Fortress of Solitude

When I was a young man and things troubled me, I would head to the comfort and security of my bedroom. Growing up as the son of an alcoholic left a number of scars. 

One of them was the feeling of abandonment.

My mother was a special person. She was kind, sweet, very giving and very funny. The McNew side of the family has always tried to "outfunny" each other. My uncles had great senses of humor and by DNA or whatever that trait was passed on to my mom.

She was also an alcoholic. I remember being in Kansas City, calling home and when she picked up the phone, I knew she was hammered. I threatened to never come home until she quit drinking. She hung up on me. It got worse as life went on. She started with Miller High Life and graduated to whiskey. She would drive like that. This was the time when an officer caught you drinking, you were given a ride home. She would be embarrassed but it would not stop her. More than a few time, the police would knock on the door and one of us had to ride with the cop and bring the car home.

I adored her. I still do and admire her knowing what kind of life she was exposed to as a child. I know she was physically abused and probably sexually abused, too. She had demons from her youth she just couldn't overcome. Smoking and drinking killed her at 62. I'm surprised she lasted that long. A very flawed but wonderful woman.

Growing up, she was there as much as possible, but coming home from school and trying to discuss my day, she would look at me and she just wasn't there. It just got to the point where I could tell whether I should talk to her that day or not right away. If not, I'd swallow whatever I had to say and head to my bedroom. It was at that time, my fortress of solitude. A place where I could go and find solace in music. I'd close the door and play DJ on my little cassette recorder or just listen to the radio while doing my homework, reading comic books or just listening to music. I'd burn some incense. At first, mom thought it was pot :)

It was comfortable and reassuring. I know then I would dream my bedroom was my house and no one could get me there. I was safe from the outside world. Sometimes, the outside world was cold and mean and unforgiving to a lonely high school kid.

Not in my bedroom. It was safe.

I have the same set up now. The house is the Fortress of Solitude, but in my room now, I'm safe and secure. No one can hurt me here. I have the same brand of incense and I'm even listening to the same music. It's comforting and soothing.

So, here I am, with Poutchuli and Musk incense, listening to Elton John and knowing for now, I'm alright. I can't say how 'll be when I leave here, but for right now, I'm safe.

 

Our House is a very fine house

Joni Mitchell and Graham Nash at Peter Tork's house on August 7th 1969 less than 2 weeks before Woodstock. Joni was supposed to go to Woodstock but didn't on the advice of her manger David Geffen because she had to appear on the Dick Cavett Show.

While in NYC she watched it on TV and ended up writing the song of her generation called "Woodstock". Tork who had been a member of 'The Monkees', left the group in 1969 and later moved to Marin County, California. David Crosby and Stephen Stills were also there at Tork's house that same day that this picture was taken. Joni was painting a watercolor portrait of Graham Nash outside on the terrace. Peter Tork didn't live in Laurel Canyon per se' but just north of the Canyon in Studio City.

Black and White

 At one time, I was mediocre at taking pictures.

Good Times

 

There's No Substitute For Red

The way we played yesterday will not get us past Buffalo.

Four sacks, no D line rushing, gotta be better than this, boys, but still undefeated

Electric Blue

What would I like for people to say after I'm dead?

"He was a good man."

I have many miles to go. Or maube not, 69 is coming soon.

Carl Sagan was a good man. It's his birthday.

He wrote our mission statement on this pale blue dot.

Today is the the anniversary of Carl Sagan's birth in 1934 and the day we celebrate his life, teachings and wisdom.

The image mentioned is The Pale Blue Dot. It is a photograph of Earth taken Feb. 14, 1990, by NASA’s Voyager 1 at a distance of 3.7 billion miles. Mr. Sagan shared his thoughts about this image in his book, The Pale Blue Dot. His words are timeless but also seem particularly relevant at this point in time.

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. 𝙏𝙤 𝙢𝙚, 𝙞𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙚'𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣.”

― Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space

"Certified" Picker

 

https://acousticguitar.com/chet-atkins-certified-guitar-players/

Warriors

 

Five Years Ago Today

 

Iconic.

Legend.

Hall of Fame.

Kris Kristofferson.

In an incredibly subdued and classic performance, I was taken for a ride through many years of songwriting excellence. Backed by Merle Haggard's band, he made me laugh and cry. Many times.

His humorous take on "Okie From Muskogee" was very funny and caught the crowd by surprise.

At 80, I hope to be not drooling on someone. At 80, he was as smooth as ever.

A word to the wise. The show starts promptly at 8 and he gets a lot of his bigger stuff out of the way early.

"Me and Bobby McGee" was about three songs into his first set.

"Here Comes That Rainbow Again", "For the Good Times", "Help Me Make It Through the Night", "Sunday Morning Coming Down", "Why Me Lord?" "Now till Forever"...etc etc.

Incredible. Just words and music backed by a stripped down band of veterans.

This was one best behaved crowds too. No talking because he sings so softly.

His book of songs is mind blowing..

Thanks to Scott Mackey for the picture.

The Uptown Theatre Kansas City, Mo.

Welcome Back

It looks like this is where I'm going to park my stuff for the time being. 

