Suburban Man: It was sixteen years ago this week...

We were married on November 16, 1991 at St. Michael's church in Wheaton. The reception was at the Schwaben Center in Buffalo Grove. The honeymoon was in St. Kiits.

Tommy arrived in 1995. Johnny in 1998. Sean in 2002.

And despite the sixteen years of living with me, the birth of three boys, the diapers, the crying, and the constant stress of raising a family, the bride looks exactly the same...As stunning today as she was in her bridal gown on November 16, 1991.

Happy anniversary, Bridget.







If you're a fan of "Suburban Man", check out the blog of "NWI Parent," a publication of the Northwest Indiana Times. I'm now a regular columnist/blogger for them, writing a weekly column called "Father Knows Nothing"

Half Empty: Bad Luck

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.




By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern





Dave has twin 2-year old daughters and a five year old daughter. His wife travels quite a bit for work, so he actually watches them most of the time. During the rare moments when he gets to run errands on days his wife is at home, he has run into an incredible streak of bad luck. The simplest errands turn into lengthy debacles.

1. Picking up the Pizza: One hour
Yes, it's silly to pay for delivery when you live that close to the pizza place. No, he didn't get flipped off by old ladies because he was driving sooooooo slow. He just had bad luck.

2. Grocery Shopping: Two hours
Yes, the grocery store is only a few miles away. No, he didn't listen to the traffic report to see what was the most horrible route, take that route, and then read the labels of every can of beans in the store after he got there. He just had bad luck.

3. Doctor's Appointment: Three hours
Yes, the doctor's office was crowded, and you just never know how long it will take sometimes. No, he didn't sit in the waiting room for hours after his appointment ended reading any pamphlet he could get his hands on, including one about yeast infections and another about spider veins. He just had bad luck.

4. Driver's License Renewal: Four hours
Yes, the DMV is a nightmare, and this is by no means a record. No, he didn't get it renewed at lunchtime at the busiest location two years before it needed to be renewed. He just had bad luck.

5. Trip to Post Office: Five hours
Yes, the week before Christmas is a crazy time at the Post Office. No, he didn't go stand in the line with everyone sending packages to buy one stamp. He just had bad luck.

If you didn't know Dave better, you'd think he was intentionally picking errands that take a long time, and then making them take even longer just so he could get out of the house.

Not Dave.

On the other hand, if you get a flat tire on a day he happens to be out running one of these errands, you can count on that good Samaritan stopping his car to help you change that tire.

That's just the kind of guy he is.

Suburban Man: Halloween isn't for Everyone

By Rick Kaempfer




Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays when I was kid. Getting dressed up in a costume, ringing doorbells, getting free candy…what’s not to love?

When my oldest son Tommy got to the trick-or-treating age, I was looking forward to reliving the excitement with him. I figured he was going to love it as much as I did.

He didn’t.

In fact, he couldn’t stand any of it. He particularly hated dressing up in a costume. When he was five, he grudgingly agreed to wear the Woody costume because he loved Toy Story, but only if we promised he could take off the cowboy hat the second after I took the obligatory Halloween picture. We came to the same agreement when he was six, and seven, and eight.

By third grade, when he didn’t fit into the Woody costume anymore, he was ready to quit the Halloween tradition once and for all.

I figured his lack of enthusiasm had to be my fault somehow. My enthusiasm for Halloween must not have been translating properly. Maybe if I tried a little harder to get into that little braniac head of his, tried to think of the kind of costume he would like, maybe that would win him over.

So I told him we would brainstorm ideas.

“Tommy, you don’t have to pick one of these costumes in the store, or try to be like one of the other kids, you know. You can be anything you want to be for Halloween.”

Tommy wasn’t the greatest at brainstorming. “I want to be Tommy,” he said.

“You know what Albert Einstein used to say?”

That piqued his interest. Einstein is his hero.

“He said God’s greatest gift to mankind is imagination, because with imagination, there are no limits to what you can achieve.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Einstein said that?”

“Yes, he did. Now use that imagination of yours, Tommy, and I promise you that we will create a costume for whatever you come up with—no limits. Anything at all.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything.”

“OK,” he said, “I want to be an accountant.”

He was the only accountant in the 3rd grade that year. He dressed up in a suit and tie, and carried a calculator. The next year he dressed up as an artist. He wore a smock and a beret (until the second after I took the picture). In 5th grade he was a scientist. He wore a white lab coat.

Now he’s in middle school and the kids don’t have to dress up anymore. When he found that out, he broke into the biggest grin I’d seen on his face in years.

This year he’s finally wearing the costume he wants to wear for the first time.

He’s going as Tommy.


This article first appeared on the blog of "NWI Parent," a publication of the Northwest Indiana Times. I'm now a regular columnist/blogger for them, writing a weekly column called "Father Knows Nothing"

Celebrity Snippets: Michael Dukakis

Michael Dukakis was the presidential candidate for the Democratic Party in the 1988 election vs. George H.W. Bush.




This excerpt from "The Radio Producer's Handbook" details the single worst moment of my broadcasting career. It shaped me for years to come...

Depending on the number of shows on your station, the secret in-studio phone number (commonly called the hotline) may not exactly be a secret. During the 1988 presidential election, Michael Dukakis was in Chicago attending a fundraiser. One of the writers of this book (OK—it was Rick) had unsuccessfully attempted to get him on the show he was producing.

