Questions of My Childhood

"Well I walk the road of life among the strong, among the weak
And I ask them for the shortcut to the answers that I seek
But it seems nobody understands what is and what will be
Oh, the questions of my childhood weave a web of mystery..."      Kansas    1976

Lillian Webster Raley and young Guy 1908

Hard to believe my father would be 105 this year. I've decided to post a few things this father's day to rid myself of the stink I've put on him. I don't think my father liked kids much. The impression I get when I talk to my older brother (who is in his 80s) is that dad didn't like him much either. I know one thing, I didn't know him. At all.


I know for a fact however, how much my father loved the women of his sons. He adored my brothers wives and mine, too. I remember when I first decided to leave the factory and follow my dream to be a "DeeJay". It was something that my father couldn't understand. Follow your dream? I think my dad in his early life did what his dad told him to do. A lot. He expected the same in return and when he got me the job at the factory, I think he thought it was going to be a forever deal. But, I wanted to be on the radio and he was absolutely furious and when my wife and I split, I swear to God, he sided with her. "You're an idiot to walk away from this job. You could be retired in 30 years." I could also hate my fucking life for thirty years, too. "DJ?" "DJ?" "Stupid pipe dream" he said.

One day, somewhere around 1930, in the middle of the depression, my dad took off from Chicago to LA to "find himself" as my brother told me. He left behind a family(a wife and two kids) in Chicago. He never went back to them. My older brother, who I visited in Spokane a few years ago said his mom told him my dad left for Arizona because of his "allergies". My father was allergic to poison ivy and that was it. When I went out to visit my brother Adam, (who as a priest fell in love with a nun and they both received personal dispensation from the Pope), his first remark to me was, "I hope you're not here to learn about dad, because I didn't know him, either". Great.

My father 1937

As the story goes, my father was, according to who you talk to, a private detective in LA. I never figured my father for that kind of work, but I hear he was pretty good at it. He was also, in his spare time, one hell of a prize fighter in the circuit out there.
I found out how good he was when I was 17 and received one of the worst beat downs of my life over me working and not paying rent at the house. "You make enough money, you can start paying rent." "Bullshit" or something like that I said. I told him that I've been wanting to take him out for a long time but I'd feel bad about beating an old man. There wasn't much left after that. My mom said he hit me twice. I don't remember much after the first one. He caught me dead square on the jaw and that was it. I left home the next day, over the objections and the tears of my mother.

My father was one hell of a handyman. There wasn't much he couldn't fix. Each time we moved into a house, the routine was the same, he'd tear it down and build it back up from the inside to the outside WHILE we lived in the house. Then, he'd sell it and we'd move again. I wish he had the patience to have taught this inquisitive young boy how and what he did. He would just shoo me away.

My father and mother never showed any kind of affection. I never saw them kiss each other and never can remember them holding hands or dancing or...anything like that. The old guy was 50 when I was born and 53 when my sister arrived. Needless to say, we had very little in common. I think he deliberately chose the second shift because it kept him away from us. He never attended a sporting event that his kids were in, never went to a play, never showed much of an interest in anything that concerned his kids. I remember one little league game where I caused the winning run to score. I was crying about it when I got home and his response was ..."well, quit then, shit." So, I did. He never pushed me to be good in school, never inquired about my grades. I never got it.

Randy. William Guy sr, William Guy jr. 1958

I wonder if having kids so late in life caused him to be disinterested or what. I know for a fact that my mom cheated on him. We were cruising along one day and then, out of the blue, we move 500 miles away to a farm. And stay there. Something happened and my theory is this. My father got to an age where he couldn't perform. My mother, being 21 years younger than him, is not going to go the rest of her life without sex. She was a very sexual woman and even as a kid, I could sense that. I also think it was with a family member (by marriage) and my dad found out. So, we were sent away, which seemed to be the way my dad dealt with stuff. Just leave.

William sr, Randy, William jr 12 years later

The farm was myself, my sister, my mother, grandfather and grandmother. Four miles east of Ava, Mo off county road FF. My older brother was there for a short time, became small town restless and bored and got caught breaking and entering into the drug store in town. That's one early Saturday morning I'd like to forget. What to do? Dad's 500 miles away, so they make a plea deal where my brother went into the Army. Shit. Great. It's only friggin 1966. Viet Nam was getting to be a pretty popular name back then.
After three years where I become completely detached from everyone and learn to be alone, we moved to a 800 square foot house on Campbell's Island and while all four of us are there, he decided to remodel the whole thing. By himself. He always did that. He sold the house and we moved back to the farm, this time with him. Not long after he moved to the farm, he remolded the whole thing again, with us inside. He nearly died from a heart attack in 1970. With Springfield having the closest hospital 60 miles away, we decided to move back to East Moline. My father took it easy from that point on, only remodeling part of this new house on Oaklwan Ave.

I, for the most part, am glad I spent a great deal of time on a farm, it taught me that work goes on day after day, no matter the weather, no matter the circumstances. The basic principles of hard work were taught to me during that time.


By all accounts, my father was an honorable man, paid his bills on time, had great, long lasting friendships with people from the shop and the bowling league we went to every Sunday night. My dad worked hard, too.

He went to work every day, sick or well, and did the same job every night for 30 years at International Harvester in East Moline. My father's family hated my mother,too. She was a "floozy". She lacked the proper attributes for being a "lady". She did, however get along with my fathers mother, who, in her day was a stunning woman. Granny did not come from wealth but married into it. She could see the tough, scrappy person in my mother and maybe recognized her as being of a familiar ilk.  I think my mom and my dad's mom were tough, stubborn southern broads who took no shit from anyone. I only remember her as being very old. She died in 1967 at the age of 88.

I also think my grandfather was extremely hard on my dad. I think grandpa (who died in 1953 of a heart at the age of 65) was a stern, serious man. There was very little humor in that household as each of my dad's siblings were dry as toast, except his sister,w ho was one of the most hateful, profane woman I have ever known. She showed outward disgust for us kids. She was a smoking, drinking, swearing almost evil person who was married to the person rumored to have been with my mom. Hell, I don't blame him. I hated Aunt Bette and dad's brothers were...old.

My father upper left. He was the short one. Damn.

My dad grew up on a hemp farm in central Kentucky. They grew, harvested and processed hemp for the most part on their own farm. I drove past the house one day when I was a kid and a had just learned what the word mansion meant. I would today say plantation. A very huge house with servants. There is a picture of my dad with a young black child. Dad called him Seymour.  My dad came from the "monied" part of Hodginsville KY.

It seems all was well in the Raley house until one day, when my dad was in Calfornia, the US Government outlawed hemp. Thank God they saved their money, but really, it pretty  much devastated the whole family and certainly cut into any (none) dollars that may have made it down this far on the genealogy tree. He immediately came back from California and went work to support the family. Apparently, my dad and his dad had a severe falling out also and were never close again.

 My dad was a fair man although his definition of fair is still being debated. He had an underlying feeling that us kids were pretty much unable to be much. I think we were in the way. He didn't have much patience for the nuances of everyday fatherhood. He didn't understand the passion and love I had for a)radio and b)basketball, even though he had to have applied the same principles in boxing. He forced me to quit going to radio school when I was sixteen because he thought there were better ways to spend my money. I was even paying for it. I worked steadily and regularly through high school with sometimes three jobs going on at once. I got that from him. I've always worked hard and have his work ethic.

I never ever saw him look at my mother the way a husband should look. I never saw them go out to dinner. I never saw them do something fun together. I never saw them laugh. I never saw them connect. I never heard him tell her he loved her.

One thing my father gave me was toughness. I have walked through some of the more dangerous, more terrifying mine fields this life has to offer. I've been sick, I've lost everything and gained it back, I've broken hearts and had mine broken. I've lost just about everyone in my family. And I'm still here. So, while my father never really showed much emotion (the only two times I saw him cry was when he hugged his son goodbye on his way to Viet Nam the first time and when his 15 years old daughter told him she was pregnant), he seemed to have answers to everything. He could figure out a way to get something done and if thst didn't work, he woudl have a plan B set up.

