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Harry L. Heusted, II, of Topeka, passed away Saturday, January 21, 2012 at home surrounded by his family, friends and loving dog, Hannah.
He was born January 7, 1945 in Hutchinson, KS, the son of Harry “Loring” and Rosemary (Horton) Heusted. He was a 1963 graduate of Highland Park High School and attended Washburn University.
Harry was employed by Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company in the Distribution Center, retiring in 2007 after 43 years of service.
Harry married Carol J. Connell Dickens on October 21, 1995 at Highland Park United Methodist Church, Topeka. She survives of the home. Other survivors include two siblings, Aletha A. (Jim) Wilson and Kevin D. (Terrie) Heusted, all of Topeka; and niece, Christine (Sherrick) Saunders, and their children, Brianna and Jordan; niece, Jennifer (Bill) Baldwin and their children, Taylor and Colin; nephew, Rob (Brenda) Wilson and their children, Paige and Raef; niece, Amanda (Mark) Foltz and their children, Kirsten, Lane, Bella and Evie; nephew, Branden Heusted; his aunt, Jean Heusted Tufts and family; a brother-in-law, Chuck (Renelda) Connell; a niece, Jessica and her son, Jace; and a nephew, T.J. (Beth) Wedeking and their daughter, Haley.
He was preceded in death by his parents, a brother, Leland Heusted and two great-nephews, Wesley and Michael.
Harry enjoyed camping, fishing, working in the garden, KU Basketball, a good bottle of wine, cooking for and spending time with family and friends. In the spring, he was an avid turkey hunter. He loved cars, especially street rods. He also restored antique cars. Harry had a great passion for all types of music, particularly the Blues.
Mr. Heusted was cremated. A memorial ceremony will be 11 a.m., Saturday, January 28, 2912 at the Highland Park United Methodist Church, 2914 SE Michigan Ave Topeka, KS 66605. The interment of cremains will be at the Hoyt Cemetery and a celebration of Harry’s life will be announced at a later date. Memorial contributions may be made to University of Nebraska Medical Center, Solid Organ Transplant Unit, 987400 Nebraska Medical Center Omaha, NE 68198-7400 or to Midland Care Hospice of Kansas, 200 SW Frazier Circle, Topeka, KS 66606. Penwell-Gabel Parker-Price Chapel is assisting the family.
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Russell Reynolds
http://www.penwellgabeltopeka.com/obituary-pg.asp?src=choice&obitid=54447&name=Harry+L.+Heusted&city=Topeka&st=KS
Mike Powell
Harry was one of the coolest guys to ever come out of Highland Park High School. Not Steve McQueen cooI, think Clark Gable without the sappy moustache, Johnny Cash with a little more meat on the bones; not McQueen boring cool, Harry was happening, wild time cool. If you spent time in Topeka in the mid-60's, say you were in to cars or music, maybe dipped a toe in the nightclub scene, certainly if you worked at Goodyear or hung with guys that did, nine chances out of ten you knew Harry. He was everywhere. And he had a great nickname, courtesy of Gene Conway, another cool guy out of HPHS. Back then there was this black guy in town, drove a nice car, very high profile kind of guy. Guy was universally known as Fat Cat. Well, Gene decided that white guys should have a counterpart; Harry drove a Corvette, was as cool or cooler than Fat Cat - so Gene christened him Fat Dog, and it stuck. He was Fat Dog, at times Mr. F Dog or Fat Doggie and, ultimately, Dog. Decades before the first thug thought it cool to say "What up, Dog?", Harry was Dog! And the Dog was Car Dog, he was GTO Dog, Corvette Dog, BMW 2002 TI Dog, Porsche 911 Dog and a whole litter of BMW 3-Series Dogs. You name and if it was cool American or German, he drove it. Put street slicks on that GTO in '65 and promptly blew three rear ends out of it. If you were a piece of equipment, living with Harry could mean burning your candle at both ends. But the Dog took care of his stuff too. I remember wandering over to his garage once in the late 70's and there was this beautiful step-side early 50's pickup, just pristine. I hadn't seen him in a while and didn't know about the truck. He told me about the restoration and the cap line was when he went a little wistful and proud, said "I've touched every part of that truck." That's right, he had taken it down to the last bolt and nut and brought it back complete, perfect.
The Dog always knew the good stuff; cars, the outdoors, wine and music. He knew the cool music, turned everybody on to everything from The Moody Blues to Ry Cooder and George Thorogood and The Delaware Destroyers. He was always on it first and right, right way more than wrong. Knew everything a man needs to know. He always had amazing depth to his mind. Lot of people run out of conversation when the gossip's over. The Dog could talk about anything. And he was a stickler for good behavior. I'd hate to count how many young guys talking trashy loud, trying to break in to the wrong party or stumbling around drunk scratching up his car got their eyes dotted by Harry. For a big guy, guy that had a touch of the lurch in him, he had a very quick, ferocious right hand. He was an usher at my wedding in Chicago in '86. The chapel did not allow flash photography. I laid that out for Harry and the other usher. The Dog said, "Anybody takes a camera out, I'm putting my thumb through their flash cube." Stepping out of line around the Fat Dog always meant the possibility of a thumb through your flash cube. He measured six foot but stood about six-four, always a little bigger than life.
I can't think of him without thinking of Gene Conway. They were great pals, inseparable. Batman and Robin, but you never could tell for sure which one was The Boy Wonder and who had the cape. Not great crime fighters, more masters of adventure, come misadventure. Whether it was something like say the Grand Prix at Montreal, putting up a house in the mountains outside Conifer or celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving at Gene's place where a tie was expected at dinner, there was Geno and the Dog, always cool, always happening. I remember Harry at Gene's memorial, me thinking he was the best looking, healthiest, snappiest dressed of all the peers that were there and I'll always remember the rehearsal dinner at that wedding in Chicago, meal was over and the toasts were going around. He stood up, lifted his glass and said with that big voice "Thirty years! I've known Mike thirty years." Well, it ended up fifty-five years and I'll never forget him, always a little bigger than life.
"Well, now they often call me Speedo but my real name is Mister Earl." - Speedo, lyrics by Esther Navarro. Often thought Mister Earl was another good name for the Dog.
Rest in peace, Harry.
Mike Powell