Life has a way of knocking us down, but for some, every setback is a setup for a comeback. Jerry Schemmel is one of those people. A veteran broadcaster known for his voice behind Rockies baseball, Schemmel recently faced his second layoff in six years from KOA Radio, part of iHeartMedia’s sweeping job cuts. But here’s where it gets inspiring: instead of letting the blow define him, Schemmel has channeled his energy into a new calling—one that’s deeply personal and profoundly impactful.
In October, Schemmel received a brief, impersonal phone call informing him of his termination. ‘It still hurt,’ he admitted. ‘It was like, “Man, they don’t want me anymore.”’ Despite the sting, the 66-year-old, who began calling Rockies games in 2010 after years with the Nuggets, found resilience in his faith and family. ‘I could kind of see it coming,’ he said, ‘but the way it happened—no meeting, no ‘thanks for everything’—that was tough.’
And this is the part most people miss: Schemmel’s story isn’t just about loss; it’s about redirection. Today, he serves as an ambassador and chief fundraiser for Best Day Ministries in Longmont, a nonprofit empowering individuals with special needs through faith, joy, and purpose. The organization, founded by Joe and Marla Truitt, operates an online marketplace for special-needs adults to sell their crafts, a coffee shop employing 16 individuals with disabilities, and monthly inclusive church services. ‘It’s been incredibly rewarding,’ Schemmel shared, his voice brimming with passion.
But here’s where it gets controversial: Schemmel’s journey into this work was sparked by his 4-year-old grandson, Henry, who has Down syndrome. ‘I had plans for him—fishing, baseball,’ Schemmel recalled. ‘But when I learned about his diagnosis, I was shocked.’ What followed was a flood of messages from parents and grandparents of children with Down syndrome, many saying, ‘You’re in for the ride of your life.’ One comment, in particular, stuck with him: ‘Those with Down syndrome don’t judge, they don’t complain—they just love.’ Is this a romanticized view of disability, or a profound truth? Schemmel’s experience suggests the latter, as he now cherishes the joy and unconditional love Henry brings into his life.
Schemmel’s philanthropic roots run deep. In 1989, he survived the crash of United Airlines Flight 232, rescuing an 11-month-old baby from the wreckage. ‘That day allowed me to find life’s real meaning,’ he wrote in his book, ‘Chosen to Live.’ Later, in 2018, he raised nearly $300,000 for Paws for Purple Hearts by cycling 468 miles across Colorado and Kansas—a tribute to his late father, a WWII medic.
While Schemmel admits he’ll miss the booth—‘painting a picture for listeners,’ as he puts it—he’s far from slowing down. He’s sold his Scottsdale condo, bought a home in Frederick, and is eyeing the Race Across the West, an 860-mile cycling challenge. ‘I’m semi-retired, but busier than ever,’ he laughed. ‘I’m pretty blessed.’
Here’s the question we leave you with: In a world that often measures success by career milestones, is Schemmel’s shift from broadcasting to advocacy a step back, or a leap forward? Share your thoughts in the comments—we want to hear from you!
