And Now For Some Chop-Pin.
Since I was mostly a drunk and I dropped out of sports, memories of my extracurriculars stand out as spectacular. For example, I had to DJ one semester on the campus radio.
With my love of music, one might imagine that this was a perfect job for me – and in a way, it was. I stole more albums from the radio station than I can count: alternative rock, indie pop, new wave. I discovered some really cool music on WRMU; my Flash In The Pan album is still a favorite.
But my radio shift started before dawn on Sunday mornings – and I had to play classical music. No rock, no pop, no new wave. No choice.
“People like classical music,” said my professor.
I did not.
Did I mention this started before dawn? On Sundays?
I was the only person at the station – revving it up for the morning, playing the required genre, and broadcasting live until the next person appeared four hours later.
To this day, I feel awful for the people of Alliance, Ohio who actually tried to enjoy classical music during my shift.
Trying not to scratch the needle across the record as I switched albums, I would say, “That was Joe-han Seb’-ass-tee-ahn Batch,” literally having no clue, “with Toe-cat-a and Few-gooey in D minor.”
I’d flick the second turntable on. “And now for some Chop-pin,” I’d say, quickly starting up the next song, hoping I’d said something right.
“Chop-pin” was my favorite composer; I almost stayed awake for his music. But it was 10 years before I knew how to pronounce his name.
Other than Chopin, I chose my selections based on which songs were the longest, so I could sleep between album changes. Sometimes this worked well; other times I woke to the “shh-click, shh-click” of the finished album revolving quietly.
I can’t imagine why I never pursued a career in radio.
My favorite time as radio “staff” was on Election Night, 1984. Watching the election results trickle in via the AP Wire, tallying up results to all the races, and listening to live on-air reports … this was the most exciting non-drinking night I’d ever had. I felt like I was a part of history, even though I mostly just tore papers off the Wire and ran across the room waving them at my colleagues.
I also joined the campus newspaper staff, which I loved – but my favorite story was a lie.
On April Fool’s Day, we ran a paper made entirely of fabrications. Not one published word was true.
For my April Fool’s joke, I decided to write a horror story on the untimely closing of “The Hood,” the students’ favorite bar. I worked hard fabricating the article, which included sad “quotes” from the owner and bartenders.
On April 1, my story was on the front page.
The Hood closure story nearly started a rebellion. Listening to the murmurs of dread and concern, wails of defiance and – finally – sighs of relief when it was revealed that the entire paper was a hoax … now that was fun.
After college, I did manage to land a dream job as a reporter, which I adored, with a local newspaper called The Gazette. Unfortunately, I’d only had the job for a matter of months when I got drunk and didn’t make it to work on time the next day. I slept through a bank robbery, likely the biggest story of the decade, and I was fired when I finally showed up for work.
That was the end of my journalism career. Whew.