Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

Twenty-five years ago, I was researching a book about the changing roles of women in society, and trying to find out if society's attitudes had also changed. In some cases, it seemed they had: there were more women doctors, for example, and going to medical school no longer seemed as unusual in 2000 as it had when I was growing up in the 1950s. (I still remember being told that women were best suited to working as teachers, nurses, or secretaries. Those are certainly fine occupations, but my point is I don't recall anyone back then telling us girls that we could be college presidents, or doctors, or business executives.)  

As for women politicians, in the 1950s, there still weren't a lot of them at the national level, even though women had gained the right to vote in 1920. In the US Congress in 1955, for example, there was only 1 woman senator, and just 16 women representatives (out of 435). And from the 1920s through the 1970s, many of the women who got to congress were widows, selected to complete the term of their late husband. However, things have certainly changed. If we use the congress as a measure of progress, we see that there are currently 25 women in the Senate, and 125 in the House. And the majority of these women are not widows. In fact, the idea that a woman might choose to run for office is no longer as shocking as it once was: there are currently 12 women governors, and more than 400 cities and towns have women mayors.

And yet... even in 2024, women candidates often face obstacles that men do not. I can give you a long list of women who ran for office (from both parties) over the past three decades who were subjected to rude, and even vulgar, commentary about their looks, how they dress, and even their family (or lack thereof). And the rise of social media has only made it easier to disseminate those kinds of comments.  

Of course, none of this is new: there are certain stereotypes that have historically been associated with women, and we can hear some folks dredging them up every election cycle. Women candidates are often called "dumb" or "stupid," for example. If they are married, there are questions raised about whether their husband is okay with them running for office, and what about the kids-- who is taking care of them? (And as we have seen in the current election cycle, if the candidate doesn't have kids, or is a stepmother, there are questions raised about that too.)

But what bothers me the most is the persistence of the myth that women in politics must have slept with someone in power to get ahead. There are aspersions cast on the woman's morals, with the implication that she must be somewhat promiscuous. (Of course, male candidates are rarely held to the same standard: they may be divorced multiple times, or cheat on their wife, or have a reputation for being a playboy, but that doesn't seem to disqualify them. Nor do most voters call out the hypocrisy of the guys who make these accusations against their female opponents. Evidently, if it's someone on "our team," he is free to say whatever he wants.) 

And that is why it really irritated me when I saw the online trolling of Kamala Harris by Donald Trump, with one of the most vulgar verbal attacks I've encountered in a long time. I waited for members of the Republican party to tell him he had gone too far, but of course, they said nothing. I waited for the media to make a story out of Mr Trump implying that the sitting vice president is basically a common prostitute, but other than a couple of mentions, most reporters seemed to treat it as another example of "Trump being Trump."

Let me be very clear that this is NOT partisan: I didn't like it when some folks made sleazy remarks about Sarah Palin, or Hillary Clinton. And as for First Ladies, I didn't like it when Melania Trump was spoken of in a demeaning way, nor did I like it when Michelle Obama was spoken of in ways that were both racist and sexist. I just don't understand why in 2024, we are still seeing those same tired myths that assume a woman in public life couldn't possibly have any political skills or intelligence, and she must have slept her way to the top.  

I understand that there is plenty to criticize about any candidate, male or female. I understand that not everyone likes (pick one) Kamala or Hillary or Melania or Michelle. I'm fine with policy disagreements. I'm fine with disagreements about what a female candidate, or a male candidate's wife, said at an event. But I am not fine with casting aspersions on the woman's morals, or sending around vulgar and degrading memes. It's time for this to stop. It's time for male politicians to stop doing it, and for folks on social media to stop re-posting these kinds of attacks. Female politicians and First Ladies deserve basic respect. So, yes, women in public life have come a long way; but some of the attitudes and stereotypes about them still have not. It makes me wonder what it will take for this to change. And I honestly don't know...

