All You Need is Love

Love Comes To Everyone.. 

happy Anniversary Baby

 

December 1 1969, the United States military institutes the first draft lottery since WWII.

This lottery produced no winners.

Merry Christmas kids.

Thanksgiving 1979

The house in Waldo. I shared this house with the two guys who ran the local haunted house. One of the very first remotes I ever did in KC was Friday night at the Main Street morgue. 

I made friends with John Peruca and Steve Koppel right off the bat. I was absolutely flabbergasted how many people were waiting in line to go through the house. I moved to KC in mid September so, I was very new to the place. I was living in a very nice but very drab apartment on JC Nichols Parkway. I got that apartment where I did, due to the gas shortage. It was right on the bus line and if necessary I could take the bus to work. The first remote in the big city at the haunted house was stunning. I showed up early as I normally do. It was such a mind fuck as I was immediately hailed as some hero. "The new guy, the new guy..." they kept shouting. This wasn't Moline anymore, kiddo. 

After a couple of Friday nights at the Morgue, we became friends and they were looking to get a place together. These guys worked their ass off from August to November and would make enough cash to not have to work the rest of the year. We chatted about it and decided we would all move in together. Oh boy.  The house in Waldo was right next door to the two houses. I mean RIGHT next door and that house was right next door etc.

Things were going well, the guys were working, I did their remotes and the drugs flowed freely. The most pure cocaine I've ever done happened at that house. It was so pure, it floated down to the mirror. Incredible. There came to a point where the guys shut down the haunted house, did some traveling and then returned to do basically nothing except more drugs.

I came home one Friday night to a house that was overflowing with people and a fight happening in the front yard. Jesus, what the hell is this? While I was on the air, it seems a bunch of friends descended on the house and declared it the evening's destination. I literally could not open the front door due to having too many people in the house. Fuck, this was some serious shit. I decided to go to my room. Lock the door from the inside and just hibernate, knowing it will be any minute now the cops will be called. 

It wasn't even a minute and apparently, it was their second visit of the night. As I opened the door to my room, someone had decided to use my bed as a "love connection." I turned on the light and said to the guy, "if you're not out of here in 5 seconds, I keep the girl and fuck her until she screams." "Too late," I said, I grabbed her and started to unbuckle my pants. They moved quickly. I was there from October to April and the last few weeks were pretty bizarre. I had my first revenge and anger fuck when I was there. One of Steve's girlfriends was very angry with him and I happened to be down the hall. I always liked her and thought she was too good for Steve, as Steve turned into being a dick due to an over abundance of drugs.

She knocked on the door and asked if I was busy, I was not then she just came out and said she was very mad at Steve and needed to take it out on someone. I was very flattered and I fulfilled her request. I was recently in touch with her and after all this time, I wanted to confirm we did have that night, as sometimes I look back thinking it was a dream, but no she did confirm we had a very nice time.

I thought so.

The end came right after the party. I may have been a night time rock and roll DJ on the most listened to radio station, but my mom did teach me some couth as we would say. I moved about six block away where a good guy record rep lived. He had a lot of house and just one guy. I took the one half of the house, he took the other.

The picture is of me...with a very prophetic Tshirt on. I really wasn't THAT high that night as it was Thanksgiving. Well, maybe. 

Also in the picture is John Perucca, a good guy who has battled demons all his life and now seems to be winning. In addition is one of my favorite human beings ever. Nobody sweeter than Hattie. She was in high school when this picture was taken, but she had more common sense than all of us guys out together and I'd point out that she still does. Unfortunately, Steve took his life about 15 years ago. 

That experience was like my cocaine experience. It stated out fun and stimulating and became a horror show. But, there were some fun times that happened there. Friends I still have today.

I told my stylist I wanted hair like Peter Frampton. I think she swung and missed. 

Sure would like that waist line back

Stephen Byes

In 1985, i was pretty excited to move to St. Louis. My life was very good in KC. I was in love with a beautiful woman, my air shift was only three hours long. I got off in time to catch The Royals on most nights. There was only one radio station I would leave KC for an that was KSHE 95.

I will tell the story later, but suffice to say that my arrival in St. Louis was met with underwhelming response.

In fact, one of the DJs at KSHE‘s first words to me were “why the hell do we need somebody from Kansas City to come in when I have St. Louis friends that are out of work. You’d better be good.”

Thanks for the warm welcome.

I was bullied for quite some time.

One of the very first people to reach out to me in St. Louis and tell me that I was doing a great job was one Stephen Byes.

I got to see him today after a very long time. It was wonderful to give him a big bear hug.

