I always imagine, if he could hear God’s voice, it would sound like LT’s,” Thompson said.
This was never more true than on a somber night in late January in 2020. LT put his giant arms around a grieving city with pregame introductions that will never be forgotten.
“At one guard, number 24, 6-6, 20th year out of Lower Merion High School, Kobeee Bryant.”
The player taking the court was Avery Bradley.
“At the other guard, number 24, 6-6, 20th year out of Lower Merion High School, Kobeee Bryant.”
The player taking the court was Danny Green.
And on it went, all five Lakers introduced as Kobe Bryant before their game against the Portland Trail Blazers, the ultimate tribute before the Lakers’ first game since Bryant’s death.
It might have been LT’s finest hour, and every second of it broke his heart.
“The hardest introductions ever,” he remembered.
LT handled it simply by being LT, a comforting bard who could elicit much emotion with a slight change in cadence or key.
“With his timing, his rhythm, he could get excitement going without raising his voice,” said Bob Steiner, the retired Lakers executive who hired LT in 1982. “Lawrence became a star in the same way Chick Hearn was.”
While working for the Lakers, LT also worked for several jazz and rhythm and blues radio stations in town, most notably KJLH, which gave him built-in credibility in the city.
“If you go around town, you will find that he was known almost as much for his radio work as his public address work,” Williams said.
In combining the rhythm of jazz with the tenor of basketball, LT was the coolest cat at the scorer’s table, a distinctive figure in a white goatee and a newsboy cap who raised the roof while never raising his voice.
“I never tried to be a cheerleader,” said LT, 76. “I just tried to be a public address announcer.”
While many of today’s public address announcers are screamers, LT was so subtle that his most repeated call involved not the action, but the in-game entertainment.
“Everywhere we go, somebody recognizes his voice and does an imitation,” Williams said. “But nothing gets repeated like ‘Llllaker Girlsss.’”
Those two words, uttered at the end of every routine by the iconic dance team, contain the essence of LT’s greatness. He knows what you’re watching doesn’t need any embellishment; he’s capturing the scene with the power of subtlety.
“You’re sitting in the stands and when the dancers finish dancing, you say to your friends out loud, ‘Llllaker Girlsss,’ and everybody laughs,” said Pete Arbogast, who was the master of ceremonies when LT was inducted into the Southern California Sports Broadcaster Hall of Fame last year.
LT’s speech that afternoon was dominated by individual thank-yous to his many friends who attended the ceremony, typical LT humility.
“From my nose to my toes, I say thank you,” he concluded.
Today it is the Lakers who are thanking him.
“Since the 1980s, LT has narrated every chapter of Lakers basketball, connecting generations of fans, players, coaches and staff while becoming a trusted and unforgettable part of the Lakers experience,” Lakers governor Jeanie Buss said in a statement. “I am incredibly grateful for everything he has given to this franchise.”
His next stop should be the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, where he deserves to be enshrined as a contributor, becoming the first public address announcer to receive such an honor.
What other PA voice defined a franchise like LT? Who else missed just two games in 43 years? Name another PA announcer who accumulated nine championship rings yet refuses to wear any of them, ever, because it was never about him?
“It’s high time the Hall of Fame inducts him as a valuable and legendary contributor to the game,” Thompson said.
And if he is one day inducted, how would he introduce himself?
“At one forward, number 43, 6-foot-7, from Thornton Township High School, Llllawrence TAN-ter …”
LT laughed at the thought. He never actually would say that. But wouldn’t you like to hear it? Just once?
“Laker games,” Thompson said, “will never sound the same again.”
The post Lawrence Tanter was the Lakers’ smooth operator whose subtlety spoke volumes appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
