It was the racially riotous 1960s.
The clean-cut, thickly-bespeckled, 30-ish white man hailed a cabfor two that night on Broad Street in the hardscrabble section of North Philadelphia. Then the coat-and-tied gent and his more informally-garbed younger companion hopped in. Actually, the teenager silently scooted in first and sat behind the driver, whopaid him no mind.
“Boy, I’ll tell you it’s a good thing you were under the light because I almost never stop for anybody in this neighborhood,”said the cabby to the adult.
“Oh is that right?” he reflexively responded.
“Yeah, the niggers around here, you can’t trust ’em.” There then followed a mini-monologue sprinkled with less-than-flattering racial stereotypes.
The cab-hailer then reached over and squeezed the arm of his fellow backseat passenger, the overlooked teen–the overlooked black teen–as if to say: “Don’t let on. I’ll handle it.”
They soon pulled up at their well-lit hotel. Both passengers exited, walked around to the driver’s side and poked their heads inside his window. The cabbie’s face froze.
“You know you don’t deserve this,” said the white adult, who added a more-than-modest tip to the fare. After having taken the high road, the two then turned, walked away and laughed uproariously at the fool the cabbie had made of himself.
The white guy was Ted Hull, the tutor, mentor, chaperone, concert negotiator–and ad-hoc road manager–for the black kid. The black kid was Stevie Wonder, who had been rehearsingearlier for his Motown gig at the Uptown Theater, Philadelphia’sversion of Harlem’s iconic Apollo.
“Thinking back, a sense of humor was critically important,” explains Hull, now in his 70s and a resident of South Tampa. “It was a way of defusing a situation while making sure we made our point. Then we’d talk about it.”
The Philly incident had been another day at the teachable-moment office for the unlikely tandem. Seeminglyunlikely.
Actually Stevie Wonder and Ted Hull were the Ebony and Ivory prequel. One was black, one was white, but both were vision-impaired. Stevie was blind and Ted legally so. Truly wondrous Stevie was musically gifted. Merely talented Ted played the guitar, the piano and liked to write music and lyrics.
Moreover, Ted also held a degree from Michigan State University in special education for the visually impaired. Stevieneeded a guiding hand navigating adolescence, learning life and receiving formal schooling. He needed an older brother, a father figure and an educated, worldly enough guardian to shield him from show business exploitation, protect him from societal ’60sturbulence and prepare him for off-stage adulthood.
They met when the 13-year-old Stevie was still dubbed “Little.” They parted seven years later when Stevie was a high school graduate–and bigger than Elvis.
Initial Meeting
Ted, who retired in 2004 as the Tampa-based districtadministrator for Florida’s Division of Blind Services, fondlyharkens back to the day they met in September of 1963.
He had initially received a phone call from Esther Gordy Edwards, the older sister of Motown founder Berry Gordy. Motown had this prodigy, “Little Stevie Wonder”–the erstwhileSteveland Judkins of Detroit–for whom fame and fortune obviously were beckoning. But the sixth-grader was too often a public school no-show. “Hitsville” rehearsals and recording sessions too often trumped his attendance at FitzgeraldElementary School, which was hardly unique in being unable to provide a blind-sensitive curriculum. Motown knew it couldn’t be in the business of marketing and making money off of a “truant.”
Hence the call to Ted, at the time a first-year program director for a private school for blind children near Detroit. Motown needed a “tutor” for its rising, young star. And while Ted had heard of Motown, including the Four Tops and The Temptations, he had never heard of “Little Stevie Wonder.” He bought a little time to mull it over. The Tennessee native’smusical taste ran more to classic country and traditional mainstream. But when a friend pointed out a Stevie Wonder song, “Fingertips,” playing on the radio, Ted was impressed. “Fingertips” went on to top the pop charts that year.
When Esther called back, Ted accepted–after negotiating a salary of $8,000 and a written contract that was not part of Motown’s modus operandi. Basically, Esther gave him a hand-written note saying “You’re hired,” he recalls with a chuckle. “Iwas young and maybe naive,” concedes Ted. “I thought lots of travel, all expenses paid and more money than teaching ($5,200). Plus, help make Stevie a bigger star. Why not?”
He met Stevie the next day at a press conference called to celebrate “Fingertips,” hype a new album–and publicly introduce Ted. “He was skinny, looked about 9 years old and came up to my shoulder,” says Ted of literally little Stevie. “We shook hands and the first thing he said was: ‘Are you blind too?’That would mean a lot to the relationship.”
The only thing he regrets–sort of–is taking a salary in lieu of a percentage. “I would have made more money, that’s for sure,” acknowledges Ted. “But I was sensitive to anybody, especially Lula (Hardaway, Stevie’s loud, in-your-face mother) who might think I was exploiting Stevie.”
More Than “Tutoring”
His “tutorial” duties, he would soon find out, defied any applicable job description.
First, he had to deal with overlapping, often over-the-topconstituencies–from Motown bottom-liners and concertpromoters to access-demanding fans and media to the mercurial Lula. Then there was the inherent conflict between studio and school work.
Shortly after signing on, Ted realized that the studio had been a history of habitually “calling at any time” to rehearse or record.Never know when inspiration would strike, as it were. “That,” says Ted, “was something I couldn’t concede control over. I had to be tough and look out for Stevie. They wanted to make money. That was the business. I understood, but I had to get the message out: ‘Don’t ask, don’t call–after 8 p.m.'”
Ted also addressed the issue of “blindisms” (unconscious, physical mannerisms of the blind: think Ray Charles’ swaying).He worked to get Stevie to reduce the habit of rotating his upper body in a wide circle, which can be distracting to an audience.He also taught him to walk on stage–from the curtain to the microphone and between instruments.