Dude, the white looks good on you.

Radio Ga Ga

While I hated the term Radio Ga Ga, this was their tribute to all of us who played their music day after day...

In 1985, they were done...finished...but for one day...one set...they redeemed themselves and made themselves relevant again....

Radio Ga Ga Live Aid 

I'd sit alone and watch your light

My only friend through teenage life

And ev'rything I need to know

I heard it on my radio

You gave them all those old time stars

Through wars of worlds - invaded by Mars

You made us laugh - you made us cry

You made us feel like we could fly

So don't become some background noise

A backdrop for the girls and boys

Who just don't know and just don't care

And just complain when you're not there

You have the time you have the power

You've yet to have your finest hour

Radio (Radio)

What's That You Say?

It gets louder as you get older....

 

The Greatest What If?

 Mrs. Dunsmore was the principal and she seemed to be a real bitch. It seemed she was devoid of any emotion. "Drink your milk" was her big advice “it’s only a pint.”

In the afternoon, she came on the loudspeaker at Hillcrest Elementary in East Moline and her voice was cracking when she spoke. "School will be dismissed as soon as the buses get here." She couldn't get out the rest of it.

"The president has been killed."

No one spoke, we put our books away and left our rooms. I remember I just had to get home. Walking through the halls to get to the buses, no one said anything but I remember hearing teachers crying, some wailing. Man, I was scared, I thought the world was ending.

We had just been through the Cuban missile crisis, and that was the very first time I ever saw my parents be scared.

No one spoke on the bus, the bus driver never said a word. I got off the bus, ran home and saw my mother with her head buried in her hands.

"This country will never be the same" she said. How correct she was.

My father cried when he watched the funeral. He NEVER cried.

I knew it was bad.

I remember it so vividly.

Parsley and Sage Advice

6 life-changing lessons from the biggest studies on human happiness

Sick of chasing happiness, instead of enjoying it? You may be stuck on what psychologists call the hedonic treadmill. Here's how you can step off it.

If you are of a certain age and you're wondering how to disrupt the routine without getting disrupted, here's some sage words of advice for you.

I practice this as much as I can. I  spend quality time with me when I want and need to.

https://www.sciencefocus.com/the-human-body/hedonic-treadmill

Current State

 

Brush With Greatness 167

 Kerry Livgren. 

This was taken 14 years ago, when Shooting Star was being inducted into the Kansas Music Hall of Fame. Kerry was previously inducted with Kansas, of course, but came to the Shooting Star gala. 

We didn't talk too much and I tried hard not to be a fan boy. I did tell him what his music meant to me and I thanked him for that.

He said thank you back and gave me a real nice warm handshake.

The First Time

There was a post on Facebook, some radio thread and the post was about your very first time on the air. 

 I remember it vividly. 

 It was March of 1971. 

I hung around with two other guys in Ava. 

Ava was smack dab between Springfield and West Plains in the southern central part of Missouri. Population was 2,502 and my graduating class would have been 68.

I hung around with two or three guys  from 7th through 10th grade. One was Tom Gunter and the other was Steve Faszholz. They were from complete different backgrounds. Tom didn't have a pot to piss in and Steve's family lived in the "rich" part of town. I was somewhere in the middle.

 

Steve's older brother Chuck somehow got on the local radio station. 

KSOA (Keeping Southern Ozarks Alerted) was on the south side of the square and up the stairs. The local station was staffed by local people and somehow, Chuck, while still in high school, got the afternoon drive job. I was pretty amazed at that since I wanted to be on the radio for as long as I could remember. I hounded Steve until Chuck would allow me to come up and see him on the air. I just wanted to watch. I remember walking up the stairs to the story that had a lot of activity going on. In the front of the office was the receptionist and a number of other people. They seemed to be busy.

I had spent a great deal of the time in the Faszholz residence. Chuck and I knew each other pretty well.

He was kind of a dick at times, but I think that was more big brother than anything else. He never really messed with me. I thought he was a good guy. And me, being in a radio station for the first time after having practiced this in my bedroom over and over again with only me hearing my greatness, this was almost outer worldly. I talked to the receptionist and she went to see Chuck. Man, I could see him through the windows talking on the mic!

He turned off the microphone, the light above the door went out and he motioned for me to come in. 

Oh my God. I was in an on air studio, where the whole thing comes from. It was totally outer worldly. He showed me what everything did, I got to see him at work, getting the carts ready, cueing up songs, preparing to speak, the whole nine yards!

This was one of the greatest days in my life!

