It was a small Northern California town. The kind you only dream about one day living...and this young, upstart radio "genius" was moving there. This was his third radio job and this time he was sewing Program Director stripes on his polyester disco shirt. Look out here comes a renaissance Marconi! Not quite sure if the industry could handle this upstart...it wasn't ready for him! First week on the job he spent living in a motel room listening to his "new" radio stations...the ones he would fingerprint with his personal wizardry, the ones that would create his broadcast legacy, the ones that would pay him $14,400 per annum. This was the most money he had ever made. He was on his way. So what would be his first move? After much thought, mental deliberation and reams of legal pads listing pros/cons his first foray into radio programming would be to clean up the noon hour where that "load" Paul Harvey was desecrating this hotshot's airwaves. Hell, this guy couldn't put a sentence together without annoying pauses, long-winded breaths, and claptrap he called "news." Hey I've got news for you Paul Harvey "you're done in my town!" Pack up your Bose Wave Machine and take a hike! Come back when you've got an act that plays in "my" Smallville, USA.
Yes, my first action as Program Director was in motion....that is until the General Manager said he wanted to "chat" with me. So into the palatial office I saunter, thumbs under my suspenders expecting accolades of a warrior who had returned with the spoils of radio wars. But before I even rested my proudest asset on his "davenport of doom" he posed a question to me. "How many people live in our county?" Smart-assedly I responded, "Enough to know that these two radio stations have become better in the last three days!" He didn't listen. He answered his own question, "125,000 people...that's how many." The he fired off another one. "How many people do you think listen to that so-called "load" Paul Harvey on a daily basis in our town and across the country?" Knowing he was serious I set aside my self-assured manner and tried to answer his query accurately and succinctly. "I'm guessing a few hundred thousand because you know it IS (hard emphasis) a nationally syndicated piece of tripe!" I couldn't let it go (a trait I would learn to corral following this meeting and forever thereafter.) With an angered wave of his bony hand he once again answered his own question. "30 G-damn million"!!! (Notice the three exclamation points...I actually think when he spoke there were more like 150 of them but for space and time constraints three should cover his exuberance nicely.)
That was the day I learned about Paul Harvey. That was the day I learned to listen to Paul Harvey. That was the year I went to the National Association of Broadcasters Convention in Chicago and met Paul Harvey. That was the year I learned to appreciate a great man dedicated to his craft, his wife, his family, his life....that's the the year I learned I wasn't the brightest beacon on the the tower...that's the year I learned the "rest of the story."
PS: Paul Harvey remained on the station for a mere 30 years following my departure. I guess I showed him!
