Thursday night, 10:16.
But instead, radio never sleeps. Here's the text that Ryan just sent out in a group to several of us:
Truth be told... it might have been me who messed with things. My brother and I were over at the transmitter site this evening doing some fine-tuning. I was messing with the dials so it should probably be me who goes and fixes it. It would be hard to walk someone through it over the phone. So in a few minutes I'll be putting on some shoes to drive down the Boulevard to our 93-year-old radio station.
Sometimes I romanticize local radio for the three or four of you. It's not just me exagerating things like I do on the show every morning, and it's not just me writing a Harlequin romance about being in love with radio. It's a higher calling, if you let it be, and that means driving down in the rain a thousand times in your your American, Radio Life. Almost every night I go to sleep listening to Jean Shepherd tapes from the early 1960s... and I'm reading the crap out of his book - Excelsior, You Fathead. That's how much radio means to me. If it sounds like I'm trying to fire myself to get up out of this warm bed to drive down to the station... then it is what it sounds like.
- I changed a tire live on the air.
- A fireman told a sad story about both of his sons dying.
- A woman left corporate America and opened up a spa and told about it.
In the evening, I went to an 8-woman panel discussion at Purdue. Alexis was part of it. She told her story of getting married and pregnant by the age of 19... of bouncing back from that to become an attorney and have more kids and own a local radio station. It's quite the story. Afterwards, six or seven women, young and old, waited around to talk to her. Everyone needs someone to give them hope.