You don't know what you've got till it's gone

There's a song that goes something like, "you don't know a good thing till it's gone". There are many events and people from my childhood that wouldn't have much meaning or definition until later in life. In fact, when you're a kid, you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

It was 1960. I was 4 years old. Next door was a boy about my age, who went by Chippy (as in chip off the old block). Chippy was unique. He had been born with his feet turned backwards, and had undergone numerous surgeries to correct that major problem. He had casts on both legs from his toes to his knees that had rubber pads on the bottom, so Chippy got around very well. His little toes stuck out the end of both casts. The biggest problem for him with the casts was not being able to scratch an itch. Chippy was my first neighborhood friend and I didn't see him as being different - he was just like me, with casts.

If I remember correctly, Chippy told me the casts got changed every 6 weeks. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him - most of the other kids around treated him like he was an outcast. To be born with such a major problem with your feet, and then have kids your same age treat you like you're some thing - it just boggles the mind.

But Chippy had a fantastic attitude. He was always happy. I hope some of that positive attitude rubbed off on me. Chippy never acted like the casts were a handicap for him - he generally did all of the things boys that age do - including hitting a ball with his dad in the backyard.

I thought the summer of 1960 would never end. We had great times playing army in the backyard, playing with cars and trucks and tricycles and worms and rolly polly bugs. The Big Wheel had not been invented yet.

The days seemed long and I couldn't wait for the next day to get back out playing with Chippy.

And then .... a neighbor owned a Great Dane. They would routinely walk the dog past our house and let it poop in our yard. It was a lot of poop every time. (Great Danes have very large feces. I remember thinking at the time, "that looks like a people turd.") The dog pooping in our yard made my mom furious. One day, after the dog had pooped in our yard, she got some paper towels, scooped it up and put it between the door and storm door of the dog owner's place. They saw her doing that and called the police.

Chippy's mom  said,, "Gary, you better come up here" and we went inside upstairs in their apartment. The front window was open so Chippy and I kneeled on the floor to be inconspicuous and we could see and hear what was going on out front.

My mom was explaining to the police officers that the neighbor's dog was frequently allowed to poop in our front yard and they just left it there and she didn't like it. The dog's owners said something about my mom being a "crazy lady" and should be arrested. The police got everyone calmed down and told the dog's owner's they should not let the dog poop in our yard ever again, and that Mrs. Leonard was not a crazy lady. The dog's owners were still mad, but they left and went back inside.

A short time later Chippy and I went back outside to resume playing. I thought, "score 1 for mom!"

The next  year I turned 5 and started kindergarten. I went to Wade Public Elementary School. Chippy went to a nearby catholic school. Some time later that year Chippy and his parents moved away.

Fast forward to 1965. I was watching "Lost in Space" on TV when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone before my dad did and the voice on the other end said, "Is this Gary?" I replied, "Yes." He then said, "you probably don't remember me but this is Chippy." OMG, I couldn't believe it. My friend from a few years back was actually calling me to "catch up". We talked about various things for a while, Chippy said his family had moved to Michigan and I asked, "where's that?" (having never been out of Missouri). Then we said goodbye and I went back to Lost in Space.

Being 9, I didn't think to get his phone number or address and that was last time we ever talked. I don't know what ever happened to Chippy - but his friendship was priceless and unfortunately, would not be matched again in my life.

So it goes.

Trip down memory lane

While cleaning out some files, I ran across this little gem (the home page displayed the current date, so even though the site is from December 2002, it's displaying the current date):

Most of the site from December of 2002 is available here:  http://grandallusion.com/c96/index_122102.html

The site even had a button and a link for local weather back in 2002!

Good old Weather Underground.

If you click on the link above to see what the site looked like, the Weather Underground button still works.

See, it's not rocket science. :)

So it goes.

The Great Ballpoint Pen Caper of 1964

This is a silly story, but it really happened. I've changed the name of my friend to protect the guilty.

