Dave In The Mornings

It's not that difficult, a friend tells me, to do a show on the radio: You play a record. You talk a little bit. You play another record. You talk a little more. It sounds so easy when he describes it, but that may be in part because he has done it for so many years. But I pity the folks who are doing radio shows for a living these days. There are so many choices, so many alternatives. Why should I have to listen to a pitch for the big Martin Luther King Mattress Blow Out between songs? Those voices that I do hear between the music had better be pretty interesting, or I'm switching to something less commercial-infused.
Add to this the fact that most of these shows have about fifteen minutes to make their connection, since most of us are listening to the radio while we drive to a place without radios. Or, in the case of my son, he is waking up to the sounds of modern rock to get his eyes open. Just this past week, he noticed that there wasn't as much modern rock. There was a lot more talking. I told him that he had experienced his first format change. I assured him that it would not be his last.
I remembered when I was a kid, listening to KHOW in the mornings. The show was hosted by Charlie and Barney. Barney was a lady, and that was an amusing enough hook to keep us all amused while we wolfed down our Frosted Flakes. Barney was replaced by Marti, another woman who was much chirpier, and for me a lot more grating. Then the powers that were at KHOW decided to team their biggest celebrity, Hot Dog Harold Moore, with Charlie in the morning. The chemistry was impressive enough to keep the two together as a team for twenty years. Charlie and Barney have since become a part of Denver radio legend, and KHOW is now all talk. No records. Just talk.
That seems to make the job even easier. But maybe just a little harder to listen to. My good friend, the radio expert, had a show once a week on the college radio station. Back when I was a car commuter, with a radio, he made a point of noting when I habitually got in my car and made my drive to the book warehouse I ran. At this point, he began a segment he called "The Quarter Hour of Dave." It was fifteen minutes of music and talk that got me from my home to my job that was all Dave-centric: my favorite songs, my favorite comedy bits, my favorite quarter hour on the radio. It was magical.
Like all things magical, that too went away. Now I ride my bike to and from work, and the music I hear is the sound in my head. Sometimes it sounds like Charlie and Barney. Sometimes it sounds like a commercial-free Rock Block of Bruce Springsteen. But now it's all Dave in the mornings.