PHILADELPHIA -- It could be any home game during any baseball season in Philadelphia over the past 35 years. The aroma of cheese steaks floats through the air, while an organ echoes among the backdrop of crowd noise and baseballs hitting off bats.

More than 70 million people have attended more than 3,000 Phillies games, and all have heard the magic produced by Paul Richardson's organ, whether it's "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," "Tarantella" or "Havah Negila."

Those fans have cheered along with Richardson, who, after a 35-year-career that began at Connie Mack Stadium in 1970, is retiring.

"It's time," he said. "I've had a great run and enjoyed every minute. They gave me the freedom to do a lot here."

Richardson's reasons for leaving stem from health problems that have weakened his legs to the point where he can no longer accurately operate the foot pedals of his Roland AT-70. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer nearly eight years ago and has undergone chemotherapy and radiation treatments.

Emotionally, he knows he's doing the right thing, too.

"Thirty-five years is a long time," he said. "I've loved every day."

Richardson, who won't reveal his age, was a part-time realtor and organ teacher who also trolled the nightclub circuit after graduating from Wilmington High School in 1950. His Phillies tenure started innocently at a 1969 Christmas party for club employees. Quite the hit, he was hired by chairman Bill Giles, then the team's newly hired vice president of business operations, and became the team's first full-time organist in nearly a decade for the 1970 season at Connie Mack Stadium.

The previous organist? The wife of Mack's doctor. When offered the job, Richardson thought, "Why not?"

"At that point, I had been playing in nightclubs for about 20 years and it was time to find something else," he said. "Playing in nightclubs is a young man's job. I thought this would be an interesting job."

Richardson estimates that he missed only a handful of games over his three-and-a-half decades, which also included five seasons playing weekends at Yankee Stadium. Because, "even if you're sick, you can still play."

Richardson has an endless supply of memories. He was there for Tug McGraw's leap in October 1980 and Mitch Williams' famous 4 a.m. single in July 1993. He saw Kiteman's many crashes into the seats and tightrope walker Karl Wallenda's leisurely stroll across the Vet.

When a streaker in cowboy boots ran the bases in the summer of 1972, Richardson quickly found an appropriate melody.

"I played that Peggy Lee song, 'Is That All There Is?'" he recalled, laughing. "'If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing.' The crowd liked that one, and it got written up in the newspapers the next day."

At Yankee Stadium, Richardson played on the weekend of Thurman Munson's passing, and at the famous "Pine Tar" game featuring a ballistic George Brett.

Personally, Richardson ranks meeting writer James Michener as one of his fondest memories.

"That's one my sentimental moments," Richardson said. "The Fires of Spring changed my life. It made me go back to school. His limo driver said to him, 'Mr. Michener, that's the same thing John Kennedy said to you.' I had a lump in my throat when I heard that."

As big a lump as director of entertainment Chris Long had when she was informed of Richardson's decision. She said the team has no plans for a successor.

"There's no way to replace him," Long said. "The joke around here is that he's the only person with the Phillies who played in all three ballparks. He's part of the fabric here, with [public address announcer] Dan Baker and [Hall of Fame broadcaster] Harry Kalas. No else can do what he did."

While Richardson appreciates the sentiment, he acknowledges that the ballpark atmosphere has evolved from his simpler days of playing the organ. Stadiums have become rock concerts before and during games, and Richardson understands this.

When the Phillies played in Veterans Stadium from 1971-2003, he sat in his personal booth behind home plate, where he would often dodge wayward foul balls. (All but one that landed square on his rear end.) He didn't have that luxury at Citizens Bank Park, where he was relegated to the concourse.

"That took away some of the fun, because I couldn't really watch the game," he said.

He also learned that even the organist isn't immune from jeers when his organ wasn't hooked up properly for the National Anthem one day, leading to his first Phialdelphia "greeting."

"The [PA announcer] apologized that the organ wasn't playing and I got booed," he said. "If you haven't been booed in Philadelphia, you're not part of it."

As a part of Philadelphia baseball for a generation of fans, Richardson is grateful. He's given away his three Phillies World Series rings -- from 1980, 1983 and 1993 -- to each of his three children, with his oldest son, Jon, getting the one from the '80 championship season.

His youngest daughter, Vicki Richardson, recently graduated from the University of Delaware, and plays the piano. A few years ago, the proud pop was treated to another powerfully fond moment when father and daughter played the National Anthem together at the Vet.

That ranked at the top of a long list of memories.

"I took this very lightly for many years and figured I was tricking people to think sentimental things," he said. "One day (after a nightclub show), a little old lady came up to me and said, 'You have taken away the cares of the day for me. I enjoyed your show so much.'

"Then I realized I wasn't tricking these people. Maybe I was doing something worthwhile here."

At least 70 million people would agree.