I wrote once before about my father’s work as a radio talkshow host, and I was reminded of that today when I heard about Paul Harvey’s death. I remember riding with my dad after school — on the way to orthodontist appointments, track practice, a friend’s house — and hearing Harvey on the radio. My father was a loyal listener. I remember finding Harvey’s voice funny, his delivery a little comical. Not exactly the cadence of the FM rock radio DJs I spent my time listening to. But my father pushed me to listen, to pay attention to the stories being told. And we would ride in silence, listening together, until Harvey took his famous pause and said, “And now you know … the rest of the story.”
I didn’t always enjoy the stories — Harvey and I didn’t agree on all things, of course — but I remember enjoying those rides with my father, our attention shared, learning to listen more closely, getting a glimpse into the development of my father’s radio persona, relishing those rare moments when we knew perfectly well how to be easy with one another.
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