One summer day as my dad was unloading plywood from his truck, he and my also ex-boxer uncle got into an altercation. My uncle, being 20 years his junior, was mouthing off and me being 13, didn't have much of a chance to do anything if this escalated. Bang! My uncle sucker punched the old man (he was 65 then) and down he went. As my uncle walked away, my dad grabbed his ankle, tripped him, and proceeded to beat the absolute hell out of him. And then just walked away. That was impressive.

My father, in the normal sense sucked as a father. But as a teacher, I learned toughness, how to be cool and calm under pressure, how to work hard and to always conduct yourself with a modicum of class and decency. Finally, one of the first I learned from him was what NOT to do when dealing with my kids. I love you is spoken freely and there's no question how much I love them. All three have graduated from college, something that wasn't important to my father so he never thought it would be important to me. I have been there to help pick up the pieces when they fall. But, like my father, I've allowed them to fail. So much I've had to unlearn, and so much I've carried from him that lies just below the surface.

He's given me my DNA and as I get older, he appears to me more and more when I look into the mirror. Physically, I'm becoming him. Mentally, emotionally and spiritually, he's not the man I am, but ironically, I wouldn't be this way without the not normal childhood I went through.

Funny thing about the radio deal. After it was all said and done and the pieces of my life were being picked up after having my wife leave me for choosing a radio career, my dad mellowed. After doing a shift on one of my very first radio jobs, I came over after and found him on the back porch with my country station on. That was odd, he didn't care for that kind of music. He was reading the paper and he said from behind it.."was that you on earlier today?" "Yes, that was me". At the time, I needed a "radio" name, so I called myself Randy Lee. "What's this Randy Lee shit? You ain't good enough to be known as my boy?" That was as close as I would ever get to getting a compliment from him and he seemed to be more at ease with it from then on.

There wasn't much of a "then on" as not too long in the future, he came into the extra bedroom while I was taking a nap, kicked the bed and said "get up, I'm having chest pains". Shit. It was 30 minutes to the hospital, we made it in 17. Maybe the ride to the hospital killed him, but he never came home. He died about two weeks later, after waiting for one of his kids to get to the hospital. For a person who didn't seem to care much about kids, we all knew he waited for Carole to get there before he said his goodbye.

Maybe the last picture taken of him. All but two of these people are dead.

While yes, he was a very cold person who really never said or did much, he was a man of great character and when my father gave you is word, it was done. While growing up was incredibly uneven and mostly disappointing time, the only thing I can do is filter out the bad stuff and keep the good. And while the bad was more than the good, hanging on to the good has blessed me with having walked through the minefield with three. 
Jess is so tough and is such a great mother. She has faced the hardship of raising on infant while finishing college by herself. Her day is yet to come. Paul has the mental discipline to do anything, as fisrt diagnosed by his refusal to put the Nintendo game down until the enemy was destoyed. He's now building and designing satellites for the Defense Department. Emily has such an old kind soul but his her grandmothers "fuck you" attitude. When she finds here niche, she'll rule at it.

This exercise will hopefully eject the bad juju I have had for my father for years. Couple his aloofness and unemotion with my mother's alcoholism, and it was a very lonely place to be. But, I made it. Thanks, Dad.

And what I wouldn't give right now, this instant to say hello to you and ask you how I'm doing.
I'd only need a heartbeat to know.

Are you proud of me?

The kids?

Goin' to California

With apologies to Led Zeppelin.
It has been a whirlwind of activity of late and a mixture of emotions and observations.
Saturday was graduation day. The third of my three children has now finished college and what a sprint to the finish line. It was the worst semester of her life with everything that went on. Perseverence pays as she finished as a member of the dean's list. Woot. That also means dad wrote last tuition payment this semester, too. What started as a failed mission to Dayton and a frantic phone call to come get her ended with a joyous, triumphant in the Mabee gym on the campus of Fontbonne College. I know how hard she worked and I'm incredibly proud. Incredibly. I did manage to hold it together on Saturday over the joy of knowing she's done with that part of her life. Saturday night was spent at Hacienda as it all came around in the "Circle Game". The girl has been going to Hacienda in utero and was joined by her lifetime friends to celebrate. Her order? Same as always. Always.

ali, the girl, kristen, dana

Sunday morning brings panic at the disco as we arrive early to an absolutely packed Terminal 2 at Lambert. Lines everywhere. Thank God we had the ability to print our boarding passes in advance. It saved us countless minutes. The flight to LAX was uneventful and the drive to the boy's house was familiar. At 4pm, we arrived at our getaway on Hermosa Beach. We were here last year in March, and while I would love to live here, I sometimes get the feeling I'm in a foreign country. It must be the beach. My past times here are spent walking up and down the beach figuring out which houses I'm going to buy when I win the lottery. I will post a picture of the winner tomorrow. A picture of the neighbors house. He's about 45, she's gorgeous and they have an old yellow lab. Not that I was looking or anything

the neighbors

The Green Store and The Bottle, a fine Italian restaurant

The sign board at Martha's mmmmm...Martha's

Martha's, a Hermosa tradition.

The front of our place for a week

the view out the patio door

Emily is here with her friend Kristen. These two are the original, meeting at age 3. Ali came a short time later and Dana maybe ten years later. So far, so good. Kristen's never been here, the girl's been here 4 times now. I think she likes it here but her only exposure has been Hermosa Beach, which would make anyone want to move here. Me included :) Last night was Italian night at Mama D's with the boy. He is the reason we are here as he gets commissioned as a captain in the USAF on Thursday. I had a great walk of about 2 1/2 hours today. it can be warm and chilly within seconds of each other on the beach. Tonight, it's smuggled turkey sandwiches as we hang in the abode, drink copious amounts of alcohol and make many trips to the mightiest ocearn of them all, one of the few things anymore than can fill me with awe in it's vastness. I feel this way on cruises when I am out in the middle of the ocean with NOTHING in sight. I'll be sure to post then.


We are shocked to hear about what happened in Joplin. I came thisclose to taking a job there. I've been through there many times. So many tornadoes...what's going on? Always connected to reality I guess. It's 3pm here,which means it's 5 pm in St. Louis, time for a fruity libation. Lots of limes, I'm sure.

the beach front at hermosa

one of my top five favorite beach houses. think of the view here

love the stately archtecture.

nice block

Ahhh, margaritas and the beach. They go together so well. The previous pictures are shots of houses along the strand. Just imagine the view from your place. Some of these homes are unthinkable and unimaginable to me. If I ever win the lottery, one of these babies would be mine.

 A pelican is not necessarily news in Los Angeles but I don't get to see one everyday. One the building right across from us

 Out by himself this morning, it wasn't really warm. Off for a nice bike ride.

Songs of Our Youth

For the first few years of my life, my mother and older brother were the foundation of things that would ultimately decide who I was. When it came to things like attitude, eating, sports, spirituality, communication and other things like music.

I lived in a house filled with music. My mother LOVED country music and had a great regard for big band music. She had a lovely singing voice and would routinely sing me to sleep. "Pardon me boys, it's that the Chattanooga Choo Choo...track 29?" "See the pyramids along the Nile...watch the sun rise on a tropic isle...but just remember, darling, all the while...you belong to me." Those were the lullabies of my childhood and oh how it formed my psyche. Music really did soothe this savage beast.

My father never really showed an interest at really anything artsy. He never went to  the movies or do I remember him listening to music. In the car, he would get frustrated and reach over to the knob and turn down that "awful crap" I listened to. At his advanced age, I'm sure my Blue Oyster Cult sounded like German jets and their blitzkrieg of London.

My brother, on the other hand was all about Buddy Holly (he wore glasses), Bobby Darin, the Four Seasons, eventually the Beach Boys, and then the holy grail of The Beatles. He was in the room THAT night in 1964.

I'm not sure what the chemical reaction to music is inside your brain.

What causes us to really like certain things and dismiss what the critics like or hate? What chemical reaction is it when the guitar solo from Blue Oyster Cult's "Then Came the Last Days of May" makes the hair on your neck stand out? Or, embracing songs that no one has ever heard? Potliquor, Love Sculpture, The Pousette Dart Band, Blondel and Wishbone Ash have made such great contributions to my musical journey but any "casual fan" of music would scratch their heads at such artists. Having an older cousin who was a junkie helped turn me on to many of those artists listed and others, but I think it was the fact that I grew up appreciating what music can do.

