the man inside stood up and waved for us to enter. As we opened the door to the booth, he held up his finger to his lips, telling us to be quiet.
He pulled the microphone closer to him and said, “From 1973, here’s Marvin Gaye with Let’s Get it On. ” He hit a button on the computer and the song began to play, then he pushed the mic back and turned to us. “Are you Blackie Blackstone?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, and this is my wife, Chris Livingston,” I replied.
“Christine Blackstone-Livingston,” Chris said, glancing at me.
As much as I loved the sound of that, I knew it would take me some time to remember to say it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you. My name is Jarod Craddock, and I am the owner and general manager that you asked to meet with. Your assistant wouldn’t give me any details, but I imagine you’re here to do business? Is that right?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I wanted to talk with you about a former deejay of yours, John Mooney, who you laid off a few months ago.”
Jarod’s face paled, and he averted his eyes. “Uh, what about him?”
I got the feeling he had a problem with John. “What can you tell me about him? You know, was he a hard worker, reliable, that kind of thing?”
“Are you thinking of hiring him, or something?” he asked.
“Yes, something like that,” I replied evasively.
“Well, he was a hard worker and reliable, and at one time I was thinking of promoting him to assistant manager, but he developed a drinking problem that was starting to interfere with his job,” he explained.
“How so?” Chris asked.
“He was on the night shift and passed out while on the air. For most of the night there was nothing but static on the airwaves.”
“Static? Don’t you program your music in advance?” I asked. My father owned several stations and I was with him when he bought his last one. They showed us how everything was automated and state-of-the-art. I guess I thought all radio stations were that way. Man, was I wrong.
“Yes, everything’s programmed on the computer, but the deejay is live. He has to give station identification, and time and temp after three plays, so it’s not like the program is on autopilot.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. How do you know the radio was off the air most of the night?” Chris asked.
“Because, the next song that was cued to play was scheduled for midnight, and when I arrived at five a.m., it was still cued up. My advertisers were not pleased.”
“I’ll bet. So is that when you fired him? Uh, I mean laid him off?” I asked. I’ve never been fired or laid off from a job, but they both sound the same to me. Either way, you’re out of a job. Of course, I’ve only had one job in my life, and that was for a few weeks working in a restaurant as a waitress. It was part of the test to prove to Chris that I could live on a waitress’ salary. I passed the test and was damn proud of myself, but deep down, I knew that my money was still there, waiting for me.
“I had no choice. If the FCC found out, they’d shut me down. I told him to get himself into a program before it was too late, but…” Jarod raked his hand across his chin, and took a deep breath. “He became irate, angry and out of control. I called the police and had him physically removed from the premises.”
“Man, that’s rough.”
“Jarod, some people turn to the bottle because of some tragedy, or because of something pressing down on them,” Chris said. “And some people drink just to drink. In your personal opinion, do you think he’s redeemable?”
“Yes, I do. If he gets help before it’s too late. He lost everything in the crash of ‘08, and never recovered from it, but I don’t know if that’s what drove him to drink or not. I just fear that my laying him off was the final straw for him.”
“That’s what I’m here to do, help him get back on his feet,” I said, wondering exactly how I would do that.
Music Man
He pulled the microphone closer to him and said, “From 1973, here’s Marvin Gaye with Let’s Get it On. ” He hit a button on the computer and the song began to play, then he pushed the mic back and turned to us. “Are you Blackie Blackstone?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, and this is my wife, Chris Livingston,” I replied.
“Christine Blackstone-Livingston,” Chris said, glancing at me.
As much as I loved the sound of that, I knew it would take me some time to remember to say it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you. My name is Jarod Craddock, and I am the owner and general manager that you asked to meet with. Your assistant wouldn’t give me any details, but I imagine you’re here to do business? Is that right?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I wanted to talk with you about a former deejay of yours, John Mooney, who you laid off a few months ago.”
Jarod’s face paled, and he averted his eyes. “Uh, what about him?”
I got the feeling he had a problem with John. “What can you tell me about him? You know, was he a hard worker, reliable, that kind of thing?”
“Are you thinking of hiring him, or something?” he asked.
“Yes, something like that,” I replied evasively.
“Well, he was a hard worker and reliable, and at one time I was thinking of promoting him to assistant manager, but he developed a drinking problem that was starting to interfere with his job,” he explained.
“How so?” Chris asked.
“He was on the night shift and passed out while on the air. For most of the night there was nothing but static on the airwaves.”
“Static? Don’t you program your music in advance?” I asked. My father owned several stations and I was with him when he bought his last one. They showed us how everything was automated and state-of-the-art. I guess I thought all radio stations were that way. Man, was I wrong.
“Yes, everything’s programmed on the computer, but the deejay is live. He has to give station identification, and time and temp after three plays, so it’s not like the program is on autopilot.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. How do you know the radio was off the air most of the night?” Chris asked.
“Because, the next song that was cued to play was scheduled for midnight, and when I arrived at five a.m., it was still cued up. My advertisers were not pleased.”
“I’ll bet. So is that when you fired him? Uh, I mean laid him off?” I asked. I’ve never been fired or laid off from a job, but they both sound the same to me. Either way, you’re out of a job. Of course, I’ve only had one job in my life, and that was for a few weeks working in a restaurant as a waitress. It was part of the test to prove to Chris that I could live on a waitress’ salary. I passed the test and was damn proud of myself, but deep down, I knew that my money was still there, waiting for me.
“I had no choice. If the FCC found out, they’d shut me down. I told him to get himself into a program before it was too late, but…” Jarod raked his hand across his chin, and took a deep breath. “He became irate, angry and out of control. I called the police and had him physically removed from the premises.”
“Man, that’s rough.”
“Jarod, some people turn to the bottle because of some tragedy, or because of something pressing down on them,” Chris said. “And some people drink just to drink. In your personal opinion, do you think he’s redeemable?”
“Yes, I do. If he gets help before it’s too late. He lost everything in the crash of ‘08, and never recovered from it, but I don’t know if that’s what drove him to drink or not. I just fear that my laying him off was the final straw for him.”
“That’s what I’m here to do, help him get back on his feet,” I said, wondering exactly how I would do that.
Music Man
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