For some reason, people keep wanting me to write a book. This is probably the closest thing to it I will get. Here's the thought on not writing a book. I know I have a lot of friends, but I honestly don't think there are enough of them to even begin.

The publishers would want a large pre order. When I thought about putting together a podcast while working for Cumulus, I was told I had to have at least 5,000 followers.

That's about as far as the conversation went.

So, I will post here my thoughts and feelings about what's happening in my head and at this point, my head is NOT right. Since Tuesday, I have felt this overwhelming dread of the future. I know what's in store and the people who voted for Trump are thinking what he does will not affect them. What he does will affect everyone. His tariffs will raise prices on EVRYTHING. I find it so overwhelming we voted in a person who doesn't understand what tariffs do. He is the dumbest man ever to run for President. 

For some reason, I feel I must apologize to my ancestors and thank them for saving us from fascism. They only delayed it by 70 or so years, but I appreciate the sacrifice they put in to fight a war against Hitler and Japan. If war break out in Europe (Trump had given Putin the green light), I'm afraid we will be fighting with the fascists and not against them

I love history, it's what I studied in high school and college. Somewhere in the last 40 years or so, the basic tenets of government were not taught. I feel this started with Ronald Reagan. Whatever the reason, we have the dumbest electorate making decisions for the rest of us. Now, instead of people working in Washington to lift us up, we know have people in place to blow the whole democracy to shreds.

I can't go any further though but to thank Rush Limbaugh for his 30 years of calling liberals, "the greatest threat to democracy. " I believe his words were..."Russia and China are not our enemies. the true enemy of the people are liberals. They are the biggest threat to this country." So, after two generations of yelling fire in a crowded theatre (and no one doing anything about it,) here we are.

I have very little faith we will be free again in my lifetime. Trump and his cronies will jury rig the system and our elections will be the puppet Putin kind where we will know who won even before the vote. I always thought this country was better than that, but apparently, not so.

But here's one thing to consider, Trumps' bullshit will affect his supporters too. When the tariffs go into effect, jobs will be lost and wages will stagnate while the price of everything will skyrocket. It will effect them in ways they don't even know about.

Our attorney generals and law enforcement have let us down. Why was Trump not tried for the insurrection? Why wasn't a more vigorous pursuit made concerning the constant law breaking Trump did? Why did this country allow him to get away with it? Easy. We're lazy and dumb. He should not have been allowed to run, he should have been in jail.

It doesn't matter now. This democracy is no more. It's over. Almost 250 years and with one election...poof! Everything we worked hard for is gone. There are no rails into what Trump can do. I hope the damage spares you and me and the people we love. The next four years will be hell, and if Trump has his way, he will sow mass destruction. It's who he is. Everything Donald Trump touches dies. Every last one of them. Including, I'm afraid, this country.

So here we are, Steve Bannon warned of Roman justice where it is acceptable for one part of the country to rule over the others. He has basically said he wants to prosecute those who speak ill of him and Trump. You can be sure, they can and will.

Sorry for the bad vibes, but now they are out, I will try and find some more decent and nice things to talk about.

See ya next time.

Let's Go Crazy

 Officially retired.

Growin Up

A lot of people I know are sharing this story about Bruce and how he's growing older. It is an excellent read. Written by David Brooks.

I think this guy is on to something.

As I sit here after signing up for Medicare over the weekend, I sometimes wonder how did this happen so fast?

I was warned by my mother many years ago how quick it goes.

One minute, I'm 18, wide eyed and awestruck, slowly getting into an occupation I had dreamed about doing, and now, I look around and find all my bosses and co-workers are ten, fifteen even thirty years younger than me.

At 18, I thought it was time for the old guys to go. Guess what?

Getting knocked to the mat several times in your life and then getting up again is the biggest teacher in life. It builds the character needed to survive while others fall.

I can tell you Bruce is right.

Life is too short for the bullshit. Life has taught me what's worth fighting for an what isn't. What I can change and cannot. I wish I would have known that 40 years ago. But, that's what life is. A series of events played out in real time that ultimately determines who you are and can be.

I appreciate courage. Anonymous courage. I have always thought the more scars you have on your heart, the better human being you can be. I admire empathy. Those who know the struggle know those who struggle. Recognize we are all struggling with demons, in whatever form they take.

I've learned kindness.

My favorite quote from the article is from Cicero..."“It’s not by strength or speed or swiftness of body that great deeds are done,” he wrote, “but by wisdom, character and sober judgment. These qualities are not lacking in old age but in fact grow as time passes.”

Good Lord, I've hurt people. I never meant to but sometimes we get so far off track, we can't see the track anymore. I wish I could personally tell those people what and why but maybe it's better if I don't.

The hippies were right. Love is a friendship set to music.

All You Need Is Love...Love Is The Answer.

Life During Wartime

It was late summer 1978, I was working the 7-11pm shift for an AM radio program called "The Album Place" for WQUA Moline. 

Our town didn't have a "rock" station, so I put together a program on an AM station that normally played Barry Manilow, Anne Murray and the like during the day, but at 7pm, the switch was flipped and we played album cuts. The ratings were really good and that meant a new FM competitor had just signed on. Not a good sign.

