There’s a lot of big stuff going on in the world that effects radio.
As discussed, president Trump’s “shithole” comment illustrates the disadvantage that radio faces in debating public issues. Cable and internet and even NBC can say “shithole,” but the 15,000 radio stations in America risk huge regulatory discomfort if we say “shithole.” This is a distinct competitive disadvantage.
There are two other big stories going on. You may be aware of them:
As far as changes to Facebook’s News Feed, you might not think at first that this effects radio and WJOB. But it does. Make no mistake about it. WJOB has changed. We used to be the little radio station that could. Now, we are the local leader in Facebook Live video.
In 2017, we earned 2.5 million Facebook Live video views. In the first two weeks of 2018, we have earned 150,000 views:
WJOB has changed. Facebook Live video is a big part of what we do. So when Facebook says they’ll highlight in people’s feeds what friends and family say over what professional news organizations say, I had to figure out what was going on.
One of the people who is being most outspoken about this change is Audrey Cooper, editor-in-chief of The San Francisco Chronicle. Audrey wrote a letter:
Letter to Mark Zuckerberg: Facebook News Feed change hides news, hurts nation
Cooper tells Zuckerberg how over the years “advertising dollars flowed out of our companies and over to you.” Cooper says that the Chronicle accepted this:
The Chronicle, which is big, and WJOB, which is little, did essentially the same thing. We followed people to Facebook.
Here’s where the game changed. Somewhere along the line, the Russians used Facebook to put up stuff that may have helped Donald Trump get elected over Hillary Clinton. According to the Journal:
You know what a big deal it is that Russia may have had a hand in electing our president. That’s what the Mueller investigation is all about.
But what does it mean to all of us when Facebook, which is the largest media company in the world, says that they’re gonna put up more baby pictures and less news from legitimate organizations? Cooper has an answer:
This is a real crisis. It’s not one that’s getting a lot of attention right now. But I am telling the three or four of you who read my blog this – If we don’t address the rules regarding media, and do it soon, we may be in a heap of trouble.
What I’ve been bitching about of late is that radio is shackled with all sorts of rules that Mark Zuckerberg is not. I propose that we level the playing field. Put it this way – who do you want making decisions about what information people in the Calumet Region see, me or Mark Zuckerberg?
That’s a question you will have to answer for yourself. But I put forward my more than 30 years of being in the media and my dedication not just to WJOB but to all of the Calumet Region. Release the shackles – all of the shackles – so that I can compete with Mark Zucerberg and we can have a say in what we see and hear. I pledge to you this: If you release the shackles, I will find a way to build a media that is ours and that is paramount in your life.
Not that we’re not paramount in your life right now. Our mix of AM and FM radio, along with Facebook Live and Twitter video, works well. We’re growing. But as the three or four of you know, I’m getting pissed off as hell that I have to do a bunch of things that Mark Zuckerberg does not.
And as anti-trust stuff… what would happen if The Times of Northwest Indiana and The Post-Tribune and WJOB all got together?
There very well may be anti-trust lawyers dragging us to court. And it is working together that may ultimately be the best way to keep local media strong. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Release the anti-trust issues and all of the shackles. Let us decide if we want to cooperate.
I have to keep coming back to Cooper’s letter to Zuckerberg. She says it way more eloquently that I could ever:
So amidst the shit-storm surrounding Trump’s “shithole” comment, wildfires gone wild in California, and a fake nuclear attack alert in Hawaii, Facebook slipped it in that they’re going to favor baby pictures over legitimate news posts.
So what does this mean for WJOB?
It’s hard to say. We differ from the San Francisco Chronicle in a fundamental way. The Chronicle, as far as I can tell, posts stuff on Facebook to lead people back to the Chronicle’s web site. That’s where they can make money off of the content.
We don’t do this. We don’t even put news posts per se on Facebook. We almost exclusively post live videos. Some of our talent posts previews of what is coming up or links to content that is elsewhere, such as a podcast. But I have attempted to keep them from doing this I sense that if I was Facebook I would want our live video content and would give it favor in the news feed algorithm.
We post mostly live video with people talking or doing something in the community. It could be an interview in the studio or a man on the street presenting a giant pierogi drop along 119th Street. Or it could be a high school basketball game or, now, a reality segment that people like Christina Cortez, Rick Kubic, Tony Panek and even attorney Dave Gladish are doing.
