Every family has its defining traits. Joseph Kennedy bred Democrats. Henry Fonda fathered actors. Al Shapiro, my dad, raised Dodger fans.

That was one of my favorite leads when I wrote it in 1997 in memory of Dad’s devotion to the baseball team he first knew in Brooklyn as “dem bums.”

I’ll remember Dad again today when the last link to the “bums” era, radio man Vin Scully, calls his final game after 67 years as the voice of the Dodgers.

“It’s a beeeeaaautiful night at Chavez Ravine,” Scully would sing out from Dodger Stadium as the sun set beyond the bleachers. “There are still seats. Come on down!”

His buttery voice filled our home each summer night, describing the action on the field and selling Farmer John ham between innings.

We still hear Dad pleading with Scully for a few insurance runs as the Dodgers clung to slim leads in the late innings.

Nearly every house sent Scully’s play-by-play onto the street; you could walk blocks and never miss a pitch.

Even at the stadium, Scully’s voice was in the air as fans brought transistor radios to hear his account of the game they watched. His shock of red hair shone from the broadcast booth.

Dad and I fought about politics, war and religion, but we could always chill by changing the subject to the Dodgers.

He’d followed the Dodgers in New York as a kid and took his loyalty to Los Angeles when he and Mom settled there after World War II. He was overjoyed when the Dodgers came west in 1958.

The Dodgers under the O’Malley family until 1997 and Branch Rickey before them were more than just a hometown team. They defined class in sports. Being a Dodger fan made you feel part of something elite.

They broke the color barrier by signing Jackie Robinson. They introduced talent from Japan and Mexico. In an era of free agency, they kept their stars. They played in the finest ballpark ever built.

When I moved to Hawaii in my early teens, I adopted the Triple-A Hawaii Islanders and their radio man, Al Michaels, who was much influenced by Scully and later became the voice of “Monday Night Football.”

As with Scully, fans would bring radios to Honolulu Stadium to hear Michaels call the game as they watched it, but they didn’t hold him in quite the reverence that Dodger fans held Scully.

One night Michaels observed, “There’s a loud voice behind third base getting on Islanders manager Chuck Tanner.”

“SCREW YOU, MICHAELS!” the voice boomed, which you could hear both hanging in the air live and blaring from the fans’ radios.

Anybody who dared say that to Vin Scully would have been deposited by fellow fans ungently into the parking lot.

Reach David Shapiro at volcanicash@gmail.com.