Witness Post: Hank Worthington
Subject: Never too much bass – Hank Worthington
Dear Ned,
I had a deeply saddened heart as I heard the news of your father’s
passing. He proved to be a wonderful, wise friend to me for many years.
Of all the original Foxheads, I felt closest to your dad. I have
attached a letter to you, for your memory book, if there is such a
document. A great one is now with God.
I wish I could be there to pay him one last tribute, as I mourn with
you.
Your friend,
— Henry
September 13, 2010
Ned Worthington
Garrison Forest Road
Owings Mills, MD 21117
Dear Ned,
You grew up with the man, and I am not sure what he was like as a young father, but I have to tell you that he was a magical mentor to me as a struggling bass, a newlywed, and a young father. Having Hank as a fellow bass in the Foxheads was one of the blessings in my life.
There was nothing about my time with your father that lacked fun and enthusiasm: all of the sectionals, with Preston Athey taking the bass lead, all of the practices at his house, all of the parties held at Hank and Sally’s, all of the Princeton and Yale hazing and razzing … my, oh my. I loved your dad. He had the ability to cross the generations and made me feel, despite our differences in ages to be peers. He was a completely real person to me, without the pretense of Greenspring Valley trappings. It was Hank who gave the Foxheads the appropriate irreverence that it needed to keep in check any expanded egos or swelled heads.
I have told you the story before and you may have you witnessed it, but it bears repeating. From time to time your father would shuffle in to the bass sectionals having misplaced, crumpled or simply forgotten the notes to one of our songs. “I know this one,” he would declare, mumbling something about anal tradition. It was not often that he forgot the words — he could sing the melody just fine. The trouble was that the bass section had so few words that note retention proved the challenge. He often recruited Bill McMillan or me to stand by his “good ear” to loudly sing the bass notes as we practiced the piece. Hank had an uncanny knack of getting the notes wrong, even for some of the old Foxhead standards. I tried to correct him on the pitch and note duration, but from the scowl on his brow, it was not particularly helpful. He would point his crooked index finger at my nose, hoping the fear of God would emerge. Then he would say slowly, “You wise college F _ _ _!” with full emphasis on the last noun. After the appropriate two seconds pause, he would let out a belly laugh, the kind that Red Skelton used to show how pleased he was with his own joke. A slap on the shoulder and we were off to try it again, butchering it less and less each rehearsal.
I will never forget the time that he helped make reservations for me at the Spring Sing in Princeton, New Jersey. He reluctantly let a Yalie get a room to stay at the Nassau Club. The rooms were small and cramped, but I did not care. Manning Parsons and Basil Wagner were in adjacent rooms and they were all up tight about singing on the hallowed grounds of the Triangle Club and the rest of the stars of yesteryear. But your dad was extra excited for the current era. He knew that you would try to dodge a class or two and bring your latest girlfriend to hear the singing in Richardson Auditorium in Alexander Hall. He pulled me aside to tell me the tale of the graduation parade when Brook Shields was marching. Apparently signs in the crowd wanted to know if she found it “Hard” in Old Nassau. Another laugh, as he was careful to avoid the “if it is not PC, don’t say it” crowd.
The Foxheads were not particularly outstanding that year, you will recall, as we seemed to be larger and more unwieldy than our talent could muster. I remember hearing the Arbors singing “Where is Love,” Cahoots sang one of their original pieces, and the Nassoons (or Tigertones) sang the “Twelve Days of Christmas” medley. It was under the arches that year that I recognized what you already knew: the Foxheads were totally mismatched with the up and rising singing groups, and things would have to change or die. But change was slow.
A few seasons later it was your dad who helped usher in new blood and the JFX. The old group was sounding more like “lazy bones,” the Johnny Mercer song, than even Watt Stewart and the Augmented 8 was singing in that era. We could feel the tension in the practice sessions and we knew, despite the pain, there was no gain without different personnel. (Dave Whitman and the “Tenor Clamp,” where are you?) Hank’s example led to retirement of the old crooners at the right time for a new sound. I did not like the fact that Hank had abandoned the group, but he was wiser than I. I felt grateful of a reprieve from the original “Foxhead Rejects” (as Sporty called us). In the end lots of people say, “Do as I say, rather than as I do.” Hank was never that way. He was a leader and a man of his word.
In the late-1980’s I was struggling with management of our family’s textile company, which had a long history and a dubious future. I sought the advice of several people I knew and trusted. Your father was on my list. He and I talked about high growth coming from unusual parts of the economy. Among your father’s menagerie of companies was a “rat trap” business that seemed to be cranking along with the decrease in garbage collection (from twice to once per week) and the explosion of the rat population in Baltimore (imagine that outcome!). His counsel at the time proved to be measured and thoughtful. I presented the different business cases for either adding divisions to the 200 year old family company, paring it down further to a core, or selling the company. He listened, understood the stakes, asked me particularly about the real estate, and gave me his thoughts. He was emotionally detached and wise, “Sell the money sucker, and get your father and his brother Jimmy a good pension! You are young and can find something else to do.” The real estate proved to be worth more than the operating companies. He had an eye for hidden value. I mourned the potential loss of the seven generation family business for awhile, but a few quarters later I took his advice and never looked back.
