"We were able to find the right young man, and that man turned out to be Ted Hull. That, to me, was the most important thing that happened in Steve's career. That was the basis for everything that Stevie has become."

 —Esther Gordy Edwards
 

Mr. Hull, I think this is fate. It's as if this were divinely guided for a reason! We need a tutor to travel with Little Stevie Wonder and you're going to be perfect!"

The woman speaking to me on the phone said she was Esther Gordy Edwards, vice president ofMotown Records.  I got the call in September 1963. Not surprisingly, I'd never heard other. But I'd also never heard of this "Little Stevie Wonder."

Hanging up, I turned to my long-time friend, former college roommate and now my boss, Don Cardinal. "Have you ever heard of some kid named Stevie Wonder?"

"Are you kidding?" Don looked at me in disbelief. "You're the guy with the song writing contract and you don't know the number one song in the country? Fingertips is all over the radio. That's Little Stevie Wonder. And he's blind."

A few days later, Esther called me again. " Stevie's doing a press conference tomorrow at one o'clock at the Graystone Ballroom. It would be a good time for you to meet him if you can be there. And we can introduce you to the press as his new tutor."

The press conference marked an unprecedented musical achievement and a significant event for Motown. Little Stevie Wonder's introduction to the Detroit media was to announce that Fingertips Part 2 and its album, The Twelve-Year-Old Genius, had topped the charts. For the first time ever in recording history, one artist had both the No. 1 single and the No. 1 album in the nation.

When the media hubbub died down a little, Stevie's chaperone took his arm and led him to me. Finally able to see him, I was surprised at how young this skinny little kid seemed. Standing barely as high as my shoulder, he looked more like a happy-go-lucky nine-year-old ready to go play than a teenage singing star.

"Hello." He smiled and reached out to shake my hand. "Are you blind, too?"

 —The Wonder Years Pages 1 – 2
 
 

"Ted was the bridge between Stevie and the school and Stevie and the company. We had no problems -whatsoever because Ted was with him."

 — Esther Gordy Edwards
 

Within a week of joining Motown, music director Clarence Paul, Stevie and I set out in the Motown station wagon that Gene Shelby drove for us. Over the years, Gene and Clarence became my trusted friends. On that trip, though, I clearly sensed their wariness. Until now, they'd been Stevie's protectors, responsible for many of the duties I was taking over. And I was white, to boot. To win their confidence, I knew I'd have to prove my competence.

My first opportunity came when we stopped at a roadside restaurant in Indiana. A young man shyly approached our lunch table to ask for Stevie's autograph. This was still a new and thrilling experience for Stevie. On the rare occasions he'd been asked in the past, someone else signed his name to a promotional photo or slip of paper.

As Clarence reached for his pen, I quickly pulled out mine and placed it in Stevie's hand. "Here," I said, "I'll guide your hand while you write your name."

"Oh!" Stevie's pleased smile then burst into an enormous grin. He squirmed with excitement as our hands spelled out his name across a wallet-sized photo. I knew what this seemingly simple act meant to him—the ability to take control of a little larger part of his life.

After his happy fan left, Gene, Clarence and Stevie finished their meals and went to the restroom. I followed a couple minutes later, coming up behind Clarence sputtering in disgust.

"He doesn't even know how to spell your name! At least he ought to be able to spell your name right!"

An awkward silence fell. I pretended not to have heard Clarence's remark, but I was honestly puzzled. I hadn't seen Stevie's name written down anywhere, but how could I get it wrong? It rhymed with the name I was called at home—Teddy.

As soon as I had the chance, I took a careful look at one of Stevie's record labels, and never made the mistake again! Somewhere, someone's got the only authentic, one-of-a-kind autograph from 1963, signed "Little Stevy Wonder."

We were making the overnight trip to Chicago to record Stevie's first string album. Rock was still such an emerging genre that artists were expected to do two things to build their careers. One was to record an album backed by a string orchestra, to demonstrate their ability with standard songs. The second was to do a Country/Western album, which Stevie never did. But over the years I influenced his interest in country music and Clarence wrote arrangements of two songs that always pleased Stevie's audiences: Willie Nelson's Funny How Time Slips Away, and Walkin' The Floor Over You, an Ernest Tubb hit from the 1950s.

After checking into a hotel, we headed to a recording studio where the Chicago Symphony Orchestra's twenty-eight-piece string section was waiting. Also there was someone we hadn't expected—Barbara Lewis, who had a hit then with Hello Stranger on the Atlantic Records label.

 —The Wonder Years Pages 25 – 26
 
 

"Stevie talks with excitement of the great places he has 'seen' throughout his travels ... the teenager does 'see' a great deal—through his other senses."

 — The Grand Rapids Press
 

As Stevie's ease on stage grew, so did rumors among his fans that he wasn't really blind. A different rumor circulated through Motown—that surgery could give Stevie the eyesight that he'd never had. Even Clarence Paul asked me if it was true.