It was 1964. We were 8 years old. Ron and I hatched this really stupid plan to shoplift a couple of ballpoint pens from Famous-Barr at Chippewa and Kingshighway. If we each had $15 ink pens - just think how much better our handwriting would be. And the other kids with plain BIC pens would be envious.

So after school one weekday we met at Central Hardware on South Kingshighway. The plan was to buy something inexpensive to get a Central Hardware sack, take the bus to Famous-Barr, and shoplift a couple of expensive pens from the stationery department.

Step one went fine - we had our sack from Central Hardware and got on the bus to Famous-Barr. When we got to the stationery department it was really crowded. So we decided to look around for a while and wait for the crowd to thin out.

We had to look very suspicious - two 8 year olds hanging around the stationery department for over an hour. I'll bet we stood out like a sore thumb.

The crowd finally dwindled down a bit and we made our move.  Up the ink pen aisle, we each grabbed a pen and slipped them into the Central Hardware sack. We did it! We then headed toward the exit.

About 15 paces toward the exit and a man and woman came up behind us and grabbed us each by the arm and said "you're coming with us, boys." Uh-oh. The jig was up.

They took us down a long hallway and into an office.  There they asked us to dump the contents of the bag out on the desk. I did. Then they picked up the ink pens and said "What are these?" Well, uh, uh. "We know you boys stole these in the stationery department, we watched you do it." We both  said we were really sorry and would never do it again.

Then they said there were calling our parents to tell them what happened. First they called Ron's house. I think Ron's mom told him he would get an ass-whooping from his dad because Ron started crying. Then they called my mom. She told them "spank  him good and send him home". They said the spanking would be left to my parents.

They told each of us to never come in to Famous-Barr again without our parents and then escorted us to the exit.

I thought to myself, "it could have been worse".  Yeah we could have been taken to jail and locked up. But they just called our moms. That wasn't so bad.

By the time I got home, mom  had already forgotten any details about what happened. So when dad got home, she had me tell  him what happened. I made something up about Ron getting caught taking something and Farmous-Barr sent us both home and that was that.

Ron and I never talked about The Great Ballpoint Pen Caper of 1964. His parents didn't let him hang out with me the rest of that school year. We were never really friends again after that, even though we both attended the same grade school through 8th grade.

I would never forget The Great Ballpoint Pen Caper of 1964. And it did teach me to never try that again.

So it goes.

My first two wheel bike

The Climatron, Missouri Botanical Garden, St. Louis

I don't know why, but I have quite a few memories from when I was 4 or 5. We lived on a street that was all of one block long, bound on the south end by Shenandoah and the north end by Flad. In the middle of the block was our two family flat and the intersection with Cleveland that ran west. There was no house or apartment in front of our house, just Cleveland, which was one way away from our house. Behind our house on the other side of the block was Alfred Avenue which ran the length of the backside of The Missouri Botanical Garden.

Commonly referred to as Shaw's Garden (in honor of Henry Shaw.who was only 18 when he came to St. Louis, and became one of the city’s largest landowners by age 40. Working with leading botanists, he planned, funded and built the Missouri Botanical Garden, which opened in 1859). The delivery entrance for trucks was on Alfred a few blocks away, and the 79 acres of Shaw's Garden made a wonderful summertime playground as long as we didn't get caught by the employees. They tolerated us as long as we didn't tear anything up.It was always warm and humid in The Climatron, even in winter. The flowers throughout the garden were beautiful. There was a Desert house, a Rose house and numerous other types of displays that we could walk through. But The Climatron was my favorite place to go.

And would you believe, I punched in the address and Google returned a picture of the front of that two family flat. That was home from the time I was two until I went away to college.

I was 4 when I wore out the tires on the hand me down tricycle I had. For my birthday, Dad got me a two wheel bike with training wheels. It looked like this:

It wasn't very long until I wanted to try it without the training wheels. With an audience of several neighbors and my Mom, Dad held his hand on the back of the seat to get me started down the alley on just two wheels. He said I was doing great. About that time I looked back and saw that he let go of the bike about 20 feet ago and I was on my own. As I looked back, the adults yelled, "look forward, look forward!". Me and the bike crashed to the concrete of the alley.

