"Mr. Husing.... "Her voice became grave.
"There are no bandages on your eyes."
Husing lived eight more years, sitting in a favorite chair, first in his mother's house in Pasadena and then, when she was no longer able to care for him, at the nursing home in Pasadena, waiting for the phone to ring and thinking about friends and faith for the first time.
One of the last people to comment on Husing's work was Red Smith. In 1962, after Husing's death, Smith wrote, "His broadcasts were models of stone-age simplicity. Everything he did, he did well."
Perhaps Husing's fame failed to last because he passed from the scene at the very time television eclipsed radio. He never made the transition. Toward the end, reviews and legacies proved unimportant for Husing. All that mattered were his friends, who came around too seldom, and a desire to make peace with the world and himself. "I want to say I'm sorry," he wrote in his book. "I raced through life with my foot pressed firmly against an imaginary accelerator that propelled me too fast and swept aside too many who innocently strayed into my egocentric path."