I took a vacation that sent me to downstate Missouri where I grew up, then driving to Denver because I could. As I was driving to Denver I went through KC and first heard KY..

I went to Denver, visited a friend and while I was gone, my AM station changed the night time format to disco. It was at that time I put together an audition tape and sent it to a number of places I thought might be cool to work for. There was a station in Steven's Point Wisconsin, KSHE, a couple of others and KY102. I didn't hear anything back from anyone, so I started working part time at the Top 40 AM station in Davenport. Middays opened up at the new rock station, so, for awhile in 1979, I was doing overnight at the heritage top 40 AM rock station I grew up listening to and middays at the new FM station. I think Dan Aykroyd did a bit about that on SNL. I lived it.The morning man left on the rock station and I slid my way into mornings in May of 1979. Life was good, I was madly in love with a gal who worked at the station named Mary. We did everything together and working at the new FM station, when the concerts came around, you had the best gig. This was also the time Fredrocks and I became best buds and drank a lot of tequila. Freddy did afternoons at the FM top 40 station. Doing mornings on the rock station in my hometown, got a lovely woman, life is outstanding.

When working morning drive, the best way to sleep is in shifts. Getting up at 4am sometimes is not fun. Especially if Fredrocks had you out until 1am the night before. No one needs that. If you aren't careful, you are toast at 4pm. It was during one of the these shifts in the afternoon, I got THE call. At the time, I was living with my mom, Dad had just died, and her basement had a separate entrance, so it worked out well. I tried to sleep sometime in the afternoon and on one afternoon, the phone rang. Half groggy, I answered. The voice on the other end said something like hi, this is Max Floyd and I'm looking for Randy. "Who are you?" I said. Mind you, it had been over a year since I had sent that tape. My next response was "prove it." I had a friend who liked to punk me and I just knew this was him. "Excuse me?" he said. I then sat straight up in the bed and listened as Max said something about having an opening...would I like to come down...he will set up the arrangements...etc" and then hung up. WTF was that all about? Did I hear him right? Sure enough the phone call happened later in the week with flight arrangements, hotel, etc.

Wow. Just wow.

I had never been on a plane before and the Ozark Airline puddlejumper just about swore me off flying together. We left Moline, no bathrooms and there's about ten seats. As luck would have it, the pilot liked to play chicken with a thunderstorm on the way to KC. Awesome. I arrived in KC, I'm put up at the Marriott and Max says, go ahead and hang loose tonight, I'll come out and get you in the morning. Put a dinner on our tab. I went down to the bar, sat down, order a meal and I get into a conversation with the guy, a DJ for an after work party. He comes over says hello, asks what I'm doing in town and I tell him I am interviewing for the night job at the local rock station. "KY102?" he asked, I said, why, yes that's it. For the rest of the evening this guy buys me drinks, gets me shit faced. and before I leave, he says to me..."nice to meet you, I'm Katfish Kris Kelly." I'm your competition. I thought I'd buy you a few drinks before I kicked your ass."

We both laughed.

This place could be fun, I thought.

This was the first night even before I took the job, someone is trying to get me drunk. Welcome to the boomtown...

I'm in Moline, job offer in hand but it's not enough dough. I called Bob Garrett and we had a great discussion, he basically said that with remotes and personal appearances, I would go well above 500 bucks in the next year. OK. Now what?

I had to talk with the three people I trusted the most, my girlfriend Mary (who was ecstatic I got the offer), my mom and my Aunt Jane. Mary, in her infinite, too damned intelligent self said, "you have to make this decision for you, I cannot guarantee there will always be an us, but there will always be you." Damned common sense. She was about three years older than me and wiser beyond her years but that's not really what I wanted to hear, dammit. Too bad.

My mom was my mom. Saying stuff like how hard I've worked for this blah blah One thing she did remind me was ..."you've always told me this is like baseball, you start in the small towns and work your way up to the big city. Do you want the big city?" So, do I want to remain a large fish in a small pond in the Quad Cities, my home most of my life, or do I leave? Do I want the big city? Do I punk? Next was my Aunt Jane, who was more like a mom to me sometimes than my mom was. "I left my hometown at 18, and never looked back. This is what you've wanted since you were a boy. Radio guy, big city, making a difference." Aunt Jane without a doubt was the smartest person I've ever known or ever will know. She drove a car until she was 94.

Godammit. What to do? It's at that point where that inner voice, that gut feeling, that supernatural connection to your heart and soul opens the tumblers on the cosmic Masterlock. I gotta go.

"Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane, will we ever meet again?...feel no sorrow, feel no shame...come tomorrow, feel no pain?" That was the song of that summer, now eerily haunting to me.

I announced my decision to Mary, who cried and laughed at the same time (and sorry, but for some reason,we had the most incredible sex that night), to my mom, who cried and my Aunt Jane who hugged me like there was no tomorrow.

