Sunshine and Summertime

Those of you country music fans who are fans of Faith Hill know the song well.
"We've got classic colas, and ice cold Coronas, and big pool parties in the back yard..."
A rather romantic picture of the summer season.
For some of us, especially in the northeast, where we've endured probably the most severe winter in  modern recorded history, it means playing catch-up for what we weren't able to do outside.
Trimming hedges.  Getting summer furniture out of storage.  Planting veggies.  You know what the routine is.
Yesterday, I got started on building a vinyl shed in our backyard.  I recruited my best friend by bribing him with pizza and a case of beer to assist me in this two-person job.  We got the structure itself put up, but it now needs some finishing touches. 
Like leveling.  You know, little stuff.
Then there's other projects looming that need my attention.
The door jambs above the garage door need painted.  The roof leak above the upstairs bathroom will finally get attention towards the end of the month, after getting an estimate from a handyman.  More boat work.  A landscaping project towards the back of the house. 
So much work.  So little time.
But it's often said you have to make time.
That I will do one week from today.
I told my wife the only thing I want to do on Father's Day weekend is NOTHING.
As in, nothing around the house. 
I don't want to worry about mowing grass, or whatever's bound to break next, cleaning the basement, sweeping the garage or all the other ever-ready answers men have to answer their wives' queries as to how they're going to spend the Saturday.
I still have to decide how we're going to spend those days, but that's the only definitive answer I can give for right now.
It may involve wine, a picnic, or even a trip on the boat.
Whatever it is, it has to be non-work-related, and it has to be with my family.
It's the way it should be.
Perhaps one of these days, I'll do a better job of making time for them.



NEXT WEEK:  The Mom and Dads

Luck o' The Puck

I'm not a sports guy.  Most of you who know me personally know this.  Yet I married into a family of sports nuts.  What makes this especially surprising is that only in recent years, I've learned that I have a lot of family connections to professional sports.
My cousin is married to the executive vice-president of football operations for the Cleveland Browns (be nice, Steeler fans!) after wrapping up a 29-year tenure with the Miami Dolphins in a similar capacity. 
Another cousin, my godfather, married the daughter of Detroit Red Wings left defenseman and Hockey Hall of Famer Bill Gadsby.  I only learned of that relationship at my godfather's funeral in 1997, when Gordie Howe showed up to pay his respects.
Another cousin played center for the then-New York Titans, after playing the same position for Rutgers University.  He would then build the Young & Rubicam advertising agency into one of the industry's leaders...opening hundreds of branch offices throughout the world, including Russia.
Despite my hockey connection, I only learned of the 'office politics' that surround professional hockey, in light of the recent dismissal of Pittsburgh Penguins General Manager Ray Shero and ownership's decision to retain head coach Dan Bylsma. 
I was surprised to learn that the general manager selects players from the draft, with the head coach playing a minimal role, if any, in the final roster selection.  He more or less says 'here' and presents the players the coach will work with in hopes of delivering a Stanley Cup Championship.
There is such a thing as a player that is not 'coachable', and that's where the office politics come into play.  When Scotty Bowman came to the Pittsburgh Penguins not long after the death of "Badger Bob" Johnston, he was told by then-GM Craig Patrick which players were 'hands-off', and one of said players turned around and after becoming an owner-partner, fired him more than a decade later. 
You see where I'm going with this.
Bowman's response was to promptly resign, pack his bags and leave for Detroit, but not before taking a few key Pittsburgh players with him.  He proved his worth quickly when he brought back-to-back Stanley Cup Championships for the Red Wings.
While some blame Bylsma, the ultimate responsibility lies with the general manager and the players he hand-picked.  Shero had to go.  Bylsma did manage to bring one Stanley Cup Championship to the team, and in my opinion, does deserve a second chance under the new general manager. 
But Bylsma needs to know this...he will be skating on very thin ice. 
Pun intended.
One season. 
He might want to minimalize any clutter he has in his office, in the meantime.



NEXT WEEK:  Sunshine and Summertime

Sounds of Sunday

In my post-radio retirement, the closest I come to the business anymore these days is staying in touch with my cronies still in it or those who also have thrown in the towel and bask in 'life after radio'.
Plus, I serve as the sound coordinator at my local church.  Usually I'm introduced to visitors from elders or deacons as 'Ken is in charge of our sound each Sunday.'
Sounds simple enough, right?
If I were to describe me in that capacity, my job would be to worry excessively, obsess over every minute detail and be afraid to leave town on the weekends, thinking of the major meltdown that would only happen in my absence.
Yeah, that's what I do.
While some may think I simply make sure the volumes are at a reasonable level for our pastor, liturgists and musicians, I only wish it was that simple.
I have to make sure all wireless microphones are in full working order, and fix them if necessary.  Make sure our wired mics are working likewise.  Upon taking the job, I spent about a month with Weller, my trusty soldering gun, to repair broken solder joints in microphone cables.  That was also the time I discovered that I no longer could see these small joints with my natural vision. 
So I have reading glasses now.
There's also unexplained 60 Hz 'hums' that suddenly arise in our audio chain and I have to not only find the source of them, but find a way to get rid of them.  It's times like these that make me wish I paid more attention to broadcast engineers surrounding me for so many years.
I did learn this though...ground loop isolator speaker cables can be your best friend.  Good luck in finding any that are reasonably priced, though.
Yes, I do have to prepare and adhere to an annual budget, too. 
Despite my obsessiveness, I am comforted in knowing that those who trust the church sound system in my charge appreciate the job I do for them.
And I return the favor by keeping them in the loop on what I'm doing to address any problems that crop up.  That their concerns aren't just being heard, but acted upon.
And every once in a while, I hear things like this:
"You're a gift to the church."
That makes it all worthwhile.