As the traffic reporter was discussing the traffic created by the Dukakis motorcade, the hotline rang. It was someone claiming to be in the limo with Dukakis. He said that Dukakis wanted to get on the air to let Chicago know he was sorry for the traffic delay. Because Rick had made several calls to the Dukakis campaign, he believed the caller.

The hosts (Steve Dahl & Garry Meier) were pleasantly flattered that a presidential candidate would be calling the show, and they believed it too. However, about three seconds into the Dukakis call it became obvious that isn’t wasn’t Dukakis. It was a hoax. If Rick had insisted on speaking to Dukakis himself on the phone before he told the host, the entire situation could have been avoided.

I was lucky that Steve & Garry made a bit out of my stupidity that day. The show wasn't ruined (only my reputation was). However, that moment also turned me into a different producer. I vowed never to let anything like that ever happen again.

About a month later when Steve & Garry were at a live broadcast somewhere, the hotline rang again. I was back at the studio running the controls.

"Hey, who's this?" the caller asked.

"Who's this?" I challenged.

"It's Jim Belushi," he said.

"Right."

"No, really. It's me. Jim Belushi."

"Yeah, and I'm Michael Dukakis."

I hung up on him. He sounded like an imposter to me.

About twenty minutes later I was listening off the air to Steve and Garry during a commercial break. (The sound still came back to the studio, but it wasn't going over the air).

"Hey Garry," Steve said. "Look, it's Jim Belushi."

"Hey guys," Belushi said. "I tried to call you at the station to find out the address of this place, and some guy hung up on me."

Sigh.

I got much better with experience, but every time I hear someone mention the names Michael Dukakis or Jim Belushi the hair still stands up on my neck.

And it's been nearly twenty years.

Half Empty: Adding years to your life

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.





By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern




This year both of us turned 44, and quite frankly, we’re getting a little worried. Let’s just say that neither of us are exactly in the greatest shape, and both of our fathers died young. We’re peeling off years at an alarming rate and we need to do something about it…and fast!

There are two possible solutions.

1) Exercise, eat right and do yoga.
2) The Rick and Dave solution.

The pundits will have you believe that the first choice is the most prudent option. Try it if you like, but at best, you'll add five, six, maybe eight years to your life. Big deal. That's maybe one Cubs playoff appearance, if you're lucky.

That's not the Rick and Dave way. We’re overachievers. We need more. With the Rick and Dave solution, you can add decades or more to your life.

How do we do it? We lie to ourselves.

Self-deception is not a half-hearted pastime. Simply saying: “Age is only a state of mind” or “Look at John Glenn! He went up in space in his seventies” is not going to cut it. The novice self-fibber's house of cards will come tumbling down the first time he pulls a neck muscle changing lanes. (Shut up. We've done it.)

No, self deception is an art. When you're a pro (like we are), you know you won't actually live longer, no matter how many times you say it. Words alone are ineffective. However, words that make it seem like you're living longer can bring you immortality.

With our help, a few well placed words can turn any situation into an excruciating how-long-have-I-been-here moment. As you continue to experience excruciating moment after excruciating moment, you will slowly but surely add years to your life. Before you know it, it won't even matter how old you are anymore, because it will seem like you've been alive since the beginning of time.

Try it yourself with a few examples for beginners.

1) "Let me take (Child A) to the pre-school birthday party!"
You don't have say another word. Father Time will take care of the rest. Don’t worry if the first few minutes of the party go by quickly--the kids are cute for about five minutes or so. After that, time starts to crawl. The more screaming kids, the better. The more fights, the slower the earth rotates. By the time the party is over, you will already have lived longer than your father.

2)"Honey, tell me more about your job."
Then get specific. Ask about paperwork: "What sort of information do they ask for in the requisition forms these days?" Or, ask about specific petty co-worker squabbles: "So, what's the status of Ralph's stapler. Any sign of it yet? I bet if you open Doris' desk..." Better yet, offer advice on how to deal with issues at work: "You know how I would reorganize your department if I were you?" Any of those office discussions will actually make the clock start moving backwards. Remember, God could have created three universes in the time it takes a typical husband to explain a new office voice-mail system.

3)"I sent back the RSVP for the wedding!"
Oh, not just any weddings. Family weddings don't count. Weddings of close friends don't count either. Any other wedding, however, will do. It’s a little known fact that Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel between the salad and the entrée at his mother's best friend's daughter's wedding.

4) "So, you're an 80+ year-old die-hard Republican, huh?"
This one is almost too easy. Just bring up any liberal argument about any subject, with this simple opener..."You know what those people say?" That phrase lets a Republican know you're on his or her side. It's code for "You may speak freely on this subject." Buckle up before you do it though. That angry bronco bucks. If you want to add a decade to your life, try this one: "I have never seen such hatred in my lifetime like the hatred these people have for the President." Don't allow yourself to get distracted by the veins popping out of his neck or the throbbing temples of his "I hate their hate" hate. Listen to every word and nod. Then bring up illegal immigrants and welfare mothers living at the Ritz. If you really, really, want time to stop, bring up Bill Clinton. (But not without a paramedic standing by!)

5) "Let's get to your office Christmas party early this year, honey."
Again, time might go quickly initially because of the open bar, but it’s not going to last. After your third drink, your spouse will tell you to slow down before you do something embarrassing. Once the drinks stop flowing, and you have to actually engage in conversations without lubricated assistance, you'll be knocking on the door of the space-time continuum. After the third reference to "Ralph's stapler" and/or the third discussion of the weather with Ralph's wife, time will actually stop moving altogether. Many experts believe that Methuselah didn’t live all that long, he just sat through his wife's wacky holiday slide show a couple of times.