Ironically, however, Ted’s efforts to mitigate, if not eliminate, any “pity factor” semblance were not fully supported by Motown. “Some at Motown wanted to play up the blindness,” says Ted. “Because it was part of his identity. Made him, presumably, ‘more interesting.'”
Early in his tutor tenure Ted also experienced his most embarrassing moment. It was over an autograph. Normally the Motown people handed out autographed, promotional photos of Stevie Wonder that someone else had pre-signed. Ted thought Stevie should, to the extent possible, participate in his own promotion. And by so doing, it would give him a sense of independence and some autonomy.
So, in response to young fan’s unexpected request for an autograph, Ted didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Stevie’s hand–much to the surprise and chagrin of on-looking Motown insiders–and guided him through the spelling of his own name. Capitalizing on a classic rite-of-passage opportunity.
Only one problem. He had signed it “Stevey Wonder.”
“It’s probably somebody’s collector’s item today,” sheepishly adds Ted. “And I’m still a bad speller. It’s my other disability.”
And then there was the Motown tour itself that Stevie was such a prominent part of. Ted soon found out that they were on the road 75 percent of the time. The remainder was spent at Ted’s high school alma mater, the Michigan (Boarding) School for the Blind, where Stevie would ultimately earn his high school diploma. Ted dovetailed his lesson plans with MSB’s curriculum.
Easier said than done.
Ted would learn that he was never really off-the-job, especiallyon those tours. As it turned out, lugging around a talking-book machine, a tape recorder, a braille writer, a slate and stylus,braille and print books, braille paper, teachers’ manuals and a cube board (for math instruction) was, although a logistical hassle, the easy part.
Finding enough time, an acceptable location and a suitablelearning environment was the constant challenge. They used hotel rooms, dressing rooms and theater basements. (When scheduling permitted, however, Ted would try to use notablelandmarks, domestic and overseas, to give Stevie a sense of what was out there beyond the next show. “To the degree we could manage it, the world became his classroom,” says Ted.)
“Stevie never gave me a problem,” recalls Ted. “Never complained. He knew he had obligations. He knew he had homework. He always wanted to please.”
They even tried, to little avail, to shoehorn in some work on the tour bus. “We were both too self-conscious,” Ted explains.”Stevie would pretend to be asleep, and I would pretend that he was.”
Race Matters
As for that bus, it was a vehicle to fame for some of the top newblack talent in the business–including The Four Tops, The Temptations, Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Martha (Reeves) and the Vandellas, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles and more. It was also an exercise in reverse racial dynamics. Aside from three salespeople (whose job it was to pitch white dee jays), Ted was the lone white person at Motown. Some of the performers were more color blind than others.
Ted speaks well of Smokey Robinson, for example, as he doesThe Four Tops. Less so of Martha Reeves as well as The Temptations. The latter were notorious role models for an impressionable teen talent and known to pack heat. He remembers Diana Ross as “cultured, smart and pretty.” And pretty “flirtatious” too. Ted was seriously tempted, he admits, to ask her out, but never yielded to the temptation. “Interracial dating was not well accepted,” emphasizes Ted. “On either side.”
Interracial anything, of course, could be dicey in the America of the combustible ’60s. On occasion, Ted would seemingly incitesome black Stevie Wonder fans who resented a buttoned-down,white buffer helping with crowd-of-color control. Many of the Northern venues were proximate to “ghetto” neighborhoods where the only white faces were those of cops.
Down South, Jim Crow still prevailed–from segregated schools, buses and restaurant counters to separate bathrooms and water fountains. The 1964 murder of the Freedom Riders was a graphic reminder that whites in the company of blacks were alsovulnerable to the most malignant outgrowths of racism.
While he was never physically harmed or shot at, Ted does remember sensing periodic animosity, especially at roadside diners. “I couldn’t see well enough to make out all the gestures and looks,” he says. “But you could sense it. Sometimes it made me nervous. But I never had a gun pointed at me. At least I never saw one. But, yes, I did hear shots on occasion.”
But, no, Ted never considered himself a civil rights activist–or even brave. “I was just being myself,” he says. “I was a talented kid’s tutor, not someone trying to be a hero. I was a live-and-let-live sort, even in those times.”
But Motown, per se, Ted points out, played a key role in race relations back in the day. “It reached out to listeners of all colors,” he notes. “Nelson Mandela praised it. It was the first black company to sell music to whites. And Motown was the caretaker of everything Martin Luther King ever recorded.”
And some of that impact beyond self-interest rubbed off on Stevie. Sure, he’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and has won 25 Grammys, but Stevie Wonder was also a key catalyst in pushing for the national MLK Day that President Ronald Reagan formally declared in 1983. He’s also been named an official United Nations Messenger of Peace, joining the honored likes of Elie Wiesel, Yo-Yo Ma and George Clooney.
“He fought for the MLK holiday, and he’s considered a messenger for peace around the world,” says Ted. “That’s quite a legacy right there. I hope I had something to do with that.”
He did. And that’s quite a legacy as well.
These days erstwhile tutor and student are occasionally in touch. They spoke last year and five years ago Ted caught up with Stevie back stage at an Atlanta concert that drew 14,000. He admits to being moved by the on-stage shout-out of tribute he received from Stevie that night. When not touring, Stevie, 62,can be found in Bel Air, Calif., writing songs in the key of life in his own studio.
“No, we don’t see each other that much,” says Ted. “But when we do, it’s just like yesterday again. He’ll be at my funeral.”
In the mean time, Ted still does occasional book signings forThe Wonder Years: My Life and Times With Stevie Wonder, that he penned in 2000. In fact, he’s actively pursuing leads with those who indicate that a movie version of a uniquely compelling, coming-of-age American story is worth undertaking. And imagine that sound track. #