Ultimately, we give our content to Facebook. There’s no link back to our website.
It has been difficult to monetize the content that we hand over to Facebook. But, recently, there’s been a surge of interest in advertising with us because of our Facebook presence. It turns out that local businesses want local hosts to look at the camera and say how great their businesses are. And advertisers want to be part of televised broadcasts of high school basketball games. There is tremendous upside to using Facebook Live video for a local radio station. Just keep costs low and insert sponsorships dexterously.
Whereas The San Francisco Chronicle is trying to get people back to their website, WJOB has basically made Facebook Live our website. It hasn’t become my personal website. I put my blog on JimDedelow.com. You can go to Facebook to find some of my blog, but you have to refer back to JimDedelow.com to read the full post. In that regard, I’m more like the Chronicle than WJOB.
I side with Ms. Cooper in her letter to Mark Zuckerberg. It is possible, however, that the changes in the Facebook algorithm may actually increase WJOB’s Facebook presence. Facebook has to find a better way. Or, guess what? They’ll wind up with the same regulators who look over our shoulders looking over theirs. And maybe that’s how it should be.
…. There is another major thing going on in the world that pertains to radio. And that is the fake alert of a nuclear attack on Hawaii from North Korea. It was an alert sent to phones. As far as I can tell, the fake alert wasn’t based on radio stations using the Emergency Broadcasting System.
Lost in much of the discussion of the fake nuclear attack is this – if we’re going to use our phones for news of our demise, then what the hell do we need radio for? Why is there so much regulation and expense regarding the Emergency Broadcasting System while there is very little regulation and, hence, expense regarding alerts sent out to phones? I don’t get it, but I pay for it. And because I pay for the Emergency Broadcasting System and so do 15,000 radio stations across America, we have less money to pay for things like local shows and games. It’s a competitive disadvantage that I will live with and so will my compatriots. We want America to be safer because radio stations across America have a system.
Once again, there has to be a better way. Either make all emergency communication go through the emergency system on radio that was designed to handle it . Or regulate the new system on people’s phones so it too can have the kind of oversight necessary to get it right.
… That’s all I got for you this morning. It’s 8:06 now on Martin Luther King Day. I don’t do the morning show on Monday holidays. A bunch of texts are coming in. You don’t even want to know what they’re about. But I can tell you this – there may come a day when if I’m gonna do a controversial interview that I may turn the radio off.
Think about it. If I had a on a rapper or construction worker who swears a lot… or a politician who is very controversial… I might think about turning off the radio and just doing the interview in video on Facebook, where there are a lot less rules.
What would I run on the radio while the interview was going on?
“Hello everybody. This is Jim Dedelow. Right now, I am interviewing so-and-so on Facebook Live. Please go there to watch and listen to the interview.”
I could play that over and over on my radio stations… just to avoid the shackles.
I’m so confused.
Alexis and I just watched Saturday Night Live. Host Sam Rockwell said “fucking” and in a video they sang “dick” and “bitch.” During the funny news segment with Colin Yost and Michael Che, they said “shithole” several times. What gives?
It’s as if even Saturday Night Live is rubbing it in my face. As the three or four of you who read my blog know, I’m starting to get a little pissed as hell at the rules governing radio. They’re simply not fair.
All week long, after president Trump made his notorious “shithole countries” comment, all over cable and the internet they’ve been saying “shithole.” It’s a powerful and funny word. I want very much one morning to be able to walk out onto Indianapolis Boulevard and say the word “shithole.” The word makes me smile, like “weasel” and “shoehorn.”
At some level, since it’s been going on for so long, I even accept that due to antiquated regulation, I can’t say “shithole” but anyone on cable or the internet can.
But Saturday Night Live? They can say “fucking” and “dick” and “bitch” and I can’t?
“How come they can say ‘fucking’ on Saturday Night Live and I can’t say it on WJOB in the morning?”
“Because they’re NBC. They’ve got tons of lawyers. They can pay to defend themselves. We can’t,”
If you read this blog long enough, then you know who said that. My lawyer wife is sleeping in the bedroom next to the little office we have set up. I took a four-hour nap this evening. We went to see “The Post” with Streep and Hanks then we went to Doc’s Barbecue for a glass of wine and some baked beans.
