The Brett Kavanaugh Supreme Court crap-storm is over; for now, at least. For the record I believe Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. But I digress.
(The Judge Kavanaugh/Dr. Ford story made me do a self-examination)
Between the he said/she said hubbub of the Kavanaugh/Ford story and last year’s birth of the #Me Too movement, a guy can’t help but reflect on his own history of actions around women. That’s what I’ve been doing lately and here’s what I have to share.
Thinking about my personal and professional relationships with women I can safely say I’ve been a pretty good egg. I KNOW I’ve never grabbed, groped or otherwise physically encroached inappropriately on any girl or woman. Being heterosexual, I can say the same for the male species. (Save for maybe a towel snap or two in the high school showers or a snuggie/wedgie/creeper on some unsuspecting guy back in the day)
I know this because over the years I have had enough self-doubt and reticence about asking ladies out (and fearing rejection) that the idea of forcing an uncomfortable physical interaction is, was and always will be completely off the table for me. It’s been a bad enough blow to my ego when on occasion I got turned down for a date, so to catch a face slap or other negative reaction from an untoward move would probably kill me of embarrassment and shame. Besides, my parents didn’t raise me to be a Neanderthal asshole.
As far as unwelcome come-ons or crude comments towards women, I’m sure my record is equally clean. Now, does that mean I’ve NEVER told an off color joke or said a potentially racy comment in mixed company? No. Yet I don’t recall catching any sideways looks or received admonishments from anyone regarding my verbal offerings. Part of my fairly clean slate is due to knowing my audience and being aware of who can appreciate and not be offended by an occasional “That’s what she said” joke.
PERSONAL DISCLAIMER-If I’m forgetting any bad incidents or situations that others may recall, I would like to hear what I did or said that was offensive and then apologize for those actions. As my friends know, I have a very accurate and detailed personal memory but there could have been a wrong thing done that shouldn’t have happened.
NO ‘RALPH’ ZONE – Many inappropriate actions by men can be born out of being high, piss drunk or even slightly buzzed, which is still no excuse for that idiocy. I actually get a bit more quiet and calm when I’ve had a few drinks, like I’ve been sedated. And for the last twenty years or so me having more than three beers at one sitting has been as rare as a Kardashian without plastic surgery.
I haven’t gotten sick from drinking since I was twenty two and can vividly remember the bar and who I was with when that happened. The regurgitated whiskey and fried mushrooms were pretty gross. Add to that, I haven’t vomited for any reason since February of 1991, and that was due to the stomach flu.
MAYBE I WAS MORE ‘MONEY’ THAN I THOUGHT I sometimes joke I’ve had my share of dates and relationships with women. It’s just that my share is so little. (Install polite laugh here) Actually, I’ve done fine. As written in my radio memoir “Raised on the Radio” there have been enough times when I found myself with a lady who was to quote the Eagles, “Someone to be kind to, in between the dark and the light.”
Sadly, as I look back on my younger days there were a fair share of missed opportunities and situations for romance that I let slide by. Why? Sometimes it was me being too picky; other times I thought there was the slightest chance of getting shot down. I aimed for surefire can’t miss situations. To put matters in a hockey sense, I preferred shooting at a wide open net. A few times it’s been the woman who made the first move on me, which has to be the best feeling in the world. It’s like the ‘all clear’ sign is given, no mix-ups, misreads or snafus.
I often compare real life scenarios to things seen in movies. So if I had to match my ways with the opposite sex to a movie character it would definitely be Jon Favreau’s role in 1996’s “Swingers.” In “Swingers” Favreau’s ‘Mike’ was recovering from a broken relationship and was hesitant to put the boozing & cruising moves on just any woman. I got the impression that character would’ve acted the same way even if he wasn’t healing from a break-up. (Spoiler alert: Favreau’s honest approach to the fairer sex did land him a phone number from the lovely Heather Graham)
(Jon Favreau dances it up with Heather Graham in “Swingers”)
As for me and the women I know and future ones I’ll meet, my plan is to stay true to the course of being a straight up, engaging and decent guy. It’s kept me out of uncomfortable situations and trouble so far and again it was the way I was raised. I’ll never be asked to join the Supreme Court but my conscience is clear.
And who knows? Maybe next time I’m in a bar, I could find myself chatting up Heather Graham. Hey, never say never, right?
