Unhappy Valley...Part I

NOTE:  The views and opinions expressed in the following are strictly that of the author.  Reader discretion is advised.


"Say it ain't so, Joe!"
"Joe, Don't Go!"
"Screw U, PSU!"
Placards like this were seen all through State College, Pennsylvania over the past couple weeks.
By the way, State College is the centrally-located home of the Pennsylvania State University, also known as Penn State.
This fine institution was stained by a serious scandal recently, as assistant coach Jerry Sandusky was charged with a series of sexual assaults involving young boys, with one episode witnessed in a shower by a graduate assisant.
Though Sandusky had been retired for some time, heads rolled. 
An emergency meeting was called by the university's board of trustees.  That meeting resulted in the resignation of university President Graham Spanier and the firing of its legendary head football coach, Joe Paterno. 
Not long after the scandal broke, I took a stand on social media in support of the man I and countless others affectionately refer to as "JoePa".
And I knew the can of worms I was potentially opening.  And I was all but dragged out to the streets and crucified for it.
Some who have known me for years, including some family members, have viciously attacked me for taking this stand, including a self-admitted victim of child abuse herself.  Others took the more merciful route and expressed their disappointment or messaged me privately, asking me to explain myself, which I did.
I also have my fair share of supporters.
Those of you who don't agree with me, and those who really, really, REALLY don't agree with me, I understand.  Especially the latter.
And I'm not angry about it.  You're still cool with me.
Because that's what this country is about.  Free speech.
It's also about due process.
But before we go any further, I sincerely sympathize with those who were victimized by this terrible tragedy.  I always have since this story broke.  I want them to receive their due justice and hope that they get it.
We have a very sophisticated judicial system that's one of the best in the world.  It's not flawless, but it's the best one we have.
If you read up on your American and world history, you'll find that most judges actually served three roles as opposed to one...judge, jury, and executioner.
Pontius Pilate, great example of this.
And in most cases, judges were clergymen. 
Because hey, who was a better judge of morality?  Right?
Wrong.
A judge in those days had the power to simply kill someone they did not like.
Whether he or she did really anything wrong was immaterial.  He'd find something to nail them for.  Yep, he'll show 'em!
We have a word for this...corruption.
Not to say it doesn't exist today.  But let's face it, it's been a part of human nature since the book of Genesis.
Morality is what writes the laws of this country.  "In God We Trust".  Morality came first, then the law.  Carefully crafted in writing.
"You shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor"...translation..."Thou shall not lie".
And in a court of law, we call that perjury.  Before or after the time of arrest, we call it unsworn falsification to law enforcement.  Sign off on that bold-faced lie, and you're in big-time trouble.
These are all outlined in the Constitution of the United States of America, the law of the land which the men and women of our armed forces are sworn to protect, preserve and defend.  Our public servants and elected leaders are also sworn to this oath.
Now that my moral foundation has been explained, so will my stand on the matter surrounding the scandal.  But you'll have to wait until next week to read it.



NEXT WEEK:  Part II

Assuring Your Insured

Comedian Chris Rock once called insurance "in case (stuff) happens".
And if stuff does happen, just hope you get what's coming to you.
One rainy morning in early September, I was on my way to the radio station to air the early morning news.  It was shortly before 4am, and on my way to the police precinct to pore over reports, a car coming out of a back alley way crossed my path and left me little time or space to avoid hitting him.
Police were called.  Information was exchanged.  Insurance companies were notified.  Repairs were arranged and rental vehicles were authorized.
Now a month has passed.
I'm still waiting to hear back from the other guy's insurance.
Plus, my insurance company's recovery department is working on my behalf to get it.  There's pictures of the intersection, plus my verbal and written statements.  No reason why I shouldn't get 100 percent liability in my favor, at least according to me and my insurance company.
Naturally, the other guy's insurance doesn't feel the same way. 
I already paid for the repairs out of my own pocket, because I couldn't stand to see my truck battle-scarred any longer, and felt I could wait to be reimbursed.  Hint...don't do this close to Christmas and your wife's birthday...both within a month of each other.
That doesn't mean I'll give up.
Not by a long shot.
Most people who do know me know I can be anything from tenacious to a downright pain-in-the-dupa (yes I am of Polish ancestry), when it comes to me getting what I want.  Most times I do get it.
And I don't want much.  Only what's fair.   I didn't call Edgar Snyder and fake a neck injury.  I didn't take advantage of our great Commonwealth's "lottery" court system to try and make a lot of money I didn't earn. 
I once saw a bumper sticker that said "Hit me!  I need the money!"
Uh...no.  You won't find it on the back of my truck. 
Because I could very well have been on the wrong end of this crash myself.
And the other guy could have done just that...and ruined me in the process.
I won't do that.  The guy at fault seemed OK and didn't lie to the cops or immediately deny responsibility. 
What goes around comes around.  Guaranteed.
While it might sound tempting to take advantage of a situation like this, can you live with the fact that you lied and cheated to get something you knew you didn't deserve?
If you believe the world owes you something just because you're here, that only means you're going out the same way you came in. 
There's only one thing you take with you when you leave this world.
Your integrity.
That, in and of itself, is priceless.