6) "Put little 3-year-old (Child A) on the phone, would you?"
That little three-year-old voice is so cute...for one second. Then, you're liable to get a play-by-play of the paint drying. "And um...my shirt is green...and um...squirrel!..." Don't set the phone down on your end either. That's cheating. You must simply endure. Every time you feel yourself about to say "Can you put mommy on the phone, honey," ask another question about the child's wardrobe or better yet, Dora the Explorer.

There you have it.

You probably never thought that reading this column would actually help you live longer.

On the other hand, if you’re a frequent reader of Half Empty, maybe that's why you're reading it in the first place.

Suburban Man: The birth of Tommy Kaempfer

I wrote the following piece when I returned home from the hospital after the birth of my oldest son Tommy, twelve years ago this week.



October 19, 1995

The phone rang at the office. It was the very pregnant Bridget on the line. “I’m not sure, but I think my water might have broken.”

Like any rational adult, I went into a sitcom panic. “What do you mean, you think your water might have broken? Isn’t that usually accompanied by a huge swoosh of water?”

After we both calmed down (although now that I mention it, Bridget was pretty calm) we decided to swing by the doctor’s office and have him check. It was his day off and he conducted the examination over the phone with another doctor. The fluid was checked under a microscope.

Bingo.

Like any rational adult, I called everyone I knew and said “We’re going to have a baby!”

Of course, reality set in when we got to the hospital. The woman in the room next to Bridget’s was in her second day of labor. Later in the night we heard a woman screaming in such excruciating pain that we thought it was a baby crying. I knew right then and there that my beautiful wife would be numbing the pain with drugs. The more, the merrier.

I’m pretty sure that my mother set some kind of speed record from Mt. Prospect to Chicago in the middle of the afternoon. Bridget called her sometime around 1PM, and she was in the waiting room by 2PM. Apparently we weren’t the only ones anticipating the birth of this child....Oma wanted to be there when her first grandchild was born. As it turned out, she wasn’t.

After sitting there for eight hours with very little progress I sent her home. That’s when all hell broke loose. Bridget had to be induced, and almost immediately she started feeling intense pain. My memory banks have catalogued this beautiful moment between the anesthesiologist and my wife. It went something like this....

Dr: So, you think you need something for the pain?
Br: Yes, yes, yes....oooooh.
Dr: OK, we’re going to have to ask the father to leave the room for a moment.
Br: Groan. Groan. Groan. Groan. Groan.

(Rick leaves the room, returns 1/2 hour later)

Br: Oh, thank you doctor, thank you. I just wanted to really, really, really, really thank you.


We both knew we were in the home stretch then. Well, at least I knew. I’m not sure if Bridget even knew where she was for the next few hours. Thank God. It was so great to see the transformation from the really unhappy Bridget to the really happy Bridget.

It was now 2AM. Time to start pushing. They called Dr. Sabbagha. He checked out the goods and decided that we still had some time, so Bridget kept on pushing while the doc took a little nap. Molly the nurse helped us push. She held one of Bridget’s legs and I held the other and we coached her through each push. About every third push Bridget’s leg slammed me right in the family jewels.

Then I saw it....

At first I wasn’t sure what it was, Molly had to fill me in. It was the baby’s head. The hair threw me off. I didn’t expect to see hair, I was expecting to see a perfectly shaped bald (Michael Jordan-esque) head. But there was no mistaking it...the time was near.

Molly went to get Dr. Sabbagha, and told us we could keep pushing if we wanted. BIG MISTAKE. With her first solo try, Bridget grunted hard, and poof - there was the head...all the way out. I’m not sure what I said, but I think it went something like this....

“STOP. STOP. STOP. Holy Bleep.”

Molly came back in, saw the head and said...”Oh my God, we better get Dr. Sabbagha.”

He barely had time to get his gloves on before the event. Just a few moments later, at 4:06 a.m. we had a bouncing baby boy.

We didn’t even know the name of the baby when I called Mom up around 4:45AM. We hadn’t allowed ourselves to really put a lot of thought into a boy’s name, it just didn’t seem possible that we would have a boy. Bridget's entire family at the time consisted of nothing but girls.

Naming a child is one of the most awesome responsibilities a person ever faces. Our momentous decision was made something like this....

Rick: We need to come up with a name.
Bridget: It’s a boy. I can’t believe it’s a boy.
Rick: I guess the name Grace Anne won’t work now.
Bridget: Well, what do you think?
Rick: Let's name him after our fathers.
Bridget: I'm not naming him Eckhard or Stanley.
Rick: Fine, then let’s name him after our Dad’s middle names. Peter Thomas or Thomas Peter?
Bridget: I don’t know, I’m getting stitched up right now.
Rick: OK. Thomas Peter.
Bridget: Fine.

Most of our friends and relatives heard about Tommy on the radio. As a matter of fact, in one of the earliest broadcasting debuts in history, Tommy was on the air when he was 2 hours old.

The following is a transcript of that telephone conversation that morning. The participants are John Landecker (center), sidekick Vicki Truax (the only female in the group picture), and proud papa Rick.

John: Oldies 104.3 WJMK, It's 12 minutes after 6:00 with John Records Landecker and Vicki Truax. The hotline...the private line...is ringing. Hello.