For many years I had the early morning habit of watching MSNBC’s “Morning Joe” news show with Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski. They come on the air at 5 and I’d have the program on for about an hour before switching over to the WGN Morning News on Channel 9. (Full disclosure: Me and my parody song pal Al Flash have become sort of Dutch uncles to Channel 9’s show, contributing many music videos on sports, pop culture and the a.m. hosts themselves.)
Well I’ve had enough of the Joe show. I’ve grown more than tired of Scarborough, Mika, Willie Geist, Mike Barnicle, John Heileman and the other usual suspects they have on as guests. The program leans as far to the left as the Fox and Friends Show leans right. However, I’m not turned off so much by the politics of the show, I’m just tired of the same old same old from the show.
I’m weary of the fact that no matter how much these talking heads yak their heads off about the state of Washington politics and nothing, and I mean NOTHING ever gets solved or reflected upon with any wisdom or even novelty. Often times their conversations of angst against the Trump administration would get me so amped up I’d start my day in an agitated mood before I even left the house! More disclosure: I am by means no fan of Trump and his minions but don’t need to hear any more about what a lousy POTUS he is.
This is no way to live. I can be informed on what’s going on in the world with a quick scan of the internet or a half hour’s worth of network news. There’s no need to get charged up by the armchair quarterbacking and opining of these goofs. It’s wasted time and wasted energy on my part.
For those who don’t know, hosts Joe and Mika are engaged to be married and their blooming romance was obvious to even the most casual viewer years before they owned up to being a couple. This will be Joe’s third marriage, maybe this one will stick, and on a personal note I wish them the best as man and wife when they get hitched.
So now I get to say farewell to former Congressman Joe Scarborough’s sanctimonious ideals and his bizarre accent. The guy hails from the Florida pan handle yet he sounds like some faking piker from an Ivy League school. For Joe, ‘go’ sounds like ‘geauu’ and ‘start’ sounds like ‘stort.’ What the hell kind of affectation is that?
And let’s not leave Mika out of the guilty dull party hosts. I’ve had enough of Mika; from her thinly veiled disgust at the shape of D.C. politics to every eye roll and flustered sigh she offers when Joe talks about the Red Sox, college football or music. We get it Miss Prissy Snooty Uptight Schoolmarm, the only thing worth talking about is politics. Everything else is junk food waste. Ugh. I once read a comment that Mika Brzezinski’s job is to rope Joe in when he gets off track and spend the rest of the program counting all the calories she’ll never eat; cruel but accurate.
It’s enough and I’ve had enough. So after Friday September 28th I will close out tuning in to MSNBC channel 59 at 5 a.m. Come Monday October 1st, I’ll just click into the WGN Morning News an hour early. I know I’ll be much happier for that.
“When I listen to my records they take me back to certain points in my life!” (Daniel Stern as Shrevie in “Diner.”)
There are songs that time travel us to specific events in our past. Some music recall I have can even be traced to a specific date and that’s where the Pointer Sisters’ top 40 hit “Fire” ends up. I first heard that song on January 1st, 1979. This memory is vivid because it happened to be the first time I ever had naked women dancing in front of me in person.
Four buddies and I were on vacation together in Ft. Lauderdale Florida for Christmas break during our senior year in high school. All of us were seventeen and spent a beer soaked New Year’s Eve in the Ocean Mist Lounge making out with countless women. Things got crazier once we went on the main street of Ft. Lauderdale and had encounters with countless party girls in an all night parade of passing cars.
The next evening was New Year’s night and we decided to move our carnal quests a step further by scanning the yellow pages for some live nude women action. Around eight that night all five of us piled into a cab and were off to nearby Pompano Beach to visit the Monk Lounge strip club. I don’t know about the other guys but this was my first time in a nudie bar.
My first visit to a strip club was to the now defunct Monk Lounge in Pompano Beach Florida.
The Monk Lounge was a fairly rundown joint with bullet holes in the front door that according to the doorman, were put there the night before by some unknown assailant. The strippers inside appeared to be in their mid-thirties. On a 1 to 10 scale with 10 being the hottest, these ladies averaged to about a 6. The place was filled with young horn-dog idiots like us and some older gentlemen as well. We took a couple of tables near the front of the stage, ordered beers and watched a slew of women strip down to their birthday suits and shake their money makers looking for dollar bills to be slid into their leg garters.