I Heard It On the Radio

It's National Radio Day, a day to celebrate a mass medium that is still important to many of us. I understand that in our internet and TV-oriented world, it's easy to forget about radio, but not all of us do. In fact, I know many people who still listen to it often. I'm one of them. 

I can honestly say that radio changed my life. Growing up, I loved rock and roll (much to the dismay of my parents, who thought rock music was "noise"). And I bonded with the deejays I heard on my favorite top-40 stations. They played my favorite songs, and the deejays sounded so friendly-- even though I never met most of them, I felt as if I knew them; and when I was having a bad day, listening to my favorite station made me feel better somehow. And I decided I wanted to be a deejay when I got older, so that I could play the hits and cheer people up too.

Of course, as many of you who have read my blog are aware, radio in the 1950s and 1960s did not welcome female deejays. It took me until my senior year of college before Northeastern University's WNEU finally let me on the air, in late October 1968; and as I like to say, somehow the republic did not fall. In fact, I got fan mail (I've saved some of it). I also became the station's music director, and I began making friends with record promoters, including some who introduced me to imports from England and from Canada. (This now internet-famous 1968 photo was taken in the WNEU studios, when I first went on the air.)                                               

No radio stations would hire me when I graduated: as I said, women announcers were still not being greeted with open arms. So, I used my degree in education and taught in the Boston Public Schools while continuing to try to find a radio station that would give me a chance. Along the way, I did some free-lance writing for several magazines and for the ABC Radio Network, before I was finally hired by WCAS in Cambridge, Massachusetts; it was a small station, only 250 watts, and a day-timer, but it had a devoted following. We played some folk, some rock, a few pop hits-- and it was like a dream come true to finally be on the air on a regular basis. From there, it was on to WMMS in Cleveland, where my friendships with Canadian record promoters enabled me to be the first to play a certain rock band some of you know-- Rush-- in the spring of 1974. (And we are still in touch to this day.)

My radio journey took me to New York, to Washington DC, and back to my hometown of Boston. I later started a radio and management consulting business, and I traveled all over North America, training air personalities and creating stations that met the needs of the audience. During the four decades I spent in radio, I worked in many interesting places, and I met lots of up-and-coming performers-- and some big stars too. And I hope that anyone who heard me on the air thought of me as someone worth listening to. And then, the industry changed and many of us found ourselves out of work. But even though I was able to reinvent myself by getting a PhD and becoming a professor, I never stopped loving radio, and I miss being on the air even now.

Of course, as we all know, today's radio is very different from when I was a deejay. In many cities, there are no live and local stations at all. There are fewer friendly deejays, and a lot more angry talk show hosts. I couldn't wait to hear my favorite station when I was growing up, but young people seldom listen to radio any more. Giant corporations, which bought up so many local stations, ended up either automating or voice-tracking them, or in some cases, shutting them down. Listeners got tired of all the commercials, and all the sameness, and they went elsewhere. And thanks to YouTube and services like Spotify, people could create their own playlists and not have to wait for their favorite station to play a song they liked. 

And yet, even now, in cities across the US, there are still some live and local stations, still some entertaining deejays, still some places to hear your favorite songs (along with traffic and weather and news). Even now, there are people listening to radio in their car, whether it's on satellite, or on NPR, or on a college station-- and yes they still exist. And even now, there are listeners who think of radio as a companion, just like I did, just like I still do. So, happy National Radio Day. It's a different industry, in a different world, but while radio is no longer considered a "magical medium," it is still capable of being there when we need it. And I hope it will continue to be, now and in the future.    

The Power of Doing a Mitzvah

A couple of weeks ago, a former student of mine got in touch. I hadn't heard from him in about 20 years, but evidently something caused him to think of me, and he decided to reach out. Basically, he wanted to thank me for what he learned in my media classes, and he told me that even now, he often uses what I taught him. To be honest, I never knew that my courses had left such a lasting impression. If you've ever been an educator, you know that every day, you try to be a source of credible information for your students. You try to motivate them, to encourage them, and to inspire them. But you don't always know how much they retained, or how things turned out for them after they graduated. So, it was gratifying to hear that I had made a difference for this student.