Rick: Hello.

John: Well?

Rick: I'm a papa.

(Loud cheering and whooping in the studio)

Vicki: A girl or a boy?

Rick: A boy.

Vicki: I KNEW IT!!! What's his name?

Rick: Thomas Peter.

Vicki: What time?

Rick: 4:06 a.m.

John: Wow. How's everybody doing?

Rick: Everyone is fine.

Vicki: Bridget is fine too? Is she exhausted?

Rick: Yup, she's holding Thomas right now.

John & Vicki: Awwwww.

Rick: 7 pounds, 3 ounces.

John & Vicki: Awwwww.

Rick: And I recorded the entire thing on Digital audio tape.

Vicki: You're kidding? She didn't make you turn it off?

Rick: No. I had it put in a nice place where it didn't get in anyone's way.

John: We've got Thomas' birth on tape.

Rick: Yup. And we got his first bath on tape too, and his first cry.

John: Something tells me we better get more tape. OK, here's his first eyelid opening. Better get that on tape. We're going through his first toll...let's get that on tape. Hey Rick, don't you just want to...

John, Vicki & Rick: Hug and kiss them all the time?

(That was something Vicki said so often about her daughter it was a running joke on the show)

Rick: He is so damn cute.

John & Vicki: Awwwwww.

Rick: Wait a second...is he crying? Hold on.

Sound: A tiny baby cry can be heard.

John: Is that him?

Rick: Yup. His on-air debut.

John: Wow!

Rick: He's got some lungs on him.

John: That kid sounds like he's two years old.

Rick: Yeah, he's got good pipes.

John: Does he want to come in and do a few record talkovers?

Vicki: How long is he?

Rick: 21 inches.

John: So what was it like?

Rick: It was so cool. It was just like the movie "Alien." The baby kind of popped out and looked around. Then he jumped up and sucked my eyes out...

John & Vicki: (Laughing)

John: Then Siguorney Weaver came in with some sort of a mechanical device. It was unbelievable.

Vicki: You guys. Is he all wrinkly. Does he have hair?

Rick: Yeah, he does have hair. That was the first thing we saw. I asked the nurse...ewww...what is that? That's his hair. Oh.

John: Did you get it on tape?

Rick: Of course. Uh, oh. I have to go. We need to take Bridget up to the recovery room.

Vicki: You're still in the delivery room?

Rick: Yeah.

Vicki: That's dedication.

John: How many calls have you made so far?

Rick: This is my second call. I called my mom first.

John: Wow. Well take care of everyone.

Rick: Thanks.

John & Vicki: Bye.

John: There they go. Dad Rick, Mom Bridget and now Thomas Kaempfer.

Vicki: I kind of liked the other name Rick was talking about before.

John: I don't think Bridget was ever going to agree to Ringo.

Suburban Man: Paperwork

By Rick Kaempfer




This year we have three kids in three different schools.

You know what that means don’t you? That’s right. Three times the amount of paperwork.

How much paperwork do we get? We could build a life-sized paper replica of Chicago and still have enough paper left over to build a paper forest to house the thousands of shivering homeless squirrels.

How much paperwork do we get? The Library of Congress called us for storage advice.

How much paperwork do we get? We measure the weight of our recycle bins in increments of Luciano Pavarottis.

We’re literally swimming in paperwork. At my house, we have an in-ground swimming pool in the backyard and the kids and I go for a paperwork swim after dinner every night.

There aren’t enough hours in the day to read it all, and even though school has only been in session for a little more than a month, I feel like I’m helplessly and hopelessly behind.

That’s why I’m proposing a brand new approach.

I propose that America’s public schools institute a color paper coding system, much like our terrorist alerts: RED, ORANGE, YELLOW, GREEN, and WHITE. The color of the paper should match the importance of the paperwork.

For instance…

RED paper ALERT
If something absolutely must be read, it has to be printed on red paper. What would fit in this new RED category? Anything that requires the parent’s immediate attention (permission slips, disciplinary issues, announcements of unexpected school holidays, etc.). In fact, as an additional touch, write the most important part of the most important paperwork in ALL CAPS. Bold type and exclamation points would help too, but I don’t want to get greedy.

ORANGE paper ALERT
If something is simply suggested reading, like an update on what your child is doing at school, or information about special school events like “pajama day,” those memos must be printed on orange paper. Other ORANGE level paperwork includes lesser medical emergencies like "Your child has been exposed to strep throat, pink eye, and head lice." Each parent could read the orange paperwork based upon how good they are at parenting. The good parents can read it all, and the rest of us can sleep at night knowing that we only missed something “somewhat important.”

YELLOW paper ALERT
Any and all school clubs and activities like orchestra/chorus, boy scouts/girl scouts, chess club/intramural sports, PTA and the like should be printed on yellow paper. That way, if you or your children are involved in only one or two of these activities (or in a dream world, none of them), you can quickly skim and dispense.

GREEN paper ALERT
All school fundraisers need to go on green paper. We have a special circular file for those already, and the green color will just help us find them more easily.

WHITE paper
No need to use the colored paper in your classrooms. Eventually all of the classroom papers come to our Luciano-sized bins, and since you’ve already taken the time to grade them, we can just look at the grade (preferably written in bold red pen), pat ‘em on the head if they’ve done well, pat ‘em elsewhere if not, and dispense.

I know this isn’t a perfect system.

