Saturday, February 18, 2012

The First Person To Let Me Through The Door


2/18/12

A skinny 18 year-old kid from Schererville, Indiana jumped off the South Shore train at Chicago’s Randolph Street Station that November morning in 1995.  It was my first day as an intern at a radio station called “FM-100” (100.3FM/WPNT-FM) and I couldn't be more thrilled to get to work.  During an impromptu trip to Chicago a few weeks earlier, my friend Steve and I stopped by the studios of that same radio station seeking a tour.  By the conclusion of the tour, I had talked myself into an internship with Lynne Murray—the midday personality who doubled as the Music Director of the station.  Lynne was a radio veteran who had worked at stations all across the west before landing in Chicago.  Her colleagues referred to her as a “tough broad” and a lover of “boy scouts.”  The latter was made clear on my first day as an intern.  Before slipping on her headphones to go on the air, she turned to me and said, “Oh, and by the way, I don’t date the men I work with.”  I didn’t know why she was telling me that, but I did learn later than she had a penchant for younger men.  

Having worked in the Adult Contemporary format for the bulk of her career, Lynne was used to working with men who programmed stations geared toward women.  She couldn’t stand hearing her male colleagues tell her what women want.  She made mention of it multiple times during my four-month internship.  The following year after my internship ended, I made another surprise visit to Lynne at the studios in the Hancock Tower.  My timing was perfect since she was looking to hire someone to run the controls for an upcoming Sunday morning shift.  I happily accepted and, with that, started my radio career.  I would end up outlasting Lynne at the radio station—she (along with the majority of the on-air staff) was fired in 1997 when the station was sold.  We kept in touch over the next few years through letters, phone calls, and email.  I’ll never forget one particular email that still stands out in my head.  In the spring of 2001, Lynne wrote, “So I’m standing at White Hen on Sunday morning buying a cup of coffee…imagine my surprise when I heard my only intern’s voice on the radio giving me the weather!  My heart was bursting with pride!  I’m so proud of you!”  I consider it high praise especially considering Lynne had another intern after my internship expired.  You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.  It was—and remains—the greatest compliment that anyone in the business has ever paid me.  A few weeks later, a colleague phoned me with some terrible news: Lynne was found dead in her apartment.  

A packed room filled with friends and former colleagues gathered at Mike Ditka’s Restaurant to honor Lynne’s memory.  We celebrated her the way she would have wanted—sharing our favorite Lynne stories and, of course, wine.  That evening as I exited, I saw a prayer card sitting on a table next to some photos of Lynne.  I slid the card into my pocket.  Since that day, I haven’t gone to work without Lynne at my side.  That same prayer card that I slid into my pocket in 2001 still remains in a special compartment of my work bag.  The card looks a bit weathered these days, but it still serves as a reminder of the woman who took a chance by hiring some teenaged kid from Indiana.  Thank you, Lynne, for believing in me and for being at my side all these many years.   

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Squaring Off


Someone's dog will likely win.
Despite the odds, I’m more likely to buy a Powerball lottery ticket than a square in this weekend's Superbowl office pool.  What usually happens is that I’ll receive the numbers 5 and 8—essentially assuring myself of not winning a dime.  Should my numbers actually come up, I’m led into a false sense of security that I’ll be $500 richer provided the score remains the same with 36 seconds remaining in the second quarter.  What ends up happening, of course, is that some kicker with a name such as Gramǟtica will nail a 72-yard field goal as time expires.  That $500 prize instead will go to someone named Alice from accounting who isn’t even watching the game—Alice is happily tuned into the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet.