When Did You Last Scan Through AM Radio?

The other day I was driving back from visiting my eldest daughter at college and I grew tired of scanning through the FM bands hearing nothing but loud mouthed "radio personalities", the same old formulaic "popular" music, and commercials for everything from buying gold to planning for your next divorce (not making that up). So after turning off the radio a few times, I thought I would give the AM band a whirl for old time's sake.

There was something comforting in that AM hiss and the sound of radio crackle. I think it was because it triggered memories from childhood, days when cares were lighter and responsibilities fewer. 

So as I scanned through the AM stations, I was taken back in my mind to a particular spot on a particular day. I was sitting in a pickup truck waiting for my father to come back to it and listening to the radio.

I remember most vividly riding around with my father in a Ford pickup truck. He would often have the radio on and the window down smoking a cigarette. I didn't like the fact that he smoked, but he did. So whenever I smell Kool Milds being smoked, I think of my father. That was his brand and I can still recognize it.

Speaking of smells, there was something about those Fords that was distinctive. You could be put into a Ford pickup blindfolded and you would know it was a Ford by its unique smell. I don't know where it came from, but go smell the inside of one sometime. Pick an older model, from the 70s or 80s and you will see... I mean smell... what I mean.

"I'll just be a minute." That was what my father said as he left the pickup truck and headed off toward a small yellow bricked building the coal company used as a personnel office. I sat there only a minute until I turned the key to get the radio to come on.

The rain spattered lightly on the windshield and the dull gray of a late Spring sky spitting rain muted all colors. Country music was coming out of the speakers and I was going to have none of that. I had a preset on that old radio to a "popular" station and I switched it immediately. Some less-than-memorable rock song trailed off to nothing and the DJ called out the weather. Apparently it was not raining where he was.

The news came on, playing a lead-in musical sequence on some kind of vibrating antique electronic keyboard. A man read the news, flatly, and just the news. There was no hype or droning of political opinion. Nor was there any salvo of vitriol launched at politicians good or bad. It was just the news being read, devoid of inflammatory adjectives.

I sat and played with the wing windows in the truck listening to the news. When the rain let up, I rolled down the window to get some fresh air. I looked out at the trees bursting with dark greens just before summer. Soon it would be getting hot, but not today, it was almost a bit chilly. A few vehicles passed by as the news ended and the DJ came back on. 

I wasn't interested in the news. I wasn't interested in the music. I pressed dad's preset button and country music twanged forth from the radio once again.

I turned off the radio and waited and looked over toward "the grill", wishing I had some money to go get a grape Nehi. As I sat there and pondered my complete dehydration, my dad emerged from the small personnel office and was headed back to the truck.

He always wore a sort of work uniform, even though he worked in an office. That day he had on a khaki shirt and pants, a usual ensemble for him. At a little over six feet tall, dad was an imposing figure to me and to many people around where we lived. He strode over to the truck. He always walked so confident when I was a kid. How I wished I could be as tall as him. I still wish it, but that is not going to happen now.

Climbing into the truck, we set off for the "supply house", a warehouse a couple miles away. I would be spending a few hours there that day. I don't know why I was going there. I don't know why that particular day I was in the truck heading to the warehouse. But I was.

My father is gone now. But not forgotten. I tell my kids stories of his sometimes outlandish adventures and life with my dad. I see him in so many memories and I even hear him laugh in the crackle of AM radio static.

This post is not really about scanning through AM radio. This post is about remembering those you love and finding them in the oddest places. Even at 1400 AM on your radio dial.

So go ahead. If you are old enough to remember the AM radio days, turn off that FM and switch it over to AM for a while. See who you find in the static.

Copyright 2011, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)