My mother would put on the song "Talk Back Trembling Lips" by Johnny Tillotson and cry. Which, in turn, would make me cry. ""You'll understand someday." I do. I really do. I can tear up at Dan Fogelberg in a heartbeat.

In the fall of 1966, I was ten, I lived on "Campbell's Island" an island that was on the wrong side of the tracks past the poor section of East Moline into an even poorer part of town surrounded by the Mississippi. It was called "Cannibal's Island" by my school mates. I was going to a school that ended up closing down. McKinley grade school never won a game in football or basketball the two years I went there and there was usually a fight or two just about every day. The closest we ever got was losing by 3 points in basketball. My brother was off to the service and I was stuck. Stuck living a house that was built for one person instead of the four that were living there. I couldn't breathe. My room was a closet.I excelled in basketball and football, but there was really no one else on the team that really much cared. It was not an easy place to grow up. The older neighborhood boys were tough and mean. They would beat you for looking at them wrong and then beat you again for fighting back. There were always treasures to find on the Island, but our Saturdays were usually spent riding bikes over God's great Earth or in the winter, playing football in the snow, or rain, or whatever. I just couldn't stay in that claustrophobic house for a long period of time.I had to get out and usually the river was my destination.

My solace, as it has been frequently in my life was the music and the guys on the radio. KSTT was the AM top 40 champion of the Quad Cities. While WQUA had a few good songs, they're music was bit sleepy, so KSTT was the station that played all the its, all the songs that mattered. In was in this element and this school year that the tri-fecta of songs that shaped my musical taste were released. In that year of school, there were three...OK, four recordings that launched my passion for music and what it could do to a person's musical standards.

The first song I heard not too long after I started school that year because the song reminds me of a girl I was interested in as the school year began. I was in my room doing my homework when the DJ announced a new song taking the country by storm by the Association. I liked them. They had "Along Comes Mary" and "Windy" as a part of their repertoire. But this song was absolute love at first listen.

"Cherish" was released in September of 1966 and it zoomed up the charts. I know it did, because a part of my Thursday night routine was to chart each song as the new "surveys" were debuted on the radio that night of every week. In between figuring out my English or Math homework, I would chart each song as it was kept by KSTT. "Cherish" entered the charts at 32 of 40 or something like that. It went to 14, 4 and number one faster than just about ANY other song I had tracked.

There was something about this song that got me from a guttural perspective. The harmonies, the musical prgression, the bells, the words, the structure, the dynamics and passion of pining for another person. The key change right in the middle that makes you know he's getting serious and I'd better listen now. Then in the last verse they're all in, it's serious and they are all declaring their love for someone. Golden. And at the age of ten, a wonder. I "felt" this song and couldn't wait for it to come on the radio again and again. I would reach my parent's limit whenever that song came on as I would sing it at the top of my lungs. And, I still do.

It was the first of three "epiphany songs" to come out that school year for me. I'll write about the other two in a very short time.

The Association didn't last much longer. I thought their music was done with great style and class. When my brother returned from Vietnam, he brought us a brand new technology called a "cassette tape". One of the cassettes had "Cherish' on it.

He later told me his passionate love for that one song and how he would get "lost" in the music in Vietnam. That one song was his lifeline home and he could never figure out why.  Two brothers, worlds away and eight years apart absolutely loving that one song. Music is genetic, maybe? From the guy who turned me on to "Telstar" by The Tornadoes and "Have I The Right" by The Honeycombs, it was high praise indeed. How nice we both felt the same way about it.

my brother and me  just about that time

Song number two of the "trinity" was released in October, just about the time the love for "Cherish" was cooling off. This song literally set my world on fire.

In The Real World * another song reference

I was chatting with a friend today about The Beatles. He was wondering what the tattoo meant on my calf. The tattoo reads "in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make." It was a tattoo that I got with my daughter over Christmas and thought it was an ample example of what the Beatles meant and a wonderful way to say good bye. And then we got to chatting about the legacy of The Beatles.


In January of 1994, while at KSHE, I had the extreme pleasure of having Alan Parsons give me a tour of Abbey Road Studios. Yes, those Abbey Road studios and yes, THAT Alan Parsons. I sat at the piano Paul sat at during Let It Be, went to pee in the bathroom where they peed. It was pretty incredible.

For some reason in your life, there are people you hit it off. Whatever it is, there is a something that makes personalities mingle instead of clash. And for some weird reason, Alan Parsons and I hit it off. It could have been he loved KSHE for the previous air play, or maybe he was impressed with the wife, whatever, but after the tour he asked us if we'd like to go down the street for " a bit of tea." It was about noon on Saturday and it was a bit chilly in London, so a brisk walk felt pretty good. Alan is about 6' 5" tall and people know who he is. We were greeted warmly by the owner of the coffee shop, "any friend of Alan's is a friend of ours." We proceeded to grab a table, order a hot beverage and he pretty much answered just about any question we had about The Beatles, Pink Floyd, himself or whatever.

We found out that his son and David Gilmour's son played "football" together in school. One of the things I wanted to know was about the end of the Beatles and what really happened. His response was something like this. Let It Be was done and ready to go. It portrayed the Beatles in an awful light. Pissy, and pretty edgy through out the whole process. It was pretty evident that the writing was on the wall and it was obvious the band got pretty tired of each other and was on "life support". He said he couldn't remember if John called Paul or Paul called John, but the conversation was ...'how many songs do you have?" The thought was, if they were going to go out, it shouldn't be with "Let It Be". Each one knew George had a couple of tunes (boy did he) and they figured out something for Ringo to do. With the songs in hand, away they went and the whole thing was done quickly and painlessly. So, in Alan Parsons's words as well as I remember them, is what happened. While indeed, Let It Be was released after Abbey Road, Abbey Road IS the end. According to him, anyway.

Maybe that's why Abbey Road is my favorite by them. It's goodbye, the coda, the swan song, the end. Thank you and good night.

We sat and chatted for about an hour and he also let me a bit behind the scenes of the epic Waters/Gilmour struggle. Apparently, during "The Wall" sessions, it got real bad with physical altercations between the two. I think he was in the Gilmour camp more than Waters. I also asked him how he ended up where he did. "It was my turn" he said when I asked him how did he get to be on the technical end of The Beatles. " All of the engineers were on the rotating system in the studio, we were assigned whatever project was next." "Lucky for me, I got The Beatles and more importantly, I saw George Martin in action." Wow. He was next on the list. Heavenly intervention. He was/is a lovely man. He is very cordial and very warm and spent an hour or two putting up with "Randy from KSHE". One of the chances I've had in this life to do something no one else has done. Listen to and watch Alan Parsons at home in Abbey Road. We had to sign in when we got there, so somewhere, there's my name at Abbey Road.


Unfortunately, I have misplaced the pictures that were taken (they are in this house, I know, because I saw them about 5 years ago), but, do have this nugget....

it says.. "to Ann and Randy with best wishes on your visit to Abbey Road on 22.1.94. Alan Parsons"

About two years later, Alan came to St. Louis on a concert tour and we hooked up for a phone interview while he was in town. We chatted for a bit and off air, he said there were stage passes in my name at the box office. He allowed me to bring him on stage ( he canned his intro that night just for me) and afterward, we had a marvelous talk. He let me in on a secret. The Saturday we had the tour, Paul, Ringo and George were putting the final touches on the Anthology Works in the studio above us. "You could have run into one of them in the loo, that would have been fun, huh?" Talk about pissing all over yourself. Yeah, that would have been fun.

I have always been a fan of Alan Parsons' music. From "Tales of Mystery and Imagination" to "I, Robot" and on through, I thought his stuff was intelligent, well crafted, well produced and well done. Abbey Road (and the whole London experience) was the shit. It was an absolute incredible three days in London and those three hours in Abbey Road. It was hard to breathe, it was so cool.


I will find those pictures someday, I know it.

Dancing Days

*continuing the tradition of naming blog posts after songs.....