I called Bob and told him I was in. Now what? I'm 23 years old, never really been away from home much and I'm staring at leaving everyone I know, my family, my friends, co-workers, a girlfriend EVERYTHING I knew for Kansas City. A lifelong Chiefs fan, I really liked what the Royals were doing in the latter part of the 70s. Football, baseball, concerts, big time radio station. There was so much good on my side of the see saw of emotions, this was truly an offer that I could not refuse. But I knew no one. NO ONE in Kansas City. Not a soul. Was I as good as I thought? Someone thought so. It took balls on KY's part to hire a 23 year old kid who's biggest market was the Quad Cities. This was about August 20th or so and everyone agreed I'd do my first show on September 10, 1979.

In the next three weeks,my life resembled a clothes dryer as small town boy says goodbye.

21 days and counting to blast off to Kansas City. I apologize if I don't remember much about these days, it was like a blur, a hurricane that came through my life. I had accepted the job in KC. Now, the saying goodbye to everyone I knew and moving to KC was on the launch pad.

T-minus 17 days...

I went into my boss' office at 97X and said what had happened. Mary knew, but no one else did. I think it kind of caught everyone a bit off guard. Wait, you're the guy that grew up here, graduated from high school here and you're doing what, again?
Wow. Really? You're going to Kansas City? Wait. What? Where?

Good old Mary. "We need to make a list of the stuff we have to do. Let's take a road trip and go down there next weekend so we can scope it out." So, we load it up and bowl it up and go exploring. The weekend before the big move, we spent that weekend looking around, grabbing any information about Kansas City we could find. Wow, River Quay looks nice. It was a great weekend, but, she made it seem she was coming with me when I knew and she knew she wasn't.
Wait, had we discussed this? We hadn't yet, I knew we hadn't progressed that far in a relationship where anything was taken for granted. It was an unspoken communication between us, the question would never be asked because I knew what the answer was.

The week before the move, I got cold feet. It was overwhelming. What the fuck did I do? What had happened was exciting but also a bit terrifying. So, I went to the person with the most common sense I knew, my Aunt Jane. "Are you kidding me?" was her response. "let's look ahead six months. Not today, six months from now. I think you're going to be the king of your universe. There will always be you. What will you do if you turn this down? How soon do you think a another chance will come along?"

The last song I played on 97X the day I left was a song Mary wanted to hear (that's when you could do that stuff on the radio) "The Famous Final Scene" by Bob Seger.
Damn. Hatches batted down. T minus one day and counting.
All of the things on Mary's list had been crossed off.
It was Sunday morning, the UHaul is loaded, I've said my goodbyes. I grew some ditch weed and I had a garbage bag filled with joints the size of cigars. This was a six hour drive and I needed something, anything to dull the pain I felt that day. Don't get me wrong, I knew where I was going but the last train stop hurt as Mary stood me up on our last meeting.

One of the things etched into my mind was when I looked in the rear view mirror, waved and saw my mom who was waving, smiling and crying at the same time.
“Sweet devotion (Goodbye, Mary)
It's not for me (Goodbye, Jane)
Just give me motion (Will we ever)
To set me free (Meet again?)
In the land and the ocean (Feel no sorrow)
Far away (Feel no shame)
It's the life I've chosen (Come tomorrow)
Every day (Feel no pain)
So goodbye, Mary (Goodbye, Mary)
Goodbye, Jane (Goodbye, Jane)
Will we ever (Will we ever)
Meet again? (Meet again?)"
to be continued...

In the photo, taken two weeks before the phone call, myself, Mary, Sue and Mike Keneally at one of the summerjams on Credit Island Davenport. This was the time where Ann and Nancy Wilson plucked me like a banjo. They were very sweet very high, and smelled great as they tried to distract this 23 year old young man. They succeeded. When Nancy Wilson put her hand on my leg during an interview, I called them the Heart sisters. They just thought that was so damn funny. Good times.

Uhaul is packed, all goodbyes have been said, it's Sunday at noon and it's time to go. September 9th, 1979.

A couple of years before this, I lived in a house with some acreage right next to the Mississippi River with my ex-wife and somehow we got some magic "seeds" to try and grow a beanstalk :) . We got out all the High Times we could find and attempted to grow magic plants. We carved out a plot about 20 feet by 20 feet and proceeded to follow instructions. We were a bit successful but all of the plants turned out to be male but two. After harvesting, I turned the plants upside down and sprayed them with sugar water every day (that's what we were told to do.) and when they dried, the result was just ok. We got almost two garbage bags full of a higher level ditch weed really. You could get a buzz but it took a lot. I'm mentioning this as I had one garbage bag with me on my trip and probably seven or eight joints rolled that were the size of my arm.

Weed at the ready, I slowly pull away from my house and I see my mom, forever tattooed in my memory waving goodbye, smiling and crying, which is what I was doing. Mary was nowhere to be seen. (There was a letter from her at the station on Monday when I got there.) I had my radio station play "Goodbye Stranger" a little after noon and that song set me on my way. Goodbye old comfortable world, doing the morning show on the rock station in my hometown, starting to develop a name for myself...here we go...onward through the fog that was rolling around my brain. Heading west, the tears start to recede about Iowa City and the excitement of starting a new life starts to come over me.