Although I had a few scrapes, what was most upsetting were the scratches in the paint on the bike and bent fender. My new bike. Dad was able to bend the fender back in place, and in our garage he had some red paint to touch up the scratches. It was as good as new. I rode that bike hard. In the alley, on the sidewalk and occasionally into the street. It's a miracle I was never struck by a car. One winter I even tried to ride that bike in the tire tracks in the snow on the street. That didn't work too well, I decided I needed snow tires and I put the bike back in the garage until spring.

So it goes.

Forced busing caused heartbreak

By the mid 60s, St. Louis was heavily involved in voluntary and forced busing of students from one school district to another in the quest for desegregation. But when busing started, inner city white and black kids were bused to other districts to achieve equality in education. (That's a picture of Wade Elementary on Vandiventer).

I attended the same grade school from kindergarten through 8th grade. It was about 5 city blocks from home and I walked to and from school. All the kids either walked, rode a bi-state bus (St. Louis Mass Transit) or were brought by a parent. Prior to forced busing, there was one "bully" in the entire school. Everyone knew who he was and most of the kids tried to avoid him. There was even one year, when he threatened to beat me up if I didn't hang out with him. My 4th grade teacher actually let me leave early at noon and when school was over to avoid a confrontation with the Bully because I was terrified of him. He once tried to drag me into the girl's restroom and push my face down into a toilet, but I resisted and a teacher came along before  he could force my face into the water. The next school year, all the doors had been removed from the stalls in the bathrooms - probably so nothing funky could go on behind closed doors - and it coincided with forced busing.

Suddenly my seemingly quiet grade school now had dozens of "bullies". The principal referred to them as "those kids" and if there was any trouble, we were told to try and avoid confrontations. The principal, Margaret Woehr, was not happy with forced busing. Her quiet little grade school changed suddenly. She was a pleasant lady to a point - but the kids liked to call her Werewolf. One of the bused in bullies was Joey Davis. Built like a wrestler and dumb as a door knob. He carried a small paper bag in his pants pocket, and several times a day would bring it out and inhale from it. He had airplane glue in that bag. Joey dropped out of grade school before graduating.

Mr. Stumpe (STUM-pee) was principal when I was in kindergarten. He always wore a suit and had a crew cut. I had some monopoly money one time and he offered to sell me the school. I was 5 and thought he was halfway serious. The following year Margaret Woehr replaced him. But I digress.

Point A - Curb where my nose was broken, Point B - Corner Tim was standing on

While walking to school one day, a patrol boy, Tim Griffith, was getting some red hots from another kid. They were a few years older than me. The red hots were being poured into his red patrol boy helmet in his hands.
I don't know why, but as I walked by, I hit the bottom of the helmet intentionally and red hots went flying. Much to my surprise, Tim was furious and chased me up the block before catching me. He grabbed my shirt around the shoulders and threw me face down to the concrete curb. It broke my nose. This was just outside the girls playground and a teacher came running pretty quick and escorted me inside. They called my parents to come get me because they couldn't get the bleeding stopped.

That event would stay with me my entire life. In 7th grade a girl once said, "if your nose was a penis, you'd be a good lay." I didn't even know what that meant until a friend explained it to me. Needless to say I was devastated, particularly since I hadn't done anything to provoke her comment aside from being in the same classroom. In high school, I worked as an assistant to the guidance counseling office. I had to deliver a note to a particular teacher, Mr. Anton, that would excuse one of his students from school for some personal family business for the day.. I never had Mr. Anton as a teacher and had never met him. But as I handed him the note, he said, "Gee, if I had your nose full of nickels I'd be rich!", and the entire class laughed. I turned red and retreated from the classroom. I didn't have a snappy comeback, because he caught me totally off guard. I didn't expect anything like that to come out of the mouth of an adult.