Teachers will probably argue that this system is more work for them, and I suppose that’s true. On the other hand, think of all the time you waste sending home second reminders to parents who missed the first one. The red paper should take care of that.

Administrators will probably argue that red, orange, yellow and green paper is more expensive than white paper. That may be true, but I know a Chinese distributor who promises his color paper is brighter and bolder than American paper, and cheaper too. (Just don’t lick it.)

I know I’m speaking on behalf of the majority of parents when I plead for your help.

Think how much easier your life would be if parents could spend a little less time reading paperwork, and a little more time actually guiding their children to become better citizens. Your students would be better behaved, more responsible, more attentive, and possibly even punctual.

Just send us a few "How to make your child a better citizen" tips on an orange piece of paper, and we’ll get right to work.

Celebrity Snippets: John Mahoney & Virginia Madsen

John Mahoney is probably most famous for his role on the long-time hit show "Frasier", for which he was nominated for an Emmy. He got his start in Chicago theatre at the Steppenwolf. Virginia Madsen is also a native Chicagoan, and has been in countless films, including the recent hit "Sideways", for which she nominated for an Academy Award. They appeared together in the film "Almost Salinas"



This John Mahoney & Virginia Madsen interview took place during the bad old days at WJMK when the studio was literally falling apart around us, the station was cutting back in ridiculous ways (only one engineer for three radio stations), and the powers that be were trying to force us out. Nevertheless, we continued to try to put on a first class radio show. Some days it went better than other days. On the day John and Virginia were in the studio, we hit a new low--although it was certainly not their fault.


The following story about John Mahoney & Virginia Madsen is taken from my first book "The Radio Producer's Handbook," (co-written by John Swanson) which, by the way is still available at amazon.com. It comes from Chapter 3 "Crafting a Great Interview", page 30, in the section about live in-studio interviews...

There are times when even an in-studio interview can derail for technical reasons. John Mahoney and Virginia Madsen were appearing live in John Landecker’s studio to promote their film Almost Salinas. By a fluke of nature, the transmitter of the radio station malfunctioned about a minute after the interview began. The station was not on the air at all.

However, the producer of the show, Rick Kaempfer, was the only person in the room who realized it. The headphones were not plugged into the on-air monitor because the show was in delay, and therefore, the host and the guests had no idea that something was wrong. Instead of telling everyone and ending the interview, Rick calmly walked out of the studio and called the Chief Engineer.

While the engineer worked on getting the station back on the air, and Rick flop sweated like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News, the interview was completed. None of it aired live because the transmitter wasn’t fixed for another twenty minutes. However, the interview was recorded on a DAT (Digital Audio Tape), and it was replayed on the air the following day, just as it originally occurred.

Sigh.

I think this was the day I decided that when the plug was officially pulled from the John Landecker show, that I would not be returning to radio.

The plug was mercifully pulled only two months later.

Suburban Man: Anna Kaempfer

My grandmother, Anna Kaempfer, died a few weeks ago. (That's her about ten years ago with my oldest son Tommy.) I wrote this eulogy for her funeral. I hope you don't mind if I share it with you.






Anna Kaempfer was my grandmother. My Oma.

And she lived 93 years.

A long life, through turbulent times, and in difficult circumstances

And those hard times did have an effect on Oma. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone tougher than her.

On the other hand, and my cousin Bob will attest to this—there were times over the years when the real Anna Kaempfer came out.

The whole expression on her face would change as she recounted the stories from her youth, from her days in Rumania. We only ever saw one actual picture from those days…a black and white photograph of the biggest “street” in town…

But Bob, and my sister Cindy, my brother Peter and I, all had vivid pictures of her beloved hometown in our minds from those stories she told. It was so obvious that everyone and everything she ever loved lived in that time, and in that place. She made it sound like heaven on earth.

She would smile. And she would laugh. And for those few moments, when that town came back to life before our eyes, we would see the real Anna Kaempfer.

These past few years as the Alzheimer’s began to take its toll, the memories began to fade, but her hometown never left her. The last time I visited her, just a few weeks ago, that’s where she was.

She told me so herself.

But she didn’t need to tell me. Because I saw it in her eyes when she played with my five-year-old son Sean, who absolutely loved to visit her. And I saw it in her smile.

She was home.

And, Oma, it’s a very short journey from heaven on earth, to where you’re going now. It’s just at the end of that black and white street.

Celebrity Snippets: Bob Newhart

Bob Newhart is one of the most popular comedians in American history. His comedy album from the 60s: "The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart" is one of the top selling comedy albums of all time.






The following Bob Newhart story is taken from my first book "The Radio Producer's Handbook," which, by the way is still available at amazon.com. It comes from Chapter 3 "Crafting a Great Interview", page 34, in the section about phone interviews...

Recording phone interviews in studios that aren’t normally used for recording interviews can present all sorts of logistical problems. Normally, you have to kick a production person out of his studio to do this, and he has everything set precisely the way he wants it. A few years ago, Rick was attempting to tape a phone interview between John Landecker & Bob Newhart.

The production director had no idea how to set up his control board to record a phone call. The first two times Newhart got on the line, the production director accidentally hung up on him. By the time the studio was properly set up, Newhart had been waiting on the line for twenty minutes. Luckily, he had a great sense of humor about it. He thought that they were trying to do a phone bit like the ones that made him famous.

When we finally got him on the air, he and John had a great conversation. They talked about his breakthrough album that John memorized when he was a kid, and Bob's two most successful television series.