The baked beans didn’t set too well with my stomach. It smells like a shithole right now in this bedroom turned into an office. I’m sorry about that. I’m actually sorry about a lot of things.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more when my mom had cancer. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t do the same for my uncled Ed. It would have been his 75th birthday today. My cousin Beverley posted a picture today on Facebook of Ed and Carol and the eight kids. They’re all Mormon, except for Ed of course. To his dying day he drank whiskey and swore. I miss my uncle Ed and I wish he were here to argue with me about decency on the radio.
To sum this up, even NBC is rubbing it into my face. All of the men and women driving by me at 5:30 in the morning on their way to the
can’t hear me say the words that they say every day. They say stuff like –
“I was drving to work and this fucking asshole cut me off at the corner of Indianapolis Boulevard and 173rd. Fuck that asshole.”
Or, “that cocksucker doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”
Or the simple, “This fucking Starbucks coffee is still too hot to drink. Fuck goddamn mutherfucking Starbucks.”
That’s how people driving by me in the morning talk. Some beep at me as they drive by. Maybe, like cable and the internet and NBC, they’re just beeping to rub it in my wrinkled fucking face that I can’t talk like they do.
It’s driving me crazy. My wife can tell. “Don’t you go saying those words. We’re not goddamn NBC. They can fucking pay for lawyers. We can’t.”
That’s the difference in this world? NBC and Donald Trump and Mark Zuckerberg can say whatever the fuck they want…. and me, this little fucking radio host standing on the street in Hammond, Indiana – I can’t say those things?
See previous comments in days gone by. Radio is doomed under these circumstances. I can’t talk like the people around me. I have to pay for an emergency broadcast system. Mark Zuckerberg does not. I have to pay a licensing fee to the FCC. Mark Zuckerberg does not. And I can’t say “fuck.”
“Don’t say fuck, daddy.”
I had a little swearing problem for a while, by the way. I grew up working on construction sites since I was 14. That might have something to do with it. Then I traded in the pits of the Chicago Board of Trade for a couple of decades. I’m not sure where there was more swearing. It’s about a tie.
But when the kids were little I swore all of the time. So one time Alexis and I and little Jeanie went up to the hospital at Rush Presbyterian St. Luke’s in Chicago. For whatever reason, Alexis had been in the hospital and, pursuant to regulations, after a stay there she had to be carted out of the hospital in a wheelchair.
It turns out that the guy wheeling her out also worked on the floor of the Board of Trade. As he pushed my wife in the wheelchair, I walked alongside and so did my young daughter, Jeanie, who listened intently to the conversation between me and the guy from the floor. I think that it was part of his public service for getting a DUI, but I didn’t ask.
After a long walk down a hallway, Jeanie started tugging at my shorts.
“Daddy, don’t say fuck, daddy. Mommy says don’t say fuck.”
I didn’t hear little Jeanie at first. That’s because in my fervor to talk Board of Trade stuff, I let Jeanie drift several feet behind us. And several feet behind her a group of nurses were walking… and laughing.
“Daddy,” Jeanie finally piped up. And for some reason we had come to an intersection of hallways, where everything echoed.
“Daddy,” Jeanie yelled so that a good 20 or so people walking by could hear. “Don’t say fuck. Mommy says don’t say fuck.”
Alexis, chained to a wheelchair, gave me, in Mexican vernacular, “El ojo.” That’s when you tilt your head and point your eye at your husband to remind him that he is the biggest dick in the world.
Oh, by the way. Alexis only had one eye with which to do “El ojo,” which means “the eye” in white people talk. I just remembered why she was in the hospital in the first place. One of the girls had scratched her eye while playing. They somehow split her cornea. She wore a patch on one eye.
Now I don’t know what the rules are regarding “El ojo.” I don’t know if it still qualifies as “El ojo” if there’s only one eye available to give it. Does “El ojo” require two eyes? Or, since it is in the singular anyhows, can you get away with just one ojo. Let me know when you figure this out.
And let me know also when you figure out how Sam Rockwell on NBC, Don Lemon on CNN and anyone remotely associated with Mark Zuckerberg can say “shithole”…. and I can’t. It bugs the fuck out of me. It’s not just that I like the word “shithole.” It’s that, as mentioned before, it puts me at a competitive disadvantage to cable, the internet and, now, to NBC. They can say things that I can’t. Radio is doomed until this situation changes.
And what if it does change?
