The Road Home

Leaving California traffic.  Yeah, I'll miss this. 

Eastern Oregon…gateway to zzzzzzz.

It's soggy in eastern Washington.

At home at last in the panhandle of Idaho

New Beginings

     Dear Michael & Stacey,

Congratulations on your new home.  You're going to like living here.  It will be a terrific place to start your family.  Linda and I have loved this place and find it almost impossible to believe we've spent nearly ten years enjoying its cozy confines.  It's warm in the winter--well, what passes for winter in San Diego--and comfortably cool in the summer months.  We've never had to run the air conditioning more than a couple of weeks in either August or September.  The neighbors are nice and we'll miss them but it's time for us to go.  In 46 years we've packed and hit the road 17 times and this has been a longer than usual stay.  Southern California can be seductive that way.

Our kids are grown and it's time for us to go ride bikes, play in boats and--who knows--maybe even mess around with the old game of golf after an extended layoff.  We'll come back to San Diego often since our youngest daughter and her family live here.  It would be impossible to stay away from our one and only grandson for very long.  (Who else but grandpa can pull candy from his ears?)  Grandchildren are the icing on the cake of a lucky and very blessed life.  You'll see what I mean in another twenty or thirty years.

I wish you many happy years in the home that will now only exist for us in old photos and misty memories.   As we now embark on what is no doubt our "senior tour" I invite you to stop and see us if you should find yourselves in the Lake Coeur D' Alene area of the Gem State of Idaho.  We should be settled in before the year has ended and unpacked sometime in 2016.

Al, Padre fan and genuine alligator lizard

Pay no attention to the psychotic barking of the mutt next door.  You'll get used to it after awhile and the little bastard will no doubt head for that big bone yard in the sky in a couple of years.  Oh, while you're at it, please say hello to my little pal Al the alligator lizard who lives on the west side of the patio.  Al is, like me, a longtime Padre fan (see, Cub fan of the western U.S.) and will commiserate with you throughout the many sad and gone bad seasons waiting to be endured.  Toss him a spider or grub if you get the chance.  Unlike most of us wearing Padre gear, he can catch.

So, enjoy the house: raise your children and have some laughs.  One day, when the kids are gone and your hair is either gone or gray, I've got a beautiful little place on the shores of Lake Coeur D' Alene I can probably offer you at a bargain price.

Sincerely,

Ken Copper

Getting Too Old For This

Having spent the past couple of weeks in whirling dervish mode as we prepare to leave California for the pristine beauty of Lake Coeur d' Alene, Idaho, I have come to the conclusion that timing truly is everything.  In two or three more years my wife and I wouldn't be able to make a move of this magnitude.  It's just too tough.  What was once a part of our lives as radio gypsies now seems to be overwhelming.  Neither of us has been able to sleep much as we worry about all the little things that go into an interstate relocation.  How did we ever do it when the kids were little?!

This project has reminded me that maybe the most significant reason most of us are only allotted a maximum  eighty to one-hundred years on the planet is that is about all the change we can handle.  Change, increasingly at warp speed for us, becomes more difficult as our people odometer rolls up maximum numbers.  Whoa! Why can't things just hold still for awhile?  It's not only harder and harder to register all the technological change around us but emotionally the transformation of America's social mores seems more difficult to accept as we age.  Embracing my inner (and outer) grumpy old man grows easier every day.

Case in point:  Recently I read a report of a new survey of 2,000 people from  a dating website for singles that smacked me between the eyes with just how different our society is since my dating days in the 1960's.

According to the findings, single girls now wait until the fifth "date" (or whatever it's called today) before having sex.  Even more shocking--at least to a man of my years-- is what makes up their mind about sleeping with a guy.

Here is their list:  1. Two gifts or tokens of affection
                            2.  Five social media messages
                            3.  12 text conversations
                            4.  Five phone calls
                            5.  Three DVDs watched
                            6.  Seven passionate kisses
                            7.  Five heart-to-hearts or meaningful conversations
                            8.  Four meals together
                            9.  One bunch of flowers
That's it!  Really.

I honestly can't imagine what this list will look like in another fifty years.  All I know is I'm getting WAY too old for this stuff and am more grateful than ever that my wife has seen fit to put up with my   ever more irritating personality and painful inadequacies for the past forty plus years.

You see, in my day, boys and girls,  there was a tenth item on the list.  A wedding ring was part of the deal back then.  No token tally of social messages or DVDs in common, just plenty of passionate kisses and ring seemed to work just fine. Well, maybe flowers didn't hurt either.

As I said, I'm getting too old for this b.s., and I'm grateful.
Don't get me started on the designated hitter or political correctness either.

Funny Lady

She didn't need the plastic surgery.

I've often wondered what Joan Rivers would have looked like if she had not fallen in love with plastic surgery.  Better, I think.  Looking at old pictures of her I wonder why she was so afraid of a few wrinkles.  She was an attractive woman whose marvelous sense of humor made her downright beautiful to me.  The broad was FUNNY!

