It's gone, vanished from my radio dial with a whimper and a moment of blank air space. Neal Conan won't be riding along with me as I come back from Pilates or drive over to G'ma or run out to pick up the kids at early dismissal. Just as Diane Rehm greets me in the mornings, I've come to associate Neal Conan with "what am I having for lunch today?"
He will be missed.
Ted Koppel was the final guest for the final hour; the conversation covered hopes and fears for the world to come. It was hard for the host to stay impersonal. Leaving an employer who'd signed your paychecks for the past 36 years isn't easy. Young people, innovation, the internet, civic engagement... most of the callers were positive and forward looking. Only Neal was holding back the tide.
Did his words really slow down as the final few minutes approached, or was that my imagination dragging it out for as long as I possibly could? I know that he was reluctant to say goodbye; he told me so in his closing comments. He mentioned tech staff and production staff and interns near and far as he ran through the obligatory thanks. There was no mention of the network.
Talk of the Nation was among the top ten radio talk shows in the country, I was told this morning. There was a significant pause after Neal Conan mentioned that fact. What kind of management is running NPR, anyway? There's a franchise with a following and they're turning it into dust.
Listening to Neal Conan was like listening to a really smart neighbor. He knew he had to get along with you for the long haul, so there was never anything derogatory or inflammatory in his responses. If your question went on too long, or you lost your train of thought while you were on the air, Neal Conan could be counted on to throw a life life... and not hit you on the head with it, either.
When he read emailed comments aloud, there was a subtle change in his voice, a more intimate timbre, the writer's style inherent in his tone. He was as interested in the question as he was in the answer he'd extract from his guests. It was conversation at its finest.
And now, NPR is telling its listeners that the stations are telling them that news magazines are what is wanted, that talk radio is over done and over due for an over haul. There's nothing wrong with a news magazine, in a bland and non-controversial kind of way. But tussling over the tough issues is not something that can be done in that format. You need the give and take of questions and answers, guided by a person who respects both the content and the structure in which it is presented.
My local station, 89.1, will be running WBUR's Here and Now in place of TOTN. That means that there is no way for me to talk to the station any more. Diane Rehm's call-in show is pre-recorded; unless I get up and listen on the web, I have no options. I'm feeling vaguely disenfranchised; no one wants to hear me on the radio anymore?
One of my comments was broadcast as the question of the day on the "Ask an economist a question" segment in 2006. An email on Brother's lawn furniture made out of grass seed and chicken wire was read aloud in 2004 on a DIY segment. There was a time, when I was driving carpool at the same time every day, when I could recite the production staff along with Neal Conan at the end of each broadcast. They were family, and now they are gone.
Neal, if you and Ted Koppel create that radio station he was talking about, please let me know. I'll be waiting to hear your voice again. You will be missed.... sorely missed.... indeed.
Showing posts with label Talk of the Nation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Talk of the Nation. Show all posts
Friday, June 28, 2013
Monday, May 11, 2009
A Disappointing Evening
I'm as big an NPR nerd as the next Ivy Leaguer. It's always the first button on my car radio. I cried when Susan Stamberg retired and smiled when Scott Simon married. I was as proud as his mother must have been when Jason Beaubien went from KQED to NPR's Foreign Desk.
I've inculcated the love into others, too. There's a generation of girls who played soccer in Northern California between 1992 and 2003 who will forever associate Car Talk with riding in my car to early Saturday and Sunday morning games. The Big Cuter and I still laugh about "driveway stories" - the ones that force you to stay in the car so you can hear the end, whether you're in the driveway at home or the parking lot at the Santa Cruz Beach/Boardwalk.
My email describing Middle Brother's "real lawn" lawn furniture - made on his lawn with grass seed over chicken wire - was the closing item read by Neal Conan on a Talk of the Nation program on Do-It-Yourself projects. My voice asking "Where did my dollars actually go?" on a post-dot-com-bust edition of All Things Considered caused fingers to be sliced and cars to swerve into other lanes in kitchens and on bridges all over America.