What if the FCC comes out with a dictum on Tuesday (Monday is Martin Luther Kind Day) and says that there are no more so-called decency rules?
Aha. You got me. You’ve painted me into a corner. I have a fucking plan for this. Put it this way, if the powers that be remove the shackles on local radio, we will respond accordingly. This is an appropriate moment to tell a Leo Chruby story.
Who the fuck is Leo Chruby?
Growing up, we lived next door to the Chrubys. We didn’t just live next door to them. We shared a driveway and a basketball hoop and parking spaces. Through a quirk in suburban design, we didn’t have any privacy from the Chrubys, nor them from us.
There was Mr. Chruby, who on hot days sat in both of our driveways and drank Miller beer and spat tobacco juice into a clear jar. There was Mrs. Chruby. She once started crying in the kitchen as a very important Catholic event was about to happen in the early 1970s.
“The Russians are gonna bomb us, Joey. The Russians are gonna bomb us. The pope is coming to America. The Russians are gonna bomb us.”
Joey, of course, was my best friend growing up. We were the same age and we were both decent athletes. I veered off to reading books in the basement. And Joey veered off to drinking in fifth grade and to stealing his dad’s Playboys. But we met in the garage to look at Raquel Welch’s naked tits and smoke cigarettes. I miss Joey Chruby, by the way, and it was good to see that he sent me a happy birthday message on Facebook.
Joey was the youngest. Lori was the oldest. Leo was the next oldest And then Tommy was a few years older than Joey. I could make a shit ton of money just writing Chruby stories. Mrs. Charlotte Chruby, as my dad often says, deserves to be a saint. I believe this. Not only did she have to deal with some of the most unruly children ever to wear black socks and white tennis shoes, she also volunteered as a nurse at St. Catherine Hospital in East Chicago for, like, 30 years.
Once Mrs. Chruby took Joey and me to the hospital for her shift. We ran around Washington Park and met some young black kids and played hide and seek and then threw dirt balls at passing train cars. It was fun. After the fun, we came and sat in the waiting room at the emergency room. And since I can’t sit still unless there’s words around, I’ll be damned if I didn’t see Mrs. Charlotte Chruby’s name on the wall.
“30 years of service.” And underneath there were several women’s names.
“30 years of service as volunteers in the service of our Lord, the Almighty.”
And there was Mrs. Chruby’s name engraved into this plaque.
“Joey. You mean to tell me that your mom comes here every day to care for sick people and she doesn’t even get paid?”
“I guess so. Let’s go stick our hands up the candy machine and steal a Snickers bar.”
That was Joey. I miss his sadistic laugh. He lives in Florida now. We talk every couple of years, but when there’s so many people between you who died too young, it’s just not that easy to talk.
Anyways, one of his dead brothers, Leo, talked with a lisp. And one time I was taking the train to Chicago and Leo was on it. There was a general rather confusing conversation – that was really the only kind you could get with Leo – but he kept saying something to me that has stuck. He grabbed my arm and kept saying it, as if he were some sort of messenger from the land beyond.
“You gotta have a thucking pwan, Jimmy. You gotta have a thucking pwan.”
Leo’s plan involved art… and old-time radio. I dropped by his house one time and walked into what used to be Joey’s bedroom.
“What the fuck are all of these tapes, Leo?” I asked.
“Thothe are thucking oldtime radio tapeth, Jimmy. I lithen to ‘em at night.” And he played a couple for me. I didn’t recognize the voice at the time, but now that I think about it, one of them was a tape of an old Jean Shepherd show from when he did late-night radio at WOR in New York City.
Leo played the tapes then sat in his listening chair. Now, just to be clear, Leo was a troubled soul. As a matter of fact, he’s still a legend around here for how much he could drink. He used to walk to Johnny’s Tap and then stumble home the half a block. One time, the police picked him up off of the sidewalk. They took him to the hospital for a blood test. And there it is – you can check it out if you want to – Leo recorded a record-breaking 0.52 in blood alcohol content. He was a great artist, but he was a great drinker, too. The two go hand in hand way too much for my liking.
Leo and I hung out in Joey’s old bedroom. All four walls were covered floor-to-celing with cassettes of old radio shows categorized into genre – drama, comedy, mysteries, sports. On each tape there was a short description of the contents, written neatly. Whoever wrote it, and I’m assuming it was Leo, took great care.