It's hard to explain what happens when you pick up everything you have, say goodbye to everyone and just start over. Terrifying but exciting at the same time. The trip through Iowa was pretty uneventful, but for some reason, I've always had anxiety when it comes to Sunday nights, and I think it happened sometime in my childhood. I still sometimes to this day have trouble with Sunday afternoon/nights. I headed south on I-35 and the final half of the trip is now ahead. I start pulling into KC and there it is, that skyline, my new home. There was no GPS back then and I was a map whiz but I'll be damned if I can find the hotel. The Howard Johnson hotel in downtown KC. After getting frustrated by not finding it, I just pull over and break down and cry. The whole day just washed over me. I sat there and prayed.

I looked up and there was the hotel, right in front of me.

Thanks God. I made it, checked in and called collect so my mom knew I was there. I called Mary, no answer. I had so much to do in the morning. Get a place, return the truck and go on the air later that night.

"Life moves pretty fast"...when you are now in the big city. And man did I step from the country road to the interstate with this move. From sleepy river town Quad Cities, to the hustle and bustle of the big city, overnight. It was almost hyperspeed the next day.

But, for that one Sunday night, I made it. Emotionally and physically , all hands and feet were in the ride and I was tall enough to ride it. I was next in line to get on....here's my ticket...

Sunday night September 9th 1979...

It's been a long emotional day, those who have moved away from home understand that during that first day, you are just wound so tight, sometimes it's difficult to unwind. Hello insomnia. Not good.

I made it to the next morning. I have about 19 things to do on my list and the most important one was going on the air at 6pm. I have to find a place, return the Uhaul (I had a couple of days) and prepare for the show.

I found some literature about an apartment leasing place on the plaza, so, I make a list of things to do, go outside and drive my car off the trailer. I get in the car, start it up, drive it off the trailer and it catches on fire. Not really on fire, but the electrical wiring catches on fire. Not good. I get the phone book out and call an import mechanic and explain my deal, I told him I was new in town and needed his help, he asked what I did and I told him I was the new night time guy on KY. He sent a tow truck and towed it to his shop on main street.

Now what to do? Small town boy, first day in the big city and things aren't quite turning out the way I would like.Tried to figure out the bus routes and so I hopped on a bus that took me to the plaza and I found the place that Max talked about. Rent was pretty high. $250 a month was pretty steep but there was a very nice little place at 4510 JC Nichols Parkway that I liked. If you remember 1979 at all, you'll remember sometimes gas was hard to find. I took this place because it was on the main drag, had bus service and if things got bad, I could actually walk to work. Dad didn't raise a dummy.

Now what to do with my car? I wish I could remember the name of the shop right there on main street. I think it was called Main Street Imports. Dunno. Anyway, the guys were willing to work out some stuff. I was the guy on KY, they had never heard me and are willing to work stuff out. I like this place already.

Signed a lease and I've navigated the bus routes pretty well. I went back to my hotel room, took a shower, put on my overalls and a T shirt, that's what I feel comfortable in and get on the bus to Signal Hill, it's about 4:30. I get to the station and I didn't realize that there was a welcoming party in my honor. There were all these professional sales people dressed to the nines, waiting to meet the new guy and Eb from the turnip truck shows up to his own party in coveralls and a Tshirt. I didn't know.

That's the night Jay Cooper told me about the "Nightime Rule" that's been discussed before. Jay pulled me aside at the party and said, "hey, don't worry, you can play anything you want after six oclock. Max doesn't listen, so hell, you can bring some from home to play if you want, Max doesn't care."

I could just see myself kind of bowing and saying "Gee, Mr. Cooper, what ever you say, I'm Eb from the turnip truck." With the party going on and all, I had no time to prepare for the show. That's not me, I like to know where I'm going when I get in there. At 5:55 on September 10, 1979, I opened those big, heavy studio doors for the first time during "Nighttime Magazine". Max, Ray Sherman and a couple of other people were in the studio and when the show was over, Max left me with "I'm Gonna Crawl" by Led Zeppelin.

The photos are of very first night on the air. That's Lauren Lyon helping me find my way.

As described before, the studio at KY was like a closet. A closet that had carpeting on all the walls, claustrophobic as hell and is still the best studio I've ever worked in. Outside the two huge thick refrigerator doors was the hustle and bustle of WDAF AM and TV. 61 Country had a full staffed newsroom and my buddy working evenings was Frank Haynes.

An older gentleman, Frank was very funny and sometimes would run into the studio with "breaking news" and then it would be some stupid shit. He drove an old VW bug to work every night. Score points for that. He'd be there until 10pm, I would venture out of the studio once in awhile. I always enjoyed talking to Frank. He served under Charles Gray so he took the news shit pretty seriously. 61 Country was live 24/7 365 and so was the TV station downstairs. The back door of the building was where the vans and news people from the TV station would continually be leaving and arriving until after the 10'oclock newscast. But, when you walked up the stairs, took a right, then a left down the hall, closed those doors to that closet where it all happened, there was this magical feel about it. The phones never stopped ringing. Ever. Four lines coming in and always blinking. This was my fortress of solitude. I ruled the world from that box.