We also played John's all-time favorite Bob Newhart bit: This one about Abraham Lincoln.

And, of course, the clip of one of the most memorable moments in television history.

Suburban Man: The Birth of Sean Kaempfer

By Rick Kaempfer







Tomorrow, September 19, 2007, my youngest son Sean turns five years old. (Photo: Sean, eighteen months)

When he was born, I was still the executive producer of the John Records Landecker show on WJMK Radio. Like we did with the birth of my two other sons (Tommy and Johnny), the John Landecker show followed the pregnancy on the air. I even recorded the actual birth on digital audio tape as it was happening, and then called into the radio program with a full report live from the hospital.

His brothers were both born early in the morning (Tommy at 4 AM, Johnny at 2 AM), but Bridget was in labor DURING the show for Sean. I called into the show every hour and gave updates, some of which are referenced in the transcript below. Sean was born less than hour after the show ended that day.

This is the transcript of the call the following morning, September 20, 2005. The show members at that time were John Landecker, Leslie Keiling, and Bonnie Greene.


John: Magic 104.3, 8:14, John Records Landecker along with Leslie Keiling, that's Sister Sledge "We are Family". Rick, our producer, are you there?

Rick: I'm here.

John: You're a brand new dad.

Rick: Yes I am.

John: Bridget are you there?

Bridget: Hello. I'm here.

John: Do you have a radio at the hospital?

Bridget: No. We had one down at labor and delivery, and we were listening. The anesthesiologist thought you were really funny.

Leslie: Oh great.

John: You mean when he called him "Shakes"?

Rick: And a heroin addict, I believe.

John: Ha! So, how long do they let you stay in the hospital these days after delivery?

Bridget: 48 hours, and I'm taking every last second of it.

John: Well you sound good.

Rick: She looks good too.

John: Do you feel good too?

Bridget: Yeah. And we got a little trooper here too.

Leslie: Is the trooper in there with you?

John: No hold on a second, we're not giving anything away here. OK, so Rick. So far you have Tommy...

Rick: He'll be seven next month.

John: And Johnny...

Rick: He's 4 1/2.

John: Now people want to know. Hit it, Vinnie.

(Music: Theme song from "My Three Sons")

John: It would be my three...

Rick: Sons.

John: How big was our boy?

Bridget: 7 pounds, 12 ounces.

John: How long was labor?

Bridget: I'm not exactly sure because when we got here I was already in labor.

Leslie: That's the best way isn't it?

Rick: It really wasn't that long. I think she only had to push about ten times.

Leslie: And then went to the prom.

(Everyone laughs)

John: Let's get to the tape. Now Rick, you taped this yourself?

Rick: I did.

John: Any problems?

Rick: None at all this time. I had the surgical gloves on, and was helping the doctor. I had a leg in one hand, and..

John: Now wait a second here. What leg were you hanging on to?

Rick: I was hanging on to one of Bridget's legs.

John: Oh. So let me get this straight. You're hanging on to Bridget's leg with one hand, and the microphone in the other hand?

Rick: No, I set the microphone down on the table.

John: Oh geez. I had an image in my head here...

Rick: I'm very talented.

(Everyone laughs)

Rick: I did test levels.

(Everyone laughs)

John: The first time you didn't even know the microphone was on, the third time you're testing levels.

Rick: Exactly.

John: OK, roll the tape.

Dr. Sabbagha: Hi, hi, there it is. Can you push a little more?

Bridget: Ugh

Dr. Sabbagha: Hi there. Push push.

Nurse: Hi pumpkin.

Dr. Sabbagha: God, you're beautiful. Say something, precious.

Rick: It's a purple baby. That's Johnny's favorite color.

Baby cries.

Dr. Sabbagha: There he goes.

Rick: It's a boy!

Bridget: It's a boy?!

Rick: My three sons. Good work!

John: Rick. Guess whose crying in the studio? Oh, look, I got two of 'em crying.

Leslie: That's so beautiful.

Rick: It was soooo cool. I really got to enjoy it this time.

John: (sarcastically) Oh, and I know how hard the whole birthing process is for you.

Bridget: I actually thought he was funny this time. He made me laugh.

Bonnie: Because you hated him the other two times, right?

Rick: She kicked me in the knutchkies the first time she was so mad at me.

Bridget: I did not.

Rick: You did too.

John: Oh come on now, you two. You just had a baby.

Rick: I'm actually really proud of her. You should see her. You'd never believe she just had a baby.

Leslie: How are the boys. Are they excited?

Rick: (long pause) Uh...no.

(Everyone laughs)

Bridget: Tommy was so excited for about ten seconds. He came running into the room, held the baby, and then...hey what's in this cabinet?

Rick: And Johnny didn't even want to hold the baby.

John: Oooooooh.

Bonnie: Johnny's the middle child now.

Rick: Yup. My mom asked Johnny yesterday how his day went, and he said...Um, let's see...I went to school...I played in the park...um...She asked, 'Did anything special happen?' and he answered..."No."

John: Oh well, that will be an on-going story.

Rick: We're going to all go to a White Sox game tonight and beat up a coach. (This was the day after the William Ligue story)

John: You were gloating all morning, weren't you?

Rick: Yes I was.

John: I told you! Cubs fans are gloating all over the city. So...the name of the child is...

Rick: Sean Harrison Kaempfer

(Baby noises in the background)

John: Is that him?

Bridget: Yup. I'll put the phone up to him.