I was on my one hour drive to work this morning and I got so lost, lost to where I am and how I got here. I was thinking about things that happened years ago, lost in a virtual sea of gray matter soaked with memories. I started by hearing something on the radio station and then transposing myself to the exact time I was in my life when that song meant something. The next thing I knew, without a second transpiring, I had traveled ten miles. I have often wondered if God, unhappy with my performance, after I die, would throw me headlong back into my life to life it again differently. I wonder what would have happened if I HAD become the teacher I thought I could have been. How much different my life would have turned out. I would probably be retired by now. But, then again, I would have never had the chance to drink a glass of wine with Bob Seger, play golf with Alice Cooper (he cheats), interview Yoko and Julian Lennon, Hayward and Lodge, have Lou Reed get pissed off and walk out on my interview, become great friends with Shooting Star, being kissed by Bonnie Bramlett or rock the Quad Cities, Kansas City and St. Louis...and...end up...here.In St. Louis. I would have loved to have been the teacher at either Ava High or United Township that retired after 397 years of quality service with a boat and a house on the river. All things considered, even though it's been more of a roller coaster ride than a merry go round, I wouldn't trade where I've been, who I am and what I became for anything. My brother had a transistor radio surgically implanted in his ear, and I followed suit in my own way. There was no question what I WANTED to be, but what I thought I would become was soooo different. When little Bobby and Billy wanted to be a fireman or a policeman, little Randy wanted to be "the guy on the radio". My first time was 1971, I was fifteen. I knew from that time, from then to high school, to the Academy of Radio and Televison, to WHBF, KFMH and onward....To everyone that listened, thank you. If I made any contact, I am humbled. I only wanted to pass on what I learned by the best in my craft. But, what a teacher of American History I could have been.... I sometimes introduce myself as ..."Randy Raley, you know, I used to be somebody, now, I'm just anybody and sometimes nobody." 

Don't box with God, he's got a lightning fast right cross.

The Game

This time of year takes me back 40 years when I had the cruelest of jokes played on me, the most ironically devastating thing that ever happened to me in sports or just about anything was foisted upon this fifteen year old's psyche.

It happened the night before Foreman beat Ali. The very night before. March 7, 1971.

Two shots, that's all. Made neither. FAIL.

I withdrew into a funk that took me months (and moving away) to cure. Just one would have tied it. Neither one went in. Didn't picking up a basketball with any regularity for 20 years. And to this day, haunts me like a ghost who is never there. I still lay awake at night thinking about it. Clank, clank, miss.  Clank, bounce, bounce, miss. One to the right, one in the front. 83% from the line. Automatic.

I remember it was cold and the bus ride back was a manual on how literally fight a war in one's own mind. It was 5 horrible, long, lonely, bitter hours and to this day the longest ride I have ever been on, even if I've driven all day. I don't think anyone said anything to each other, I certainly know that no one said anything to me. I am not sure what I would have said back to them. Automatic.

When the foul was called, the shot had a chance to go in. The play was for John to set a back screen with my back to the out of bounds passer. As I moved around that screen, I sneaked around, face up to John, take the pass, use the previous screen to  make room and set my shot. I had set my feet, squared up and launched one from what now is referred to as "the elbow", about 3 feet to the left of the free throw line, which was also my favorite place to shoot. I jumped straight up and had a nice rotation on the ball, it felt good as it left my hand.

Just an instant before I flicked my wrist, the guy guarding me (his name was Godsey and he was a smart mouth little prick, always chatting and talking trash, I hated those clowns) just ever so slightly nicked me on the hands. Whistle blows and I'm looking to see if it was as good as it felt. Good rotation, nice arc, but he hit me just enough to cause the ball to be just short of the rim. Clank on the front of the rim, it rolls around and off the other side. Automatic.

If anyone was to be shooting at the end of a game, it should be me. If anyone was fouled at the end of the game, then it should be me. It wasn't just any game though, it was a chance for my high school basketball team to go from 6-19 the year before to the final four tournament in Columbia. We were 24-6, with most of those six losses coming early in the year, we were ranked 8th in the state and we had won 16 in a row. It was the first year that freshmen were allowed to play on the varsity and our team featured two of them, me and my buddy Steve, two sophomores and a senior. I was leading the conference in scoring at 25.3. It was a grueling but awesome year that had come down to this.

My team is down by one with 1.8 seconds left and automatic on the line. Each practice, I made it a point to shoot 100 free throws and keep track of how well I did every day. I would constantly get in a groove and nail 29 or 30 in a row, I usually finished a session shooting 80 -90 percent and that carried over into the season, where some nights I'd get more than half my points from the line. The most I ever scored that season was 37. If there had been a three point line back then, I would have had Pete Maravich numbers. The night I scored 37, anything I threw up there went in. Between my legs, behind my head, hook shots, jump shots, but I do remember missing a lay up that night. Funny.

Time out called, and the other coach wants to "ice" me. That's fine, bring it on. I was a freshman. I had just turned 15 last month, but basketball was all I ever knew, that and music. I had a radio where ever we went. I was the music guy. Just like my older brother, I had a radio with me constantly. We could get WLS on the bus most nights unless it was really stormy. The music and the friendly voice got us through those long bus rides home.

Buzzer sounds and as I'm walking to the free throw line I try to go through the free throw motions. I remember saying to myself..."no big thing, you'd done this a thousand times before...bend your knees...exhale".  The basketball goal in the back yard came into view, it was dark and I'm out there still shooting. Heck, in the summertime, I can still be shooting at 9:30. I'd quit only because I couldn't see the basket anymore.



Off to the left...clank clank miss. All the air just went out of my body. Pressure's on now. As I stand at the line awaiting the ball back from the referee, I can hear the people now and I can see the look on my team mates faces. What was once joy has turned into a silent concern. I look at the coach. His eyes meet mine and he clenches his fist. "Just one to tie" he said. The referee hands me the ball, holds up one finger, "one shot" he says. I look up at the rim and the old basketball rim in the backyard is gone. Wait, why do I hear the people now? Stop it. The old rim has been replaced with the new rim, the same rim I thought was tight and small tonight. I only had 17 points and maybe I was the reason we were struggling with a team we knew we should be destroying. The ritual repeats..."bend your knees..catapult...you've been doing this since you six, just one more...clear your mind.." As the motion begins, I like the way the ball feels in my hand..I release it and it feels good. Release..check...rotation...check...arc...check...splash...oh no. It's too short, I have to go follow my shot.

Clank, bounce once off the rim, and then twice then off of the front of the rim. That second bounce was the bounce that threw my timing off and caused me, as I was jumping to get the rebound, to knock the ball off of a team mates hands out of bounds. What just happened? That was my first thought. Our ball? No. It was over. Automatic.

It was a death march to shake hands with the opposing players, especially effing Godsey. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I wished for a time machine that could take me back and replay the last 30 minutes. I couldn't look anyone in the eye. I had failed them. I had failed myself. I had failed the coach, who I adored. I was barely 15.

The shower was cold, so was the mood of the team. As we got on the bus for the dreaded five hour drive that awaited us, I felt bad for my mom who had to get up in the middle of the chilly night, drive into town, wait for the bus and then have to pick up my pieces. I wasn't about to cry in front of the team but this was a major malfunction of nuclear proportions. Automatic.

Not anymore and not "innocent" anymore. Go ahead, tell me that "the team wouldn't be there without me" one more time. I dare you. The radio ran out of batteries on the way home, so the last two hours were in silence. As it should be. From hero to goat in 1.8 seconds. It was two am when the bus pulled up to the gas station (the price of a gallon of gas was 37.9 cents) and there was my mom, sitting in the warm truck and I know I needed that right then more than anything. I didn't even get the door open before it hit me like a wall of bricks. I couldn't talk or breathe. I kept banging my head against the window. She almost admitted me to the hospital (which was 60 miles away). When we arrived at home, I went upstairs, closed the door and cried myself to sleep.

I wanted to call in sick the next day at school (it was a Friday), but mom drove me the six miles into town. I couldn't look anyone in the eye. In the halls, at lunch, in the classroom, anywhere. Kids can be brutal and the next few weeks were. While the team and some friends stood behind me, it was the fringe element, the people I didn't know well that would give me the choke sign. I had a classmate spit at my feet once, just wanting me to do something. His buds were pretty close, so I didn't say much. It was a pretty depressing time and it would have been more difficult if not for the music.

The music saved me. It provided solace, comfort and made my realize that I wasn't the only one who's heart had been broken. There were songs full of heartbreak.