One of the first people I met when I started there was Harry Thomas. Harry was Steve Thomas'(Shooting Star) father, a lovely man who was a camera man for WDAF TV and very proud of his son. I went on the air at 6, so at five thirty, I was usually in the lounge in the basement eating or reading the newspaper. That's when the 5 oclock newscast on Channel Four would take a break to go to the national newscast and Dan Henry seemed to always find me while having a smoke. We became pretty close. "Randall? How ya doing buddy?" "Living the dream, Dan." "Ain't we all?" was his reply. The lounge was where the smokes and vending machines were. Phil Witt came from Iowa right about that time. He came from Sioux City and I came from Davenport, so we always were kindof kindred spirits. Just sitting in the corner of the lounge was a trip. I heard some very interesting conversations with all sorts of people as I sat there and either read or ate my show prep.

At 5:45 or so, I'd head upstairs with basic idea of where i wanted to go with the show. At 5:50, it was Night Time Magazine with a 10 minute wrap up of stuff happening in the city. A daily talk segment on rock radio? What? On Friday's it was "Jack Goes To The Movies" which sometimes would make it under ten minutes but barely. Night Time Magazine was with Ray Sherman when I first got there so, I just watched and contributed whenever pointed to. May and Ray had this down. Max would leave the show with the "Most Requested Song of The Day." Riiight. It was a song Max wanted to hear, I think.

The song rotations were in a shoe box. You got a sheet of paper that had a series of letters on it, which aligned with the categories of songs in the shoe box. Before your show, you matched the letters with index cards, sometimes in packets with other cards, sometimes on their own were supposed to be pulled from the front, written down, played and then rotated to the back of the category. The problem with this is that Max HATED people in the studio with him that weren't supposed to be there. I felt like shit whenever I was in the room with Max, so, I'd fill out a quarter of the list while Night TIme Magazine is going on and then fill out the rest after that show .Max was pretty strict about following the format and if he saw a card or two that looked that they hadn't been played or messed with, he usually caught it (or so I've heard).

The studio would empty out, I'd pull the albums I needed for the first hour and do my damndest to sprinkle magical dust over the unsuspecting people listening to the 100,000 watts of holy light known as KY 102.

Bicycle Race

I have a "new" bicycle.

Mine was stolen right outside my door in a locked building. Apparently, for the three years this place has been open, mine is THE only crime ever reported.
Naturally.

So, my friend Jano rebuilt a bike and gave it to me. Bikes are like horses. My Giant was my trusty steed. It fit perfectly through seven years and about 2,800 miles.

I have a new horse and it's hard to get used to. It's an old bike and a bit heavy. I can't find a seat adjustment that works well, so this one chaffed me serious yesterday while I took it out for a decent ride. Somewhere along the way I lost my higher gears which allowed me to move quickly on flat or inclines. For some reason I only have about four speeds and that won't cut it for a long distance ride.

I could take it to the bike shop for repairs but I have a feeling I'll have to trade in this one for a a type much more suited to what I was used to.

I had an Appaloosa, not trading that for something else only makes the ride harder.

Yesterday's ride was "meh."

Home Sweet Home

I live in a rehabbed Catholic school in downtown Topeka. It's very odd place, or you could say it has character. They left some of the original school lighting that I can control with a fader. Impractical (I don't do fluorescent well)

The spiral staircase of death. If you don't find my body for days, this is why.

One of the nicest places I've lived for sure.

They left the original cork and chalk boards. 

Aesthetics aside (those will be dealt with), everything works. (DVD, Laserdisc, etc) yay.

My recliner is my latest addition. The room is now full.

The second floor is where the convent used to be, so each bedroom has two doors. The nun's quarters were half of each bedroom. The doors on the left both go to my bedroom, on the right is the laundry and bathrooms

Looking back, the planet radio room is on the right with, again two doors. The second door's first step (rear) would be a serious mistake, so it's kept locked.

We Can Go Downtown..

After I set up all of my media yesterday, I decided to just hang and  watch some favorites last night. I have Plex which is hard to understand I guess. I am signed into another account and I get his movies apparently through the wonder of the internet. I guess he gets to choose which one's he wants to share.

Anyway, I went browsing through his collection and I found an  "old" favorite Valley Girl from 1983. I remember it was a cute movie back then and I think it was Nicolas Cage's first or second role. I got about 15 minutes into it and it gagged me with a freaking pitchfork. Talk about not aging well. It was annoying.
So I kept searching and decided to stop an another old favorite "Moscow On The Hudson" with Robin Williams and Maria Chaquita Alonzo. I remember seeing this at the movie previews we did at KY 102. Just about every week, we would preview the major movie coming on that week. We'd give away the passes at remotes or on the air. I got see so many movies for free and before anyone else did. So, I stopped on this movie and it still was great. Ms. Alonzo count NOT have been cuter and of course Robin Williams playing a Russian defector? Still entertaining.

I finished my night wrapping up the first season of "Good Girls."
This is a netflix series about good girls who get way over their head in gang like activity.

I found the series very entertaining. I've been a fan of Ms. Hendricks since Mad Men but the other two are quite entertaining also. I've become a huge fan of Mae Whitman who plays the young "very white" woman. The series is very well done and eagerly await season two.
So, now on Netflix, I'm waiting for the next season of "The Crown", "Ozark" and "Good Girls."