I saw your father at the very occasional funeral (Parker Mathai) or memorial service (Basil) and at various Greenspring Valley affairs over the years and at each interchange he was his same open and friendly self. He had an incredible loyalty streak (to Manning, for example), which I always admired. It would have been fun for me to have had the chance to visit with Hank on the sidelines of a Gilman baseball diamond or football game with Linn, Arthur or Ned in action, but the miles have been too long. I know he was proud of them, often citing Arthur’s Hole-In-One as part of his own personal legacy.
I understand from Preston Athey that it has been tough to watch his decline over the past few years. I am sorry to hear that news and I am sorry to have been away from Maryland for nearly a decade now. I miss being there to pay tribute to a man who had a wonderful, caring touch in my life. I will miss him. The entire Hooper family offers you, Josie, your boys, your mom and the rest of your family our deepest and most sincere condolences.
Sincerely yours,
— Henry
Obituary for Hank Worthington
Henry Miller “Hank” Worthington, a retired hardware executive and music lover who enjoyed waterfowl hunting, died Monday of complications from dementia at his Garrison home. He was 80.
Mr. Worthington, the son of a hardware executive and a homemaker, was born in Baltimore and raised in Forest Park and Garrison.
He was a 1948 graduate of Gilman School and attended Princeton University, where he played ice hockey and was captain of the skeet shooting team. He was an expert marksman, a skill inherited from his father, a 13-time Maryland state skeet and trap champion,” said a son, Edward H. “Ned” Worthington of Garrison. “While still at Princeton, he qualified for the U.S. Olympic skeet team.”
Mr. Worthington left Princeton and was attending the Johns Hopkins University when his father, H. Linn Worthington, who was a manufacturer’s representative for the hardware industry, died in 1951. He left college to take over the family business, H. Linn Worthington Co., which his father had established in the early 1900s.
In addition to managing his father’s business, he also owned and operated the Katchall Trap Co. and Wire Fabricators. Mr. Worthington’s professional memberships included serving as secretary and treasurer for the Eastern and Southern Hardware associations. Mr. Worthington retired in 2004.
A lifelong music lover, Mr. Worthington played a major role in establishing a volunteer choir at St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Owings Mills. In 1964, Mr. Worthington, who played the guitar, founded the Foxheads, a male a cappella singing group that performed around Baltimore and in other East Coast towns and cities, family members said. The group disbanded in 1995. Mr. Worthington also staged musicals, plays and Gilbert & Sullivan performances at his church.
Mr. Worthington was an avid baseball fan and had been an Orioles season ticket holder for 47 years. In 1966, he founded the Greenspring Little League, and his subsequent 12 years of coaching and overseeing the organization earned him the nickname of “Commissioner.”
Because Mr. Worthington never lost his affection for ice hockey, he designed and built an outdoor ice rink at the Green Spring Valley Hunt Club. “It’s a tradition that has been enjoyed by countless skaters and still endures today,” his son said.
Throughout his life, Mr. Worthington enjoyed waterfowl and upland hunting. He also loved retrievers and trained many dogs, including his favorite, Jet, a black Labrador retriever who was a Maryland field champion.
“Hank was a true friend who was always there when you needed him. He was also a great sportsman,” said Richard L. Cover, a longtime friend and hunting companion. “Over the years, we did a lot of duck shooting together. We used to shoot on the Choptank River outside of Cambridge,” he said. Mr. Cover, who also sang in the Foxheads with Mr. Worthington described him as being a “straight, honest and fine person.”
During the 1970s, Mr. Worthington served as a trustee of Gilman School and during his tenure was head of buildings and grounds.
Active in Republican politics, Mr. Worthington had managed political campaigns of Jervis S. Finney and C.A. Porter Hopkins, his son said.
An accomplished woodworker, Mr. Worthington established a small company, Sportables, which made tables, lamps and fire screens, among other products. He also enjoyed sailing.
He was a member of the Green Spring Valley Hunt Club, where he had served as secretary and a member of the board. He was also a member of Ducks Unlimited and the Bachelors Cotillon.
Services will be held at 11 a.m. Friday at his church, 232 St. Thomas Lane in Owings Mills.
In addition to his son, Mr. Worthington is survived by his wife of 52 years, the former Sallie Graham Hurst; another son, John H. Worthington of Garrison; a daughter, Jean Worthington Cross of North Kingstown, R.I.; and seven grandchildren.
fred.rasmussen@baltsun.com
Henry E. Hooper 