In an age of political correctness, Joan Rivers decidedly was not.  She knew that being funny meant being offensive.  ALL humor is offensive.  If you're not offending someone or something you're not being funny.  Only morons refuse to grasp this and, naturally, they always seem to be offended by nearly  everything.

I interviewed Joan Rivers about ten years ago just prior to a show she was booked to perform at Humphry's in San Diego.  My then radio partner, Cynthia Heath-Kerrigan, and I approached the interview with some trepidation.  Comedians can be some of the worst people on the planet to deal with and both of us thought that Joan might be a bit of a handful.  We were prepared for a hard time.  Boy were we mistaken.  She was not only entertaining but pleasant, considerate,polite and damn funny  for the better part of an hour conversation she really could have skipped.  Her performance was already sold out.  She talked with us like we were old friends and was hilarious throughout the interview.   A class act all the way.  I came away an even bigger fan than I had been before.

I believe it was P.J. O'Rourke who said:  "I've always thought that solemnity was the principal feature of a low I.Q., and that earnestness is just stupidity sent to college. "  A fantastic line.  Joan Rivers was a comedic genius who made the world a better place with humor.

Thanks Joan for lightning the load.  Tell George Burns, Robin Williams, Johnny Winters and the rest of the gang now playing the BIG room hello, and thanks again for all the laughs.

California I Love You...

But, we're through.
Like an aging beauty queen now gone to seed,  California is just a sloppy mess of a state.  Once the place where most of America wanted to be,  California now sits alone at the end of the bar trying to cage drinks from unsuspecting newcomers and not meeting with much success.  U-Hauls once headed into the Golden State now roll toward the exits taking with them the middle class and many who aspire to it.  With a deficit in the billions of dollars California boasts a governor who welcomes anyone, legal or otherwise,  to his dysfunctional domain by promising them all they desire except, of course, well paying jobs.  Money is NO object.  California hasn't bothered to honestly balance a budget in years and shows no inclination to address either the out of whack and bloated pension deficit or the broken and dead broke medical and welfare programs that epitomise this fiscal fix.

A state that once was home to the best schools in the nation; also the finest highways, standard of living, and weather now can only promote a salubrious clime.  Schools graduate illiterate and undisciplined misfits in spite of spending record sums of tax dollars on education.  Gone are the days of California promise and prosperity as it takes title to the dubious distinction of being home to the highest percentage of citizens living in poverty.  Ever greater taxes imposed by a government overwhelmingly controlled by the democrats for the past several years has hastened the exodus of the middle class.  Increasingly California is a state of primarily the very rich and the very poor.  The "progressives" (liberals) have cleverly cultivated the device of emotional appeal to a poorly informed and disinterested electorate in order to secure and maintain their power in Sacramento.  The promise of "bread and circuses" to purchase the votes of the needy and ignorant--a concept not unfamiliar in Washington, D.C.-- continues to reap rewards for the politicians of Lotus Land.  Of course even wealthy liberals will eventually come to their senses if they actually keep their money in the state.
Running out  out of other people's money has always been the bane of the socialist construct of central planning.  You can only run a tab for so long.

Having spent slightly more than half of my 66 years in California I am now in the final month of my stay.  I sincerely wish that one day common sense and responsible government will return to the place that the rest of the country once looked to as the paragon of the American dream.   People younger than I with character and intelligence can still steer this largest and one time richest of all states out of the ditch of fiscal despair but time is running out.   Starting next month I'll be rooting for a California comeback from 1500 miles away knowing that if California fails it's merely a preview of what's ahead for the rest of the country.

We Need More Guys Like Cy

When I began writing this blog more than seven years ago it was for two reasons:  It cost me nothing and it provided an outlet for the snakes in my head that no longer found release via the radio.  A bonus I never anticipated was re-connecting with long lost friends.  The Internet may have driven a stake through the heart of a number of industries, radio most certainly, but it has given us all a wonderful new way of keeping in touch.  Folks that long ago dropped off our radar can be discovered again and their friendship polished and renewed.  I love it!

Recently I heard from an old boss of mine, Randy Jeffery.  When my hitch in the Army was up in 1973, Randy was just about the only radio station owner willing to give me a chance at returning to the business I loved.  After blanketing the country with a rather thin resume' and a less than satisfactory audition tape, I heard from maybe three or four radio stations; Randy's was one of them.  He called me from Winter Haven, Florida where he owned and operated WSIR. Though only in his very early thirties, he had gone from disc jockey to manager and ultimately to ownership.   Apparently he saw some potential in me and, with more nerve than talent or brains, I walked through the door he so generously opened.  Soon I was hosting the morning show on what was probably the best sounding small market radio station in America.  WSIR was a fun, highly produced facility that, thanks to Randy, was a great training ground for many who went on to major market careers.  Excellence was the touchstone of the operation from the jingles to the big city sound of the commercials, news and on air presentation.  He definitely had a gift for nurturing and encouraging talent, both on and off the air.  What I learned at WSIR made my move up the ladder to Tampa-St. Petersburg and WDAE an easy one.  

