1991 - Valdosta, Georgia

Big Dan Crombie was broadcasting drunk again, and my new boss insisted I get him off the air.

I looked at him wide-eyed. "Why me? You're the guy in charge!" I said, obviously worried at the thought of trying to wrestle the microphone away from a three-hundred-pound man on a mission. Dan was known to have a drink or two before his morning drive shift, but it rarely affected his work; occasionally - like when his wife left him after a fight - he'd go on the air and start playing the saddest love songs he could find, dedicating them all to Julie, the "love of my miserable life". This morning, country singer Doug Stone's dirge about being "better off in a pine box on a slow train bound for Georgia" had done him in, and Dan was standing in the studio singing along at the top of his lungs. With the microphone on.

"You've known the guy for over a year and I'm kind of new here. Help me out, wontcha?" pleaded Aaron Jones, the station's latest Program Director. I rolled my eyes and headed for the studio.

Dan was a terrific jock; he had a warm hug of a voice capable of charming just-baked pie from your grandma and a delivery so earnest she'd go buy a new sofa she didn't need at twenty per cent off if he told her to do it. His intermittent sojourns into alcoholism just authenticated him to the red clay hearts of our southern Georgia listeners, so these lapses were tolerated by Marshall Clifton, the station owner and Dan's best friend. Marshall was usually the one to talk Dan out of the studio and into a hot cup of coffee when this happened, but given that he was out of town and my new PD was obviously gifted at delegation, it looked like I was going to do the honors today.

"Oh hey, everybody! It's Amanda Lynn!" Dan announced when I walked through the studio door. Smiling, I went over to the ancient control board and put my right arm around him while I repositioned the microphone, which smelled stale and smoky like a tavern during the day. Dan had resumed singing beside me.

"Best Country, WVDA! That's the latest from Doug Stone...with back-up from Big Dan the Morning Man," I laughed into the mic. "It's 9:23...on the way next, a look at the the rainy weather forecast and somethin' to get ya ready for the weekend from that new guy, Garth Brooks - on Best Country, WVDA!" I popped off the lever for the main microphone and turned down the rotary volume knob.

Dan heard the commercial start and threw off his headphones. "What the hell are you doing? It's my show until 10!" He yelled, pulling away from me.

"Well, honey, you were off key, and I thought I'd save you from embarrassing yourself," I said, as nonchalantly as I could. "Besides - you don't want Aaron to come in here do ya? He might pull you off the air for a few days while Marshall's out of town." I knew that like most jocks, Dan's self-esteem would take a hit if he couldn't be in front of a microphone.

"That joker," Dan growled. "Just let him try and take me off the air. His ass would be outta here so fast." He took a sip of coffee - which I knew was spiked with something besides cream - and gestured toward Aaron, who was watching from the window in the luckily soundproof door. "We don't need a PD anyway, do we dear? We could run this place by ourselves. Hell, we practically do!"

He was right. In addition to morning drive, Dan did the heavy lifting of production,writing and creating all of the commercials that were put on the air at the station. My days were equally long: after a five-hour air shift, I scheduled the music and handled the unweildy promotional end of things, coming up with ideas for station events and promotions, which I then had to organize. Aaron jocked a four-hour afternoon drive airshift and coasted through the rest of his day, jawing on the phone with record company reps, encouraging them to come to town and treat him to dinner. I sighed and put a hand on Dan's shoulder. "How 'bout I take over for now, and you just go home, ok?"

Dan looked at me a second and then his face crumbled. "Julie left," he said. "Wouldn't be worried 'cept that she took the dog this time." He wiped his neon nose with the back of his hand, then reached over to start the next commercial in the stopset. Even drunk and despondent, the man never missed a cue.

I'm so sorry, but really guy - why don't you have one of the salespeople drive you home? Then I'll come and get you tonight and you can pick up your truck."

He shook his head. "Yeah, ok, ok." He unplugged his headphones, picked up the newspaper and sheets of show prep, and putting a comforting hand on his back, I walked him to the door. My show would start a few minutes early today, but that was okay. Being on the air at WVDA was like sitting at the kitchen table having coffee with your neighbors. As long as you didn't talk bad about the President or make fun of Reba McEntire's hair, they'd let you stay as long as you liked.

Posted: Wednesday, Mar 03 2010 at 8:11 PM

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