{"id":48,"date":"2006-06-25T16:21:19","date_gmt":"2006-06-25T22:21:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php\/2006\/06\/25\/it-was-twenty-years-ago-today-part-xxx\/"},"modified":"2006-11-09T16:23:03","modified_gmt":"2006-11-09T22:23:03","slug":"it-was-twenty-years-ago-today-part-xxx","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/?p=48","title":{"rendered":"It Was Twenty Years Ago Today, Part XXX"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>My Malibu was dead.<\/p>\n<p>No, not dead.  Just terminal.  I thought.<\/p>\n<p>It was Wednesday, June 25, 1986.  It had been a wettish spring, which meant my trusty &#8217;73 Malibu wouldn&#8217;t start for love or money within eight hours of any precipitation.  Which played hob with my job schedule.<\/p>\n<p>This week had been the worst; I&#8217;d had to get rides to work with Rob Pendelton two straight mornings.<\/p>\n<p>I figured it was time for a change.<\/p>\n<p><!--more--> I&#8217;d started fishing through the classifieds &#8211; and found my dream deal, a &#8217;78 Jeep CJ7 for a very nice price.<\/p>\n<p>But it had a manual transmission.<\/p>\n<p>I&#8217;d been driving for about seven years &#8211; but I&#8217;d never been in a straight stick before.  The cars I&#8217;d learned to drive in &#8211; my dad&#8217;s &#8217;73 Fury and, later, a &#8217;77 Bonneville &#8211; had been automatics.<\/p>\n<p>I had tried once to drive a stick; at a radio station in Carrington, ND in 1982, I didn&#8217;t have a car, and I needed to get to a remote broadcast.  The secretary lent me her Chevette.  I killed it 17 times getting out of the parking lot.  It took  me 25 minutes to drive the eight blocks of Carrington&#8217;s main street to the Foster County Fairgrounds, site of the remote.  I ended up pushing the &#8216;vette into a parking spot and walking the last block through the fairgrounds.<\/p>\n<p>Fortunately, one of my roommates had just bought a brand-new Toyota Celica; hot, gorgeous, and a five-on-the-floor.  She offered to take me out and show me how to drive a straight stick.<\/p>\n<p>Memories are dim; the salient ones:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>Grinding gears.  &#8220;Mitch, could you not do that?&#8221;<\/li>\n<li>Killing the engine eight times in one block, trying to get out of first gear.<\/li>\n<li>Roommate looking at me, face green with impending illness, revulsion ill-concealed in her face.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>She drove back to the house.<\/p>\n<p>Undeterred, I called the owner.  I needed a car, dagnabbit.<\/p>\n<p>By &#8220;desk&#8221;, by the way, I mean a surface about the size of a coffee-table book stuck next to a rack of satellite gear, which I shared with morning drive producer Allison Brown.\u00a0 KSTP&#8217;s old studios on Highway 61 were, as I&#8217;ve mentioned elsewhere, a bit like working in a submarine, with electrical gear in every nook and cranny, waffleplate floors and steel stairways, a big diesel engine wedged into a back room.\u00a0 And my &#8220;desk&#8221; was like something out of &#8220;Das Boot&#8221;.<\/p>\n<p>Anyway.<\/p>\n<p>It was five minutes until the start of the Don Vogel production meeting.\u00a0 I put all my material into a manila folder, took three deep breaths, and walked out the door into the front hallway, to Scott Meier&#8217;s office.<\/p>\n<p>I knocked.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Yeah, Mitch?&#8221; Meier said wearily.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;So &#8211; when do I start?&#8221;\u00a0 I always figured the aggressive route wouldn&#8217;t screw me any worse than the passive one.<\/p>\n<p>Meier groaned lightly.\u00a0 &#8220;All right.\u00a0 How about Sunday night, 2 til 4AM?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>I stopped.<\/p>\n<p>I never expected it to actually work.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;2AM to 4AM?&#8221;\u00a0 My heart started racing.\u00a0 &#8220;Sure&#8221;.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Do it Sunday night.\u00a0 We&#8217;ll see how it goes after that&#8221;.<\/p>\n<p><i>How to answer?<\/i>.\u00a0 &#8220;Cool!&#8221;.\u00a0 And &#8220;Thanks&#8221;, as an afterthought, as I walked away.<\/p>\n<p>I stepped into the production meeting, and after giving the customary greeting (MITCH: &#8220;I&#8217;ve been having trouble with my bank.&#8221;\u00a0 DON AND DAVE: &#8220;What bank is that, Mitch?&#8221;\u00a0 MITCH: &#8220;The S**t P**s F**k Bank!&#8221;), sat down and put my cards on the table.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Meier gave me a slot!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Don and Dave erupted in congrats.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;So when?&#8221; asked Don.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;2-4AM, Sunday night and Monday morning&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Don and Dave erupted in laughter.<\/p>\n<p>But it was a start.<\/p>\n<p>The word got around the station during the meeting.\u00a0 By the time Dave and I went into the control room to start the show, everyone knew, although it&#8217;d be a stretch to say most of them cared.\u00a0 2-4AM was out there, even by KSTP&#8217;s modest standards.<\/p>\n<p>As we got ready to start the show, newscaster Karen Booth &#8211; who also hosted a weekend program on KSTP &#8211; spoke.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;So what kind of show are you going to do?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;News with a conservative point of view, mostly&#8221;, I allowed.\u00a0 Why fight it?<\/p>\n<p>Karen seemed to recoil.\u00a0 &#8220;Conservative?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Yep&#8221; I flipped as the Vogel opening theme started.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Is this a bit you&#8217;re doing, just to get on the air?&#8221; Booth asked, &#8220;or is that actually what you believe?&#8221;\u00a0\u00a0 Karen seemed to find it genuinely implasible that I, guitar player and broadcaster and generally cool guy, could possibly really <i>be<\/i> a conservative.<\/p>\n<p>I think I eventually convinced her.<\/p>\n<p>Booth, of course, was the opposite; after several years at Minnesota Public Radio including a stint as their &#8220;chief political correspondent&#8221;, she went on to serve as the DFL&#8217;s communications director.<\/p>\n<p>But that was all in the future.\u00a0 I had a show to plan.<\/p>\n<p>And it occurred to me; as much as I&#8217;d fantasized about this day for the previous several months, I really had no idea what to do.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>My Malibu was dead. No, not dead. Just terminal. I thought. It was Wednesday, June 25, 1986. It had been a wettish spring, which meant my trusty &#8217;73 Malibu wouldn&#8217;t start for love or money within eight hours of any precipitation. Which played hob with my job schedule. This week had been the worst; I&#8217;d [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-48","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twenty-years-ago-today"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=48"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=48"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=48"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=48"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}