(More baby noises)

Bonnie: He sounds like a puppy.

John: OK, Sean. That's Irish for John, right?

Bridget: Yes, technically it is. S-E-A-N.

John: Harrison, I've got to guess, is...

Rick: Let's just say it's not for Harrison Ford.

John: It's for George Harrison, isn't it?

Rick: Yes it is.

John: I knew it!

Rick: But I didn't pick Sean. That was Tommy's idea.

John: And Johnny wanted to name it...

Rick: Johnny abstained.

(Everyone laughs)

John: Johnny threw his headphones down and walked out of the Security Council meeting!

Rick: That's right.

John: Well congratulations everybody. We now have Sean's first on-air performance on tape too.

Bonnie: Are his eyes open yet?

Leslie: He's not a kitten for Pete's sake.

Rick: Blue eyes.

Bridget: He's kind of dozing right now.

Bonnie: Poke him. Wake him up.

Leslie: Isn't it good that Bonnie doesn't have children? Have you taken him out for a walk yet?

Rick: We've got newspaper all over the floor...

John: Bonnie, it's a baby.

Bonnie: Sorry...

John: Well thanks for procreating.

Rick: My pleasure.

John: I'll bet it was. And now we have the vasectomy next.

Rick: Yes we do.

Leslie: And then we'll hear Rick making baby noises.

(everyone laughs)

John: Sean Harrison Kaempfer. That's a cool name. You'll have to change your answering machine message you know.

Rick: I'll do that today.

John: Cause it says, Rick, Bridget, Tommy & Johnny can't come to the phone. Well thanks guys, and congratulations.

Rick: Bye.

Bridget: Bye.

Bonnie: Of course, it will be awhile before Sean can come to the phone.

Leslie: Whoa.

John: The next time we do anything with children, you don't talk.

Bonnie laughs.

Half Empty: How do you measure greatness?

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.





By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern






How do you measure greatness?


It seems like such a subjective thing, but we have formulated a foolproof fact-based accounting method that can take the guesswork out of the equation.

According to our calculations, today (September 12, 2007) we will both officially surpass the talented actor/comedian John Candy.

That’s no small feat, but we’ve been surpassing some of the all-time greats over the last few decades, so we’ve really gotten used to it.

In 1981, we surpassed King Tut.

In 1987, we put James Dean in our rear-view mirror.

In the 1990s, we dusted guitarist Jimi Hendrix (’90), composer Stephen Foster (’94), actor John Belushi (’96), and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (’98).

We really got serious about moving beyond the all-time greats at the turn of the century.

According to our calculations, we have bested Lou Gehrig (2001), King Louis XVI of France (2002), Martin Luther King Jr. (2003), John Lennon (2004), and last year we even moved past the King of Rock and Roll Elvis Presley.

Some would have been content to stop there, but the great ones are never satisfied.

Next year, God willing, authors F. Scott Fitzgerald and Robert Louis Stevenson will have to admit that they are no Rick and Dave. The statistics don’t lie.

The following year Walter Payton will have to do the same. Before this decade ends, John F. Kennedy and Alexander Hamilton will also wish they were us.

Sorry to gloat. But it’s all we have.*





*Statistics are measured by number of years surviving on Planet Earth. Today, September 12, 2007, Dave turns 44, joining Rick in the “older than John Candy ever got” club.

Suburban Man: The Nursing Home

By Rick Kaempfer





My middle son Johnny had just left for school, when I noticed the expression on his little brother Sean’s face. My four-year-old pre-schooler was sitting on the couch, gazing out the window at the sight of his nine year old brother disappearing from view. Sean’s hands were cupping his sad little cheeks.

“He’ll be back this afternoon,” I said.

“I know,” he answered.

I wasn’t used to seeing Sean sad. I knew I had to do something to snap him out of it.

“Want to go on a field trip?” I asked. “Just the two of us?”

He eyed me suspiciously. “Where?”

“Anywhere you want,” I offered.

“Really? Anywhere?”

“Sure.”

“OK,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Let’s go visit Uri-Oma.”

Uri-Oma is my grandmother, and Sean’s great-grandmother (“Uri-Oma” is German for “Great Grandmother”). She is 93 years old, has dementia and Alzheimer’s, doesn’t speak a word of English, and thinks she is living in the old country. The last five or six times I visited her in the nursing home, she had no idea who I was. I was depressed every time I left.

I figured I didn’t hear Sean correctly. I knew my mom dragged Sean along to the nursing home occasionally, but I didn’t know he liked it.

“You want to go to the nursing home?”

“Yes!” he said. He was totally excited about the possibility.

I hadn’t been to visit my grandmother in a few weeks, so I figured what the heck. I packed Sean in the car and drove over there. When we walked in the front door, the security guard smiled at my little boy.

“How many stickers do you want today?” he asked.

“Just two. One for me and one for Dad.”

Sean ran ahead as I signed the visitor’s log.

“C’mon Dad.”

I hurried to catch up to him. He ran to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor like he owned the place. The elevator door opened on my grandmother’s floor and he ran ahead again.

“C’mon Dad.”

When we got to the dementia wing and Sean opened the door, it was like Norm arriving at Cheers bar. The nurses all said it at the same time.

“Sean!”

He waved at them happily, and then waved at the other residents there, nearly all of whom looked like they were receiving a puppy on Christmas morning.