NEXT WEEK:  Not-so Happy Valley

The Old Man Came for a Visit

It's the first time I ever remember such an event during my 42 years on this planet.
On Halloween weekend, as much as five inches of snow fell upon southwestern Pennsylvania.  While we didn't get quite that much in my part of the region, it was still unusual to see snow this early in the fall.
I woke up that Saturday after our daughter decided she no longer was in need of sleep.  It was one of those times where I wished that she was a teenager and would need a crowbar to pry her out of bed.
Sometimes I like snuggle weather!
Notwithstanding, we got out of bed and prepared for our usual Saturday morning ritual of going out for breakfast. 
After our food arrived, my wife posed the question:
"What's on your agenda for today?"
While 'nothing' would have been my preferred response, I was faced with a rather unpleasant task that I wanted nothing to do with...simply because it meant capitulation.
More specifically, removing the mower deck from the tractor and replacing it with the snow blade.
It also reminded me of the letters I send out to local school districts this time of year.  They contain the password they use to cancel or delay school in the event of inclement weather.  I usually wait until November to mail them out, but this year's snowstorm made me rethink whether I should sent them out earlier.
Like August.
After all, this is western Pennsylvania we-unz are living in.
And Old Man Winter decided to show up a little early.
He didn't stay long though.  Just enough to say "I'm here".
Not that we'd ever forget it.


NEXT WEEK:  Insurance vs. Assurance

Getting My "Fash" On

I'm too sexy for Milan...too sexy for Milan, New York and Japan...
I wish.
But those lyrics, immortalized by the one-hit English pop band Right Said Fred, did have their impact.
Especially me.
That year, I decided to try my hand at fashion modeling, signing with an agency, but getting no paid work.
The best you got was experience, or if you were lucky, you got to keep your wardrobe or maybe some products you were pushing.
The Paul Mitchell gig was pretty nice, I must admit.
But I decided to stick with what I knew best, and that was radio.
Yet more than five years ago, I got my chance at the catwalk once again.
St. Barnabas Health System is a faith-based organization that provides nursing home, hospice, and assisted living facilities for the elderly and infirm, with many of them unable to afford care.
Thus the creation of the St. Barnabas Free Care Fund.
And the fund-raising events relative to it, like the annual Fashion Gala.
This is now my third year.
Because of my involvement with the radio station, I, like my co-workers, have community service obligations that need fulfillment in support of the station that scores us points in the community and with the FCC at license renewal time.
I became involved with St. Barnabas shortly after my arrival in the summer of 2006.  After taking time out for the birth of my daughter more than two years ago, I was back on the Kean Theatre's catwalk a week ago yesterday modeling three outfits...one casual, one business casual, and one evening.
And like those other years, I had a blast doing it.  Since I've become heavier and grayer since those earlier years, it's nice to know they still want me.
And I might even be OK with being upstaged in coming years.
My wife suggested my daughter march with me on the catwalk in a couple years.
As much as I've promised that I wouldn't exploit Savannah's cuteness, I can't help but want to.
Because I can't help but want to show off that beautiful little girl. 
After all, it's one of the things I can truly say I've gotten right.

NEXT WEEK:  Winter Winner

The Basics of Radio

NOTE:  The views and opinions contained herein are strictly that of the author.

In my line of work, the bare essence of it often invites criticism.
From the turkey at where I buy my coffee each morning telling me why he chooses to listen to Sirius XM instead of our one AM station to the person who can't fathom why we don't play country on our FM station notwithstanding an oversaturated country music market in Pittsburgh.
Time for Radio 101.
Commercial radio programming is, for the most part, not dictated by listener feedback, contrary to popular belief and what's been marketed to suggest otherwise.  It never has been and it never will be.
Ultimately, programming is decided by thorough research into the market that it serves.  Things like listener race, age, gender, occupation and even marital status are factored in when it comes to deciding what gets on the air and what doesn't.
Also considered is the economic base of said market.  Virtually all revenue generated on any broadcast entity is without exception, from the support of small retail business.  A very small percentage comes from national or regional advertising often placed through third-party advertising agencies.
To make your radio station palatable to those businesses that support your station, you program your station to satisfy answers to some very important questions those businesses may have.
Who listens to your station?  What do you have to offer that I can't get from another radio station?  What can your station do for me that direct mail, the internet, newspaper or TV station can't?  How do you support the local community?  How do I know your product will make me money?
Until the 1960s, there was a time when a radio station could be all things to all people.  Then one day, a group of renegade program directors branding themselves as 'consultants' decided "hey, let's try playing ONE kind of music form full-time!"
Thus the term "format" was born. 
You could have a Top 40 station, a country station, a rock and roll station, a black station, whatever.  Then years later, fragmentation was born as other music choices became available.  You could have an Adult Top 40 station, a mainstream Top 40 station, an urban Top 40 (called "churban") station, a hit country station, a classic country station, a classic rock station, etc.
Even so-called 'we play everything' stations don't truly live by this philosophy.  Though they're starting to say 'no polka' in their marketing, try calling the request line and ask if they'll play all 25 minutes of the "Alice's Restaurant" masacree by Arlo Guthrie.  It ain't gonna happen.  Unless they divide the song into five parts so they can play commercials.
But that's the essence of radio.  Stations that often change formats start with a broad playlist, just for the sake of inviting listeners to tune in.  Over time, the playlist begins to shrink as consultants continue to test audiences.  They learn which songs played in that auditorium are strong and which ones are weak.
That said, it's not unusual to start with a list of anywhere between 500 and 700 titles, and then after a year, trim that list down to 300.
If you're lucky.
And forget requests.
"Sure, I'll get that on for you," I've said this familiar lie many times myself.
That's not to say this is the case everywhere.
Small market radio, where I've spent the majority of my career, has a degree of more flexibility.
If you're a radio station in a small town, here's what people expect of you:
What happened at last night's city council meeting where they were to vote on the new budget?  Did the high school football team make the playoffs after last night's game?  Why did the fire truck race down main street with its lights and sirens going nuts?  Should I be worried about what looked like a funnel cloud a couple miles north of town?
Despite all the advances we have in technology, people still call my own station, wanting to know answers to these questions.  And we'd better have answers if we want to stay in business.
This is why it's important to not just support your local radio station, but the advertisers that support it as well.  You'll see them all up and down Main Street.
And ask yourself this, at today's gas prices, is it worth driving ten miles down the road to save five bucks on something the local store can sell to you?


