As a child, I fell asleep night after night listening to the giant voices on WLS. The voices boomed in my head and, like a little nut job, I would practice being “ON THE AIR.” I built my own broadcast booth with a microphone and mixer from Radio Shack. I loved learning everything I could about the artists and the music from Top 40, Rock and Oldies.

I caught my “big” break when I brought my demo tape into WAUR, the 50,000-watt station right outside the city. I waited for my interview in the downstairs reception area. I grew a little concerned when two hours had passed and the GM still hadn’t called me up to his office. Perhaps, if I hadn’t been so eager to get my foot in the door, I would have been freaked out by the Police activity and loud noises coming from the upstairs broadcast area.

When I finally made it into the GM’s office, he asked me for my tape and placed it in his stereo. The tape was horrible. He listened for approximately four seconds, ejected it and handed it back to me.

I was crushed.

But, then he spoke.

“I guess you heard what happened this morning here?”

Actually, I hadn’t listened to the radio that morning. I was rehearsing the interview in the car on the way there. He informed me that their morning guy had a mental breakdown or something close to it. He had barricaded himself in the studio with boards nailed to the door and wasn’t going to come out until the Cubs won the World Series. Needless to say, there was an immediate opening and he asked if I could start that night.

After nearly ten years in radio, I was drafted into the record business and started working closely with a group of artists that would profoundly change my life. Together, we ran wildly, broke down major barriers and created little pieces of art that I’m proud of. I’m still friends with most of those artists. I count them as teachers and fellow explorers of this wild artistic life.