I woke up for the first time in a long time on Saturday morning with a clear head, so I decided to walk to the post office and mail a package to a friend. It seemed downtown was very Zen like with it's emptiness. I got to the post office and was listening to some great soul music on someone's radio. So I then I rang the bell. I found out it belonged to Edith and we talked about Smokey, Diana and the great soul music of all time. I told her my dad's  saying about me being so ugly I had better learn to dance. "Did you?" she asked and I told her I did. "I'd dance with you anytime" she said.
I smiled. So Edith, an older black woman who has three years left before retiring and I are buds.

As I was walking back to my apartment downtown, I took a detour as Jackson Browne's "Before The Deluge" came on planet radio in my pocket. That song has always made me pensive, but this morning, for some reason, I got lost in my thoughts and drifted considerably. It's the usual stuff, "why I am here?" "What the hell am I doing?" kind of thing and for some reason, calmness entered my consciousness.
Maybe, just maybe I'm supposed to be somewhere I'm at. I am unable to process thoughts like that at this time. My consciousness is very stubborn. I'm looking forward to being sober.
The competition has a big street party right in front of our stations today. Of course I will stop by (1 1/2 blocks away) just to be sure they are being good stewards of the business. :)

On my way home, I noticed a Jeep with an International Harvester front license plate stopped at a red light so, I went over and told the driver my dad worked at IH for 30 years in the Quad Cities. He told me the license plate was in honor of HIS father who just passed and worked for 35 years at IH in the QUAD CITIES.  He went to Moline, graduated in 1977 and has lived in Topeka for 20 years. Two strangers who damn near cried stopped at a stop sign in downtown Topeka Kansas.
Complete kismet on a Saturday morning.

My boys in Thunderhead play tonight about 45 minutes away. There are my favorite tribute band without a question. They play Rush songs true and note for note. I am looking forward to seeing Mike, Billy and the rest of the troop later today.



There will be a lengthy bike ride preceding that as I've found a nice trail running through central Topeka. I won't get much speed on the trail but the distance is nice.

Please Mr. Postman

 The postman was very good to me today.

All remastered and everything with all the demos, too.

You Can Get Anything You Want...

Well, here I am post Facebook.

I think I've gotten more done than ever before. But, in order to function on my company's social media platforms, I must have a facebook page. So I made up one. But it is what it is and right now, no problems.

I went to see Night Ranger tonight, while not one of my top ten bands, I've always enjoyed their music. I think the first song KY102 played back in the day was "Sing Me Away" in 1982 I believe.
There were four out of the five original guys and the "replacement" was in Alice Cooper's band for 8 years, so he had some chops, too. Very tight songs played with great enthusiasm. Jack Blades has a great stage presence. I wanted to get to Jack tonight and chat with him about the interview I did with him and Tommy Shaw at KSHE's Real Rock Cafe about 25 years ago.




KSHE had a restaurant in Union Station that was pretty freaking cool. The food was very good and we spared very little expense. We hired good people who knew how to run a restaurant. The Cajun Chicken Pasta was my favorite. I remember asking to be in charge of the music and they let me. I was also in charge of videos on the various screens around the cafe. I had a Laserdisc, DVD and VHS all hooked into a video mixer and put the videos on 6 hour VHS tapes that actually for what we were looking for, did a pretty good job. So, I put something from Tom Petty's Greatest Hits from laserdisc and I'd mix that with something from "The Wall" from VHS and maybe something from a Dave Mason DVD. Then on VHS, the KSHE logo, then, well you get the idea. I recall spending hours and being up all night getting these tapes ready for the grand opening. I wanted to make sure they all looked great and blended together well which they did. A couple of problems arose however when I didn't edit well and that allowed a bare breasted woman to slip thought during the "Gimme Shelter" video. Leaving in the rape scene from "The Wall" wasn't too smart either. Heh. I used the video editor on the music too. I thought I had a great mix, but seems there was a problem with the licensing companies after awhile. The restaurant was in business about a year I think before the Hard Rock across the parking lot sued us. It seems the names were a bit similar.

John Entwhistle's band Ox played one night at the Cafe.
He was absolutely livid when he got inside the place. I don't know what he was expecting but, it wasn't a "cafe." I did an interview with him previous to the show that night, he was just fed up and took it out on me. Every other word was "fuck" and he had such a bad cough, I literally could not understand what he was saying. He gave a very uninspired performance.

Myself, Slash and band at the Real Rock Cafe.

Me and Jesse James DuPree of Jackyl, right before he takes a chainsaw to a wooden chair.

And that's where I interviewed Jack Blades. Slash and Jesse James Dupree of Jackyl, too. He was shocked that a radio station also had a restaurant. The place was packed for him and Tommy and they were very cool signing everyone's stuff. I wanted to say hi tonight and see if he remembered.

I'll find the picture of Jack, Tommy and myself and add it as soon as I can.

Heroes

Can we put a price, a value on childhood memories?

