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Fading
Signals: Staying in Tune with my Father
by
RuthAnn Hogue
My father,
the man with the golden radio voice, has Alzheimer’s disease,
and now when we talk about the show he did “this” morning,
it was years ago.
To radio listeners from
KSL and KNAK in Salt Lake City to KXTC in Phoenix, Lenny Hesterman
was man behind the golden voice and popular music from the mid 1940s
to the late 1960s.
To me, he was simply
my dad.
Who knew at the age
of 7, for example, that other kids didn’t have dads who emceed
the Battle of the Bands at the Band Shell in Salt Lake City’s
Lagoon amusement park? Who knew it was out of the ordinary to wait
for the red “on-the-air” light to lose its glow before
opening the studio door to say “hi” to dad while on
a visit to see where he worked?
As for the voluminous
vault of vinyl where the station stashed its songs of the day, well,
now you had something. Even a small child could tell that was something
special, and I loved to step inside to peek at its treasures stacked
up high.
It’s strange the
details one remembers from youth. We have so many moments, and so
few that are forever etched in our minds. I can’t say why
I recall that my brother, Scott, chose “Red Rubber Ball”
when given a chance to snag a treasure from the music library at
KNAK. My choice would have been “Love is Blue” or “In
my Room” by the Beach Boys. But alas, I was not the recipient
and had no say in the matter. And, in fact, Scott wound up taking
home a piano jazz album at the request of my parents, anyway. That’s
because he was – and is – a gifted pianist.
Context for memories
can also be a strange thing. It changes with age. Take the Teletype.
I recall how annoying it was when it started clickety-clacking while
I was visiting my father at the radio station. The strange machine
which was housed in what seemed to be its own personal closet caused
quite a ruckus when it suddenly started spitting out noise, along
with a paper printout. My conversation with other station members
was cut short as they all rushed about excitedly to the beat of
the strange machine in the closet. I wondered why they couldn’t
simply close the door and get on with our visit. I mean, it wasn’t
every day a kid visited a radio station. What could possibly be
so interesting about that old machine, anyway?
My dad’s professional
experience spanned nearly three decades as well as four states.
As a media family, we moved from Utah to Idaho, from Idaho to Montana,
back to Utah and then to Arizona. Whew! And you thought only military
families were on the move.
Speaking of the military,
radio played a role during my dad’s stint in the Army during
the Korean War. Think “Good Morning Vietnam” with an
LDS twist, and that is what my father did from a military base in
Texas.
For years I thought
I might want to be in radio – just like dad. As a teen-ager,
my father and I had a falling out, I suppose. It is unfortunate,
but it happened. It’s not like others haven’t gone through
the same thing with their parents or children. I guess it is part
of life. I eventually gave up on the radio fantasy. Somewhere along
the way I allowed myself to become out of tune with my earthly father.
I can see now what I couldn’t see then, that by so doing,
I created more than a little static in my communication line to
my Heavenly Father.
Although my earthly
father’s main gig in radio was as a DJ, little did I know
as a child that my father had also done a stint or two as radio
news director. Who would have guessed it? And that annoying clickety-clacking
machine, well, who knew it was his link to what was happening across
the world?
Not me. Not as a child,
anyway.
I was just as clueless
when I finally went to college that by choosing a career in journalism,
I was also following in my father’s footsteps.
Today, as a
professional journalist – one who now understands the importance
and excitement associated with breaking news – such memories
are framed in a whole new perspective. OK, so I’ve never danced
to the beat of a Teletype. But a hot breaking news wire posting
can create the same flurry in any newspaper newsroom – not
to mention a few extra beats from my heart. The most satisfying
ones, of course, are the news wire posts I generate myself. There
are few things in life more satisfying for me than getting the story
-- and getting it not only first, but best.
Lenny and Naomi in June 1962
I’ve also learned
that other things are also important.
Take, for instance,
my relationship with my dad.
For years, I let childhood
disagreements stand between us. I didn’t understand, for example,
why he walked away from a successful career in radio. He said it
had something to do with the music lyrics that were not his style.
He couldn’t play “Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady
Lay” and sleep in peace knowing its lyrics promoted immorality.
That song, he said, was the straw that broke the camel’s back
as such lyrics continued to invade the popular music scene.
Choosing conscience
over all else, he gave up his beloved radio career and got into
sales. Make that one sales job after another. My dad sold everything
from exercise machines to pianos. Herbal supplements to piano lessons.
Cleaning products to vacuum cleaners.
Ironically, he would
inevitably find something unethical about each employer or the way
they conducted sales campaigns and he’d promptly leave.
I wasn’t wise
enough to be proud. I just didn’t understand.
I wanted to know why
my dad couldn’t just be like all the other dads.
OK, so mostly I didn’t
like being financially strapped. But it taught me how to work hard
for what I wanted and needed. Living on the edge as opposed to our
former lives as the charmed children of a radio personality taught
my three brothers, a sister and myself lessons about hard work that
would never taken root otherwise.
Don’t get me wrong.
My father and I were never truly estranged. But we just weren’t
very close, at least not till near the end. Unfortunately, in some
ways, it was too late.
That is when I learned
that no one on the planet was more proud of my work as a writer,
nor a single soul more interested in my blossoming career. He was
always complimentary – and even feigned a bit of jealousy
at my every success.
I didn’t mind.
I knew it was just his way of showing that he valued my writing.
This carried weight because his own writing was extensive, although
our styles were always different. He favored prose and flowery words
while I tend to stick with clarity and facts.
I miss having talks
with him about my work. I wish he could read this column, for example,
and tell me what he thinks.
But he can’t.
Not now. His memory is dying
Oh, he and I still talk.
Only these days, when we communicate through a radio signal that
fades in and out, it’s caused by disease instead of indifference.
My father is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.
When we talk, we are
as likely to be discussing his recent morning show, although he
hasn’t been on the air for decades, as we are to be discussing
the weather outside. He often doesn’t know what he had for
breakfast, but he can easily revert to a happier time when radio
was as golden as his voice and heart.
So I let him go there.
And when he does, I do my best to go with him, so he won’t
be alone.
After all,
he allowed me into his world when we both were young. The least
I can do is continue to tune in with him while I still can before
our Father in Heaven shuts off what faint signal is left -- for
good – by calling him home.
RuthAnn Hogue
is an award-winning writer based in Marana, Ariz. She owns and operates
LDSimpressions.com, an online store with an LDS theme, and plans
on following up her first two books, “The Journey Home: Diary
of a Terminal Cancer Patient” and “Breaking into film:
LDS Style!” with the life story of her father, radio personality
Lenny Hesterman.
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