Showing My Face on Radio

Note to readers: The following Roger Simon column was first published in May 1996.

WASHINGTON — The manager of a local radio station called me with a proposition.

"Our station is generally positioned to the right on the political spectrum," he said. "And as such, our callers have, uh, well, commented upon your work for some time now."

I know, I said. Sometimes they write me. But could you please ask them to switch crayon colors? I prefer Prussian Blue to Red Orange.

"Ah, another example of your famous wit," the station manager said. "Just what I was hoping for. We'd like you to host a call-in show for a week. You'd get three hours a day, and you could say whatever you wanted and take calls from listeners."

Not interested, I said.

"But it would be a perfect opportunity to meet the real America!" he said. "Talk radio is where the people are."

Talk radio is where the nuts, wackos, yahoos and militia members are, I said.

"But here is the perfect chance to test your theories!" the station manager said. "You'd see real democracy in action for three hours each day!"

No way, I said.

"We'll pay you," he said.

Is it OK if I wear blue jeans? I said.

As it turns out, you can wear whatever you want on the radio. Near as I can tell, that's the only difference it has with TV.

I got down to the station, and the first guy I met was the advertising director who handed me a bunch of papers.

"These are your live spots," he said.

My what?

"Live spots," he said. "Commercials. When the engineer cues you, you read the commercials. And try to sound enthusiastic."

I handed the papers back to him. I don't do commercials, I said.

He was stunned. "Why not? Why not?" he shouted. "Everybody does commercials! Paul Harvey does commercials!"

That's true, I said, and it sure makes me want to go out and buy those goofy work gloves he is always pushing. But because I am a journalist with a certain code of ethics, I do not do commercials or product endorsements.

The advertising director looked crushed. "How about the weather?" he said. "Can you do the weather?"

I thought about it. "Sure," I said. "The weather comes from God, not from the local hair salon."

The station manager came over and greeted me and walked me over to the sound booth where I would do the show. "Most of all," he said, "have fun with it!"

Which is what bosses always say when they mean, "Most of all, don't screw it up!"

I got to the booth about two minutes before airtime.

The booth had a big table with a lot of buttons and dials and switches and a big microphone. The engineer came out to give me my training session.

"Don't touch any of the buttons or dials or switches, and speak into the microphone," he told me. And then he headed back to his booth, which was behind a large glass window.

That's my training session? I said.

"I've been here 14 years, and that's all I learned," he said.

There was a big set of earphones on the table, and I put them on.

"Ten seconds to air," the engineer said to me. "Introduce yourself, and then go right into the weather."

At exactly 3 p.m., the engineer pointed a finger at me from behind his window.

Hi, I said. And then my mind went blank. And on radios all over a three-state region, there was the hiss of dead air.

"Your name!" the engineer yelled at me through the earphones. "Tell them your name!"

Oh, yeah, I said. My name is Roger Simon, and here is, uh, the weather.

And that's when I remembered the advice the station manager had given me: Have fun with it.

Hailstones the size of grapefruit are now falling on our nation's capital, I said smoothly. No survivors expected. Back in a minute with our first caller.

I sat back very satisfied with myself. This was going to be fun after all.

The station manager burst into my booth as if he had just been propelled from a cannon.

"Don't joke about the weather!" he shouted. "Never!"

Then he stalked into the engineer's booth where he could keep an eye on me.

The engineer held up five fingers and then folded them down one by one. When he got to none, I was back on the air.

It's me, and I'm back again, I said. And I've got a little correction to the weather report. There are no hailstones the size of grapefruit falling on our nation's capital.

The station manager nodded through the glass.

They're the size of beach balls! I screamed. And they will soon be accompanied by frogs, lice, vermin, famine and the slaying of the firstborn!

The rest of the three hours seemed to fly by. The callers wanted to talk about everything from how Bill Clinton was ruining America to how Hillary Clinton was ruining America to how I was ruining America.

I told them I thought they were nuts, wackos, yahoos and militia members. It was quite a demonstration of democracy in action.

When the show was over, I was dripping with sweat, but I felt great.

The station manager was at the door of the sound booth as I left. He thanked me but said there was no need for me to return. He said everybody had gotten enough democracy in three hours to last them a whole week.

Which taught me a valuable lesson about conservatives: You can make fun of their politics, you can make fun of their ideas, you can even make fun of their leaders. But never, ever make fun of their weather.

To find out more about Roger Simon, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.

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