My parents told me not long after they we were moving at the end of the school year. I don't know if it had anything to do with what I was going through but I do know it was the first step in my long journey out. In two months, I was gone and the mind tried to erase the whole situation. I do know I didn't really pick up a basketball until 20 years later when I got involved with playing for fun and health at the Kirkwood YMCA. Twenty years will cause you to lose most all of your talents. I like it better this way. I suck. I know it. There's not many expectations..

Shake It*

a song by Ian Thomas. See, I knew I could name each blog post after a song title. I have so much to choose from.
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Lent is upon us and I have once again decided to give up meat for 40 days. That includes chicken, too. According to the Catholic church, on Sunday, you may partake in whatever you sacrificed. Lots of fish and Boca burgers for me. Bocas aren't bad, but you have to load them up with lettuce, tomato, onion, chesse and anything else you can find in order to mask the taste. Tonight, tuna salad ala Rocko, with some jalpenos thrown in for good measure.
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March madness baby, but sometimes it drives me crazy. You mean Missouri State with 23 wins and a 15-3 conference record isn't getting in? But some Big East team with 12 or 13 losses will somehow find a way in. I hope that there are not selecting teams based on TV markets, but I swear it seems to be like that. So, I'm rooting for Mizzou, I lived in Nashville and know Kevin Stallings, so Vanderbilt, the boy went to Notre Dame, Butler (because they almost beat Duke) and maybe a couple more. I think the only one that has a chance is ND. Highs and lows and upsets is why I lovethis time of year. Who will be this year's Northern Iowa and pull off the big upsets?
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I stopped by the local Dairy Queen in Farmington and enjoyed a cherry shake on Tuesday. It sent me straight back to when I was a boy in Ava. On Saturdays, I would take my allowance and ride my bike into town, play pool and pinball, have a hamburger at Norman's Rexall drug store, grab the latest comic books and get myself a cherry shake at the DQ. A summertime treat in the end of winter.
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I agree that the unions have too much power. I saw this coming when I worked at John Deere in Moline. Even in the 70s, it was push push push until Deere pulled most oftheir workforce out of there after warning the unions over and over. Do we really have to balance the budget on the backs of the school teachers, police and firefighters? How about closing some corporate loopholes and making it more fair for everyone. I am very scared about the future of this great nation. I think I'm going to buy a pice of land in the middle of nowhere, build a house on some water, and watch the revolution go by. I'll set it up with internet and satellite and retire from society.
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Road trip next week takes me to KC and Ankeny Iowa, where Casey's General Stores is located. I miss KC and always will. There is something about that place. As expenses are being cut, I'm staying with a friend. I love Iowa, too, so I'm looking forward to it. The week after, it's a trip to Springfield to Bass Pro Shops and then back through Ava because I hear my old place is for sale.
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If you see spring, please send it my way. Thanks.
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Happy Birthday to my "Facebook" friend Beverly Bremers. This was her only big hit. I remember listening this in m bedroom thinking that love would really suck if it made you feel like this. Sometimes it does.

I Want A New Drug

In the past three months, my doctors have put me on Aleve, Viagra(he hoped the testosterone would help, I guess he didn't read the side effects that were listed, headaches being one),Exedrin Migraine, Trazodone, Oxycodone, Ibuprofen, Zonisamide, Zolpidem, Propranolol, and Zomig. Holy crap. Now, I'm completely off caffiene and I have stopped taking all that junk. The scan of my head revealed nothing. Ha. I haven't had a major headache in a while, but there is one that always lingers, it never goes away but at least it doesn't get worse. Last night, I felt one coming on, so I went and ran my ass off at basketball and it seemed to tame the tide. For now. Damn. At least there's no tumor or blockage. He's saying it's a migrane, but I still am not sure. I'm too old for them to start and I'm not sensitive to light or noise. All I know is that this sucks.

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I have been friends with the Rainmakers since they were Steve, Bob and Rich and played at the KY 102 summer olympics in 1983. I have followed their rise from a far and when I had my band, we opened for them at Mississipi Nights in St. Louis. I remember it was one of our better gigs and the crowd was very receptive. One of the guys I worked with at KSHE saw me later in the show and asked if I knew who the opening act was and he was dead serious. He really had no idea it was me behind the drum kit. I told him it was a local band called "The Traffic Jam". "Wow, they were good!" he said. I never let on. The Rainmakers get inducted into the Kansas Music Hall of Fame this weekend. I was there and introduced Shooting star when they were inducted a couple of years ago. It was great fun. Although, according to the article in the Kansas City Star, two of the original guys won't be there. Not sure if there has been a fall out, but with them regrouping to tour Norway (where they were huge), I hope that's not the case.
here they are that glorious day in the summer of 1983, when life was great and times were mellow.



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Sorry to hear that Nick Charles is dying. Nick and Fred Hickman were the precursors to everything that has turned out to be ESPN. Nick and Fred were a great team on CNN. Their show was fast moving and full of highlights. No hip slogans, nothing. Apparently, he has inoperable cancer. His one regret? Not spending enough time with his kids. I hope and pray that I never have to say that. Nick is 64. God speed.



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I've been in a Bread mood lately so, here's a repost from about three years ago. Yeah, yeah OK. I know what you are thinkin', the boy's flipped out. All I know is in the summer of my 14th year, this sweet lovely song called "Make It With You" floated out of the AM radio and into the ears of my girlfriend (if you could call her that, but I did at the time). She loved the song, so did I, it was deemed to be "our song" and so it was. After we broke up, she gave me the album back that I bought her with my own money (see previous post). I started playing it and discovered "Been Too Long On The Road", "It Don't Matter To Me" "Why Do You Keep Me Waiting"and others. David Gates hung around in Tulsa with Leon Russell and J.J. Cale. James Griffin was a session guy in LA, Mike Botts was a well respected drummer who once worked with Wes Montgomery and Larry Knectel played keyboards on "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" so, these guys could play. They just didn't play as loud as most of the other stuff I was listening to. Apparently, it was a clash of egos that sent these guys to their demise and that's too bad. For every Deep Purple, Black Sabbath or Zeppelin record, this was a nice diversion. I was 14 when I first heard them in 70, they split up for about four years in 1973 and released "Lost Without Your Love" in 1977 and called it quits. They had a special on TV around my 16th birthday and I had to beg my father to let me watch it. James Griffin recently passed with cancer at the age of 61. He wrote "For All We Know" for The Carpenters. He once said that they never wanted to be a soft rock band but going toe to toe with Grand Funk was probably not in their best interest. Since that post...Mike Botts has passed and so has Larry Knechtel

Smart man, Smart band.

And now, the top ten:
1. He's A Good Lad -they wrote that one about me.
2. If -to me, the classic love song. Kris Eric Stevens made this song sound special every time he played it on WLS.
3. It Don't Matter To Me -right song, right time right(?) girl
4. Guitar Man -a bit of an edge (hey, it's Bread, OK?)
5. Make It With You -summer of my 14th year. nuff said
6. Everything I Own -the ultimate song of sacrifice, covered many times. Another great sounding song on WLS.
7. London Bridge-first song, first side, first LP
8. Diary-been there, done that, have the scars
9. Let Your Love Go-nice rocking tune
10.Sweet Surrender- their last great song, a fine way to say goodbye


Here's the late Larry Knechtel on the lead guitar with "Guitar Man" from that TV special in 1972. Very tasty...

Connection

Trying to name each blog post after a song, "Connection" was a Rolling Stones song redone by Montrose, which fits nicely into this post.

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I have become enthralled and mesmerized by a show on TV called "I Survived...and Came Back", which is on the Bio channel on Sunday nights. It has two airings, one at 9pm and one at 10pm central time. It is bascially about people who have been declared dead and have come back to life.

The believer in me says that there is some truth to these stories , but my scientist friend says it's nothing more than a dying brain that pretty much does the same thing in everyone. Each story is relatively similar, in that the person feels very much at peace and is content.

One woman said she was swimming in colors and heard the voice of God. Another said he walked toward his mother and grandmother, both deceased, and they were very young and beautiful. One man talked of having his life story played out like a movie projected on a wall and found himself at the bottom of a hill and on top of the hill, he saw a ten foot tall man with long, flowing dark hair and and beard. Another man, who was a pest exterminator, was shocked by a 110 volt electrical line, heard God call to him. It affected him so much, he became a preacher.

