THE WRITING ON (AND OFF) THE WALL CHICK DID IT HIS OWN WAY.

Byline: TOM HOFFARTH

A writer's-eye view of Chick

December 20, 1995. Chick Hearn's consecutive-game streak was at 2,808 as he prepared in a hotel outside of snowy Milwaukee for the Lakers' next contest.

I called him to ask a few questions for a column I was working on.

Had he heard the recent whispers floating around the city? Some were saying that it was time to put his career in the refrigerator.

He'd been making some silly mistakes, stuff like calling the names of players who had been retired for years, fumbling over play description.

``I haven't heard it,'' he snapped. ``Besides, that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard.''

Then I did a stupid thing. I wrote a column that started out this way:

``Someday, someone's going to have to tell Chick Hearn it's time to retire as the Lakers' play-by-play man.

``It might as well be now, and it might as well be me.''

My concern, as I went on to explain, was that a man approaching 80 was asking for trouble by trying to keep up with the pace of NBA travel.

It was also a climate in which some sportscasters were blurting things out deemed so politically incorrect that their careers were put in jeopardy.

With his guard down, Chick could have easily have fallen into that waiting trap.

)He'd be forced to resign after saying something that was misconstrued. That almost snowballed a few years before when he commented on an all-white golf club in Kentucky that had allowed then-Laker Sam Bowie to be its first African-American member.

If forced to step down, how would Hearn be able to attend a grand retirement ceremony, when we'd put a banner in his honor up on the wall next to Chamberlain, West and Baylor?

``I promise you, I will be there,'' Hearn said about a retirement celebration.

The Lakers had a home game the day that column came out. Driving in my car, I happened to catch Chick's pregame radio talk show.

Boy, was he upset. So were the people calling in.

``It was bush league,'' he said about the words I wrote.

I was crushed. Why was I at fault for writing what I believed?

Then it dawned on me: Jack Kent Cooke. The former Lakers owner remained a close friend of Chick's. And Cooke happened to own the Daily News at the time. Chick must have felt some betrayal.

I wanted to call in, but I feared that would only upset him more. I mailed him a letter instead.

``I don't want to be the one to tell you retire,'' I started, though that's pretty much what the column had seemed to say. ``Maybe the tone and sentiments didn't come through clearly.

``People are asking about when you'll retire not because they don't enjoy your broadcasts. Even with mistakes - everyone makes them - it's great to listen to you. They worry about your health and the strain it puts on anyone who covers the NBA. < ``I understand your relationship with Mr. Cooke, and if this causes you to bring this story to his attention, I stand by what I wrote. I hope you recall our conversation was not antagonistic and (was) full of respect. I did not want to put you in a bad light.

``I hope to talk to you about this again sometime.''

The next time we had contact, I can't recall, but the subject didn't come up. I can't even be sure he ever saw my letter.

January 19, 1998. Chick just called his 3,000th consecutive game. Everyone was writing glowing things about him. I did the same.

A card arrived in the mail a few days later, from Chick's wife, Marge.

``I want to thank you for the kind words,'' she wrote. ``Everyone has been so nice to us. I think you cherish it more in your 80s than your 20s or 30s.

``We know you have a difficult job, too, so I wanted you to hear some credit on your work also. Kindest regards.''

My job, difficult? Never thought of it that way. Until today.

The toughest part is thinking that, as I predicted, Chick won't be at his retirement ceremony.

He did it his way. And that's the way it'll have to be.