Wade Elementary is also where I was exposed to asbestos. In the middle of the basement were the boilers that provided heat to the classrooms. A group of us guys were exploring around the boiler room, and one of the things we did was peel back the white asbestos from a pipe to see what was underneath. That event, too, would stay with me.Recent years have brought a diagnosis of "scarring consistent with exposure to asbestos" to my lungs from various specialists.

When busing started, the new kids were being bused in from an elementary school district about two districts away from Wade. And there were girls. New girls. One in particular caught my eye, Faith McEntire. She looked like a fairy princess. Long blonde hair, nice features and nice personality. I tried very hard to get closer to Faith. She pretty much ignored me. One Saturday a group of us boys went to the The Shenandoah on Grand for some movie or other, and Faith was there with some of her friends from school.. Usually we went to The Columbia Theater on The Hill, in the opposite direction of The Shenandoah and not quite so far from home. I had hopes of sitting close to her, but the boys headed to one part of the theater and the girls to a different part. I didn't pay much attention to the movies, because I was mainly there to see Faith.


I was heartbroken over Faith, and she had no idea.. I don't know whatever happened to Faith, but I hope she has had a good life. I certainly have.


So it goes.

Terminating rats for a beer, in the summertime, in south St. Louis

This is a strange story - so I'll just jump right in.

In the summer of 1971 I was 15. Four places west of our two-family flat was a four-family flat. They were called flats because the roof was basically flat, with a slight slope down from front to rear.  My folks owned the two-family flat we lived in - occupying the ground floor - while the 2nd floor was rented out. In most of the four-family flats you had 4 renters and they were often not kept in very good shape, inside or out.

Mac (probably 48 years old or so) and his family of four lived in that four-family flat four places west of our flat. (Names have been changed in this story so Mac and his family may remain anonymous.) There was Mac's wife, 11 year old daughter, 10 year old son, and the runt, Benny, 6. Benny was born with a cleft palette and Mac's family couldn't afford to get it fixed so most of the kids in the neighborhood always made fun of the way Benny talked. I didn't, because Mac and his family became friends that summer.

One evening Mac made me and another kid from the neighborhood, Johnny, an offer. He'd give us a beer or two if we would sit on his front porch after the neighborhood got quiet - around 11 PM - and shoot rats that came out of the crawl space in the four-family flat next to his. The weapon of choice was a CO2 BB pistol, nearly quiet when shot. His kids were sound asleep when all of this was going on.

Mac's family lived in the lower left apartment of this 4 family flat

So almost every evening around 11, we'd head down to Mac's for Rat Patrol. If we stayed very quiet on Mac's front porch, sure enough a little after 11, rats would start to come out from under the flat next door. Pop, pop, pop - "Got him!". Mac would laugh and his beer belly would just shake and shake. He ducked inside and got us each a beer. That first night I think we killed 3 or 4 rats. On subsequent nights the death toll would stay lower, only 1 or 2 for a while. And after a few weeks, we thought we had killed all the rats under the flat next door. Johnny only stuck around for the first few nights, then decided he'd had enough. From then on, just Mac and me on Rat Patrol.

But Mac had started something, giving each of us a beer that first evening, and the nightly beer continued for a little while. I continued going to Mac's apartment, watching TV in the living room in the dark as his kids slept. And there in the only light provided by the black and white TV, you'd see a roach scurry across the floor. Then another. and another. I got my fill of seeing roaches pretty quick and that was the end of the nightly visits to Mac's flat. How thick were the roaches? One early evening I stopped by and his wife had a pot of beans boiling on the stove. As I looked into the boiling pot, there'd be a roach float by every so often. Mac's wife fished the roach out of the pot and the family had those beans for supper that night. I never ate there, for obvious reasons, and soon stopped going there in the evening altogether.

About a year later, I heard Benny had run out in front of a car and was hit and killed. I don't know what happened with the rest of that family, but they moved somewhere else shortly after Benny's death because they couldn't pay the rent.

