Editor’s note: Vin Scully died Tuesday at his home in Hidden Hills. This story about the impact he had on the lives of ordinary Dodgers fans was published ahead of his retirement in 2016.

The voice is unmistakable — a warm, velvety tenor, so rich in tone, so rhythmic in its pace — like the croon of a classic standard. In Los Angeles, a city of constant reinvention, where transience is a way of life, the voice has endured for nearly seven decades. “The soundtrack of summer,” it is so warmly labeled.

But to those who have faithfully tuned in over the years, the voice transcends the images that title conjures – of sun-drenched afternoons in the shade of palm trees, of Dodger dogs and baseball in Chavez Ravine. To many here, the voice is bigger than the game itself.

Years after the transistor radio became a relic, replaced by MLB TV and live updates on iPhone screens, the voice remains a time machine. Close your eyes, and you’ll practically smell the fresh-cut grass in center field, taste the fresh-squeezed lemonade, hear the crack of the bat and crackle of the radio dial. To listen in is to be transported across generations.

“Pull up a chair,” Vin Scully