When offstage, the strippers would make stops at customers’ tables for more personal visits. They didn’t do lap dances but we were within inches of naked breasts, butts and bajingos. This kind of up close dancing would garner a tip of a dollar or two and for guys like us with limited sexual experience, the money was well spent. Some of the friendlier girls would give you a kiss to boot. Each of us probably dropped forty or fifty dollars in tips that night.
Tipping the naked ladies was encouraged and appreciated.
So here’s where we get to the song “Fire.” As I noted, this was not the classiest of strip clubs. There was no live band or professional D.J. with a state of the art sound system to provide music for the women to strip to. Instead, at the side of the stage there was a jukebox rigged to play songs without putting coins in it. Each dancer would scan the selections and punch up a few buttons to play the three tunes they needed for their set. The one song that every dancer favored was, you guessed it, “Fire” by the Pointer Sisters. I never heard the song before that night and the lyric I specifically remembered is when in the middle of it they sing “Romeo and Juliet, Samson and Delilah…”
My four pals and I stayed at the Monk Lounge for a couple of hours that night and we heard “Fire” played at least a dozen times. There were other tunes the girls danced to but this song was the mainstay. It’s easy to see why I have such an ingrained brain burn for “Fire”, it was played so often that it registered in my ears as I saw long legged nude women bumping and grinding to the melody.
Songs from the past can inspire varying memories and anytime I hear the Pointer Sisters’ version of “Fire”, it only takes me back to the very first time I saw live nude women dancing for me. It was a rite of passage. And to this day, as the opening chords of that song are played anywhere or anytime, a sly smile comes to my face, and I can feel my wallet getting a few dollar bills lighter.
This is an excerpt from my memoir “Raised on the Radio.” While the book’s completion is on hiatus, this story will definitely be in it. At the time of 9/11 I was working at WUSN FM as morning show producer. When the attacks happened I’d been at US*99 for over 8 years.
September 11th 2001 added to what was already a strange year for me. In January of that year, Ramblin’ Ray Stevens got fired from the morning show in a surprisingly stupid move by management. Big John Howell joined us on mornings and then a few months later Ramblin’ Ray rose from the ashes to be rehired do afternoons at US*99. We had crazy times at the radio ranch but things were about to get insane for the whole world.
I attended a family wedding on Sunday September 9th and had Monday September 10th off from work. The fall radio ratings period would start in a few days and we were discouraged from taking time off the show once the fall listener numbers started getting measured. It was later learned those hijacking terrorists chose a Tuesday and not a Monday for their attack because they were aware of how many Americans took three day weekends during the summer months. These killers knew most people would be back to work and in their offices by Tuesday.
On Tuesday morning, 9/11 we were having a regular show when Trish Biondo came into my studio about ten minutes before eight a.m. to tell me to tune my TV to the Today Show. I switched channels to see that first plane stuck in the side of the north tower of the World Trade Center. I wasn’t even sure if it was an airliner or a private plane. There’d been times when private planes crashed into office buildings or outdoor sports stadiums. Heck, the previous year WGN radio legend Bob Collins died when the plane he piloted had a mid-air collision with another small plane and crashed into the roof of a local hospital. Big John Howell told listeners about what was on TV but nobody knew what was happening. I stayed in my studio to screen phone calls and monitor my TV.
Less than twenty minutes later, while on the phone with a listener, I kept one eye on my TV screen and saw another plane hitting the World Trade Center’s south tower. I was frozen with shock! John Howell went on to announce what just happened and that we were under attack. I wondered to myself if there was some computer hacking that took over the airliners’ controls and steered them into the towers. Our phones were lit up, pulsing fast like my heart rate as I answered every call. So many questions and updates from listeners kept coming in. The best words to describe those desperate minutes would be frantic, bizarre, terrifying and off the charts.
To the left you can see a hijacked airliner about to hit the south tower of the World Trade Center. The world had gone nuts.
About half an hour after the south tower was hit came word that a jet crashed into the Pentagon building in D.C. A caller told me this and I switched TV channels to get confirmation. With the Pentagon attacked the first words that came to my mind were what Governor Connelly’s wife said when JFK’s motorcade was being fired upon in Dallas in 1963, “My God they’re going to kill us all!” I truly remember thinking this!
My rationale was if the Pentagon is our country’s base for military operations/defense and it’s under siege, who the hell makes calls on how our country defends us? We were in a world of shit. I was never ever more scared in my life than when the Pentagon got crashed into. Was this the end? Was this OUR end?