So, maybe I'm just a little bit more of an NPR-aholic than most. In any event, when I read that Ira Glass was coming to town I bought 4 tickets and invited a couple of Minnesotans to join us. This American Life has had more than its fair share of driveway stories - the flaming squirrel being, perhaps, my favorite all-time NPR experience. Ira Glass has a disarmingly boyish reticence in his voice which never intrudes into the pieces. He has an unerringly fine ear for chosing stories that deserve telling. He must be a great listener, because people talk beautifully when he and his microphone are around.
The interview in the paper that morning made me a little nervous. He was going to talk about how he puts together his program. I had been hoping for stories and reminiscences and behind the scenes insights. But, just as I would take any course that a good teacher was teaching, I was sure that just by his presence the night would be wonderful.
Not. Not even close.
On the radio (I've not watched the new tv show), Ira's voice provides the introduction, the interludes and the conclusion to the weekly topic. During the pieces themselves, the interviewer is rarely the dominant presence. I think that's the answer right there - know your limits.
He lacked the gravitas to have his pronouncements taken seriously. His delivery was stuck somewhere around the 10th grade. "Like..... um..... hmmm......(pause)........" just doesn't cut it for 90 minutes in the world's most uncomfortable seats (we were in the balcony; the seats are much nicer on the main floor). What allows you to stop and think on the radio - a pregnant pause, noticing the void - is annoying in an oration.
Every so often he'd touch on an interesting point, but it never went anywhere. The notion of telling small stories as a window into a larger issue was worthy of more than its use as a topic sentence. His theory of story-telling seemed to boil down to having each segment advance the plot. Really? I can't believe I never thought of that before.
He ended the evening by retelling the story of The 1001 Arabian Nights. Had I been the emperor and he Scheherazade, I'd have decapitated him by 10:15 the first night.
I've inculcated the love into others, too. There's a generation of girls who played soccer in Northern California between 1992 and 2003 who will forever associate Car Talk with riding in my car to early Saturday and Sunday morning games. The Big Cuter and I still laugh about "driveway stories" - the ones that force you to stay in the car so you can hear the end, whether you're in the driveway at home or the parking lot at the Santa Cruz Beach/Boardwalk.
My email describing Middle Brother's "real lawn" lawn furniture - made on his lawn with grass seed over chicken wire - was the closing item read by Neal Conan on a Talk of the Nation program on Do-It-Yourself projects. My voice asking "Where did my dollars actually go?" on a post-dot-com-bust edition of All Things Considered caused fingers to be sliced and cars to swerve into other lanes in kitchens and on bridges all over America.
So, maybe I'm just a little bit more of an NPR-aholic than most. In any event, when I read that Ira Glass was coming to town I bought 4 tickets and invited a couple of Minnesotans to join us. This American Life has had more than its fair share of driveway stories - the flaming squirrel being, perhaps, my favorite all-time NPR experience. Ira Glass has a disarmingly boyish reticence in his voice which never intrudes into the pieces. He has an unerringly fine ear for chosing stories that deserve telling. He must be a great listener, because people talk beautifully when he and his microphone are around.
The interview in the paper that morning made me a little nervous. He was going to talk about how he puts together his program. I had been hoping for stories and reminiscences and behind the scenes insights. But, just as I would take any course that a good teacher was teaching, I was sure that just by his presence the night would be wonderful.
Not. Not even close.
On the radio (I've not watched the new tv show), Ira's voice provides the introduction, the interludes and the conclusion to the weekly topic. During the pieces themselves, the interviewer is rarely the dominant presence. I think that's the answer right there - know your limits.
He lacked the gravitas to have his pronouncements taken seriously. His delivery was stuck somewhere around the 10th grade. "Like..... um..... hmmm......(pause)........" just doesn't cut it for 90 minutes in the world's most uncomfortable seats (we were in the balcony; the seats are much nicer on the main floor). What allows you to stop and think on the radio - a pregnant pause, noticing the void - is annoying in an oration.
Every so often he'd touch on an interesting point, but it never went anywhere. The notion of telling small stories as a window into a larger issue was worthy of more than its use as a topic sentence. His theory of story-telling seemed to boil down to having each segment advance the plot. Really? I can't believe I never thought of that before.
He ended the evening by retelling the story of The 1001 Arabian Nights. Had I been the emperor and he Scheherazade, I'd have decapitated him by 10:15 the first night.
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