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In 2002, I was working at a newspaper in a job I had grown to hate.
Although I love news and I love newspapers, I didn’t love my job. I was a cross-trained editor who could lay out almost every page of a newspaper. That meant the happy birthday page, the editorial page, the food page and the page with celebrity news on it.
Sounds like fun? It was, and then it wasn’t.
In the summer, I received a call from the management of Entercom asking me if I would talk to them about something. I wrote about radio every week in a column about broadcasting, so I thought someone had been hired, fired or there was an impending format change. I was often the first to know about stuff like that, so I went.
What I hadn’t even remotely considered was the chance Entercom wanted to offer me a job. Although I had asked everyone I knew to PLEASE get me out of the newspaper business, I figured I would be filling newspaper pages on a dizzying basis until carpal tunnel shut down my hands.
So, to make a long story short, Entercom decided to take a chance and make a newspaper editor a talk show host. This concept was considered whacky, poor, moronic, odd, foolish and silly to many of you wonderful people who posted on WILK’s forum and elsewhere at the time.
“Another short timer,” was my favorite assessment.
So, I used to drive up Interstate 81 north to Pittston Township every morning thinking, “What have I done?” I thought of my husband, who told me it was a bad decision. I thought of my kids, then 11, 10 and 8, and how my failure would mean tough times for them.
But, having never been fond of backing off, I decided to keep driving up that highway each and every day until someone told me not to bother any more.
Recently, our boss John came by to chide me about my lack of artwork in my closet, er, office. I told him that it would be easier for me to leave if things didn’t work out.
On today’s drive up Interstate 81 as I treated the other motorists to the soothing sounds of the latest Arcade Fire CD, I was thinking I finally feel like hanging something up in the office. Five years under my belt has finally given me the right to a couple of nail holes.
To those who offer encouragement and even send flowers like the ones I received today, thank you. To everyone who reminds me of something idiotic I’ve said on live radio, I suppose you serve your purpose as well. Talk radio’s not something you can master from a text book. A high I.Q. doesn’t mean high ratings. And, we all fail from time to time. However, it’s gratifying to know you’re listening closely. Let’s keep it that way! |
Rush Limbaugh