Once the Pentagon had been hit by a hijacked plane, I was truly never more scared in my life. Was this the end? Was this our end?
Next, was a local news report that a threat had been phoned into Chicago’s Sears Tower and they were evacuating the entire building. I picked up a hotline call from our GM Steve Ennen. Steve, who heard about the Sears Tower evacuation, said if the Hancock received the same ‘get out’ order we were to switch our transmission to simulcast sister station WBBM AM, Newsradio 78, then get out of the building ASAP. I relayed this information to Big John on the air and noted that since the Hancock was considered to be the most recognized building in the world, I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a similar threat.
After giving this update to John I walked out of the studio and stopped in my tracks as an announcement blared out of a hall speaker from the Hancock Security people. They were ordering everyone out of the building immediately. I told Big John this news and quick as a flash Trish left the room, grabbed her purse and was out the door. John and I were talking on the air about the Hancock evacuation and he wanted to stay. I said, “John, we HAVE to go!” He grudgingly agreed, signed off then switched our broadcast transmission to Newsradio 780.
Hustling into the morning show office I scooped up my briefcase and called my mother. I told her I was O.K. and was on my way out of here. And I loved her. Mom was puzzled. “What are you talking about?” Turns out she was in her garden tending to flowers and tomatoes and just got back in the house when I called. She knew nothing about the planes and the unfolding chaos. My mom told me to be careful getting out of the city and said she loved me too. In just about an hour’s time we went from a plane has struck one of the World Trade Center buildings to evacuating our building because the world went nuts.
Before leaving our 13th floor offices, I needed a quick bathroom break. When I got to the men’s room, the paralyzing fear I had over the Pentagon getting hit suddenly lifted. I thought, “If this is my last day on earth, I’m O.K. with it. I had a good life and if the worst happened, I’m ready for what’s next.” Washing my hands I smiled thinking if the Hancock got slammed by a jet right at this very minute, I could die like Elvis did, in the bathroom.
John and I met up at the elevators and headed down to the Hancock lobby. The doors opened and I pivoted toward the parking garage elevators so I could get my car. John walked toward the street exit and saw I wasn’t with him. He turned around to me, called out and asked if I was going to stay downtown and wait out the building’s evacuation. I told John this might be the end of everything and I was going to be with those I love. With that, my elevator door opened and I was on my way to fetch my car to get the hell out of Dodge. It was damn spooky to see a practically abandoned parking garage and my car was one of the last around.
The 9/11 terrorist attacks resulted in some problems in Chicago including bomb threats. One such threat was to the John Hancock Building and we were kicked off the air as the entire place was evacuated.
Minutes later while driving across Michigan Avenue en route to the hopefully safe suburbs, I saw hundreds of people on the sidewalks on their cell-phones. Nobody knew what to say or what to make of anything. A couple months later Alan Jackson would come up with the best words to describe 9/11 with the song “Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?” Alan nailed the tone and mood all of us had that day. That song covered it all.
Once the Hancock evacuation was lifted, John Howell did make it back on the US*99 airwaves and did a stellar job updating listeners on the insanity of the terrorist attacks. He took calls and provided a smart, calm and measured voice of sanity during an insane day. I admired what John did but at the same time was fine with getting the hell out of the city and taking everything in from the TV reports at home.
The day after the planes hit, concrete barricades surrounded the Hancock and every car coming into the parking garage needed to be searched at street level. I had to pop my trunk for inspection and there were long poles with mirrors on them for security to check for bombs under every vehicle about to drive up the ramps. This went on for a couple of weeks. Within a month, all Hancock workers had picture ID badges that were to be worn at all times and everyone was on high alert. “Vigilant” was the new watchword.
Programming wise, matters turned to the fall-out of 9/11, the hunt for Osama Bin Laden and all things military. Over the next three months, I did some of my best producing around this tragedy arranging interviews with politicians like then Congressman Mark Kirk, who was still in the Naval Reserve and tracking down journalist and terrorism expert Judith Miller. She gave us insight to Osama Bin Laden and much more. In recent times Ms. Miller had to come clean about being a White House shill who made a case for going to war in Iraq in 2003. She wrote a book detailing how she got things all wrong and fell for George W Bush’s bullshit reasons for that war. I was all for the U.S. military invading Afghanistan to chase down Bin Laden but was one of those few voices against the Iraq war. I supported Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks in 2003 when she said she backed our soldiers but not President Bush’s war in Iraq. The Chicks caught unholy hell for Natalie telling a concert crowd they were embarrassed to be from the same state as George W. Bush. In the end, the Dixie Chicks, I and some others with common sense were proven right.