I know that for some people, teaching is just another job. But for some of us, it's more than that: it's  almost like a calling. You'll never get rich doing it, but there are so many opportunities to be a positive influence. I also think of teaching as another way I can do a mitzvah. Perhaps you are familiar with the word. A mitzvah is often (badly) translated as a "good deed." But it means a lot more than that. It's really about a positive action that makes the world better in some way. You don't do a mitzvah for the result-- you do it because it's the right thing to do. For example, on many occasions, I've tutored students who were struggling; some appreciated it and told me so, and some didn't even say thank you. But it was still a mitzvah to help them, and I'm glad I made the effort.

Anyone can do a mitzvah-- you don't have to be Jewish. You don't even have to be religious, since it's about doing, rather than believing. Of course, for some of us, doing a mitzvah does have a religious component: there are some things I am supposed to do because they are part of my religion. But others are things that anyone can do: for example, anyone can take the time to show compassion to someone going through a difficult time, or visit someone who is ill, or help someone who is in need. The possibilities are endless, and each time someone does one of these things, it puts a little more kindness into the world. And wouldn't you agree that this world could use a little more kindness? 

When people ask me for advice, as they sometimes do, I often tell them that each day, they should find their mitzvah. Find the good thing they can do that day to help to make the world a better place. That's why I do volunteer work. That's why I mentor students. That's why I try to be courteous on social media. It's all about doing a mitzvah whenever I can. I don't know what your mitzvah is, but I invite you to find it and do it. You may not get immediate praise--you may not get any praise at all. But it's not about the praise; it's about doing the right thing, and trying to make a difference... one mitzvah at a time.

In Praise of Childless Cat Ladies

Let me first set the record straight: I do not have a cat. In fact, I'm allergic to cats. Also dogs. Some of my friends have pets, but they kindly keep their pets away from me so that I won't break out in a rash. That said, let's get to the matter at hand: yes, it's true, I am childless. Well, actually it's not entirely true: when my husband and I got married, he had two kids from his first marriage. So, I became a step-mom. I don't know if I did a good job of it. It was an unexpected situation for me, and I'm sure I made my share of mistakes. But I tried my best, and I'm glad my step-daughters are living their best lives. That's all I ever wished for them.

However, I'm being honest when I say that having kids was never in my plans. Having a career, yes. Marrying, perhaps. Being a mom, no. I knew from the time I was about four or five that I didn't want to have kids. I don't know where I got it from-- growing up in the 1950s, all I saw were stay-at-home moms. The culture insisted on it: the common wisdom said all a woman wanted in life was a husband and children. Advertisements reinforced this message constantly, showing stylishly-dressed, beautiful women smiling as they vacuumed, happily showing their daughters (never their sons) how to do housework. 

In the 50s, women were told it was an either-or situation. Either have a career or have a family. It could not be both. In fact, there were serious discussions about whether going to college was useful for a woman, since no man wanted a woman who was "too smart." I still remember the magazine articles that told young women to pretend they didn't know anything about [pick a subject,] or to intentionally lose at bowling so that the guy they were dating wouldn't feel threatened. Everyone knew that men didn't want a woman who was good at sports; such a woman was unfeminine, a tomboy. And as for those women who wanted a career? They were just bitter "old maids," or "spinsters," ugly women who probably couldn't get a husband anyway. 

Ah, the good old days: I can still remember how the kids at school told me I was ugly. I was mocked for being "different" because I wanted to go into broadcasting. I was told that girls should only be teachers or nurses or secretaries, and they should quit their job the moment they got married. None of that appealed to me. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to be a deejay. I wanted to find some folks I could talk sports with. I hoped to find true love someday, but I had no interest in having kids. I liked kids. I enjoyed reading them stories or babysitting them. But I could not imagine myself having any. 