The way the stories are set up borders on hokeyness, but the stories seem to be real. I understand those who don't believe, I get it. But for those of us who do, it reminds us of the true miracle of faith. What do you think? Maybe you should watch and see.

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Happy birthday Lou Reed. Lou is 69 today. He gives me hope for the future, knowing that as much as he abused his body and has made it this far, I shouldn't have much trouble.

I first saw Lou Reed in 1974, right after "Rock and Roll Animal" came out. "Rock and Roll Animal" is one of THE best live albums ever, only due to his back up band with Steve Hunter and Dick Wagner on dual lead guitars and Prakish John on bass. This was the line up I saw in Iowa City when he opened for Jethro Tull. He blew J.T. off the stage. My friend Gary and I also noticed that he shot heroin on stage. We were pretty wiped out ourselves but we are certain to this day that he wrapped the microphone cord around his arm and stuck a syringe in his arm that night.

My next encounter with Mr. Reed was in 1985, when I interviewed him at the first Farm Aid for KSHE in Champaign Illinois. I don't remember what I said to him (I believe it was about the mixture of country and rock acts on the bill), but he flew into a rage and stomped off, right in the middle of a live interview on the air. I guess I should wear that as a abdage of honor that Lou reed got pissed at me live on the air. I just thought he was rude at the time. One of my favorite live songs by him...

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I get to spend tomorrow morning getting radioactive dye shot into my head. How about you? The headaches continue and no one, NO ONE can find out what the hell is wrong. My neurologist has weaned me off caffeine (which actually, has been good for me) and I get the dye job tomorrow. The old joke remains is that they will have a look at my head and find nothing at all. He's not convinced it's migraines, becasue I got them too late in life, I'm not sensitive to light and sound and they are constant. Bloody hell.
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This weekend on the old www.planetradio.us, it's cover tune weekend. That means, throughout the weekend, I'll throw in the originals and the cover songs that may or may not have made the originals more familiar. It starts at 7 on Friday and ends Sunday night at midnight. BTW, one thing I can offer that the terrestrial stations can't is programming like that and the opportunity to play new music from classic rock artists. I have the new Gregg Allman, Buddy Guy, Leon and Elton, Stevie Nicks, Robbie Robertson, Steve Miller, The Cars and Bob Seger all in rotation. The Bob Seger is such a disappointment. It's a cover of a cover. he does "Downtown Train" by Tom Waits, which has been done by Patty Smythe and Rod Stewart.

Ol' 55

There's another song title that fits perfectly. I am 55 today. When I was a baby, the doctors told my mother not to get too attached to me, I wouldn't be around long. I suffered from Bright's disease. I guess suffered is too big of a word, because I don't remember suffering much. I do remember peeing blood. That was the main problem, my kidneys weren't doing their job and allowed blood to seep into my urine. I remember one time in high school, after a particularly hard basketball practice, I peed blood again, but nothing after that. Then, I wasn't supposed to make it to 30. Ha ha, I fooled them all. The past five years have been the usual roller coaster ride. I remembered to keep mu hands and feet inside the ride at all times, but there have been some serious white knuckle rides. I've been fired twice in the last five years and I quit two jobs, one in a city close to my hometown. There have been illnesses and good times. Seeing my son graduated with honors from Notre Dame has been a highlight. I do remember that summer when faced with the prospect of being an empty nester really freaked me out, but so far, so good. The jaunt to Nashville was short but productive, if only to see where Johnny and June Carter Cash were buried. That's how I spent my 51st birthday, in the snow with a wonderful friend, checking out Nashville. That was the night I got a kiss from Bonnie Bramlett (I don't think I've washed my lips yet). Spent some time in Bloomington Illinois where I reconnected with a friend that I miss dearly at this time. What an eye opening experience when it came to radio. Barely got out of there with my life. Heard some lovely music in the last five years, but can't think of a better song than "Girls in Their Summer Clothes". I have seen the boss three times, two were outstanding and one was a bit disappointing. I have lost friends and relatives too numerous to count. The matriarch of the family (Queen Joanie) has passed and so has my brother in law Curtis. Far too many friends have breathed their last breath and their memories are still prominent in my mind. I am younger than I look an older than I feel. I am 7 years away from the age that my mother died and 15 years away from my father's age when he passed. I think I'm in better shape than most and need to get back to the shape I was in ten years ago. This will be done. I am looking forward to checking back in when I'm 60. Onward through the fog...cue Mr. Springsteen...

49 Bye Byes

I think I will start naming my blog posts after songs. here's the first one. I have named it 49 bye byes becasue I think Albert Pujols is done in St. Louis and I think he's going to pull a "Lebron" and split for greener pastures. I don't quite understand this. he's loved and revered in St. Louis like no other player since Stan Musial. he's a Christaion man (supposedly) who has to remember the bible passage about the whale and the eye of the needle and all that. So, I am waiting for him to say it's not about the money, which means it's all about the money.
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I pulled the old Trek bike off the rack in the garage and hit the St. Louis trailways for a long bike ride. I put air in the tires and lubed up the chain with some WD-40. Where I live is very hilly and by the time I got to the trailhead, I was already thirsty. Crap. The water isn't turned on yet. I peddled down the trail going as far as I could get until the trail was so snow packed, it was dangerous to ride. Stopping to catch my breath, I realized that the wind would be against me heading home. Rut roh. My short bike ride turned into a two hour and 30 minute haul. As I pulled into the driveway, I felt like I was back in high school playing basket ball as I barfed up everything I ate earlier in the day. The oatnmeal with raisins was particularly colorful. Don't know if I've recovered yet.

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I have been a fan of Muse for a few years now. It was one of those bands I got suckered into because I heard my daughter playing them over and over. Coldplay was another band who I gained respect for vicariously. At first, I thought Muse sounded like Queen, now I think they sound like Rush. Someon asked me if i thought they were the best band in the world. I couldn't begin to answer that becasue I do NOT know that much about today's music. If you would have asked me that 30 years agao, I would have given you a definitive answer. This much I know, "The Uprising" is about as timely as they come with what is happening in Egypt at this time. Interesting tidbit, the leader of Muse got Kate Hudson preggers, sounds a bit like Chris Martin and Gwentyth Paltrow, although I don't find either one very attractive. Now, if Diane Lane is interested in hanging out with an advertising director, here I am, baby, Here is "The Uprising" by Muse.

About music

Got an email from a friend who said that I haven't talked much about music lately and he's right, so I will fulfill my obligation with this post constructed while I am on my lunch hour. (I hate to waste my work time and I feel particularly strong about that. I hate it when my peeps waste their time while at work). While watching the Grammys last night, I realized how really out of touch I am with today's music. While I like some of the groups out there today (Muse is exceptional and remind me of Queen), I guess my time has come and gone. The opening tribute to Aretha was fine (Christina, what are you doing with your arms)? I was pretty much done after that. I don't get Lady Gaga, I just don't, I don't think she's talentd or has anything original to contribute, she seems to be a Madonna clone, and not a very good one at that. She made over $50 million last year, so someone likes what she does. The song of the year was a song called "Fuck You"? Really? That fact alone doesn't make me want to know much more about the current state of music.

It's also Valentine's day, which means that love songs mean so much more today. I will post about five songs that are my favorites when it comes to dealing with the feelings that none of us can express. So, in no particular order, here are some of my faves..

"I Stand In Wonder" by Joe Cocker
When I first heard this in 1986, I just froze. What an awesome love song.



"Same Old Lang Syne" by Dan Fogelberg
This is a true story and the woman it was written about has recently come forward saying, yes, it was true. Only two minor details were changed. One was her eye color. I don't know why this doesn't get played except at Christmas. Every time I hear it, I get misty eyed. "we tried to reach beyond the emptiness, but neither one knew how..."



"How Can I tell You I Love You" - Cat Stevens
A guitar and lyrics that stick in your heart. "wherever i am, girl, i am always walking with you, allways walking with you, but i look and you're not there..."



"Island" by Gerry Rafferty Jaw dropping talent. I cried when I heard he died. So many songs we wrote that could fit easliy into the soundtrack of my life. "...I only know that wherever you are...I want to be.."