So it goes.

Memorable People

As we continue down that road of life, we meet and encounter memorable people. Some are good memories, some are not so good. Here's a little story about 3 from college that weren't so good. My college friend Tim should enjoy this.

When I first enrolled at Central Missouri State University, I was coming from 2 years of junior college in St. Louis (very liberal environment), to CMSU (very strict environment).  It was culture shock to say the least and my first experience at CMSU was with an older male counselor to get signed up for classes for the fall of 1976. I can't say for sure what his name was, so we'll call him Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith apparently got some kind of pleasure from having me repeat my social security number about 20 times. I mean, he probably had it memorized after the first 6 or 7 times (if he was slow), because my SSN is very easy to commit to memory. But there we were, filling out enrollment forms, and him asking repeatedly for my social security number. Toward the end of this session he inquired about my previous political science studies.

Even at Forest Park Community College circa 1974-1975, I didn't like political science because of the instructors. A woman instructor had a fairly severe speech impediment that made her difficult to listen to. Try concentrating on political history with that going on. The other political science instructor was a man, who was also a state representative in Jefferson City. So that made him an "expert" on anything to do with Missouri politics. Particularly on being able to greatly exceed the speed limit legally on I-70 and US Highway 54 when the legislature was in session. Guess that's one of the perks.

Back to Mr. Smith. I seem to recall getting a D in one political science class in St. Louis and a C in the other one I took. I still maintained an A- average in St. Louis. Mr. Smith asked if I had been tested on the Missouri Constitution? No, can't say as I have. Then he said that it was a requirement for graduation, so even though I had credit for two classes coming from St. Louis I would have to take a political science class at CMSU that would test me on the Missouri Constitution. When it came time for me to graduate I had fulfilled all my hours for a Bachelor of Science Degree, but had never taken a class where I was tested on the Missouri Constitution. I was actually worried they'd hold me back for another quarter just because of that - but that didn't happen. There was no requirement to be tested on the Missouri Constitution.  Mr. Smith is most likely pushing daisies now.

As soon as I could I transferred to another counselor, John Prince. My memory of John Prince is this - I had to change classes after the first few days one quarter - I somehow got into a class that had nothing to with anything I was interested in. I stood outside his door patiently for about 5 minutes while he had his face buried in paperwork on his desk. I then cleared my throat and said, "Mr. Prince" and and without looking up from his paperwork he said "I don't even have time for you today. Go away!" So squeamishly I explained I had to change one class that morning and he finally looked up from the paperwork and assisted me. I don't know what John Prince went on to do, but he wasn't a very good counselor at times.

And then there was the spring quarter (right after spring break) when I had chicken pox. 22 years old and somehow I got chicken pox at college. By the time I was actually diagnosed with chicken pox, I had scabs all over my arms and face - and naturally had to miss at least a few days of classes.

Dr. David Eshelman taught classes in Mass Media - and specialized in broadcast law. He was a very "by the book" kind of guy. When I stopped in to tell him I'd be missing a few days of class it was very obvious by my appearance that I had a fairly severe case of chicken pox. He said something like, "that's fine, but I still need a note from your doctor if you expect to make up the test I'm giving Tuesday." OK, whatever.

Dr. E asked for my assistance with recording a vocal concert one winter evening - I worked part time in the Radio Lab at CMSU - and he taught me something that has stuck with me through the years. As we were wrapping up the recording, I started to wind a microphone cord around my left arm to coil it up - using my hand and elbow as a spacer for the coil. He quickly stopped me and pointed out that cords get twisted when you coil them that way - and showed me the correct way to coil a microphone cable. The same thing applies to extension cords - you should never just coil them around your arm - they will end up twisted.

Dr. E was a knowledgeable instructor - and he was very thorough in his approach to broadcast law. Unfortunately Dr. Eshelman was shot to death in the driveway of his home in April of 1993 (a former student was charged with murder).

Thanks for stopping by.

So it goes.