Leo sat in the chair and played excerpts from tape after tape. And during one of the tapes, he did something that I rarely saw him do in his life. He smiled. During a funny bit between a male and a female, he nodded his head and smiled.
“Now that’th radio, Jimmy. That’th fucking radio.”
Leo died a long time ago. I don’t know where the tapes are. But I do know that what Leo said on the train to Chicago that one time has stuck with me. “You gotta have thucking pwan, Jimmy. You gotta have a thucking pwan.”
I have not heeded Leo’s advice very often in my life. I really haven’t had a pwan at all. My Radio Life, as has been mentioned before to the three or four of you, is a series of moments toppling on top of each other. It’s disorganized at best. Chaos often.
But get this straight, if there’s anybody out there listening other than the three or four of you, release the shackles on local radio – all of the shackles – and you will be amazed what can happen in our local communities. Radio will return with a vengeance.
And, for once in my life, I will follow Leo’s advice. I have a thucking pwan for that.
I was laying in bed just now next to my wife. The covers were riding up on my neck, so I kicked them down with my leg.
Boy was that a mistake. Every once in a while – every six months or so – when I do this, my calf muscles go into a deep cramp. The whole lower half of my leg locks up.
“Owww. I got a cramp,” I said as I sat up straight to grab my leg.
“Oh my god, you really do,” my wife said, waking from a deep sleep.
I thrashed about the bed for what seemed like the length of your average dream, and then the leg finally loosened. I laid there for a while thanking whoever for taking the vice grip off of my lower leg.
“Maybe I need to drink a little water these days. Or cut down on salt,” I thought as I lay there thinking about things. And one of the things running through my mind is you.
“Man. I better sit down and write a blog for those three or four people – and for the broadcasting students at a small liberal arts college in the East in 50 years. I am shirking my duty.”
That’s right. I am. The general agreement is that I will record My Radio Life as a matter of history and ridiculousness. We all know – us five – that radio is dying. For it to survive, it has to turn into something else. This blog, if nothing else, tells that story.
I have another general agreement. It’s between me, as the owner of radio station WJOB, and the people of the Calumet Region. The agreement is that I will go on the air and talk about local things. I will take calls from local people and texts and emails and Facebook comments and HeyJED messages… and I will mash them all together and call it a radio show. And, as owner, I will coddle together a bunch of radio shows and, now, a bunch of Facebook Live videos, to make a homegrown media company that we can all engage in and be proud of.
Sometimes there is clash between the two agreements. First, there is the duty to the listeners and viewers of the Calumet Region. Secondly, there is the duty to the three or four of you and to broadcasting students of the future. When these two clash, who takes preference?
Radio always wins. That’s my destiny. WJOB, in all of its flaws and missed targets, is what I have dedicated myself to. Radio comes first. I’m sorry. You lose.
And radio has come at me at a furious pace. That and Facebook Live video and courses at Purdue Northwest. And my birthday celebration and retirement parties and apprentice training sessions and sales calls. There’s a lot that goes on that you never hear about because I don’t have the time to sit and write it down. I wish I did. There’s a lot in here of historical significance as radio turns into something that it is not.
This week, we got to deal with the comments of president Donald Trump. Here’s what he allegedly said in reference to people from Haiti, El Salvador and Africa:
“Why do we need all of these people from shithole countries?.... Why can’t we get more people from Norway?”
Now this is good stuff for talk radio. As the three or four of you know, every morning between 5:30 and 6am, I walk out onto the sidewalk along Indianapolis Boulevard with a camera and microphone and broadcast from outside. It’s a lot of fun. And on Thursday morning, I had an extra amount of fun.
I cracked jokes about the shithole comment to make myself laugh. There is no audience that I can see laughing with me, remember. Unless of course you count the cars and trucks that beep as they go by. That’s a good feeling to know that they’re safe and warm in their cars listening to WJOB. Many of them are on their way to the steel mill or the refinery. That is a really Region thing to do, by the way – listen to WJOB on your way to the mill or refinery.
The difficulty was that I had to find a decent way to say “shithole” on the radio without actually saying “shithole.” I settled on “S-hole,:” but as I go back and watch the Facebook Live video of that morning, it sounds all too close to “Asshole.”