"As The Years Go Passing By - Gary Moore I could have picked a number of singers as this song is one of the greats. I picked Gary because he just nails this "...my love will follow you, as the years go passing by..."



And finally, one from my heart...

"Africa" - Toto Truly from the heart, a song that makes me stop dead in my tracks even after all these years. Heard it at Walgreens the other day and I had to hear the whole thing. .."its going to take a lot to drag me away from boo, it's nothing that a hundred million men or more could ever do..."

Old Friends

I spent about a half an hour talking with an old and near friend of mine today. It seemed like three minutes, but it's always been that way with this person. It was awesome to get caught up. We chatted about kids, relationships, love and talked about God. I have always loved, admired and respected this person. Found out that the parents are well, dad is 80 and doesn't even take a pill to help him sleep. I never doubted for a second that a man of such clean living and of such rock solid character would be any different. After I hung up a strange feeling came over me... surrounded and shadowed by the words "what could have been", I was immediately transformed back almost thirty years and I could almost hear Dan Fogelberg singing about a "Same Old Lang Syne".
I never experienced "love at first sight" but when our eyes met across a crowded dance floor, I knew my life would never be the same. I sat in my office after the phone call and thought about what is and what could never be (to quote Led Zeppelin) and how if there was a time machine available, I know exactly what day I would dial it to. There are people in our lives that no matter what happens and how the life ends up, you always want to know how they're doing and if that person ever thinks about you. I know for many years, whenever the thought of this person crossed my mind, I would have to catch my breath to keep from hyperventilating. I can almost see after all these years her parents' reaction when this long haired "DJ" came calling on their daughter. Many years later while having lunch with them, I thanked them for their acceptance. "We saw the way you looked at her."
Very insightful and oh, so true.
Your life turns out the way it's supposed to I guess. I think the template of your life is pre-determined by God and fate. I know for whatever reason (my fault), we didn't end up together and it's a crying shame. Throughout the years, I've asked God to cradle this person and take care of them. My prayers seem to have been answered. And I'm so pleased that their life has turned out so well. Married, with four beautiful children and a husband that worships the ground she walks on (he'd better).
The afternoon then exploded into the choas that only an office full of people moving too fast working too hard could bring. Most of the team I lead could be my kids. I remember the day I had to question one of my peeps when they said.."I don't get the Beatles, why were they so popular?".
But, I digress.
My life is good now, and fill of deadlines and commitments, I am happy to have finally found some semblance of order. I am working my way toward contentment and I have been getting closer to finding that elusive state of mind. I'm not there yet, but it's getting closer. What the future brings, no one knows.
After being a fuck up most of my life, I am so very proud of my kids and the adults they've become. Blessed to be a grandfather to three beautiful girls, father to an Air Force captain who's so smart that he has two branches of government bidding on his services. Yes, he is rocket scientist who has great taste in music (wow, I wonder how THAT happened?). He took Van Morrison and The Moody Blues to school with him when he went to Notre Dame at a time that seems to be a thousand years ago, now. My youngest is the spitting image of her grandmother and someone who will be a valuable person to those less fortunate. She has a sweet soul and a warm heart.
My only hope is that when my kids get to be my age, the books of their life will be as full as mine. I have seen places and been with people that this farm boy would have never dreamed in a hundred thousand years. All put in my path in some pre ordained fashion. I have been with some of the most beautiful women and spent time with some of my heroes growing up.
I will refer to my man Al Stewart (whom I've met twice, he is a very lovely man) who once wrote..."a girl comes towards you that you used to know, you reach out your hand, but you're all alone..."
All alone but hardly ever lonely. A song came on my radio station as I was heading home tonight and it pretty much summed up where I am at. In fact, after the song was over, I was crying so hard I could hardly steer.
I've always been a fan of John Denver. In my record collection in high school, you'd find Led Zep, Black Sabbath, The Doors etc. You'd also find Neil Diamond, Bread and Mr. Denver. My doppleganger in high school(as you can see there IS a bit of resemblance). He is another one of those singers and composers that knew my life better than I did and one song "Rocky Mountain High" was almost solely responsible for a move to Denver that was doomed from the start. Music.
I just can't imagine myself with out it.
Thanks, Boo.
And now for the song that brought me to tears tonight because of how close it hits home. If there was a target on my heart, this song would have hit a bullseye.

Goodbye, My Friend

Another important person in my life has passed. My brother in law(hmm, how do I put this), was finally given the knockout punch early this morning. He starved himself to death as many at that stage are want to do. Damn fucking son of a bitch fucking damn fucking.....cancer. Fuck. Sorry. He was one of the kindest, generous, most decent people I've ever had the chance to know. And, at the age of 56 (shit). Curtis had the driest, most incredible wit I've ever experienced. We developed an early connection in the relationship because we were in love with siblings. We knew what the "Redow production number" meant. The invention of drinking "rockets" on Christmas and then totally forgetting the recipe, no one knows what's in them now, "Queen" Joanie (whom he's with at this time). A man of taste, style and class. A man who, in every picture, is smiling. A trusted friend and mentor to my kids who worshipped the ground he walked on. And always will. A man who will now never grow old and leaves a wonderful person on this Earth alone and devastated. 30 years together and now each one of them are free of the things that wore them down and created a burden on their shoulders. When I first got into the relationship, I knew I was in the big city because it involved gay people in the family. The horrors. Being a kid from the farm, while coming through Kansas City and such, I never formed much of an opinion either way. More curiosity than anything. I can amazingly and honestly say that apparently you CAN'T catch it, because neither one of the kids are gay. That I know of. The joke was always that Curtis and Micheal were together for longer than any of the hetero sexual couples. And it wasn't even close. They didn't "divorce". This was love. From the depths of their souls, truer love has never existed.
So, fare thee well, my friend and colleague. I know you'll set a place for me at the table of the father along with the rest of my family because you were, indeed, my family. Your grace and goodness will be reverberated through the generations of my daughter's children's, children's, children.
You, sir are legend.

"You and I will meet again...When we're least expecting it. One day in some far off place...I will recognize your face...I won't say goodbye my friend...For you and I will meet again"---Tom Petty
Curtis Bright 1955-2011
I will always love you.

Trying To Loosen My Load, I Got Seven Women On My Mind

Sitting at the two week precipice of 55, there are a few things I've found out. It's hard to do, but you really can't sweat the small stuff and the things you can't control. Certain things never change and the biggest thing that never changes is change.
"Changes changing places, chain yourself to the the ground..." I need to gain control of my body again, just like I did twenty years ago. I will drop twenty pounds in three months not because I want to, but the line has been crossed where I need to.
2011 has started with the most difficult and challenging circumstances I have experienced in a while. I'm halfway through what I need to do...while Sunday morning is one of my favorite times, I'm not sure why Sunday afternoon bothers me so much. I think 4:30-5pm on Sunday night is one of my least favorite time of the week. It may have something to do with separation anxiety when I was a kid or something but I have never ever liked Sunday afternoon. I'm glad it's over.

I don't know half the people on the awards show anymore. Yes, I'm turning 55. My mom once said a number of years ago that "things were happening too fast" she felt out of it and left behind and she didn't know anyone on TV anymore. When I hear that Ringo is 70, it makes me stop and think of days gone by and grab a new perspective on the who, what, when why and how. I know where.

Set and ready to go in Farmington ahead of the storm, huddled in to the room until the storm of the century has passed and hopefully the end of a long long lonely winter.

I love the "mayhem" campaign by Allsate featuring the guy who played on "Oz". It's like the "Real men Of Genius" campaign where I'm waiting to see what the next one will be.

The radio station is still picking up steam. I have taken the songs a new direction, it's much more of a classic rock statio with a large playlist than it was an oldies station. I just took out the bubble gum stuff that didn't fit were I wanted it to go. It's now in it's second year of broadcasting. I also added some cool sound effects from the old Beaker Street radio program that broadcast all over the northern continent, bringing the sounds of "King Crimson", "Yes" ,"Atomic Rooster","Iron Butterfly" and more into unsuspecting kids bedrooms everywhere there was an AM radio. Trying to market by the senses. www.planetradio.us


Rod Stewart is an artist that sends more conflicting messages to me.I have loved some of the things he's done (I still think that "Stay With Me" is one of THE great rock songs), the entire"Every Picture Tells A Story" is a masterpiece. "Never a Dull Moment" was great and then he sank into the "Atlantic Crossing", "Night on the Town" and the dreadful "Blondes Have More Fun" era which brought us "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" and the total sell out (until recently) of him to disco. he hasn't been relevant for years. He did redeem himself after the disco crap with an album called "Foot Loose and Fancy Free". His crowning moment of that LP was "I Was Only Joking". I remember playing it at KFMH in Muscatine Iowa and every timed I played it , some one called and asked what album that song was on. As I've lived my life, the words are more poignant than ever...



