Evening star., 1960-01-20
jim BISHOP:
REPORTER
Ted Husing Writes a Book

He was walking down
Fifth avenue one morning.
The man was on top of the
world. He was tall and
slender, a debonair dresser
with snap-brim hat, cavern
Gus cheeks, thick lips and a
voice known to scores of mil
lions. He saw the sun across
the tops of the big buildings,
but he didn't notice the deep
blue shadows at the bottom.
WHY SHOULD HE? He
was Ted HuSing, the worlds
greatest announcer. His SAL
ary checks alone came to a
quarter of a million dollars
a year. He had a wife, a
family. fame. intelligence,
sympathy and, most ironic
Of all, he was a good man.
Money he could not spend
he gave away. 1t went to
an actor out of work, an
unwanted woman with chill
dren, a boy who needed tut
ton, a headwaiter who
wanted to be impressed, a
child who needed an opera
tion-it went. His head was
high because this was Hus-
ing'S world. He shared
pieces of it with Hellinger
and Corum and Runyon, but
1t was his and it was going
to go on like this for years
and years and years.
And, while he looked UP
at the morning sun, the
buildings began to lean in.
The skyscrapers tumbled
toward him and the street
opened up and he began to
fall downward. slowly at
first, and then faster and
faster and, over his head,
the sun dimmed and died
and Ted Husing leaned
against a lamppost and a
lady said: Can I help you?"
He shook his head.
Nobody could help Mr..
Husing. He had had three
decades on top. 1t was time
for a new boy. Time for a
shining fresh face on Fifth
avenue. Runyon, blinking
owl in a porkpie hat, had
bowed offstage. Hellinger, the
tough-talking soft touch of
Broadway, stood in stage
center, head bowed, as the
spotlight narrowed to moth
ing. Corum saw them 60 and
knew that there were only
eight bars of music left for
him.
Now Husing. His trial was
to be tougher than the others.
A tumor on the brain. Blind
ness. No voice. Hospitals.
Nurses. Try to think. Try to
speak. Try to see. Can you
see a tiny lattice of light, Mr..
Husing? Can you form a word
like God" Mr.. Husing? Say
1t. Try to say it.
Where are your friends. Mr..
Husing? You don't know?
That's funny. You had mil
lions Of them. Where is your
money, Mr.. Husing? You
earned millions. None left?
All, what a pity. What a pity.
No wife, no money, no friends,
no fame, no glory, no voice,
no sight.
Ted Husing hit bottom al
most four years ago. He was.
as he says, a vegetable. One
OF the things he still had was
CUTS. He fought when he
didn't want to fight and he
was hitting from memory.
He fought to see, to speak. to
think, to love. He came back
up from the bottomleSs pit
with more courage than I
have ever seen on a field.
Today. he lives in Pasa-
dena. His mother, deep in her
eighties, takes care of him as
she once did long before he
knew fame. He can see a
little; he staged a small come
back with Tommy Harmon
and, once again, throats
tightened as a weary voice
said: This is Ted Husing. +"
HE HAS WRITTEN q hool,
called MY Eyes Are in MY
Heart" He prays daily that
you and I will go out and buy
1t because he needs the
money 1t isn't a great book,
but can remember when 7
wrote worse ones and Ted
Husing would get on his
bandstand at WMGM and
say: You people out there
have a treat in store. Jim
Bishop has written a new