I’m guessing Harry Glickman stood 5-10, but he was a giant of a man.

Blazer fans recognize him as the gravel-voiced, warm-hearted executive who paved the way toward Portland getting its only franchise in the big four major sports leagues.

Glickman, who died Wednesday at age 96, was the patriarch of the Trail Blazers. But he was much more than that.

He was a loving husband and father, a friend to many, a sports business mastermind and a great guy for a sportswriter to talk to on a variety of subjects.

Glickman knew plenty about sportswriting and the newspaper business. The Lincoln High graduate got a degree in journalism from Oregon. While in college, he was editor of “The Emerald” and worked part time for the Oregon Journal, my first place of employment.

Harry even wrote a book, “Promoter Ain’t a Dirty Word,” which has a place on one of my bookshelves. He was a promoter extraordinaire long before he served as president of the Blazers, staging a plethora of sporting events in his hometown. I particularly remember the NFL exhibitions at old Multnomah Stadium when I was a youngster.

With Memorial Coliseum opening its doors in 1960, Glickman served 12 years as co-owner and president of the Portland Buckaroos of the Western Hockey League. Hockey was in his blood, but when the opportunity came to put together a deal to bring the NBA to town in 1970, Harry swooped in and got it done.

One of Glickman’s first hires with the Blazers was radio play-by-play man Bill Schonely, with whom he had become acquainted in hockey. Schonely was calling games for the WHL Seattle Totems and had also spent a year doing the Seattle Pilots of American League baseball.

“He called me and said, ’Schonz, how’d you like to do NBA basketball?’ “ said Schonely, who just celebrated his 91st birthday. “Fifty-one years later, I’m the last man standing.”

Schonely remembers Glickman most for “how honest he was.  A handshake was a big deal to him. That’s how he operated. All the things he did for this part of the country — he was just an amazing man. Amazing.”

Glickman didn’t pull any punches. If he didn’t like something or somebody, he’d let you know. We went to lunch a few times, and we’d debate a little on the sports issues of the day. Even if I didn’t agree with his opinions, I respected them, and he always showed that to me, too.

Harry was no fan of Paul Allen, largely because of the way he felt the long-time Blazer owner treated people.

“He’s a strange guy,” Glickman said in a story a wrote over lunch at the Multnomah Athletic Club in 2013. “Bucky Buckwalter was named the NBA Executive of the Year. Paul never called him. John Lashway was named PR Director of the Year. Paul never called him. Schonely goes into the Hall of Fame. He has never heard from Paul to this day. He’s just that kind of guy.”

Harry was miffed when the billionaire Allen put the Blazers up for bankruptcy in 2004 and later laid off a large number of rank-and-file employees. “I don’t think the team will be in really good hands until Paul sells the club,” Harry told me in 2013.

(The story from the Portland Tribune)

https://pamplinmedia.com/pt/12-sports/127501-the-original-trail-blazer

Harry didn’t like it when Allen and his right-hand man, Bert Kolde, fired coach Rick Adelman in 1994. 

By the next year, Glickman’s title had morphed from “president” to “president emeritus,” and he was soon on the outside looking in on the decision-making process in the club’s front office.

But Glickman left his heart with the club. He maintained an interest until the very end, even as his body gave out and he turned to a wheelchair for relief. He often attended games this past season from his front-row seat with wife Joanne.

I was so pleased when Harry was honored last year with the John W. Bunn Lifetime Achievement Award during enshrinement ceremonies at the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass. Harry was in too poor health to attend, but his children, Marshall and Jennifer, were on hand to accept the prestigious award.

Glickman and Schonely — who is recovering from hip replacement surgery a week ago — had remained close through the years. They had several phone conversations over the past couple of months.

“The last thing he said to me was, ‘I love you, Schonz,’ “ Schonely said.

Not long ago, Glickman was asked what he might like his epitaph to be.

“I just hope they remember that I helped bring Portland into the major league of sports,” he said.

Indeed. We won’t forget, Harry. Thanks for the memories.