Seems the best way to handle this one. I’ve gotten close to a slew of e-mails, most asking the following questions. Let’s answer ’em now, cuz it’s getting kinda weird spending four straight days talking about the same thing, even if much of it involves hearing how totally awesome I am.
1. What’s next?
Today was a day of decompression. Tomorrow will be, too. Wednesday? I’ll probably go see my daddy. Next week? My mama, I reckon. In other words — we’ll see. Those of you that have read this blog for the last five years know how I’ve done things. Grad school didn’t work? Let’s freelance for a living. Freelancing getting old? Time to angle for a contract. That doesn’t work? Let’s teach a class and do some radio. Class is over? Gotta turn this part-time radio thing into something full-time.
The full-time radio is done? Well, now it’s time to figure out what to do now. I know where I ultimately want to wind up, and I’ve been doing a nine-year apprenticeship in the media learning the landscape and taking inventory of what I can and can’t do. I’m more confident in my ability than I’ve ever been. I’m also less sure about the next move than I can recall being. Is it time to write? More radio? Satellite? TV?
Dunno.
2. What happened?
You don’t get jobs by publicly discussing what happened at your last one. The why is less than important than the what.
Things changed. I’m not angry. As Hyman Roth would tell you, this is the business I’ve chosen. If I didn’t respect the game, then you’d have legitimate reason to question the truth in the words I spoke on the air. Far as I recall, I never lied about anything.
3. How are you?
This is the best I’ve got for you…
I now know how it feels when someone has to leave college because they’ve run out of money. You move into this new world, and you get a new set of friends that, after just a few weeks, feel like you’ve known forever. Even the cats you don’t know, you get used to. They’re a part of your life.
Then, one day, it’s done. It’s nobody’s fault, but you wake up, and all those folks aren’t there. And even though you only knew them for a year, you can no longer imagine being without them.
For more than a year, I’ve talked to Joe in Raleigh six days a week. Damn near the same with Ken in Youngsville, Jack in Gibsonville, Craig in Raleigh, and a bunch of others. I’ve got hundreds of e-mails from Don and Vic and all those cats.
Do I know all those guys? No. But I’ve talked to Joe many times in person. I’ve golfed with Ken. Today, I rolled past Vic’s job to speak with him after having lunch with another listener that’s always treated me fantastically (and paid!). Whenever I see someone that listened to my shows, I find that we can talk like we’ve known each other forever. The part of this job I never expected was how personal the connection was that you can have when you talk with people on a daily basis. It’s gonna take a while to get used to being without that.
4. What about a podcast?
The Do Do Wap. It’s strong in here. And it’s coming soon.
5. Will you stay in the Triangle?
Maybe.
6. Anything else?
Friday and Saturday were probably the most humbling days of my life (yes, it can be done). I loved doing the show, and I loved interacting with people and sincerely appreciated the time they gave me. It never dawned on me, though, that people really thought this program was important. Sure, I did things to try to make this a part of their routines, but it became a part of their lives after a while.
A gentleman told me that listening to the show helped him begin to battle a heart ailment that struck him at 42. Now, he and his sons listen (well, not now, per se, but you get it). A woman called to say the show helped her deal with unemployment. Many have told me that the show spoke for them — their race, their generation, all kinds of other stuff. People found the commonality I hoped to speak to with the show, and they showed that it was even deeper than I realized or even imagined. They feel like I spoke for them.
I hoped to get past our differences and focus on what we’ve got to share. And, on my last show, a middle-aged white man called to tell me to come down to A&T’s homecoming to see Gucci Mane. Yessir.
I can’t say how good it felt to know that so many people actually got what we were doing. When you do radio, you sit in a booth, and you have no idea if something works. Maybe people laugh. Maybe they don’t. Maybe they listen close. Maybe they turn the station. From the chair, I never have any idea. Even if I found out on the way out the door, people of many stripes got it.
Before knowing that, I found this time to be the my most professional rewarding experience. Now, I’ve got no idea what to say.
Which means I’ve probably said enough.