NEXT WEEK:  Hockey Talk

Second Helping

I usually try to not use this column as a platform for self-promotion, but I hope you'll indulge me this week.
Ah, whom am I kidding?  I was in an ego-driven business for 26 years, and it's probably become one of my defining characteristics.
In the spring of 2011, I officially became a mainstream published author, when "Chicken Soup for the Soul" published my first contribution, "I'm Pregnant" in their "New Moms" edition.  The story chronicles a new mother's journey through the eyes of her husband.  Namely, Margie and me.
Prior to this, I had several broadcasting trade articles published under my on-air sobriquet, "Ken Hawk", sharing my ideas with other radio decision-makers on how to make their stations better.
Just recently, I announced my second contribution to "CSS".  This one is called "Love Lives Here," which will appear on page 155 of the "Home Sweet Home" edition due to hit bookstores later this month.
The first story was a very big honor.  This second one is even bigger.
For years, I've written about murders, robberies, car accidents, and local politics on a daily basis as a means to earn a living.  This is all part of radio people 're-inventing' themselves to continue to try and fit into a medium that continues to evolve and change over time.  Nonetheless, the needs of broadcasters changes over time as revenues shrink and staffing levels need to be adjusted accordingly.
Sometimes, radio people simply 'age out' of a profession geared more towards younger unmarried people without families.  The demands of radio are not family-friendly, and radio families either learn to deal with it to the best of their ability, or they succumb.
I'm proud to say I've chosen my family over my past career.  I've found that I have more to write about because of my wife and daughter.  There's also my extended family.
Today I write more about what I want to, rather than what I have to.  I find I don't have to dig as deep to write a good story that inspires others.  Other broadcasters have also inspired me to write the memoir that hopefully I'll have completed in this lifetime.
Whether that goal is reached is unimportant, because I'm in no hurry.
I'll spend this valuable time watching my daughter grow.
And celebrating on this Mother's Day today, the woman who brought her into this world.
Thank you Margie, for giving me this precious gift.
And for everything else.


NEXT WEEK:  Sound Off

Police Story

Good cop, bad cop.  "F*** da police".  Police brutality.  Rodney King.  "The Boyz in Blue". 
They're in the news, but often their perps are the ones who get the media attention.  Those who are in the news are often so because they've been charged with using excessive force.
I didn't think much of this until my daughter said "bad policeman" one day.  After my jaw hit the floor, I gathered it up and asked her to repeat herself.
Yep, that's what she said.
Having heard this from someone not even five years old worries me. 
There's always been bad cops.  But I've always tried to teach my daughter that police officers help people.  Even the bad ones usually start out with good intentions.
My dad became a part-time police officer with the Allegheny Township Police Department in Westmoreland County in the spring of 1979.  Definitely not because of the paycheck, but rather what he was witnessing firsthand...young people succumbing to a growing drug problem in the Alle-Kiski Valley which could impact others coming of age.
He graduated from the Kiski II Regional Police Academy, sanctioned by the Crime Study Center of Indiana University of Pennsylvania.  Greg Adams (whose killer, Donald Eugene Webb, has never been apprehended) was his instructor, and Leonard Miller (one of the victims in the infamous "Kill for Thrill" murder spree) graduated from the class ahead of his.
This will give an insight to this rather dark period of violence happening in our own backyards.
I made it a priority to prove to my daughter that policemen are the good guys. 
I showed her a picture of her then 34-year-old grandpa in uniform, whom she immediately recognized, his badge, and he gave her the department's "Officer Bob" coloring book.
"Officer Bob" was a product of Collinsville, Illinois-based Scott Publications, which distributed the book for kids in neighborhood departments, paid for my local merchant advertisements on the back cover. 
Then one day "bad policeman" was replaced with this:
"I want to be a policeman when I grow up."
My cousin Steven today is an officer with the Allegheny Township Police Department, thus making him a second-generation cop.  I could only be too proud to see my daughter be part of the next generation of fine lawmen and women.
Many of my friends uphold the law in squad cars, uniforms, and courtrooms.  And our armed forces uphold the law of the land...we call it the Constitution.
You know who you are, there's too many of you to mention.
Thank you.


