LUCY
I don't suppose it's a secret to anyone that we suffered a great loss here this week. Lucille Smith left us on Tuesday November, 6. This is a great personal loss to me, to lose a friend and work associate of more than 40 years, but it's even a greater loss to her listeners.
Lucy was the epitome of a broadcaster. A professional in every aspect. How? you say. As broadcasters we strive to entertain and inform. She did. Her humor was sometimes corny, but her listeners ate it up, and her information was up to date, useful and intersting to them. She would tell a joke with a bit of a giggle, deliver an obituary with a tear in her voice, wish a happy birthday with a sparkle of celebration, and tell of an anniversary with a voice of love and admiration. She knew who her listeners were, even if she never met them, and she knew what information they were hungry for. She fed it to them with the loving hand of a mother.
I first engineered her show along about 1967. I couldn't have been more intimidated if I had been in the presence of Walter Cronkite. This was Lucy, Lucille Smith, who in just 3 years had risen to a level of prominence in broadcasting unattainable by the average mortal radio announcer. This was "The Personal Touch" and I had to get it right. I didn't a few times and boy could she dress you down. It was sweet, yet to the point, and you knew that you did not hold favor with the Queen. When you did perform above the call in the clutch, the praise was heaped upon you and you knew that all was right with the world.
Lucy's listeners would sometimes call and throw both of us a curve ball. They would call with a special request for a hymn or song for a departed loved one and Lucy couldn't say no; afterall whose show was it anyway, ours or theirs? In those days there were no computer systems with all of the music categorized. There was a huge rack on the wall with maybe 2,000 45 r.p.m. records, and underneath, half that many albums. They were supposed to be alphabetized, but that was a joke. So Lucy would look through the window and say, "Randy will find that song just in a minute". Randy would dive through the air and onto the floor to find just what Lucy had called for. I would find her songs or perish trying. After the show, Lucy would walk in the studio with a kind word and lay down $1.00. Now, for a teenager making $1.18 per hour, that little dough was like striking gold, but I didn't do it for the money. A lot of times I would refuse and she would act as if her feelings were hurt. I did it to please Lucy. She did it to please her precious listeners. I learned where my priorities should be. An invaluable lesson as a broadcaster.
I celebrate Lucy's life and always will. She was sick and lived 90 years. From August 13, 1917 until the morning of November 6, 2007, her life was wrapped around family and friends. Every single person that ever heard one minute of her show was her friend.
I'll never say this in the past tense; "I Love you my Sunshine Girl".
Stay tuned
Randy
Lucy was the epitome of a broadcaster. A professional in every aspect. How? you say. As broadcasters we strive to entertain and inform. She did. Her humor was sometimes corny, but her listeners ate it up, and her information was up to date, useful and intersting to them. She would tell a joke with a bit of a giggle, deliver an obituary with a tear in her voice, wish a happy birthday with a sparkle of celebration, and tell of an anniversary with a voice of love and admiration. She knew who her listeners were, even if she never met them, and she knew what information they were hungry for. She fed it to them with the loving hand of a mother.
I first engineered her show along about 1967. I couldn't have been more intimidated if I had been in the presence of Walter Cronkite. This was Lucy, Lucille Smith, who in just 3 years had risen to a level of prominence in broadcasting unattainable by the average mortal radio announcer. This was "The Personal Touch" and I had to get it right. I didn't a few times and boy could she dress you down. It was sweet, yet to the point, and you knew that you did not hold favor with the Queen. When you did perform above the call in the clutch, the praise was heaped upon you and you knew that all was right with the world.
Lucy's listeners would sometimes call and throw both of us a curve ball. They would call with a special request for a hymn or song for a departed loved one and Lucy couldn't say no; afterall whose show was it anyway, ours or theirs? In those days there were no computer systems with all of the music categorized. There was a huge rack on the wall with maybe 2,000 45 r.p.m. records, and underneath, half that many albums. They were supposed to be alphabetized, but that was a joke. So Lucy would look through the window and say, "Randy will find that song just in a minute". Randy would dive through the air and onto the floor to find just what Lucy had called for. I would find her songs or perish trying. After the show, Lucy would walk in the studio with a kind word and lay down $1.00. Now, for a teenager making $1.18 per hour, that little dough was like striking gold, but I didn't do it for the money. A lot of times I would refuse and she would act as if her feelings were hurt. I did it to please Lucy. She did it to please her precious listeners. I learned where my priorities should be. An invaluable lesson as a broadcaster.
I celebrate Lucy's life and always will. She was sick and lived 90 years. From August 13, 1917 until the morning of November 6, 2007, her life was wrapped around family and friends. Every single person that ever heard one minute of her show was her friend.
I'll never say this in the past tense; "I Love you my Sunshine Girl".
Stay tuned
Randy