Another ‘get’ was us interviewing longtime Chicago news anchor turned “60 minutes 2” reporter Carol Marin. Carol shared a harrowing tale of chasing down the World Trade Center attack story on 9/11 and nearly being engulfed by a giant fireball as one of the towers collapsed. Ms. Marin’s life was saved by a responding fire fighter who rushed her to take cover in a nearby store entrance. With the country in shock and despair over 9/11, fun and wacky radio bits took a long break until well into the New Year.
We all knew 9/11 would change hundreds of millions of lives forever. However the depth and scope of those changes was way beyond what anyone could have anticipated at the time. To this day, it’s pretty scary to think nineteen hi-jacking assholes could have such an effect on the world. Alan Jackson’s song was a profound moment to come out of 9/11 and while the world turns in a different way these days, I’m just relieved and happy we’re still here to live in it.
“…Even Burt Reynolds in his black Trans Am, all gonna meet down at the Cadillac Ranch.” (Bruce Springsteen)
I was sorry to hear about the passing of Burt Reynolds at age 82 after suffering a heart attack. The guy was a major movie star for many years and to those of us who grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, Mr. Reynolds represented what a real man was all about. Burt was athletic but not roided up, tough, smart, cocky and of course he usually got the girl.
I was eleven years old when my father took me to see “Deliverance” which was a pretty heady film for a young kid to see. My folks always helped me keep what I saw in those movies in the proper perspective.
Back then “Deliverance” was an edge of the seat film and it still holds up today as a timeless thriller. Watching it to this day I still feel the same rush of those runs through the river rapids and the battle against those sadistic mountain men. My dad used to say that movie was one of the best and worst he ever saw; Best for its intensity and worst because of the “Squeal like a pig” sodomy scene with Ned Beatty.
Even a more subtle scene like when Burt’s character Lewis is negotiating a price for locals to transport cars to their landing spot resonates. The local guy says he wants fifty bucks and Burt says “Fifty my ass”, then repeats it when the local dares him to say those words again.
Burt Reynolds in his most iconic role in ‘Deliverance.’ “Fifty my ass…I said fifty my ass!”
Reynolds got to relive his real life college football glory days with his portrayal of disgraced NFL Quarterback turned prison gridiron star Paul Crewe in “The Longest Yard.” I remember being stunned at how mean Eddie Albert (Oliver Douglas from “Green Acres” for God’s sake!) could be as the warden and how a movie could have such great action plus be very comical.
From “The Longest Yard”, Burt as disgraced NFL QB turned prison yard star Paul Crewe.
Yes, the action adventure actor Burt Reynolds was damn funny. From the nude centerfold he posed for in Cosmopolitan magazine to his many appearances as a guest and guest host on the Tonight Show, Reynolds was always willing to laugh at himself. Not taking his own persona seriously made him even more endearing to his male and female fans.
Reynolds blasting whipped cream down Johnny Carson’s pants.
A couple years ago I enjoyed his autobiography “But Enough About Me.” I mean just that title alone shows a world famous icon looking back at his life with bemusement and humor. Reynolds told some interesting stories in that book and owned up to his failings as much as his successes.
The Golden Globe won and the Oscar nomination Burt Reynolds got for “Boogie Nights” was well deserved. His showdown with porn making rival Floyd Gondolli who tries to convince Burt’s Jack Horner character to move from film to video is a classic. I wish we had seen Reynolds in more features during his latter years.
Playing 70’s porn movie director Jack Horner in “Boogie Nights” earned Reynolds a Golden Globe trophy and a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination.
A few years back Burt Reynolds did some meet and greet appearances at a local theater that was screening “Deliverance.” I went for the film but spent a few minutes watching Burt sign autographs and do photos with fans for a fee. Standing maybe twenty feet from the star I saw what a physical toll a life of doing one’s own stunts and hard and fast living did on a body. Burt Reynolds was now frail and barely there.
Burt Reynolds, just a couple years ago. Sadly, a fading star.
