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PrintThe last time I saw Ted Williams
When my Pittsburgh sales rep e-mailed me and asked if I knew who “this Ted Williams” was, I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. Was he one of the guys I tossed into the alley recently, he asked, referring to my unceremonious ejection of a couple of street birds misbehaving in my record store (a not uncommon thing at the House O’ Music). When I hit the Internet link the rep provided, my jaw dropped.
No, he wasn’t the jerk I threw out by the cuff, but I’ve known Ted for years—way before the “homeless guy with the golden voice” became this humongous thing on the web after the Dispatch posted a video of him. When you own a business that buys directly from the public, you come across some characters. It was pretty obvious Ted was living a destructive lifestyle, to say the least. And now the world has learned about his share of troubles with drugs and the law.
But there was something different about Ted than all the other homeless dudes coming in the shop—despite his criminal record, which I didn’t know about until he went all viral. He was one of those poor wretches who, even though only needing the prerequisite five bucks “for gas,” as they all say, I felt I could turn my back on and he wouldn’t be grabbing everything in sight and shoving it down his pants. Ted was gentle, even sweet. He almost always had some connection to the music on the CDs or records he was selling, so I was pretty sure they were his. Plus, I knew he also was a real scrounger, none too proud to dumpster dive, judging by some of the strange, weird, gross discs I’d reject for simply being too damn filthy.
No matter what I gave him—though I always tried to give him enough for “gas” money—he was a sweetheart of a gentleman about it. And that voice! Yes, to look at him, one couldn’t imagine the heavenly mellifluousness that would emanate from him. (Oddly enough, there’s a younger version of Ted who comes into the shop on occasion. Another homeless cat with a great voice. I’d joke with him that he was the illegitimate son of Barry White. Go figure.)
I hadn’t seen Ted for a year or so when he walked in shortly before Christmas trying to sell some disgusting, beat-up VHS tapes that I couldn’t use under any circumstances. I was nearly speechless at the sight of him. At one time, he looked OK, given his condition. I’d even say he was kind of handsome. But the Ted I saw that day had deteriorated to the point where I could barely recognize him. He was so skinny and his face appeared distorted by the ravages by which he lived. Honestly, he looked as if he were wearing a death mask.
It reminded me of years ago when I saw a friend who was dying after living the low life. The last time he visited me—emaciated, wasted, barely breathing—I cried when he left.
That’s what I saw in Ted shortly before Christmas, a man who’d lived the hard life and then got the worst short straw available. I’d never spoken to Ted so little because I was so horrified. He smiled and was his characteristic gracious self before he left. I see a lot working on High Street, but I hadn’t seen anyone in such bad shape in nearly 20 years. And I never want to see it again.
Then a little more than a week later he’s a star. I hope not a tragic one.
Maybe that voice will save his life.