NEXT WEEK:  Soup's on!

A Fish Story

Though trout season in Pennsylvania has been in full swing for the past couple weeks now, I wasn't among the first-day anglers seen flocking to the streams on Saturday, April 12th.
I used to go on the first day.  But after awhile, you get tired of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with others trying to catch their limit, usually ending with 'throwbacks'. 
I've been fishing since I was six years old.  In recent years, my best friend and I have been setting aside a weekend or two to go out and set aside the doldrums of daily life for the sake of getting back to basics.
This is really what it's all about...especially to those who ask "wouldn't it be easier to go out to Long John Silver's if you want fish?"
It's so much more than catching the meal of the day, if you're a survivalist.
Babe Winkelman, the Minnesota-based professional fisherman who still hosts his weekly how-to TV program, taught conservation in addition to his pattern approach to fishing that brings in the big ones.
His approach, once found successful, could make one dangerous to the fishing population, he claimed.  Therefore, he called upon anglers to release smaller fish to allow them time to grow and spawn, and to keep only a select few to eat.
For me, it's about the beauty and splendor of the outdoors.  The tranquility of the streams over well-worn rocks that will still remain long after you and I are gone.  The rustle of a gentle breeze through the forest.  Wading into cold knee-deep water (in your waders, of course) to be "one" with your potential catch.  Knowing you're not alone in the world, as you intrude upon space where wildlife sleeps.
I don't care if I don't catch anything, truth be told.  But it's nice to know you can...when you can freely leave your briefcase at home and pick up the tackle box, heading to the nearest trout stream.
And sadly, this is a part of our culture that the next generation is losing sight of.
Neo-conservationalists, animal rights activists and vegans preach the cruelty of fishing and convince others to abandon the practice entirely.
Living off the land is nothing new.  It dates back to Biblical times.  Are we so much in this world that we've forgotten what it's like to survive on our own?
As it's often said, "give a man a fish, you feed him for a day.  Teach him to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime."
This is why I'm an advocate of the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts of America, our military personnel, and the concept of hunting and fishing. 
Maybe we don't have to struggle to survive now.  But if push came to shove, we know we could do it, with these skills.
My daughter often asks me if I can take her fishing with me one of these days.
I tell her someday.  And I mean it.
But for right now, I'm content with her playing with her dolls, picking flowers, and coloring in her books.  Fishing does require a considerable amount of silence, patience and attention, and those attributes are not something a soon-to-be five-year-old has at this stage of the game.
She has the rest of her life to decide if she wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps.
And I'll be ready.



NEXT WEEK:  Officer Bob

Resurrection Shuffle

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaccccccck....
Well, another Lenten season has come and gone with today being Easter Sunday.  Again, I stuck to my intent of giving up social media for what I call the "Full 40".  That is, giving up Facebook and LinkedIn for the full 40 days, rather than relying on the Sunday dispensation day where I could indulge.
I chose that because growing up, either we didn't have dispensation or the knowledge of it was kept from me all this time.  The sacrifice, to me, is much more effective (painful) if you go the full 40.
Pope Francis, you picked a good one.  This one stung.
Big time.
My twelve-year-old nephew Alex said to me one day "didn't you do that last year?"
This kid's memory astounds me.
I did do it last year.  But I took advantage of the Sunday Lenten Loophole.  This time I was determined not to.  As most athletic coaches will tell you, it doesn't do any good unless it hurts.
And this one stung like a bee.  Not the yellow jacket kind, either.  The kind from the fat bumblebee where you have to take a butterknife to scrape out the stinger and hope you weren't allergic to the venom.
Ow.
It's had it's advantages, though.  I've learned to like fish on Fridays.  Not that I had any problem with it to begin with, but my wife has been willing to prepare fish dishes for dinner or allow me to take her and our daughter out to places that feature fish on the menu.
It just can't be a fast-food joint is all.  No problem on my end.
A lot has also happened in that 40 days.  I've had another "Chicken Soup for the Soul" story accepted for publication in May, and am working on a memoir about the time I've spent in radio.
The latter came from the suggestion of co-workers and colleagues of mine since leaving the business, who have told me that I should write about the stories I tell about the business from time to time.  After realizing that few people have heard them, I've decided that's not such a bad idea.  Especially after my fellow 'retirees' have done the same thing and have had success of it.
I've also reconnected with some colleagues who did not know of my departure from radio and couldn't understand why.  After telling them that I've left the business voluntarily and why, they seem to understand.
And to my surprise, I've found that some others also want to leave it, but aren't sure of what the next step is.
The next step for me was to lean on my family.  The rest kind of fell into place. 
George Osmond, better known as "Father Osmond" to fans of his pop band brood from the 1970's, often gave his boys a pep talk before they went onstage.
"Faith, family, career...in that order."
This is where I pause and say "I got nothin'".



NEXT WEEK:  A Fish Story