A Voice in the Box: My Life in Radio

Fridays

Back in the 1970s, NPR was the antiestablishment alternative. By the end of the 1980s, we could no longer claim to be the underdog; we were more like the New York Times of the airwaves. Our audience mushroomed by millions in the eighties, and I believe there were three reasons for that. Most NPR stations are FM, so the network was going nowhere until the market demand moved radio manufacturers to offer products featuring both AM and FM. Until then, an AM/FM radio was an option that might cost a car buyer an extra hundred dollars. When AM/FM radio became standard equipment in everyone’s car, NPR could finally reach a big audience. Ronald Reagan, the guy we thought was going to do us in, unwittingly gave NPR a huge boost by partially deregulating radio. Gone was the requirement that radio stations offer minimal hours of nonentertainment programming, with the result that stations all over America promptly fired their news staffs. Radio listeners spinning the dial in search of news found the one place where there was still plenty of it—NPR. The third factor in NPR’s audience growth in the eighties was Morning Edition, born late in 1979, and one of its commentators, pioneer radio sportscaster Red Barber. Red’s four-minute segment each Friday on Morning Edition from January 1981 until October 1992 was the most F R I D AY S 100 A V O I C E I N T H E B O X popular attraction NPR ever had. It ran at a predictable time, 7:35 am— the moment at which the morning drive audience peaks—and it was live, which gave the conversation even more energy. At that hour, listeners are busy with breakfast, showering, shaving, dressing, commuting —but the Morning Edition listeners let none of that interfere with hearing Red. They adored him. Many of Red’s fans in the Morning Edition audience cared nothing for sports and had no recollection of his play-by-play work for the Reds, Dodgers, and Yankees from 1934 through 1966. My listeners just loved to hear the music of his Southern accent as he spoke from his house in Tallahassee, Florida, where he’d be celebrating the abundance of dogwoods, azaleas, and camellias in his garden or recounting the latest mischief caused by his cat. Those Friday conversations were the perfect way to end the week. Red sounded ill in our last on-air conversation on Friday, October 5, 1992. On the following Friday, I told our listeners that Red was in the hospital. The hospital received more cards, letters, flowers, and fruit baskets than it could handle. NPR received get-well cards for Red— enough to fill three large boxes, which are now in my home. Hundreds of listeners described bursting into tears when I told them Red had died on October 22. Since Red had meant so much to our listeners, I decided to take four months off and write a book about his life, his time on Morning Edition, and our friendship. Fridays with Red was a nice little book about an old man and a young man—a mentor and his student. The old man is endearing, funny, and says wise things. Then he dies and the young man misses him. It sold forty-two thousand copies and is now out of print. Four years later, sportswriter Mitch Albom wrote a book about his friendship with college professor Morrie Schwartz. Tuesdays with Morrie is a nice little book about an old man and a young man—a mentor and his student. The old man is endearing, funny, and says wise things. Then he dies and the young man misses him. So far it has sold twelve million copies in more than fifty editions around the world. It may never be out of print. I’m pretty sure no one who reviewed Tuesdays with Morrie made any mention of the earlier Fridays with Red. ...