Note to self – don’t use “S-hole” on the radio in reference to the president’s comments. A caller, Bob, defended Trump’s comments, saying that there is nothing false in them. “Why do we need a bunch of people from Haiti and the poorer countries of Africa. They don’t really add anything to America.” Bob said. His comments, as all comments from callers, are important to me and to the rest of the listening and watching community. But what is also important about the conversation with Bob is that he introduced a new term –
Bob used this terms several times on the air – “The president’s right. Why do we allow these people from craphole countries to come here and mess up America?”
Now this is the beginning of a good discussion on talk radio early in the morning when it’s still dark. I had fun with this discussion. But I couldn’t help picturing, the whole time that Bob was doing his soliloquy, a craphole. Not a specific craphole. More like a big anus in the sky. For some reason, even though “shithole” is not allowed on WJOB, “shithole” doesn’t elicit nearly as clear of an image of someone defacating as “craphole” does.
When you hear “shithole,” you think of people waking up on cardboard boxes next to mud and used, but not thrown away, plastic milk bottles. When you hear “craphole,:” you think of waste material getting thrust out of someone’s butt and falling. It’s a much more visceral image, almost as if you’re underneath in the toilet bowl looking at the whole process.
And maybe even smelling it. In sum, “shithole,” which is not allowed, does not bring nearly as nasty an image as “craphole,” which I believe is allowed.
Why does this matter, these images of defacation?
Because it’s a matter of who gets the competitive advantage in reporting the comments of the president of the United States. All week long, the newspapers across America had the word “shithole” plastered across their front pages. “Shithole” appeared in online text news stories and in headlines of web pages.
You could turn on CNN, which is on cable and not subject to same rules that WJOB is, and listen to announcers say “shithole” in debating how racist and insensitive the president’s comments were. You could log onto Facebook and read or listen or watch millions of people use the word “shithole” in their posts.
“Shithole” was everywhere. Except for on WJOB and 15,000 other radio stations in America.
“Big deal,” at least a couple of the three or four might say. “Big deal – so you can’t say ‘shithole’ on the radio.”
But, ah, it is a big deal. When you can say something on media A and you can’t say it on media B, if people want to talk about that thing you can’t say, they’ll eventually drift to media A. There is a competitive advantage for media A. It’s that simple.
After a while, the people who want to injest the president’s comments freely without the awkwardness of having to refer instead of say… those people may eventually choose the place where you can talk about it instead of the place where you can’t talk about. In the battle against cable and the internet, then, radio once again loses.
If you’re one of the regular three or four, then you understand that I am starting to understand that it isn’t just that the internet and cable are formidable foes. It’s that they operate under a different set of rules. This set gives them a competitive advantage. It’s not just that the internet connects people better in a two-way form of communication – it’s that they don’t have regulators looking over their shoulders to see if they:
Think about it. What if you could get in your car and turn on WJOB and there I was standing out on Indianapolis Boulevard freezing my ass off and yelling at cars going by –
“Hey, are you from a shithole country?”
“Let me know if you run into anyone from a shithole country today?”
I, of course, was singing a little bit as I always do that early in the morning when it’s dark.
“Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall
All you have to do is call people an ‘S-hole’
And they won’t be there.
We have no friends.”
The only problem is that as I strolled up and down in the 20-degree weather – with a 20 mile an hour wind – singing an amended version of the Carole King hit… it must have sounded as if I was saying:
“All you have to do is call people an Asshole.”
So, in all irony, in my attempt to avoid the attention of federal regulators, I actually may have skipped over a relatively benign swear word – “shithole” – to jump to what some may have construed as a more powerful swear word – “asshole.”
So it goes. In the end, I lay in bed on a sunny Saturday morning thinking about the ludicrousness of all of the rules pertaining to radio. They are rules from a different time when our culture was different and the only real way you could get information was through your Motorola radio. Yes, there had to be some regulation because if you could control radio, you could control the world.
But now radio is just one piece – a fading piece – of a much larger milieu of communication. Until we realize this new reality, radio is doomed. Roger my words on this. Until we change the rules, radio is doomed.
….. A lot happened this week in My Radio Life that I want to tell you about. But can we do it later? The cramp in my leg has subsided and I have a pretty Mexican wife sleeping soundly in the bedroom next to where I’m typing to you. I think I’ll go in and play with her for a while. You and I can talk later.
The weeping willow at the cemetery
waves way too wildly for my
Hi, hi, hi, it says when there’s a
Whoa, look at me. I can do
somersaults, it says in