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.