New Record High

The official high temperature at The Columbia Regional Airport today was 108. That's a new record high. The old high of 104 had been set in 1991. The "normal" high for this time of year is 88.

A little diversion - building an ice castle:

The high tomorrow is only supposed to hit 93. Woo-hoo!

So it goes.

I got to meet Curly back in the 60s!

The early to mid 60s was an innocent time, even in larger cities like St. Louis. In my neighborhood in south St. Louis, most of the kids about my age (5,6,7,8) were allowed to pretty much run free. It's not that our parents were bad parents, it's just that back then you didn't have to keep an eye on a child all the time to ensure the child's safety. Occasionally we'd play in the backyard of one of the kids who had a parent that stayed outside or within earshot while we were there, but most of the time we roamed the neighborhood and played in our various backyards without adult supervision. Most of us were required to stay within a block of home to facilitate being called home by a parent yelling your name.

It was a wonderful time. Summers seemed to go on forever. Most of us played from morning until evening, returning home for meals or the afternoon block of children's programs. It was a different time and a different environment for kids back then. And children's television was different, too.

From about 1959 until around 1968, on Channel 11 it was Captain 11's Showboat. Captain 11 was portrayed by the late Harry Fender. Of all the children's shows available at that time, Captain 11 was my favorite because it featured Three Stooges shorts as well as cartoons.  Captain 11 would pretend to launch his paddle boat into the "old Mississloppy" for the daily cruise. He always had navigation challenges during the show and at the end would pull the boat back into the dock. As a child, I thought there really was a boat - but the show as hosted out of KPLR's studios.

There were other shows, too.  Channel 5 had Corky's Colorama.  Channel 4 had the SS Popeye (later called The Captain and Cookie). The channel 4 show obviously featured Popeye cartoons, among others. The channel 5 show featured a variety of cartoons. Channel 2 (and later on channel 30) had Mr. Patches.

The hosts of those children's shows were often local TV weathermen - who while in makeup or costume were very far removed from the world of TV weather and thrust into a daily environment of screaming children. (Some, if not most of these local shows had an in studio audience comprised of children).

Growing up in St. Louis - I thought these were the only children's shows that existed.

One summer while visiting a cousin in Rolla (circa 1963-64), he was very excited that we'd get to meet Curly, in person, at a local shoe store on a Saturday morning. Being a big fan of the Three Stooges, I, too was excited at the chance to meet Curly, not realizing that Curly Howard had died in 1952.

We got to the store and the line of children stretched from inside the back of the store all the way on to the sidewalk and about halfway down the block. After waiting in line for what seemed like hours, we finally got to the table at the back of the store to meet Curly. Much to my surprise Curly was the host of an afternoon children's program on KRCG, channel 13 in Jefferson City. He was autographing an 8 x 10 black and white photo of himself to give to each child in line. My cousin was ecstatic at the chance to meet Curly, me on the other hand tried to hide my disappointment that it wasn't THE Curly. Since most of these children's shows of the time were only on weekdays, if you visited a different city on a weekend you'd miss out. My cousin didn't know of my Curly and I didn't know of his.

Those children's shows were some classic local television, although I'm sure most of the weathermen in disguise were at least a little embarrassed to be delegated to hosting a kid show. I wonder how many volunteered for the children's programs, as opposed to being assigned a children's program as part of your contract?

If you Google the right search terms, you can actually find pictures and some clips online of these gems from 60s.

It's a time gone by, unfortunately, but it was wonderful while it lasted.

So it goes.

But you doesn't have to call me Johnson ....

Yet more stupid stuff on the Internet.

A month ago I needed to find a replacement power supply for my son's notebook computer. The notebook had been a hand-me-down when I got something newer and faster. I searched using Google and found a supplier with a replacement power supply that matched the specs of the old supply. Although the replacement was priced well, what I didn't realize was that it was shipping (free) from Hong Kong. So it took almost 3 full weeks to arrive via USPS.

This morning I got an email  from the supplier. It was an invitation to fill out a customer satisfaction survey and get something free.

The email address was mine, but the greeting within the email was clearly created for someone else.
______________________________________________________________
Customer Service Email




Dear Frank Skobel,

Thank you for shipping at DinoDirect.com. Did you get the Colorful Crystal Mud as Free Gift with each of your order? We would like to know your satisfaction about it and sincerely invite you to join our satisfaction survey. Your feedback is very important for us to serve you better. 
______________________________________________________________

There really is no end to stupid stuff on the Internet. It's everywhere, everyday, every time you use the Internet.

So it goes.

Update

So tonight I log in to my web host's control panel and before it takes me to the control panel, I get the following screen:

And this was at the bottom of that page:

Yeah, no thanks, I'm not interested and probably never will be after this stunning display of stupid stuff on the Internet.

So it goes

It never ends

I guess somebody, somewhere is trying to prove that no one has a corner on stupid stuff on the Internet.

Here's an email I got from SiteLock today:
______________________________________________________

Hello Gary,

Your complimentary one-time SiteLock Advanced scan of www.kdghafdhsflafhl.com has completed. SiteLock has scanned your site for application, cross-site scripting, and database vulnerabilities and found no issues. To access the detailed report, please log in to your control panel and click the SiteLock link.

In your SiteLock dashboard, you can review the results of your scan and sign up for these comprehensive scans as an ongoing service.

Thank you,

The SiteLock Team      

______________________________________________________

Apparently this "advanced scan" from SiteLock is something provided by my web host. But you've got to wonder where they came up with that domain.

"SiteLock has scanned your site...." No, you haven't. That's not my site, and that site doesn't exist. What you have done is something stupid on the Internet.

Now I am rushing to the SiteLock web site to sign up for their service.  NOT!

"It's not getting any smarter out there. You have to come to terms with stupidity, and make it work for you."
-- Frank Zappa

So it goes.

The Talent Show That Could Have Been Great

Around 1981, a company named Special Promotions, Inc. started a country music talent contest called Country Star Search. That first year it was actually called Ray Price's Country Star Search - adding the country star's name to the credibility of the contest. The second year it was re-branded the Country Showdown and offered a national recording contract and a big cash prize to the national winner. Radio stations nationwide held talent contests over several weeks in their communities under guidelines specified by SPI. We were there from the beginning, helping to build the Country Showdown into a major attraction for radio station listeners and country star wannabes. The success of the showdown was made possible by small and large stations across the United States.

The first year the local contest was held at the Attic Lounge located at the Villa Motel. Almost all of the station staff was there - in addition to about 10 contestants and their fans, plus the sponsors we had joined with locally. A few minutes before the contest was set to begin I asked the GM who was going to emcee the contest?  He said, "You are!"  And that was the first time I appeared in front of a crowd representing the radio station. I was terrified, but by the end of the evening it was actually going well. The final night of competition was held at the Liberty Theater before a packed house. It was a fun event to be a part of.

We recorded most of the local contests and played them back on the air on Sunday afternoon. Winners of the local contests advanced on to the state contests - which were held at Silver Dollar City and the State Fair in Sedalia among other locations.

But then the head of SPI, Dean Unkefer, allowed Jerrel Shepherd's group of stations to participate and most of them were located near other stations. So the other stations, including us, protested to SPI that the contest was no longer "exclusive" to our stations. Keep in mind this was after the showdown had continued to build for several years.

The following year, Dean Unkefer chose to sign ONLY with the Shepherd stations, cutting off the very stations that had helped to build the contest. Kirksville, Eldon, Sedalia and Mexico were all cut off from the contest. Dean Unkefer told me he had never had a pain in the ass like the Missouri radio stations before. And the following year,  the Shepherd stations were no longer interested in the contest.  Guess what?  The original showdown stations were no longer interested in dealing with Dean either.

Although it's been around for 30 years and is still going on - you don't hear about the showdown contests like you did back in the early 80s in Missouri because of Dean Unkefer.  He owns SPI and is probably a very rich man by now. But some of the stations he pissed off 25 years ago still want no part of his contest.