I didn't know back then that about 10-12% of the population is childless by choice. It was always framed in the ads and on TV and in movies as a tragic situation, something that could ruin a woman's life. There were so many plots about women who could not have children, and in all of them, the woman was the object of pity, devastated by her inability to have a baby. I don't recall any plots where the woman couldn't have kids and was fine about it. 

But I was fine about it, even if I didn't know anyone else who shared my views. To this day, I still think it's a wise woman who knows herself, and if having kids is not right for her, she should not be shamed or mocked. I am always annoyed whenever a politician or a commentator insults women who are childless. I see it more often than I should. A 2021 quote from J.D. Vance is being recycled: he mocked Kamala Harris for not having kids (newsflash: like me, she is a step-mom). And once again, there are folks repeating the claim that only women who have (biological) kids are "normal."

I will leave it to you, dear reader, to decide if I'm normal. But I do know that I've never regretted my decision. I've spent years as a teacher, a tutor, a volunteer, a story-lady... I'm around kids all the time. Frankly, I've always thought we as a society should take care of the kids who are already here before we add more, but that's a conversation for another day. The conversation for today is this: there are many wonderful moms out there, and I salute them. But there are also many women who, for whatever reason, do not have kids. So what? My hat's off to the step-moms, the mentors, the foster parents, the women who adopt, and yes, the women who have decided that kids just aren't for them. Personally, I think the world would be a much better place if some folks would stop passing judgment and minding everyone's business. And in 2024, we shouldn't still be implying that only the women who have kids are contributing to society. There are many possible ways to contribute-- having kids is only one of them.

Just a Little Respect

Because I'm a media historian and a former broadcaster, I tend to save memorabilia, especially items related to my career. I've got old top-40 surveys from the 1950s (when I first realized I wanted to be a deejay); album rock surveys I created when I became music director at my college station in late 1968; and various other items from the stations where I worked in the 1970s, 1980s, etc. And as you might expect, I have lots of memorabilia related to the 50 years that I've known Rush-- including a large collection of the newspaper and magazine reviews that rock critics gave their shows.  

Suffice it to say that most of the reviews the band got in the 70s and 80s were negative. Many critics hated Geddy's voice, thought the band was "pretentious" or "derivative," and mocked the devoted (and growing) fan base the band had. Needless to say, I was not amused by any of this. I thought the criticism was unfair, and I thought the mockery was unwarranted. (One critic, who thought he was being clever, said he'd rather have a root canal than listen to a Rush concert.) So, I frequently called up some of the critics, and though I doubt I won them over, I hope I at least mounted a good defense for why Rush mattered so much to so many fans. 

Among the folks who really disliked Rush back then were the critics at Rolling Stone, a very influential music magazine; I was told even Jann Wenner himself hated the band, and when they were eligible to be considered for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he was opposed and so were the judges. And so it was that year after year, Rush never got a fair hearing and never got taken seriously-- no matter how many albums they sold or how large the venues they played or how enthusiastic their fans were, the critics dismissed Rush. And over the years, I called, I wrote letters, and in the online era, I sent emails, trying to get to the decision-makers, trying to make them see that Rush deserved to be considered. (Although the Rock Hall judges were supposed to be anonymous, some of us suspected we knew who at least a few of them were.) 

Frustration set in. Alex and Geddy and Neil told me they didn't mind not being inducted, but I suspected it irritated them as much as it irritated me. (And it certainly irritated the fans.) Determined to do something, several fans-- most notably two brothers from St. Louis, Kevin and Keith Purdy, worked with me to get Rush some much-deserved recognition: we proposed them for a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Contrary to myth, it's not an easy process, and no, not everyone gets a star. But with the cooperation of their management, we made an excellent case. And on June 25, 2010, Rush got their star on the Walk of Fame.

