I grew up listening to the best radio in the world. Chick Hearn, Vin Scully, Dick Enberg, Jim Healey, Gary Owens, Jim Ladd, Machine Gun Kelly, Rodney on the ROQ, Dr. Demento. The one guy who probably broadened my horizons more than any other? Larry King.
He had this show syndicated on the Mutual Broadcasting System, came pretty late on weeknights in SoCal. I just got my brand spanking new digital clock radio--my most prized possession, by far--and this show, man, it went on for like 100 hours EVERY NIGHT.
There'd be a guest to talk for an hour or two--unless it was Danny Kaye, Sandy Koufax, or Francis Albert Sinatra; they'd get the full run. But otherwise after the guests left it was Open Phone America, where he'd do his trademark. "Dubuque! Hello!" For hours, every night.
It was news and culture that for me was from distant, exotic planets--Chicago, and especially the Brooklyn of his childhood. He might slip back to the same old neighborhood stories in Hour Four or so, but with that rasp, and especially that laugh, you wanted to hear 'em again.
There was a great generosity about the whole thing, including toward the callers. And especially toward his daughter Chaia, who was my age, and now I see that she died last year, damn. Must have broken his heart. people.com/tv/larry-king-…
He became a TV figure that generated eye-rolling, and his newspaper column was the corniest three-dot, on-my-mind column out there. But I never sneered at him, at least I hope I didn't, because of what a miraculous radio program that was for me.
A few years ago I started doing some fill-in radio work for Sirius XM. I remember well my first day, had a whole bunch of winning stuff lined up--high-profile guests & great wing-man from the jump. Nobody showed up, and it was just me, the microphone, and silence. So, so terrible
Eventually figured out how to fill programming in three-hour chunks--here's the secret: Have super great & busy producers who also double as on-air talent! But anyway, even three hours a day is a damn lot. King was doing, like 4, 5, maybe more. And it was captivating!
And sure, it's possible that I lack a critical distance, being an eager tween rube who finally has his own room & radio, open up to the world. But he was a big part of that, in an already great radio town, and I want to thank him posthumously for it.
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When Hank Aaron came up to the big leagues in 1954 at age 20, the stolen base was pretty dead as a weapon. A great athlete and smart ballplayer, he stole just 20 bases his first 6 seasons. Then Maury Wills came along, and he was all, "Really?" Then averaged 22 SB from 1960-68.
Hank Aaron hit 77 triples his first 10 years in the bigs (1954-63).
Since 1964, only 46 players have hit more than 77 triples in their entire careers. Not Barry Larkin, not Ryne Sandberg, not Mickey Rivers.
Kirk Gibson in 1988 won the MVP while racking up 6.5 Wins Above Replacement, 6th most in the NL. I would have given it to 1st-place WAR-haver Orel Hershiser (7.1), but it wasn't a bad pick.
Hank Aaron had more than 6.5 WAR every year from 1956-69.
A point worth elaborating: "decisions about hiring and firing are rarely as simple as they appear to outside observers with an ax to grind, so there may well be more going on here—though the statement from Taylor seems to eliminate much of that ambiguity" reason.com/2021/01/22/nis…
In my experience, outsiders (including journalists) describing personnel decisions of which I have tangible knowledge of almost always get it significantly wrong, due to the routine asymmetry of candor between parties who have a career-altering disagreement. That's important!
Even public-facing statements that seem to confirm the basic Narrative can be misleading, if the management involved is using a transgression as a convenient excuse to do something they had long wanted to do. The more a place is managed or PR'd badly, the more likely that is.
Let’s put more things in the world, says I. So without further ado, here’s the best first-draft playlist I could rummage from music that was first revealed in December 1989. Two mega-hits, followed by weird instrumentals, alt-stuff, topped by epic metal. open.spotify.com/playlist/67BIx…
Thus ends Phase 1 of this collaborative Twitter exercise, in which you, the big people, helped me go month by month through that revolutionary political and musical year, making playlists, and learning a bunch of stuff. Thank you! Raw material for great editorial content to come.
Past lists can be found working backward through the thread announcing the November 1989 list.
Here’s my playlist composed of notable musicks that were first released in November 1989. From Morrissey to Crispin Glover, Robert Earl Keen to Queen Latifah, and just so, so much punk rock. [1/x] open.spotify.com/playlist/1BjVM…
To recap, I’ve been marching through each month of that revolutionary and musically interesting year. Will become a podcast series soon.
"Some of my colleagues in Congress, they share responsibility for that. Many of them were fundraising off of this Stop the Steal grift. I don't understand how you can look in the mirror and go to sleep at night without that weighing on your conscience, I fundamentally do not.”
“I'm just at a loss for words about how some of them have acted in ways that are just knowingly, provably false. And they *know* they're lying, too."
Almost tried to tell this whimsical dream/music/childrearing story on the last @wethefifth Patreon episode, but it was too boring and I was too, ah, sleepy. But! That’s why we have Twitter. So, here’s how @KenLayne unknowingly turned my 5-year-old into a @JasonIsbell fan.
Do you know how your dream-brain has weird augmented/invented geographies that you keep coming back to? And also, how you keep some musical acts at bay that you just KNOW you will eventually like once you actually listen to them? So these intersected for me a few nights back.
Through no fault of his own, one of the places my dream-brain keeps returning me to is this very nice, Sunset-magazine style 2-story, Sedona-looking flagstone-and-big-windows place in a flat empty desert that @KenLayne supposedly lives in. (He has never lived in any such house.)