Brian's Blog - "Second Chances"

The room wasn't more than 8 feet long and about 12 feet wide.  Along one of its cinder-block walls stood a cabinet a records that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.  Another wall featured slots for those smaller, 45rpm records, all listed alphabetically.  One wall was glass that looked into the room featuring our 5,000 watt A.M. transmitter.  Make that, a.m. STEREO transmitter.  And the fourth wall featured a window that looked out onto the gravel parking lot, and down Roguelea Lane.

It was in this room, I performed my very first radio broadcast.  Then, for the next several years, began honing my skills as a professional radio announcer.  With the single window mentioned previously, it was dark even in the middle of the afternoon.  I remember sitting in the chair behind the control board.  It was like piloting my own plane, as I'd ready for take-off by placing the recording player in "cue" and placing the needle on a piece of vinyl.  Then, volume pot up, ignition, and the announcement from the tower.  Moving the microphone position to "on," I'd make my flight plan clear.

"Thank you for listening to KA-JO, here's Johnny Mathis and 'Chances Are.'"

As the plane rumbled down the runway and the first notes began, I would take a deep breath.  Once Johnny's voice began, I knew my take-off had been cleared.  The last thing I needed to do once airborne was to take-up the landing gear.  With my left hand, I reached up, and toggled the microphone back to the "off" position.  Every step was very important for a successful flight, and every step was part of a bigger process of a safe flying record.

I wish I could remember how old I was on the day I fondly refer to as "turbulence" day.   It was definitely my early 20's, which is probably all that's really important.  After all, I was the kid who grew up really fast.  My on-air radio career began at age 18, and almost overnight, I had to grow-up.  The radio station catered to adults much older than I was, and to fit-in with the older announcers, I would need to mature much faster than others my age. 

Carl was the boss' son, and part of a trio of Wilson mentors who helped make me the professional, and the man, I am today.  On this particular afternoon, I was NOT feeling the age I should have been acting, and Carl was in a fun mood as well.  He came inside the studio door as I was playing a record and we began talking.  Eventually the words turned to fits of laughter.  Again, I wish I could remember the reason for the light-hearted mood, but I guess it's really not important.   He, too, was a kid forced to grow-up really early, so it was always nice to have a few bonding moments over some laughs most would consider juvenile.

The song had ended, and I was able to put my "radio face" on, make my announcement, then go to a commercial.  However, this was just an act.  Up until seconds ago, Carl and I had been carrying on and laughing.  Now that the commercial was, I felt I could return to that jovial moment, and resume the silliness.  I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms out and upward.  I opened my mouth, as if I were about to burst out in operatic song. 

Only this was no song.

Carl's eyes widened as from my inner-most being erupted a belch of approximately a magnitude 4.0 on the mouth-gas scale.  The release was extraordinary, and likely could have been award-winning had they handed out the burp equivalent of an Oscar.  In dramatic form, I held my pose...arms outstretched and hands up, almost as if I were waiting for applause to begin.

As the commercial continued to play inside my headphones, the rest of the studio fell into stupefied silence.   Sensing I was about to follow my gassy performance with uproarious laughter, Carl held up his hand to stop me.  Eyes wider than ever, his face that once twisted with laughter had become stern and rigid.  As his left hand remained up as if to say "stop," his right finger gestured towards the control board.  It all happened in seconds, but it seemed like I was playing a 45 at 16 speed.  I watched as he mouthed a message to me without ever uttering a sound.  Even the unskilled lip reader could decipher the words he mouthed in silence.

Your mic is on.

My head slowly looked down at the control board.  Someone had forgotten to bring up his landing gear.  Almost instinctively, I looked down to my left.  The two main phone lines to the station were ringing.  I looked back up at Carl, and then, like a gunslinger reaching for his pistol, my hand raced up onto the board, switched the microphone off, then returned to my side.

"Do you think anyone heard it?" I asked.

"I'd bet EVERYONE heard it." he responded.

To this day, I don't know for sure if anyone heard my belch over the airwaves or not, as the sweet ladies answering the phone said they neither heard it nor took a call about it.  It likely was one of those moments you're listening to something, hear a sound out of place, and wonder "Was that?  No, it couldn't have been."

It was.

It's a long and fun story to share, and it popped back into my head this morning as I was reading through social media about a company that made a move not appearing to be very sensitive in nature.  Yet, for whatever reason, made a statement the next day admitting the move was a mistake, and pledging to be more sensitive to the cause.

It made me think of that day, and Carl.  I committed a cardinal sin over the airwaves.  But the next day, we laughed about it, and to this day, I continue to double-check and make sure my microphone is off before I say or do anything that shouldn't be for public consumption.  Lesson learned, and he forgave me, something he, his brother, and his father would do a lot of over the next several years.  He didn't give up on me, he didn't cast me out, and he didn't delete me.

No matter where you sit on the political or religious spectrum, isn't there something to be said for someone who makes a mistake, admits it was a mistake, and takes steps to correct said mistake?  How can we expect others to change if we're not willing to accept when they do change?  Sure, a business could be motivated by lost customers to abruptly change course and do what's right, but isn't doing what's right most important?  Does it really matter how they get there?

At a time when we all wish things were different, I fear we've lost the ability to acknowledge when a mind, heart, or decision is changed.  It makes me sad that those who want change feel it's still not enough when they get that change.  What do you really want?  Just as pride gets in the way of an apology, that same pride can also blind those demanding an "I'm sorry" from seeing that exact sentiment that may be worded differently. 
 
