Bare Bones by Bobby Bones Page A

had been in trouble, it was funny trouble. “We can’t believe you did that. We want to hire you, Trouble,” he said. “Move to Austin.”
    So I did. As frightening as it was going somewhere that felt so far from home and everyone, I knew it was the right thing to do for my career. Austin dwarfed Little Rock in size. The move to a much bigger market was a huge one for me and I knew it.
    Courtney helped me pack up my stuff and move in what was the worst road trip ever. Courtney drove a truck with a trailer that contained all my stuff, and I was following behind in my little white Pontiac Sunfire with 160,000 miles on it, when we hit a massive ice storm. What normally would have been an eight-hour trip took us twenty-seven hours of ice, snow, eighteen-wheelers that had skidded out, and pure misery. All my stuff was ruined in the move. But I was happy to make it in one piece and have as good a friend as Courtney who was willing to go through hell like that with me.
    On the drive into my first day of work at KISS FM, I was bowled over by Austin. Heading north up Congress Avenue, the state capitol looming in front of me, flanked by the tallest towers of glass and steel I had ever seen, I thought, Holy cow! Now this is a big city. Little Rock felt very far away. And now, very small.
    As soon I walked into the radio station I was greeted by Jay, a friendly man who was not quite old enough to be a father figure but too old to be a big brother. Either way, he took a big chance on me and wound up being one of the most instrumental forces in my career.
    From the start of my job, I felt comfortable enough that I talked to Jay almost every day after the show to discuss how it had gone. He never asked me to do this; I always wanted to. He made the radio station an environment I felt comfortable in and wanted to be a part of, which was no easy feat. Jay—who never air-checked me, meaning that he never made me listen to a tape of myself as part of a critique, an excruciating process for a DJ—never made me feel criticized, not one time.
    Because of that, I craved his feedback, which was wide-ranging and mostly always right. Even when he knew I was doing wrong, he let me learn from my mistakes. He helped me with the technical aspects of radio, including how to edit down my breaks. Particularly at nights, which is what I started out doing at KISS FM, no one cares about any sort of small talk. Listeners are just waiting for you to get back to the music. “Whatever you think you’re going to say, cut it down,” he said. “Focus on the point and get to it faster and funnier.”
    I wanted that kind of advice from him, because I knew he had total confidence in me. The whole management at the station did, it seemed—so much so that only a few months after I had arrived they gave me my own morning show.
    This unexpected promotion was precipitated by another job offer, to go to the West Coast. Although I had just started in Austin, I wasn’t under contract. And Seattle was an even bigger market than Austin. So I approached the station’s general manager, Dusty Black, to explain the situation. “Hey, I think I may go to Seattle,” I said. “They’re offering me a job, and since I have no contract here, it seems like the right move.”
    He presided over all six radio stations in our building, heading up everything from programming to sales. Dusty was everybody’s boss in Austin. A stout middle-aged guy, he was really pleasant and very Texan, even wearing a cowboy hat at times. Having made a ton of money earlier in radio, he lived in a huge house in the fancy part of town, did his job, but didn’t worry about much. I liked Dusty a lot.
    â€œWhat do you want to stay?” he asked.
    Before I moved to Austin, the station had a syndicated morning show that was doing so terrible they cut it. In its place was nothing but music. In that moment, I decided they should put me