The Voice Of The Bruins

"The guy's reaction was, 'Well, who the hell are you?' " he says. But Cusick talked the man into a daily 15-minute sports program, for which he received no pay. It was a start, the first in a string of jobs that included newsman, disc jockey and sports-caster. His specialty was the area's passion—hockey. Calling four high school games in a row on Saturdays from the Garden was not uncommon in the '40s.

When the Bruins started looking for their first full-time play-by-play man in 1952, Cusick was the obvious choice, although he claims modestly today, "There were no other candidates. I got it by process of elimination."

CBS recognized Cusick's talent, and he joined the network's NHL matinee telecasts in the 1950s. "When they found out I could skate, they flipped," he says. Wearing a wireless microphone, he gave viewers live, on-ice hockey tutorials between periods: how to tie skates, tape sticks and stay onside. In one segment Bobby Hull, who had just begun his career with the Chicago Blackhawks, fired pucks at a car door. In another (perhaps the inspiration for the opening scene of the film Slap Shot), Leapin' Louie Fontinato, a defenseman for the New York Rangers, demonstrated penalties using Cusick as his victim. "It was primitive, it was awful," says Cusick of those early segments. "I wouldn't want to look at it now."

Bruin veteran John Pierson, a notorious stick doctor, was Cusick's expert for a stick-taping segment. That one actually worked well. In 1969, WBZ radio teamed Cusick with Pierson for the Bruins' Stanley Cup campaign. Thanks to Cusick's descriptions and Pierson's insightful commentary, the two developed a near-perfect chemistry that lasted 18 seasons.

The Fred and John Show avoided histrionics that would put them, not the players, in the spotlight. Even today Cusick's aversion to self-promotion deflects attention to others. "His ego would fit into a thimble," says Pierson, who is now a sales representative for a furniture business outside Boston. "That's what made me better than I might have been. A lot of play-by-play guys try to steal the thunder from the analyst by giving their own views. Not Fred. He grew up in the game, and he knows it as well as anyone. But he lets the analyst do his job."

"Johnny and Fred never looked at each other," says Quenzel, who joined them well into their partnership. "When the play stopped, Fred just pointed to Johnny and Johnny talked. Fred started again when the puck was dropped, no matter what Johnny was saying."

Pierson switched to intermission chalk-talk in 1985, and two years later Derek Sanderson, the popular former Bruin, became Cusick's sidekick. Sanderson's personality on the air was only slightly less abrasive than it had been on the ice. Cusick helped him ease into his new job, but Sanderson maintained his admittedly pro-Bruin bias, providing effective counterpoint to Cusick's reportage.

During a January 1991 telecast from Montreal, Shayne Corson of the hated Canadiens plowed into Boston goalie Andy Moog. When no penalty was assessed, Sanderson launched a typical comment. "There's two sets of rules here, Fred," Sanderson said. "One for the Canadiens, and one for everyone else."

Cusick watched the replay and replied, "But Derek, look, Corson was pushed into Moog by a Bruin."

Sanderson wouldn't let up on Corson or the noncall. "Derek," Cusick said finally, "you're out of control."