Listen to Your Heart

As many of you know, I'm about to be inducted into the Massachusetts Broadcasters Hall of Fame. It's a great honor, and my one regret is that my parents aren't alive to see it. But, while I am sure they'd be happy for me, they never did understand why I wanted a career in radio. And they absolutely did not understand why I was willing to leave Boston (and leave a career as a teacher) to go to Cleveland, a city where I'd never been before, and work as a rock & roll deejay. Teaching was secure. It was stable. And you got your summers off. But it wasn't what I wanted to do.

Don't get me wrong: I had some enjoyable times as a teacher. Agreed, some of the students were annoying, but others were eager to learn. It was the early 1970s, an era of turbulence and social change, and even in English classes, current issues were on everyone's mind. For some reason, the kids thought I was an interesting person-- I guess I wasn't like a lot of the other teachers. I was much younger, and I liked the same music they did. I could also understand a lot of what they were going through. I was strict if I had to be, but I was also someone who motivated and encouraged them. And so it was that I became sort of a combination counselor, mentor, and teacher. And when I finally got a part-time deejay job at a local AM station, they were able to hear me on the air. They thought that was exceedingly cool. This is a photo of me from the 1973 Hyde Park High School Yearbook. (Note the books on my desk: they were about rock music as poetry. To this day, I gravitate to songs that have meaningful lyrics.)

My students were disappointed when they found out I was leaving, but I don't think they were surprised. They knew that I loved radio, and when I had the chance to follow my dream, they knew it was what I needed to do. Some of them wrote to me in Cleveland; I still have some of those letters.  

When I left teaching to work at WMMS, ten hours and 600 miles away from Boston, I knew I was taking a risk. I was leaving the city where I'd lived all my life and going to a place where I knew no-one, just because I loved radio. I even took a cut in pay, as I recall, but it was never just about the money-- I mean, of course, I wanted to make enough to pay my bills. But while teaching high school English paid reasonably well, my heart was in radio, as it had been ever since I was a kid. I knew this was my big chance, the one I'd waited for; and I knew I had to take it.

Some of you know what happened for me in Cleveland--both the good and the bad. The good part included discovering a certain Canadian rock band and helping to launch their career in the US; having their first two albums dedicated to me was both surprising and humbling. I was also the chair of a committee on prison reform, and in addition to having fun as a music director and meeting a lot of rock stars, I did a number of speaking engagements and met some wonderful listeners. The bad part was never getting equal pay, and never really fitting in-- it was a time when there was a lot of drug use, and I've never done any of that. I probably was a huge disappointment to the folks at the station. 

To be honest, I wasn't sorry to leave Cleveland and move to New York, where I worked for Rush's label for a year, and then I got back into radio, working at a jazz station. My career took me to a soft-rock station in Washington DC for a while, and then, finally, back to Boston, where I eventually started my own consulting career. I did that for 28 years, traveling all over North America (I even had clients in Alaska. Hawaii, and Puerto Rico-- and Canada too). And when the radio industry changed in the 1990s, I had to reinvent myself and go back to school. Some of you know I got my PhD when I was 64, and these days, I'm an author, a media historian, and a professor.

And if there's a message in any of this, I suppose it's to think about which path will bring you happiness. You may need to take some chances, you may need to encounter disapproval, and you may disappoint some well-meaning folks who don't understand that what they think is right for you might not be what you think is right for you. (In the end, I hope my parents came to accept my career, even if it puzzled them sometimes.) And so, if you believe the path you're on will allow you to make a positive contribution, go for it. And while not every dream is meant to come true, there's definitely satisfaction in knowing that at least you gave it a shot. To this day, despite the frustrations and the obstacles, I have a lot of amazing memories. And looking back on it, I'm glad I took that chance, and listened to my heart.  

Just a Little Respect

The other day, I saw yet another post on social media calling Joe Biden "senile," and saying he had dementia. I see this kind of stuff way too often, and yes I know, people on both sides love to throw around insults about politicians they dislike. But there's something about the word "senile" when applied to an older politician that really irritates me. I mean, just because you don't like someone's policies, or you don't like how they communicate, does that mean the person is "senile"? Really?

So, I went on Twitter and tweeted the following: "As someone who's 76, works full-time, writes articles, & does public speaking, I wish folks who don't like Joe Biden would stop saying he's "senile." Many 80 year olds are as mentally sharp as younger folks. Aging doesn't automatically mean senility."

Evidently, my Tweet struck a chord. Much to my surprise, more than 14,200 people saw it; several hundred of them "liked" it, and it even got a bunch of re-tweets. I also got some comments from folks who have relatives or even colleagues in their 80s who are still working (whether for money, or as volunteers); until several years ago, one of my colleagues was in her early 80s and she was as dynamic and mentally sharp as someone 30 years younger. 

See, this isn't about Joe Biden. Frankly, I don't care how many folks can't stand him, or how many think he's amazing. What I do care about, and I've said this before, is getting rid of the stereotypes we still use about so-called "senior citizens." If a young person forgets to do something, or forgets the lyrics to a song, it's usually treated as no big deal; we all have days like that, don't we?  If an older person does it, well it's a "senior moment," or maybe it's proof that their memory is starting to fade.

But is it? Agreed, folks who are 80 are rarely able to do what they did at 20. But should that be the standard by which we measure older people? Isn't there some middle ground between "nimble and agile like a 20-year old" and "ready to go into assisted living"? Truth be told, not everyone ages the same way. Me, I hope to keep working for as long as my health permits-- I enjoy being useful and keeping my brain active-- and I'd like to believe my brain is still functioning just fine! But yes, some days, when I forget some little thing, I have to remind myself it's nothing to worry about... because our culture is constantly reinforcing the message that older people can't keep up, or they no longer have much to offer.

So, where did we get the belief that just because someone has reached a certain age, that means they can no longer contribute?  I know some 30 year olds who are still not living up to their potential, and I know some 80 year olds who are far exceeding society's expectations. So, whether it's Joe Biden, or Donald Trump, or Bernie Sanders, or anyone else in their late 70s/early 80s, don't arbitrarily assume the person is "senile" when they say or do something you disagree with. 

I understand that on social media, folks love to sling insults, but this one is especially hurtful, since many of us DO worry about whether we'll eventually have dementia. (Most of us won't, but it's still a fear a lot of us have.) That said, I'll keep on hoping for less name-calling and more respect for older people, because if you give us a chance, we might still have some wisdom we can share, or some knowledge we can offer.