Randy sold WSIR several years ago and became a media broker--one of the most successful in the history of radio and TV.  He managed many deals, made a lot of money, retired early and is currently in the process of building his dream home in Charleston, South Carolina.  While building the Charleston home he came to know a young man named Cy White.  Cy and his family inspired Randy to write the following email to me last week.  It moved me a great deal and I asked my old boss if I might share it with readers of my blog.  He has graciously complied.

Randy wrote:

"A product called NanaWall is being installed this weekend by Cy, whose weekday job is as an active duty MP with the National Guard at Ft. Jackson in Columbia, SC. On every "off-duty" weekend he moonlights in NC/SC as the sole and highly skilled installer of this complex German-built folding glass wall.

He's working on what will soon be our home, with his wife and two young, home schooled children helping him.  They are with him every weekend.  Between the Guard and NanaWall, he has no "day off".  After spending time with the four of them last night, I realized again what a sheltered world we live in.

Cy recently completed an eighteen month tour of duty at Guantanamo Bay.  He was exposed to the five terrorists Obama exchanged for our one military captive.  Cy told us one of those terrorists was known to have masterminded the beheading of women and children and personally participated in the heinous acts on numerous occasions.  I spent four cushy years in the Air Force, stationed 15 miles from San Francisco and later in the foothills of the Siskiyou mountains in Northern California.  I moonlighted as a DJ in Yreka, California.  Cy has spent 15 years in the Guard, much of it in combat areas in the midst of the worst people in the world.  We read about and see on TV the horrors of war and those in service who have our backs 24/7.  We rarely have a moment to spend quality time with them.  We had that honor last night.

Kim and I have spent 30 years in a country club environment.  We drive luxury cars, fly first class, eat in the best restaurants and have "cushy" lives.  More important and--knock on wood--we live in a safe, protected country made possible, in large measure, because of incredibly brave and dedicated professionals like Cy White.  Although he cannot stand more than 5' 9", it was apparent how much bigger he is than I.

He's getting a bonus from us later today.  Not because of the installation that I know will be done with military precision, but because he is a quiet, unassuming 36 year old guy who believes that every day he puts on his uniform and reports for duty, he is doing a really tough job for lousy pay that he believes is his calling and obligation.  What an honor it is to know he has a hand in the building of our home and how much better my myopic little world is because of him."

The Cy White family

Thanks Randy for reminding us that there still are young folks like Cy and his family who continue to make us proud and keep us focused on life's important components.  Someone once said,  "Riches are what money can't buy and death can't take away."   Cy White is a rich man indeed and we are a far better country because of brave men like him.  To remain "the land of the free"  we must treasure, support and encourage this most rare natural American resource.

Huh?

For at least the last twenty years of her life my mother was hard of hearing.  To suggest that it might be time to invest in a hearing aid was treading on very dangerous ground.  She would adamantly refuse to even consider that her hearing wasn't 100% and was insulted that either of her children would promote her use of a device that was "strictly for OLD people".  Always true to herself and her stubborn German temperament she exited the planet at age 89 sans one of "those contraptions".  

  In my thirties my wife, kids and I really began to notice how loud the TV was at Grandma and Grandpa's house and how often we all had to repeat ourselves in conversation with either parent.  Complaints of "actors who mumble" and those of us present who didn't enunciate clearly became kind of an inside joke to we younger Coppers.  When asked to repeat something--and doing so with a loud and distinct delivery--a retort of "there's no need to shout" was the defensive response.  It was the quintessential no win situation.  Even my argument comparing glasses and hearing aids was unwelcome.  Stony silence and a withering glare was our reward for :  "You wear glasses to help you see.  Why not employ a device that helps you hear better?"  

Like so many things in life, lately Linda and I find ourselves in deja vu mode.  We seem to be saying What? and Huh? just like our parents did.  She accuses me of mumbling under my breath which, to be fair, is a skill honed in adolescence that still serves me well with authority figures.  "GOOD MORNING BOSS, (you fat putz)."  However, these days she is calling me on it even when I'm on my best behaviour.  To be fair, many times she sounds like she too is mumbling when she speaks.  I nearly missed my plane a couple of months back because I thought she told me it left at 6:50 AM instead of 6:15.  (It sure sounded like 6:50.  Maybe if I'd looked at the ticket?)

Several years back parties became a challenge.  Lip reading is a necessity if I'm to catch much of what anyone has to say in a crowded room.  Nodding my head and imagining what the person talking to me looks like naked goes a long way toward getting through any social event.  Also, about a year ago we noticed that hitting the Closed Caption button on the TV remote during certain shows (more of them all the time) featuring actors who "mumble too much" was a huge boost to our enjoyment of the programs.  I'm telling you it's a Godsend for all those limey epics on PBS.  Neither of us would have a clue about Masterpiece Classic without the old CC option.  

Perhaps it's time to make an appointment to see a doctor about one of those now smaller than ever hearing aids?

Or, maybe you could just shut up and toss me the remote so I can turn up the TV.  And please hit the CC button please.

Damn actors are mumbling and hearing aids are for OLD PEOPLE!.