I come from a long line of St. Louis Cardinal fans.
I joke that I'm a ?th generation DNA infused Cardinal fan.
It goes back to the generation before my grandfathers dad.
I lived with my mother, my sister and my grandfather on a farm four miles from a town you wouldn't know in the middle of the southwest Missouri Ozarks from 1966 to 1970.
Prime Cardinal country.
My mother had the "holy" trinity of Hank Williams, Patsy Cline and Stan Musial.
My parents honeymoon was spent at Sportsman's Park so she could say she saw Stan play.

One of my very first recollections is of the 1964 Cardinal World Championship.
Deep in the synapses.

From then until 1975, Bob Gibson was the baddest man on the planet for me.
Jeez, if he played now, he'd be tossed out of every game for retaliating.
Flip that bat one time, and I'll send one under your chin at 95 mph.
No one ever charged the mound with him, not ever, he was a bad ass.

Why do our regular heroes get old?
Does Spiderman ever get old? Doesn't seem so.
Batman? Superman?
How does Bob Gibson get to be 85?

This guy broke his leg in a game and continued pitching.
The Cardinals won the World Series when I was eight and eleven.
Certainly formative years for anyone.
In the 1968 World Series, Gibson put them on his back but it wasn't enough.
1968. Hard to fathom for me that was 51 years ago.

His last game was in 1975 and they retired his number immediately.
I drove almost five hours to be there.
But, I was there for each game.

I met Mr. Gibson on an elevator one day, and as he walked in, I got tongued tied like never before.
I guess I made the mistake of saying something he wasn't fond of, (I grew up worshiping you or some stupid thought that came to mind) he grunted at me when the elevator door open and walked away.

Didn't matter, it was Bob fucking Gibson, and whatever a Chris Farley moment it was, I got to tell him what he meant to this awestruck 33 year old who was 12 at that time.
I'm not big on sports people as "heroes" but damn it, he's mine.

He's 85?
Fuck.

No, can't be, it'll be like if a Beatle died.

Pancreatic cancer has no idea what it's up against.

Finish Whatcha Started

Every once in a while, a friend along the way can be a friend that actually decides your way...
Case in point.
It's late 1985 and I'm helming the airwaves at KSHE 95.

I met Kitty in late 1983 in Kansas City. She really wanted to get into the business and somewhere down the line, I passed along an opening at the Source network in NYC and allowed her to use the station's facilities in KC for her audition.
The Source was the NBC network for "young people" back about that time. By the next round of auditions, Kitty had just enough experience to make it to the next level.
Right before I left for KSHE in 1985, Kitty got the gig in NYC for next to no money. She rose quickly through the ranks and became a full fledged network anchor very quickly. I knew she had the goods and so did they.



One night, as my shift at KSHE is winding down, I get a call on the hot line. The "hot line" is the direct number into the studio and only a few people have it. When it rings, you answer it.
Only a certain amount of people had access.

"Hey Randy, it's Kitty."
"Hello Miss Kitty, how are you?"
"Have you heard the latest with Van Halen?"
"What, did Eddie fall of the stage again?"

"I just witnessed a conversation in the hall here. Are you ready for this?"
"What?"
"It looks like David Lee Roth has been dismissed from Van Halen and replaced by Sammy Hagar."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm serious, I just heard this and I know what a big deal Sammy Hagar is in St. Louis."
"Do you know what this could mean to me good or bad?"
"I owe you," she said. "I would never be anything but real with you, go with this..."

So I did.

I announced that night that Sammy had replaced DLR as the singer.
On the air.
At KSHE.
Sammy central.

I woke up the next morning and heard MY morning show completely tear me shreds over this.
 How dare I announce this without confirmation.
"We're looking into this, and I don't think we can confirm this..."
He took calls from people ..."he's from Kansas City, that's how they do it there, no sources, he's just running with this without checking them out."
This was on MY station..  "How can we let someone on the air who says stuff like this..."
This was on MY station.
In morning drive....MY morning guy was ripping me to shreds instead of at least calling me and checking this out.

It wasn't long before I got the phone call at home..."what the fuck is this about?"
It was Rick Balis, the program director, my boss.
I said that I had full faith in my source.
He wanted to know my source.
Ain't gonna happen.
If this was untrue, I was done at KSHE. Over.

The next 8 hours were filled with finding Sammy's people and Sammy's manager Ed Leffler particularly.
If this was not confirmed, I was done, laughed out of St. Louis and back to teaching American History in high school.
I had faith.

I was on the air about 4:45 when Al Hofer came into the studio and said that Sammy was on the line. At that time at the KSHE studios, you could lose a call for no reason.
Jeessus, not now.
As Al left the studio, he said, "I hope you are right."
"Me, too." I replied.

It was Sammy. His first words to me were..."how did you know? Who do you know?"
He then said yes, it's true and referred to that fact it was poetic justice that KSHE broke the news.
"I owe my record company one more album and when that commitment is satisfied, I will be a member of Van Halen for as long as the eye could see. I am so looking forward to working with these dudes. Eddie and I see eye to eye on a lot of stuff."
"You guys in the studio?"
"Not yet but Eddie and I are writing stuff. I am so happy, dude, tell my fans I'll see them soon."

I lost track of Kitty not long after The Source closed up.
Thank you love.

At no time did I get an apology from the morning man, Rick or anyone in the chain of command. I knew then, I was on my own. And that was OK.