So it goes.

Turn Signal Conundrum

I think I've finally figured out why so many people fail to use their turn signals properly.

Money.

There was a time, if your tail light burned out you could buy a replacement bulb almost anywhere. Hardware store, grocery store, department store, etc. And the bulbs were cheap - something like a buck and a half for two bulbs.  You could pop open the trunk, undo the light socket and replace the bulb in a minute or two.  Almost the same with pickup trucks - usually two or three screws, undo the socket and replace the bulb.

Then some genius re-designed the tail light, after what, 60 plus years of simple do-it-yourself bulb replacement.

Now cars have a tail light "assembly", and good luck getting it out to replace a bulb.  There's a good chance you can't replace the bulb yourself. It might be next to impossible except for the dealer, and now that whole tail light assembly can cost $80-$100, if not more, if one 75 cent light bulb goes out.

Some recent model years have switched from incandescent bulbs to LEDs - and LEDs don't burn out as easily as a light bulb. Since LEDs should last much longer than bulbs - that's a good move.

So  I think the reason so many people fail to use their turn signal properly all comes down to money. They fear using it may burn it out quicker and who really wants to pay $80 to replace a burned out tail light?

And then you've got those maroons who have a burned out tail light and have no intention of getting it repaired.  I've known of people who could well afford to replace a burned out tail light - $80 is just a drop in the bucket, but they don't get the light replaced on the principle of the cost.  Why shell out $80 when all that's wrong is a 75 cent light bulb burned out?  Never mind that it's the law to have a working turn signal and use it properly. Never mind that a family's safety could hinge on that burned out tail light and that family could be yours. Never mind it's the right thing to do.

Get the tail light replaced. Use the turn signals properly. Pretend you have at least an ounce of intelligence in all that gray matter between your ears.

So it goes.

The FCC and License Renewal

The next license renewal period for all radio and TV stations in Missouri isn't until 2013, but some parts of the license renewal process are ongoing.  I went through an FCC inspection about 8 years ago.  It was the first time in at least 25 years that the FCC had inspected the station I worked at.  The station passed the FCC inspection with no problems - it was a stressful situation but the FCC Inspector was very nice in how she handled the inspection.

All broadcast stations (radio and TV) are required to keep public files - certain information pertaining to station operation from the past (what the station has done for the community of license) and present (what the station is doing for the community of license).

One key part of the public file is an FCC publication called THE PUBLIC AND BROADCASTING: How to Get the Most Service from Your Local Station.

If you have a local station, I encourage you to look at its public file - you may find some interesting information.  In my 32 years in radio at the station, there was never a request from the general public to view the public file.

The public file should be available at the licensee's main studio and specifically here's what the regulation says:
"The public inspection file shall be available for public inspection at any time during regular business hours."

For a station that's on the air 24 hours a day, the FCC would generally see regular business hours as any time, although a station may claim its normal business hours are 8 AM to 5 PM weekdays.  Even if only the part time weekend on air help is working, the public file should be available to the general public.

What's in the public file?  Here's a pretty good list (you can click on the Public File link to see it full size):
Public File

Most stations should be willing and able to show you the public file - since that's what's required by the FCC, but some may not be very accessible.

Every station is licensed by the FCC to serve the "public interest, convenience and necessity." 

You can help determine if any broadcast station is fulfilling its obligations as a licensee by reviewing the public file. This is important any time, but even more so at license renewal time.

If there is a problem viewing the public file or something is missing from the public file, you can file a complaint with the FCC.

You can be a part of your local station's operation in a significant way by asking to see the public file.  If any required item is missing from the public file, the station could be fined.  If it turns out the station is not serving the "public interest, convenience and necessity" the FCC license can be taken away.  Operating a radio or TV station is much more than just owning a building, transmitter and tower.

Certain parts of the public file contents are also required by the FCC to be available on every station's web site.