The signature voice of CBS during radio's heyday, this unique talent single handily established the in's and out's, prims and propers of the modern sports broadcaster. From 1929-46, Husing called almost every sport imaginable over the Columbia broadcast chain: boxing, horse racing, track and field, regattas, 7 World Series, tennis, golf, 2 Olympic Games, Indy 500, and as the premiere caller of college football his power became indisputable. Before Husing, the voicing of sports and broadcasting in general was a hap-hazard approach with little preparation and style. The announcer simply showed up to the event with a program or racing forum, crossed his fingers and hoped he got it right. Then came the master. Text book knowledge, arduous preparation, purposeful word usage and a measured style of calling the action came into existence. Husing was the first to interview athletes and coaches before a game, sit in on chalk talks. He designed the first spotting boards used to identify players during a broadcast. Ted was the first announcer to utilize assistance and on air color commentators. He even helped develop the use of penalty signals in football. He studied dictionaries and thesauruses to find the perfect words to describe the action happening before him. And there was little doubt that nearly every time Husing hit the airwaves he did just that.

This pioneer broadcaster was born Edmund Husing on November 27, 1901 in the Bronx. He had two older siblings who both died tragically before the age of six. His father Henry, a professional waiter and maître d', was a fan of champion middle weight boxer Jimmy Edward Britt. It did not take long for young Husing to take the tag of his father’s hero. Before his tenth birthday he was known as Edward Britt Husing. The new name of fighter fit him well. Both his father and mother Bertha were German immigrants. Stuck between a world of old-time tradition and new age acceptance, Ted learned about life’s realities the hard way. He learned to survive by acting tough. A belligerent, hard edge spirit was formulated, one that would help carry him to greatness, one that would help destroy him in the end.

As Husing grew, he continued to be driven by his insecurities, the consummate outsider looking in. At the age of sixteen he joined the National Guard hoping to prove his worth. Instead, Ted was assigned to stand watch over New York’s warless harbor. He traveled from failed land prospects in Florida to uninspired employment as a payroll clerk with a hosiery company. But once he stumbled into radio, Husing knew he found the perfect place to play out his fragile mindset. At the age of 23, Ted was hired by local station WJZ. He was chosen from some 500 candidates mainly because of good instincts and a propensity to talk. He was schooled under the tutelage of industry great Major Andrew White. Early in his career he was known as “Mile a Minute Husing,” a rapid fire delivery able to shoot nearly 400 words from his mouth in one minute. Moreover, Ted’s strong passion and ceaseless work ethic quickly set him apart from most in the business. Radio of the 1920’s was often a viciously competitive and combative world. Exclusives meant everything. He was willing to go anywhere, anytime to broadcast a big event. Covering the Golden Jubilee of Lights in Detroit, political conventions, and assisting White on football was among his initial assignments. Leaving behind his wife Helen and daughter Peggemae was something he would regret later.

In the spring of 1927, he was voted seventh most popular announcer in a national poll. Ted felt he deserved a pay raise. When the station balked, he quit and found work at Boston station WBET. Major White again intervened when he begged Ted to return to New York and help him steer his new Columbia Phonograph radio network into existence. CBS was up and running in 1928, but struggled to keep pace with the more established NBC chain. When William Paley bought CBS later that year, he allowed Husing to lead the way to a future of glory for him and the network. Husing’s stellar call of the 1929 Kentucky Derby gave CBS credibility. Ted’s discovery of new talent like Bing Crosby gave CBS new sponsors with deep cash filled pockets. After calling Harvard quarterback Barry Wood “putrid” during a football broadcast, Husing and the network was the talk of the town. “Very often if you listened to his broadcast you required a dictionary,” remembered the late Hall of Fame broadcaster Marty Glickman. “Sometimes he used words that sounded as though they were manufactured. Occasionally he’d throw it in to continue the impression that he was a very well cultured, well learned guy. His accent was so smooth and fluid and his ability to speak was so good that you never thought of him as a Tenth Avenue guy. And he was that.”