So now Burt Reynolds goes the way of other macho movie icons like Steve McQueen, Lee Marvin, James Coburn and Robert Mitchum. Clint Eastwood doesn’t act anymore. Harrison Ford is a gray lion who we worry will crash his self-piloted plane while leaving the left blinker blinking. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone are way past their prime. It seems today’s action actors are nothing more than flexed up goons with ten hour a day work-out infused muscles, oiled abs and tattoos. (Yeah, Dwayne the Rock Johnson and John Cena, I’m talking about you.) The era of the “real man” actor with true character and charisma is over.
Thanks Burt Reynolds for all the entertaining you did for us in film, TV and real life. You were one of the last of the ‘real man’ movie star breed. And on your trip to the great beyond, may your drive in that Black Trans Am or the canoe ride on the river be a smooth one. Just beware of Smokey the Trooper. And also scary toothless mountain men.
Another summer of swimming at the Elmhurst Park District pools has come to a close. For the past two seasons I’ve enjoyed the late morning adult swim at East End Pool daily. This year, I got to better know more of the ‘regulars’ and became one of them myself. Despite variances in our ages, there’s a special camaraderie that bonds all of us together as we enjoy the refreshing water and warmth of the summer sun.
I’ve been inspired by Barb, a retired nurse who eagerly took time out of her swimming to assist a fellow swimmer in helping her elderly mother walk in the shallow end which has done wonders for that mother’s physical health. Then there’s Miriam, who in her mid-nineties still drives to the pool and is open to discuss anything which includes interesting stories from her life. Many of us talked about our goings on, music, sports and where to find good places to eat. These folks are my summer family and they’re a pleasure to swim and socialize with.
There were also semi-regulars who came to East End. One woman tried to fix me up with a girlfriend of hers who wasn’t at the pool but I was shown photos on a phone. A kind gesture but not having the best of luck on blind date fix-ups, I took a pass. There was a young woman or two who swam at the pool a couple of times that I was interested in. However, I didn’t want to even attempt to turn my chlorine oasis into some sort of a half-assed pick-up joint. The pool has become kind of sacred ground and water to me.
(The view from my usual deck chair)
A special thanks to the East End Pool staff for keeping the facility clean and safely monitored. Many out of town and first time visitors to East End have told me what a fantastic pool we have and how they envy us. No argument there. Years from now when I retire, I want to become a lifeguard there. (Instead of “Baywatch” they can call me “Gray-watch.”)
So we now bid a fond but reluctant farewell to the summer season at East End. The beach towels, flip flops and pool I.D passes are packed away and all of our tans will start to fade. The summer fun is over. Those of us who like me, teach, are back in the classroom for a new school year and the other swimmers will return to different routines. I want to wish my fellow ‘regulars’ and all pool attendees the best of health during the coming fall and winter months. We won’t see each other for awhile but take heart, a new swim season is only eight months away. We’ll see you back in the water for the summer of 2019.
The beach towels, flip flops and pool I.D. passes are packed away for the year.
While it will be a major blow to the literary world, I have put my autobiographical memoir “Raised on the Radio” on indefinite hiatus. 80,188 words have been written and edited several times, yet I’m still not “feeling it.” There is a mood or tone in the book that doesn’t accurately reflect the experiences I had in the radio business. Something is missing and I don’t want to issue a piece of work I don’t believe in.
So rather than self-publish something I’m 100% behind, it’s better just to shelve the damn book until I figure out what’s needed to complete it to my satisfaction. Looking back, I spent too much time focusing on the ins and outs of what happens AFTER the book is completed. That’s like trying to serve a cake while it’s still baking. One of my worst personal habits is getting my head way over my skis and then crashing hard. This certainly happened with penning “Raised on the Radio.”
To be honest, I have no idea when my radio memoir will see the light of day. You can’t force something like this and expect it to come out properly. Putting it in a musical perspective, in the late 70’s the Eagles were pressured by their record label to get a follow-up to their massive selling “Hotel California” album in stores ASAP. They struggled and fought and eventually succumbed to their record company’s wishes but the result was a lesser effort with “The Long Run” album. It was O.K. but certainly not one of their best records.
(Forcing a rush job left this album as just “O.K..”)
Then again, Guns N Roses took over 10 years to finish the “Chinese Democracy” album and that was a mediocre record at best.
My favorite quote on creative efforts comes from the late Eagle Glenn Frey who said, “Perfection is not an accident.” With any book I write I want it to be perfect in my eyes and this one isn’t there. Still, I’m not mad or bummed out about the status of “Raised on the Radio.” There are great stories to be read in there but to make the book right in my eyes, it needs more of something. Until that ‘something’ is found, walking away from it at this time is what’s best.