So, as my old friend Oat Willie once said "Onward thru the Fog..."

Lives must be led, and as family members must find their way to the other side of life, we say good bye to my brother in law Curtis Bright. True love like the kind you and Michael shared will never be found again. 30 years together is a long time. We've had four years more than we thought we would, but the end is not always pretty or decent. You're a better man than that, so I wish you a speedy and painless good night. I know how much we'll miss you. 56 is way too young and much too close for comfort.

As someone somewhere once said, when it rains, it pours and in this season, it pours some more.

But, in contrast we welcome young Miss Savannah Kay Carlson, daughter of my nephew Ryan and his lovely bride Amber, who went to the same high school I did, so she was automatically accepted.

It's the storm of the century, hang on wherever you are. I started writing this at 4:30 on a dreary Sunday afternoon on the second to last day of January 2011, approximately 22 months away from the "sun gods" coming back to earth to save us. Chariots of the Gods?

"Take good care of your brother..."
-Jackson Browne

40 Years Ago Musically Speaking

The month of January 1971, I was living in the middle of nowhere, four miles outside of Ava Missouri, off highway FF in a house that used to be the George Pledger residence. "Where do you live?" "The old George Pledger place"..."oh, ok". Small town restless and bored, playing basketball and trying to stay out of trouble. Life was NOT good, I did NOT have a normal childhood. My mother and father were apart and I wasn't quite old enough (or capable enough) to hold the family together. My brother was in Vietnam and we walked on those eggshells for four years. Life was happening, the world was changing and I was....stuck, frustrated and simply bored. Playing basketball and the radio were my saviours. Not sure what order they would be in, sometimes it changed from day to day. Basketball (sometimes in a far away place), go to the room, turn on the radio and do homework. The radio was my ticket to Chicago. To Little Rock, Nashville, Denver and other far away places. I knew I wanted to do what they did, so I hung on every word. The DJ on WLS was Kris Eric Stevens. He was the "night jock" who would keep all of us small town kids from being bored. He could tell a story in 13 1/2 seconds, the exact time it took to talk over the beginning of "She's A Lady" by Tom Jones or "Your Song" by Elton John. Tell a joke in 5 3/4 seconds over the intro of "Stoney End" by Barbra Streisand or make me believe he used the latest product or service he was selling. He not only branded himself into my brain all those years ago, but so did the music. I think the long distance crackling and static made each song special. You had to listen when it was there because sometimes, it would fade... So, yes, I liked Tony Orlando and Dawn and Gladys Knight with her Pips and yes, I admit it, I loved Bread. Not for any other reason but that my favorite DJ made it sound special enough for me to care. Bread wrote love songs for 15 year olds.

With a tribute to the music, here are my top five songs to appear in the top 40 according Billboard magazine on January 30th 1971

I loved Rare Earth. I saw them play at the Uptown in Kansas City in 1982 with all of the original members. It was one of the best show I have ever seen. This is recent but Peter Rivera makes it sound great..



I also loved Bread. From the first time I heard "Make It With You", I thought these guys made smart, well written and well played songs. Three of the four guys are dead. They were highly sought after session men for years. An uptempo number from them..



What ever happened to these guys? I actually have in my possession their first two albums. Interesting and different with excellent harmonies and excellent playing. Great one hit wonder band.



The mighty Zep sounded ten times louder coming through the AM airwaves. This took the chill off a winter night. Hammer of the Gods. I went out and ordered the album the first time I heard this.


Dave Edmunds is an effing genius. Nuff said. This song was about 20 years ahead of its time


Here was the top twenty on that day:
1. Knock Three Times-Dawn
2. My Sweet Lord/Isn't It A Pity - George Harrison
3. Lonely Days - Bee Gees
4. One Less Bell to Answer - Fifth Dimension
5. Rose Garden - Lynn Anderson
6. Groove Me - King Floyd
7. I Hear You Knockin - Dave Edmunds
8. Your Song _ Elton John
9. One Bad Apple - Osmonds
10. Stoney End - Barbra Streisand
11. If I Were Your Woman - Gladys Knight
12. Black Magic Woman - Santana
13. It's Impossible - Perry Como (!)
14. Love The One You're With - Stephen Stills
15. I Think I Love You - Partridge Family
16. Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin
17. Born to Wander - Rare Earth
18. Mr. Bojangles - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
19. Remember Me - Diana Ross
20. We Gotta Get You A Woman - Runt (Todd Rundgren)

Matching tats

Mine (tattoo virgin)



My daughters (she's a pro)

The Importance of .002

I have a friend. He's a good guy. Has lots of common sense. He works hard and is very aware of the world around him. He thinks of himself as someone who is blessed with many things. And he is. Sometime last fall at a gathering of friends on a Saturday night, he decided to be as careful as he could be when it came to drinking that night. The party started at six and he had a drink. At eight oclock, he had another one and at ten thirty, one more. The party broke up after mid night and he had a conversation with himself about his condition. Should he crash at the hotel next door? Should he wait a few minutes or go ahead and make the five mile journey home? He decided to go ahead and drive home because felt like he was fine. His house was two turns off the interstate and there was no one on the road at that time of the morning. My friend was pulled over by the Maryland Heights Police not far after he entered the roadway. The reason? Not exactly clear. The cop put him through the usual regimen of tests including the finger to nose, stand on one leg etc. He passed all of those tests with flying colors. After passing those tests, the cop made him blow. He was arrested, handcuffed and hauled off to the station where my friend blew a .082 in the breathalyzer. .002 over the limit!! Do you realize how much .002 is? If you were to take a 12 oz can of soda, .002 would be two teaspoons. .002 equals two sips of a drink. So, all of his planning to be careful went for naught. He hired a lawyer. That lawyer told my friend that this was a pattern of that particular police department. They had a quota to fill and it was getting late in the month. The lawyer requested a copy of the police report and I remember my friend saying that what was on the report wasn't even close to what happened. See, my friend was indeed over the limit but not intoxicated or drunk. He has a very sharp recollection of what came down that night, because he was "careful". According to my friend, the cop embellished the police report to make it look worse than what it was and my friend did not recognize the chain of events as recorded by the officer. Now, my friend is lumped in with the drunk drivers in the world. The ones who habitually break the law. His driving record is ruined and this indiscretion will end up costing him thousands of dollars along with the pain, embarrassment and humiliation he now feels. He can't drive for thirty days and now must attend classes for alcoholics, although he isn't one. When his 30 days are done, he can only drive back and forth to work and it will take him years to get his insurance rates back in line. How much longer will it take to repair his reputation? Two sips. .002 Two thousandths. Thank God my friend works for a company and a boss who are forgiving and understand his importance to his company. He's already had a face to face discussion with each one of his employees to tell them the truth before they hear it somewhere else. He told me that one of the hardest things he's ever done was to talk to his kids and be honest about it. It's even a crueler twist of fate knowing his daughter had two friends killed by drunken drivers when she was in high school. Bob Dylan once sang about a simple twist of fate. He's living it. His faith in God notwithstanding, I wonder sometimes how large our shoulders must be to carry a weight so heavy. I'm not sure what has upset him the most. Was it the fact that he was careless or the fact that someone who is sworn to uphold the law lied. My friend was devastated and he still is. You can see it in his eyes and the way he handles himself. The confident, successful guy is now withdrawn and sad. "I don't know if I'll ever get over this" he told me. The moral? Before you have that last sip of the margarita or it's imperative to finish that last pitcher, think of my friend and know that .002 will be a scarlet letter he wears around his neck for the rest of his life. Yes, it CAN happen to you. And if it does, I don't wish this "simple twist of fate" on you or anyone.