Perhaps you were there. I was asked by Rush's management (led by the late, great Pegi Cecconi) to give a brief talk just before they received their star. Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins gave one too. It was such a wonderful day, and one that I will never forget. Neil couldn't attend (but some of his family members did). Geddy and Alex seemed genuinely moved by my little introductory speech. And Neil's friend Craig was there, taking some photos, including this one.      

In the end, a new group of Rock Hall judges came on board, and several years later, Rush DID get inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, as they should have. But for me and for the fans who had believed in Rush for so long, that star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame was our way of showing how much we loved and admired this band; and to this day, it remains a symbol of the respect we have for their music, and a sign of the seminal role Rush has played in our lives.

Knowing When to Let Go

When I was working at WMMS in Cleveland, I fell in love with a guy who was a record promoter. He was charming, a good conversationalist, and we had a lot of interests in common. Unfortunately for me, he worked in New York, in that era before the internet, before Zoom, and even before cheap long distance telephone calls. So, we were only able to call each other a few times a week; we also kept in touch by letter (I still remember hurrying to the post office to get a letter into the mail-- there was a midnight pick-up back then, and if you were lucky, your letter would get to New York in only two days). Needless to say, I was delighted when I got a new job in New York in mid-1975: it paid more money than I made at WMMS, but it also meant I could be near the guy I cared about. 

What I didn't know was that he was an alcoholic. Yes, he had told me he used to drink, but he also told me that he didn't do it much anymore, and once we were together, he wouldn't do it at all. None of this was true, as I found out the hard way. Today, I understand that alcoholism, like drug addiction, is a disease, and it's a disease of denial: few people who have it want to admit it, and so they claim they can stop at any time. Or they insist they have good reasons for doing it-- they only do it when they get lonely; or they do it because hate their job; or they do it because everyone else is doing it and they don't want to stand out. There's always some excuse, but it's never their fault. And when the addict or alcoholic makes one more promise they can't keep, or tells one more lie, or disappoints you one more time, or tells you it's somehow your fault, it's often the family members or the romantic partner who have to deal with the emotional damage.         

I can't tell you how many times he promised to change. And he did quit drinking for a while. But being with him was a roller coaster ride: some days, it was amazing, some days it was frightening, and I never knew which it would be. At its best, we had a lot of fun together-- we went to concerts, restaurants, movies, even Wrestlemania. But at its worst, it was like walking on egg shells. Something would set him off and he'd start blaming me for every problem in his life (and threatening to drink, which, of course, he said would be my fault too). I was unfamiliar with much of this. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs. I loved him, but the mood swings frightened me, and I worried that he really would go back to drinking. 

So, I began to attend Al-Anon (one of the best moves I ever made, because I learned the "3 Cs": you didn't cause his disease, you can't cure his disease, you can't control his disease. In other words, no matter what he says, his commitment to his sobriety is up to him. If he's not ready, you can't make him quit. And if he chooses not to get treatment, you are not to blame). Eventually, I realized that as much as I loved him, I couldn't continue: all the drama was putting my own health in jeopardy. Ending the relationship was the hardest thing I ever did. And despite the ups and downs, I still loved him for a long time afterwards. Eventually, I made peace with my decision, and looking back on it, I know I did the right thing. 

What brought all this to mind was the online reaction I saw to Hunter Biden's legal troubles. No, this is not a defense of Hunter, nor is any of this partisan, because that's my point: addiction to drugs or alcohol isn't partisan. It can strike Democrats, Republicans, or Independents-- and it does. Some folks were mocking Hunter and saying he should have just quit doing drugs. Agreed. And my ex-boyfriend should have quit drinking. But as I said, it's a disease: it's a compulsion, not a lifestyle choice. Those who have it often wish they could stop, but they can't. They deny, they make excuses, they feel guilty, they apologize, that's all part of their illness. If they get treatment and commit to staying clean, they can turn their life around. Hunter says he has done that, and I hope he's telling the truth. I know many people who have not made that commitment, and the people who love them are desperate to see them make better choices.