If we lose our ability to forgive, we might as well just forget about it.

Brian's Blog - "Good Grief"

"You're kidding me."

We had just finished unwrapping presents, and were about to sit-down to Christmas dinner.  There was a huge feast set on the counter, with all the scents and smells you'd expect, including a roast beef that literally kicked my salivary glands into overproduction.

But my appetite was gone.

Another person in the room was checking his Facebook stream, and read the news out loud:  George Michael is dead.





Immediately the flashbacks of a teenage Brian came flooding back.  I had just got home from the drug store where I had purchased what would become my prize possession for the next couple of years.  I had first seen the group "Wham" on MTV, and that first single was unlike anything I had ever heard.  Cassette in hand (I feel old having to explain this, so I won't.  Kids, Google "cassette"), I rode my bike back home as fast as I could.
 
The very first song that came out of my bedroom speakers was THE song.  I wasn't much of a dancer, but I still felt the rhythm.  Looking back, I think the innocence of the whole thing is the most touching.  I played the entire album...er cassette... "Make It Big" from start to finish, over and over, about 4 times that afternoon.

Yet it wouldn't be until years later that I would truly come to appreciate the talents that belonged the George Michael.  Sure, he had his struggles, and his dark moments, but so did Sinatra, my all time favorite.  George Michael's voice and writing talents were giant leaps above his contemporaries.  His voice.  Wow, so clear and yet so breathtaking.  I never EVER could sing that high, but don't for a minute think I didn't constantly try.

He would eventually record Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," and to this day, it's my favorite recording of his.  Sure, he had many other songs with very powerful messages, but there is something about how he treats every line that brings tears to my eyes right now just thinking of it.  It cuts me to the core, with a beauty I'm not sure I've ever experienced in a song since.
When I heard George had died, I heard his voice in my head singing this song.

When something or someone is suddenly gone, what's the first thing you think about?  You feel loss, but what is it that comes to mind about that person?  Whatever it is, I believe that first thought is likely a memory of a time and place when that person's words, their smile, their laugh, or their song touched you in a way no other person could.  Not to say you haven't felt touched like that since, but it was the way that person was in THAT moment that changed something inside you.
I think this is why I titled this post "Good Grief."

I learned a long time ago that everyone grieves differently, and that it's really not your place to judge how or why someone else grieves.  Grief can leave you feeling lonely, heartbroken, and sometimes inconsolable.  Yet through grief, we're also forced to remember those moments...the small, seemingly trivial moments...and that one moment I wrote about in the last paragraph.  And I think that's a good thing.  We always have our memories, and while sometimes they don't seem enough, they help us remember the impact that person had on our life.

To me, that's what life is about: Becoming vulnerable enough to love and to lose.  In those moments, I grow the most.  Not that either are extremely comfortable, but in every relationship I have, there was THAT moment.  And it couldn't have happened had I not been extremely open, precariously vulnerable, and recklessly willing.  The payoff?  I know I'm a better man for it.  Just like the Grinch, I think my heart grows a little bit larger each time it happens.

Perhaps the best tribute to those you've loved and lost is remembering "the moment" you shared with them.  Maybe it's that one thing that defined what that person meant to you.  Maybe it was a silly moment,  or perhaps an intense moment.  Whatever it was, in that moment, you bonded in a way that's hard to explain.  And I believe that's why when that person is gone, your mind and your heart find it's way back to "the moment."

My Grandma Daisy: Sitting in church with her on her lap, as she tracked a pencil around the fingers in my outstretched hand.  I looked up at her, and I can still see her smile.

 

My Grandma Wink: Sitting in the audience of "The Price Is Right."  She couldn't stand the show, but knew I wanted to go since I was 4.  She took me there, and really made a dream come true.

 

Big Jim Wilson: The first time he said "Good job, Beejer."  I was 23 years old, and had just finished my first day on air replacing the morning man of over 30 years.

 

Jane Shannon: The very first time we co-anchored a newscast together.  She burped, and I farted.  You would really have to know both of us to understand how momentous of a moment that was.  Usually when I get the giggles, my co-anchor can bail me out.  This was the only time I ever had to go to commercial because both of us couldn't stop laughing.

 

Walter Cronkite: In the 5 minutes I had with him at "Happy Hour" he asked me about the kind of stories I preferred to write.  I tried to be cool, and he stopped me.  "What do you really like to write, Brian?" As he took a sip of his drink, I responded "I really like to write about people, and the good things they do."  Uncle Walter put down his drink and said "Kid, you're leagues ahead than the others here."

 

Frank Sinatra: I never met the man, but the first time I heard his recording of "The Summer Wind," I felt his unique phrasing, storytelling, and sense of rhythm hit me between the eyes.  It felt like my eyes were opening for the first time.

 

Carrie Fisher: After the most delightful 5 minute interview I had in a long time, her bear hug around my neck indicated she felt the same.  Gosh, I wish I could find that picture.

I'm reading posts by a lot of people who are pretty upset with 2016.  We have lost a lot this past year.  But I guarantee your day, and your new year will be better, if you take the time to remember how and when that person made such an impression on you.

I've laughed and cried, and you might do the same, but I bet you'll eventually find something to smile about.