The woman who waited on me in the store recognized my voice and knew my name. That happens a lot even though I have not been on radio since the '90s. If I were to let my ego run wild, I might say that's a tribute to my magnificent set of pipes.
Actually there's only one pipe. One of the old vocal cords got killed when my esophagus went away. It is quite amazing how many body parts we can get along without. I expect to keep on keeping on as more parts are removed, quit working or fall off. But I digress. I wander. I meander.
If recognition of my voice is a tribute to anything, it is to the powerful and intimate role that radio once played in our lives. We who lived through radio's golden age still hear favorite voices in our heads. When I hear them on a recording it's old home week. I have found a long lost friend. Maybe recognizing my voice does something like that for the old folks in my town. I hope so.
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