Based on the reactions I've been seeing over the past week, a lot of folks still have misconceptions about addiction; they seem to think all the addict needs is willpower; or they think of addiction like some weakness or defect. It's not. It's a disease, and it requires a commitment, and a plan, to get better. Meanwhile, if you are reading this and nodding because you are in a relationship with someone who is addicted to drugs or alcohol, please know that it is NOT your fault. If possible, get some support for yourself, whether through therapy or Al-Anon or some other self-help group with a good track record. In the end, your story may have a happy ending; but then, you may have to walk away, in order to preserve your own health. That's a hard lesson to learn, but it's an important one: sometimes, it's best to focus on your own well-being, and not spend your time trying to rescue the person you love.

Finding My Way (Or Trying To...)

So, as I write this, I am now officially without a job. I haven't been without a job since I was a teenager, and frankly, I don't like it very much. I'm not the kind of person who is eager to retire: I actually enjoy working. In fact, my professional life has long been a major part of who I am as a person. Whether I was a deejay, or a music director, or a radio consultant, or when I reinvented myself and became a college professor, these things all helped to define my identity. In radio, I was that person making a difference for my audience by playing the songs they liked; and I was the friendly voice they heard when they tuned to their favorite station. Later, as an educator, I was that person making a difference for my students by teaching them, mentoring them, and training them. I not only taught whatever the subject was, but I also taught critical thinking, and respect for differing points of view. And I ran the school newspaper: some of my student interns went on to get good jobs in media.  

And then, the university where I worked decided to get rid of a bunch of us, in a move that was ostensibly about budget-cuts. These things happen. I understand that. During my years in radio, I was fired on several occasions-- stations changed ownership, and the new folks wanted to bring in their own people. In this case, there has been a budget crunch and the administration believed that firing more than two dozen professors was a way to save some money. But knowing the reason (whether I agreed with it or not) didn't make it any easier. The bottom line is I'm now unemployed, and that's not something I was planning on, nor something I was looking forward to.

I don't know about you, but I function best when I know where I'm supposed to be and what I'm expected to do. Thus, not knowing what the next thing is for me is very disconcerting. It's also very worrisome, given that, as I've mentioned in previous blogs, I'm 77. Still young and cute, still active, still energetic, but 77. I sincerely don't know if other companies are going to see me as someone with a lot to offer-- someone with many accomplishments who still has much more she can achieve. My fear is that they'll see me as someone who might require a higher salary, or someone who is (gasp) too old, and they will simply gravitate towards folks who are younger.    

A couple of weeks ago, a student of mine told me that someone on Reddit had posted an old photo of me, the one in the studios at Northeastern in 1968, when I became their first female deejay. I'm rarely on Reddit, but I went to check out the site and thank whoever had posted the photo. And while I was there, I found a Rush fan group. I'm not a member of many fan groups (no time, usually), but I saw a post that I thought I could contribute to, and so I joined. Needless to say, some folks didn't think it was really me, but once they realized that it was, we had a nice conversation. It took my mind off of how I was feeling, and that was very helpful.

But the experience reminded me of how grateful I am to the folks I chat with online-- whether it's the people I play Wordle with on Twitter (I refuse to call it X, and I know I'm not alone), or the educators I help to support through charities like Donors Choose, or the fans who respond when I post something about Rush, or those who respond when I post something about politics, or media, or baseball-- and yes, that includes everyone who reads my blog. I have no idea what is going to happen next for me, and that isn't easy to deal with. But I feel a lot better knowing there are people online (some of whom I've never even met) who reach out to me on a regular basis. In difficult times, in insecure times, in times when nothing seems to make sense, I know I'm not going through it alone. I've said this before, but it needs to be said again: to all of you who are part of my extended online community, I appreciate you more than I can put into words.