He left the studio for a minute, went to the studio next door, grabbed a real long sheet of paper, tore it off and brought it back. He handed it to me and said "do you want to practice reading that?" I said, "sure, why?" He wanted me to just sit in studio, read it and he'll record it for me. "Sure," I said.

So I sat in the room and read the news stories over and over. He came in and said "when I point to you, I want you to read it just like that."

OK.

So, about five minutes later, the light went on in my studio, I read the newscast and nailed it. No mispronounced words and he told me to read it with a "steady pace." Geez, how did  Chuck know what to do so well? I look up and Chuck is playing a song and getting ready for the next break. He gestured to come in  and he handed me a cassette tape. There was my recording he promised me but with this addition. "Congratulations. My news guy was going to be late, so you just did my four o'clock news."

There, in my hand was a monumental recording. My very first time ever on the air anywhere. Just turned 15, I was beyond ecstatic. I went home and immediately played that tape over and over. I kept it with me for years and somewhere along the line of the countless moves I've made, it has disappeared.

I went back to the station with the tape to see if I could get hired. Chuck gave me a good recommendation. But as it went along, my parents announced we would be heading back to the Quad Cities due to my father's health. The closest hospital from Ava was an hour away and my father almost died en route after he had a heart attack at the farm. I was thrilled to be moving back to civilization, but damn the luck.

It was thisclose. 

That was the very first time. Late April 1971, KSOA Ava, Mo.

The station is now KKOZ AM/FM and it's syndicated 24/7 365. There might be people who sell time there, but every time I've been there in the last 15 years, there's no one live.

Fast forward a year and a half and phase two of Randy living a dream takes place

True Love

In September 1979, the week I left for Kansas City, President and Mrs. Carter took a paddle wheel trip down the Mississippi and stopped in Davenport at the radio building I had just given notice to. Pretty sure it was a campaign trip, but not certain. I remember the secret service being around the station for days and the day of his arrival it was a zoo. I did my show at 6am, so I was pretty much in the building and stayed there. The interview with the president was on the AM station, meanwhile Mrs. Carter could not have been any more kind sweet or gracious. It seemed she chatted with everyone and the term “southern belle” was invented for her. I also remember how pretty she was. Stunning woman I hung in the background as it wasn’t anything involving me. I just remember how cool it was to the in the same building as the President. When the interview was over, he shook every hand and gave that smile every time. He too was as gracious as could be. An impression I carry 44 years later as vivid as ever. If there was ever a first class one way ticket to heaven, she’s boarded, I’m afraid he’s about to. Married 77 years. Breathtaking.

Abe

Since I was a young boy of 5 or 6, I've had recurring dreams involving President Lincoln.

I have had probably over 100 dreams of him over the years.

He's very young in my dreams, early 20's or so.

We've been driving to the Florida keys together, that dream was so vivid, that I could feel myself getting queasy driving on all that water.

We were jumping rope one time, and I was amazed how good he was for being so tall.

We were in the park playing catch, and since he's pretty muscular, he's got one hell of a fastball.

We were sitting in the candle light, writing,

We've been to In and Out Burger together eating, etc. and they have all been very vivid and memorable.

We've has conversations together, he has a bit of a nasally sound to him

I have also seen him get shot a few times.

My father was born in the same town so maybe that's it, I don't know, maybe a weird spiritual line from then

Of all of the people, living or dead, there's a weird deal there. I haven't dreamed about him in awhile, either I'm due, or I have grown out of it. It would be too bad if I did.

Hide In Your Shell

 Mr. Hodgson, I presume?

For a few years before the Pandemic, Roger Hodgson would schedule two dates a year in St. Louis. They would sell out immediately. He did two dates a year for three years straight and I saw five of the six shows. To say he was great would be an understatement. When he walked out on stage, he would get a standing ovation. When he would finish each song, he would get a standing ovation. His band was sooo tight and his Supertramp songs were performed note for note. Even he would be surprised at the response to each tune he played. I think that's why he loved playing in St. Louis. KSHE sure helped fill those seat as they were very early believers in Supertramp. "Sister Moonshine," one of the "throwaway" songs of Supertramp was played regularly here. He was a very charming chap when I met him. Great conversationalist and a really good guy. This was taken November 13, 2016.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

“There is no question that when they broke up, Paul missed John and John missed Paul. I actually think Paul would like to write material today like he used to write. But there is no one alive now that can give him that spur.... Yet, don't forget, as a twosome they wrote nearly 300 great songs. That's more than Cole Porter or Irving Berlin or Jerome Kern ever did. That's certainly more than enough for one lifetime.'' – George Martin

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.