NEXT WEEK:  Get Your Fash On!

Lion Through Your Teeth

I thought she was kidding me when she said it.
However, I'm not one to argue with my sportsically-gifted spouse.
The Detroit Lions are undefeated.
Say what???
I was born in the Motor City and have spent time in and out of it through the years.
Aside from the Red Wings and Pistons, our football and baseball teams have been
at best, a yawn in the pro sports world.
Until recently.
The Tigers have rebounded (thanks to some Pittsburgh faces in the management office), and now the Lions, once the worst team in the NFL, is making a comeback in a big big way.
And I wasn't about to argue with my wife when she predicted a playoff berth.
My wife knows something about every kind of sport.  If she doesn't particularly like it, she knows the basics enough to hold her own in any conversation.
Not me.  I've written sports stories in my 23-year career, and the only thing I haven't done is on-air sports-by-play or color commentary.  Not even sideline reporting.
But I'm taking Margie's word for it.  Maybe this could be the year for the Lions.
Owned by the Ford family's deep pockets, winning has never been a priority.  Like our Pittsburgh Pirates, the franchise has had a loyal fan base to keep the seats at Ford Field filled and the franchise profitable.
It used to be that fans would shun their team once they were out of the pennant races after so many consecutive losses.
Not anymore.
Guess we've become more about 'unconditional love' in recent years.
In Pittsburgh, yeah, we get our panties in a twist when the Steelers play a bad game and we're out for blood.
Because we still come back.  Sometimes with egg on our faces.
We may whine and complain about bad plays, but if the black-and-gold were to pack up and move tomorrow, we'd fight it tooth and nail.
It's just what we do.
We're the spoiled children indulged at will.  Then mom and dad decide to stop.
We throw the temper tantrum. 
But we get over it.
Most of the time anyway.

NEXT WEEK:  Radio 101

Plank Goodness

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  On vacation last week.

I'll never understand these kids today.
Yep, I've got my Grumpy Old Man hat on.
I had only a vague idea of what planking involved, until a couple weeks ago.
It was the week of season-premieres on TV, and my wife and I are big fans of
"The Office", the top-rated mockumentary on NBC.
The show began with one of the characters, Meredith, face down in the parking lot
of the Dunder-Mifflin paper company.  I laughed at this only because the character is
a fall-down drunk known for waking up in strange places.
Then others in the office were also in this position.  Ah...they're planking!
The fad seems to be winding down, but nonetheless, I jumped on board just a few weeks ago.
Planking.
In case you haven't heard, it's where a person gets up on an unusual place, lying face down with their arms perpendicular to their sides, upon a narrow surface.  There is some risk involved, hence the stories you've been reading in the news, mostly involving young people.
My wife and I joined her parents and her brother's family at Grove City College for homecoming.  He's an alum, and not having anything better to do that Saturday other than stop at the candy, coffee and nuts store up there, what the hell.
My wife and I were standing next to the 'spacewalk' set up on campus with several other 'reunion' tents, and she turned to me and said 'I double-dare you to plank from that wall'.
Really?
Margie knows that I don't back down from a dare.  Not easily anyway.
So with some guidance from a watchful coed, I managed to climb my way to the top of an eight-foot wall, then lay face down and motionless while my wife snapped the picture.
What's more pathetic than a kid planking?  A 42-year-old man in the presence of said kids doing said activity. 
I told my best friend about this the next day as I ran into him and his family while grocery shopping.
He looked puzzled..."why?"
Good question.
The same reason why people climb mountains.  Or carve six-foot statues made of butter.  Or take classes for the most asanine majors you could ever find in college.
Because we can.
I did offer to plank at the top of the railing of our balcony from our third-story condo, during our most recent trip to South Carolina.
No takers.
So I'll quit while I'm ahead.


NEXT WEEK:  The Lionhearted