Meanwhile, I still enjoy writing blogs and mini-essays and will use mickkahler.com to do just that. I’ve got a couple of things to post up shortly and more sets of writings will soon follow. So for now the radio’s writing is over, but other words on other subjects will be turned up full blast!
(I’ll still be writing on this blog, but the book is on hiatus)
On August 6th, 2018 my niece Doreen turns 30. Where did the last 3 decades go? It seems like just yesterday she was born. A couple months later Doreen was baptized at St. Luke’s Church in Elmhurst. On the program issued to guests that day we printed the lyrics to Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” which was a popular song at the time and remains one of my favorites of his. That December, Doreen played baby Jesus in the St. Luke’s Christmas play.
Baby D and one of her music toys
My mother and I often welcomed who we called “Baby D” to our house for overnight stays. In the early morning I’d come into Baby D’s room and she’d already be standing up in her crib, hair all mussed up, big smile on her face and ready to take on the day. My parents, known as Grandma Dorie and Grandpa Ken, adored their first grandchild and embraced all the joys that go with being a grandparent. Day trips to parks, lakes, going out to eat and anything else that could be imagined. Doreen was WAY into the animated movie “Beauty and the Beast” and I remember taking her to see it (at her insistence) four Saturdays in a row!
Baby D and her adoring dad Jack
My niece Doreen later became known as Dei. She went through all the requisite stages of growing up; Grade school, high school, part time jobs, (one as a master shoe seller) first car, college and beyond. Dei inherited her mother Maryanne’s pragmatic ways of saving money for a specific goal and her adoring father Jack’s ability to handle any hurdles or difficulties that got in her way in a calm and smart manner.
Kindergarten aged Doreen held and hugged by her mom Maryanne
My niece married Nick, the love of her life in 2012. Now she’s known as Dei Forslund, who works as a procurement specialist for the University of Wisconsin and a cycling instructor at a local gym near her home in Madison Wisconsin. Dei and Nick have already enjoyed travels to foreign lands that I’ll probably never see and her love for movies and fine food and drink keeps her on the move with friends and family.
I remember how brokenhearted Dei was when her mother passed away in 2014. Dei learned losing your mom when you’re only twenty-six years old sucks out loud. She paid tribute to my sister by getting a really cool tattoo of a Boston Terrier in homage to her mom who loved and raised several of those sweet dogs. Dei has other tattoos and seeing her express passions in those ink works is always fun.
Dei is all grown up and we could not be more proud of her
For years my sister Maryanne battled a difficult and ultimately fatal auto-immune disease and she wanted to live long enough to see Dei and her brother Mike grow up and get out on their own. Thankfully, she made it to that goal. I know how proud she was and still is of both her kids.
So on this milestone birthday, let me take you back to Saturday August 6th, 1988. My brother in law Jack drove Maryanne to Good Samaritan Hospital in preparation for her labor to be induced. My mother was on hand too and all day I waited at home for a call to see how things were going. We didn’t even know if Mary was having a boy or girl.
That night I was going to Poplar Creek Music Theatre to see the band Chicago with my radio colleague John Howell. I finally had to leave the house at 7 p.m. with no word yet on the pending baby delivery. John and I hosted some WCKG listeners in a luxury box at the concert. Now this was before the advent of everyone owning cell phones so throughout the first set I kept wondering how my sister was doing.
Finally, during the concert’s intermission I slipped out to a pay phone in the plaza and called home. My mom had just come back from the hospital and I learned Doreen Opal Nagy finally came into the world, healthy and happy and her mom was doing great too. Whew! What a thrill that night was and I proudly told our luxury box guests about my newborn niece. We toasted Doreen with cold cans of Miller Genuine Draft beer.
My sister named her baby Doreen in honor of our mom Dorie and her middle name Opal was for my mom’s sister Opal who had passed away 7 years earlier. Maryanne was always good for thoughtful gestures and tributes such as this. Still, the most important thing was a precious new life to love was now in the world.
My favorite photo of Dei. She was about 3 here. My mother (her Grandma Dorie) took my new ‘First Church of Elvis’ T-shirt and sewed it into a nightgown for her beloved granddaughter.
Happy Birthday Dei! She’s 30, yet no matter how old she gets, I’ll always think of ‘Baby D’ being what she is to me: “Forever Young.”
Click below for Rod Stewart’s song “Forever Young.”
