One of the most difficult things for me to acknowledge is that I am truly old fashioned. I mean I am connected, on-line, Twitterized, FaceBooked and podcasted, but deep down I am living in the late thirties and forties. The radio days. At least, in part, what I am saying is that my values lie there while all the glitter, pizzazz and speed of present day technology simply give me the chance to run out my outdated values on the unsuspecting friend, family member and the occasional "everyone" who stumbles across my electrified threshold. Caveat Emptor. Translation: Watch your step!
Some years ago while living in Southeast Texas, and while I still had an active interest in flying small airplanes, I used to read Flying Magazine and a columnist in that magazine named Gordon Baxter. His column was called THE BAX SEAT. He described himself as a "pasture pilot" and had a homey way of expressing himself, even about the technicalities of flying small airplanes. He had a radio program which he produced from his back porch at his home on Village Creek, a sometimes robust little stream that I paddled and camped upon many times.
On his show, he talked about whatever seemed to catch his attention. It presaged Jerry Seinfeld's show about nothing by about 30 years. It really was about nothing in particular. He rambled in a most interesting way. You could hear birdsong and a creaking screen door occasionally. His voice was well modulated and I could understand every word. It was quite popular. I'd get to the office and someone was likely to ask if I had heard Baxter that morning, and we'd talk about that. I don't think today's fast talking, hurry up media would give him the time of day.
A friend of mine once told me after listening to one of my podcasts, that I talked too slow and had too many long pauses. Well, I said, that's how I talk. We laughed and he still listens. I think. And I still talk slowly.
I have listened to many programs where someone is supposed to be telling a story or interviewing someone and all the while there is music, or other "environmental" noise (on purpose - by design because we live in an age where noise seems to be the only thing that keeps us from going conscious of our reality) and I am unable to hear the actual content of what the person is saying.
I should pause here and say something like, that's my opinion. And that's the opinion of a person wearing hearing aids which makes it difficult to make sense of noisy environments. And if the truth be known, if you want to communicate real information, every effort should be made to make that easy to do. Right? Well, you'd think so. Hearing aids or not.
So it's my problem. I'm OK with that - I have to be. But I resent being cut out of the process by the process itself. You can observe this going on in just about all media today. So-called realism in broadcasting seems to mean that environmental noise is as important as content. I can just see this sound engineer pushing the slider up on his sound board to increase the noise of the big diesel passing by so it's impossible to understand what is being said. Exciting huh? After all - it's the truth. It's what's happening.
A few years ago there was this guy on NPR's morning classical show who also talked slowly and it became a kind of joke. I could understand his every word however, even if it kind of infuriated me at times. I sometimes wondered whether the guy was somnambulant. Now, I really miss his kind of "delivery". If you have something to say, say it so others can be assured of understanding it. It's communication - get it?
Walter Cronkite, Ed Morrow, Erving R. Levine, Martin Agronsky, where are you guys when I need you masters of every syllable? God, how I love every syllable.
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