By the early 1930's, few could touch Husing. Confidence oozed from his every pour like sap from a healthy Maplewood tree. His broadcasts were tonics to the ear and often mesmerized listeners into visualizing his every word. “Husing had the ability that if you were listening to him on the radio covering tennis, you found your head moving,” said long time caller of Baltimore sports Chuck Thompson. He was sexy, strong, and always controversial. He made women melt. Men pointed to him as the prototype of male strength and self-assurance. “Mr. Broadway” and man about town, his home away from home were the many clubs and speakeasies of the day. Places like “21 Club” and “The Stork Club” were regular hangouts. The tabloids ate up his cool yet whirlwind pace, writing about him on almost a daily bases. For a man who came from meager beginnings in New York City, he was rich and famous, stylish and fun during times of oppressive war and economic depression. “Fred Astaire had grace. Husing had style,” remembered friend Gary Stevens. “No one could throw a twenty dollar bill down on a table like Ted Husing.”

Yet, all of his headline bravado and outward gruffness, hid a soul buried in insecurities and a heart filled with compassion for others. Husing was famous for leaving big tips, picking up dinner checks, assisting mere acquaintances with career advice and financial assistance. Perhaps drawing from his youth as an only child, Husing traditionally dinned on Thanksgiving with orphan children. The blur of his famous career left two wives and countless romances behind. When he married his third wife Iris and fathered son David, the radio man was ready for a change. In August of 1946, Ted abruptly resigned from CBS and took up a new career – disk jockey. Hired by old friend Bert Lebhar on New York station WHN, later to become WMGM, “The Ted Husing Bandstand” hit the air on October 28, 1946. Husing through out his life was a connoisseur of big band music and Dixie land jazz. The gig fit like the needle to a vinyl groove. So did the more stay at home schedule and truck loads of money that backed into the front door of his newly renovated Grammercy Park home. Ted topped over $300,000 annually. He continued to sprinkle in sports assignments as voice of Army football and even tackled the new medium of television doing boxing on CBS-TV and Dumont. In all his success, Husing never looked to the future, living life in the moment full throttle. He would eventfully answer for such decisions. “My paychecks vanished like the American buffalo,” he later wrote.

As good as life looked to be for Husing, clouds of darkness loomed. Sporadic dizzy spells and lose of coordination during the early 50’s triggered health problems for the mike man. In April of 1956, Ted was diagnosed with a malignant tumor in his brain. A risky operation left him blind. Without sight, his career as a broadcaster was over. Confidence gone and life shattered, Husing became a recluse, a thin shadow of a once proud warrior. He hid away in hospitals from his friends and lost touch with his adoring public. Hefty medical expenses, carefree living and poor financial decisions left him broke. With his wife also gone, Ted’s many friends and admirers came to his rescue. The “21 Club” spearheaded a movement to raise money. Devoted companions like restaurateur Toots Shoor, CBS assistant Jimmy Dudley, and New York football Giants chaplain Fr. Benedict Dudley were instrumental at getting Ted back on his feet. The Sports Broadcasters Association, a networking faction that Husing founded for sports announcers, threw him a testimonial dinner on January 31, 1957. Hundreds came to honor the man and his many accomplishments. He thanked them all when he humbly said, “I no longer see . . . Tonight I don’t need eyes in my head, such as those that used to see the sports. Tonight, my eyes are in my heart.”

Husing relocated to Pasadena, California. Surrounded by family members and friends like former Michigan football star Tom Harmon, Ted hoped to resurrect his career. He regained some of his eye sight and appeared on the NBC hit television show “This Is Your Life.” William Paley even signed his old protégé to a new CBS contract looking to cash in on the Husing magic somehow. Unfortunately, none of the plans materialized. A relapse in his condition altered the best laid plans. An inability to see and limited movement forced him off the air for good. The rekindling of his Lutheran faith and remembrances of past glory days became Husing’s only comforts. On August 10, 1962, Ted Husing died blind, broke and forgotten. He was only 60 years-old. Less than fifty people quietly gathered at Mountain View Cemetery to say good-bye. In a matter of days it seemed the awesome legacy of Husing was already ancient history.

But almost half a century since his death, no sports announcer can ever escape his pull. Stars of the 60’s and 70’s like multi-sports talents Curt Gowdy or Brent Musburger, technical proficients like Chris Schenkel and Lindsey Nelson, wordsmiths like Jim McKay or Vin Scully, boisterous opinionates like Mel Allen or Harry Carey, even today’s poised, knowledgeable pundits like Bob Costas and Al Michaels all owe Husing a debt of gratitude. So the next time you see your grandfather or uncle of the more quaint generation, you’ll understand that dessert eating look in their eyes. A look brought on by sampling the delectable buffet of words spoken by the original sports broadcasting chef of radio Ted Husing.