Stevie and I had discussed the fact that nothing could be done about his blindness, and I thought such notions had been dispelled. In Paris, I discovered Stevie still didn't, or didn't want to, believe me.

Rock 'n' roll, which had captured the ears and hearts of American and British teenagers, was beginning to explode in popularity throughout Europe. Motown, ever poised to reach out to new fans, found in Stevie it had just what the French youth wanted.

"Little Stevie Wonder" was Motown's first emissary to Paris as the headline star of a December 1963 show at the Olympia Theater. The only other American on the bill was Dionne Warwick, also just beginning her singing career. Marcel Marceau performed, as did six or eight other outstanding acts gathered from around Europe. Out of all of our travels, that's the trip that stands out in my mind.

With Ardena Johnston's help, Lula filed the paperwork to get passports for Stevie and herself. My well-stamped passport was ready to go, and I looked forward to the interesting educational opportunities travel would offer Stevie. But on the day we picked up the passports, I was the one who got the first lesson.

 —The Wonder Years Page 61
 
 
 

The dean was taken aback. "Boy, Stevie's really going back to his roots."
His voice made it clear he was offended by Stevie's appearance. I sighed, but said nothing, knowing that so many of the changes white people were seeing in blacks were somewhat frightening and hard to understand.

 —The Wonder Years Page 167
 
 

…Most of the Motown Revues played down South. It was where our strength was in record sales and recognition. And the tours were popular with many of the artists. I often heard, "Down South I know where I stand. Up North here, they don't tell you."

All of us were naive enough to think things should be different. Only weeks before the second Motown Revue, President Lyndon Johnson had signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 into law, "eliminating the last vestiges of discrimination," as the press reported. Things were supposed to be better for everyone. Besides, the Motown artists were famous stars, important in the music industry and to their fans. But what the law said and how whites felt were two very different things. If your skin was black, bigots didn't give a hoot if your name was Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross or Stevie Wonder.

On the Revue in 1964, I quickly discovered how blatant discrimination could be. At a restaurant in Georgia, someone went inside to let them know we had a bus full of people hungry for lunch. Word came that everyone was welcome—around back in the kitchen. A joke was made that I could eat in the restaurant if I wanted.

Cynical humor covered much of our anger over such treatment, and my bus-mates enjoyed seeing how I'd react to such first-hand treatment. I handled it like they did, accepting the fact that this was how it was but not liking it one bit. We all walked around to the kitchen, got our lunches and ate them on the bus.

Another time, just after passing a sign proclaiming "Martin Luther King is a Communist," we stopped at a restaurant crowded with lunch diners, only to see a white face hastily pull down the window shades and stick the "Closed" sign on the door. At times like that, it wasn't easy for me to remain philosophical or lighthearted with Stevie.

Stopping during the day might be uncomfortable, but after dark, we knew things could get downright dangerous. On the 1963 Motown Revue, shots had been fired at the bus after the Birmingham, Alabama show. It was bad enough for blacks, but adding a white face to the group only compounded problems. White Freedom Riders from the North were particularly reviled throughout the South, often beaten and occasionally murdered. In fact, shortly before the 1964 Motown Revue, three young Freedom Riders—two white men and a black man, disappeared in Mississippi. Our tour was long over before their bodies were found.

During the summer of 1966, Stevie and I drove part of the tour with Clarence, instead of riding on the bus. Along with us was Joe Thomas, who was in his early 20's and working as Stevie's valet. Dusk was falling, and after a day on the road, we were hungry. On the outskirts of a small Georgia town, Clarence pulled his big black Chrysler into a drive-in. All the faces in the cars around us were white. I could feel the question hanging in the air: What were these three black guys up to, and how come a white guy was with them?

Racial tension was high all across the country. I was apprehensive, concerned about what they were thinking and what they might do. I reached for the set of bongos we had in the car and put them on the dashboard. I figured it was the quickest, most obvious way to settle any questions about who we were. Clarence understood, but Joe let out a hoot of derisive laughter. "Oooh, I think Teddy's scared."

Damned right!, I thought, Ted's real nervous because Ted wouldn't be the first white guy to take a bullet down South. And get his black friends killed along with him.

—The Wonder Years Pages 167 – 169
 

“I could have cast myself in the role of Svengali, creating total dependence in the blind youngster and establishing a powerful position in his life. Instead, I felt my mission was to help Stevie learn to be as independent as possible by high school graduation. I helped devise musical cues and other techniques that allowed him to move about on stage without the aid of a sighted guide. I wanted him to be able to control his life and his own world. It was a very successful program.”

—Ted Hull, author of The Wonder Years
 

“Are you going to let the facts say that because you are blind, you can’t? Because you’re African-American, you can’t? Because you’re poor, you can’t? I’m not feeling that way and I never do, and I never will.”

—Stevie Wonder