When he found my grandmother, she was the most excited person on the floor. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Even before the Alzheimer’s kicked in, my grandmother was not exactly famous for her cheerful disposition. She was a tough old German woman, worn down by a lifetime of hardship. The only thing “warm and fuzzy” about her was her sweater.

And yet, there she was, leaning against a walker, smiling broadly at Sean.

“Look Uri-Oma,” he said. He stomped his feet on the ground, and his shoes lit up.

“Oooooh. Lichtie,” she said. That’s a cutesy German way of saying “light.” It would be like saying “Oh look—a little lightee.” I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears--my grandmother was talking baby-talk to my son.

“Do you know what she said?” I asked Sean.

He nodded. “She loves the shoes.”

Close enough. “Hi, Oma,” I said.

“Wer bischt du?” she asked me in her German dialect. It means “Who are you?”

I was just about to explain who I was, when Sean interrupted. “Look Uri-Oma,” he said. He pulled a little car out of his pocket.

“Oooooh,” she said.

“C’mon, Uri-Oma, let’s play,” he said, and ran ahead to a table. She shuffled after him with her walker about as fast as I’ve seen her move in five years.

“This should be good,” I thought to myself.

My grandmother sat at the table across from Sean and for the next fifteen minutes or so, they pushed the little car back and forth. Sean was talking to her the whole time, explaining the name of the car, telling her how fast it could go, and why it was so special to him. She was nodding and smiling the whole time. After the car game, Sean started doing somersaults on the floor in front of her. She clapped after each one.

For thirty minutes or so, I got a glimpse of what kind of a grandmother she might have been if her life hadn’t had been so hard, and difficult, and cruel. Those difficult years have melted away with her disease. I could tell with every smile.

And this time when we left the nursing home, for the first time ever, I wasn’t depressed.


A sad footnote: I wrote this column a few weeks ago. Last Wednesday my grandmother had a bad fall at the nursing home probably caused by a massive stroke. The doctors thought she wouldn't make it through the weekend, but as I write this now, she is still clinging to life.

Suburban Man: The DMV

By Rick Kaempfer




When the driver’s license renewal notice came in the mail a few weeks before my birthday, I groaned. Didn’t I just do that?

Not exactly. I hadn’t gone since 1998.

Nevertheless, I put it off until the day before my birthday. I had good reasons, too. The week before my birthday I got the biggest zit I’ve had since 1978. There was no way I was going to have that on my license picture for the next nine years. I decided to wait it out. That thing couldn’t last a whole week, could it?

Five days before my birthday I went to a Cubs game and sat in the sun all day. I was very careful about putting sunscreen everywhere…everywhere, that is, except my lips. The morning after the game, my lips looked like they had spent the night in a frying pan.

Now I had that big zit and fried lips. I couldn’t possibly go get my driver’s license picture taken looking like that. So I waited some more.

Two days before my birthday I was wrestling with my youngest son Sean, and he took a chunk out of my chin with his fingernails.

Now I had a big zit, fried lips, and a gaping wound. If you looked at my face quickly it looked like I had been in a bar fight.

But time had run out on me. I had no choice. I had to go the next day.

I dressed nicely hoping that nobody would notice my hideous facial disfigurement. I had practiced turning my head slightly, hoping that a quick turn would create a shadow of some kind, which would conceal the worst of my injuries.

Yup. All set. This was going to work.

I got my first surprise when I saw that there were only five people in line before me. Fantastic. This was going to be no problem. I got my second surprise when I went up to prepay and discovered that they didn’t take credit cards.

Darn.

When I returned from the closest ATM machine (a good ten minutes away), it was high noon, and the line of five people had been replaced by a line of fifty or more.

Darn.

I didn’t have any reading materials with me, either, so I sat in the only available seat and began waiting. I heard the first giggle of the guy sitting next to me about five minutes later. After that, the giggles arrived every minute or so. I had no idea what he was laughing about, but I had nothing else to do. I asked.

“Look around, man,” he said.

“What?” I asked. “The big crowd of people?”

“No, man, look around!”

I looked around again, expecting to see something hilarious. I couldn’t see anything at all. “Great,” I thought to myself, “watch me fail the vision test too.”

“I give up,” I finally said. “What is it?”

“This place is like a babe-quarium,” he said. “Look around. There are more hot chicks per capita in here than Fort Lauderdale.”

I looked around again, and my giggling next-seat neighbor was absolutely right. There were dozens of women dressed in their summer finest, hair done, makeup applied, looking their Saturday night best. I had been sitting there with absolutely nothing to do and hadn’t even noticed.

“Been married long?” he asked.

I nodded.

He elbowed me in the ribs, and then pointed to a very attractive woman two rows in front of us. “That’s my wife right there.”

“Really?” I asked.

He started laughing. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she will be.”

I was called up for my photo about fifteen minutes later. After I had received a new elbow to the ribs ten or fifteen times during my wait, I had completely forgotten about my plan to disguise my hideous facial deformities. When the picture was clicked, it all came back to me.

“Oh crap,” I said. “Can I take it again?”

“It looks fine,” the guy said, shaking his head. “Next.”

I went back to my seat and my giggling next-seat neighbor was gone. I noticed his future wife was gone too. They were both in the line of prospective photograph-ees. He had his hand up against the wall next to her, and was giving her the hard sell. She was struggling to keep a forced smile on her face.

“Kaempfer,” the photographer said. “Your license is ready.”

As soon as I saw the picture I exhaled. I forgot how small those pictures were. I couldn’t see anything: No zit, no fried lips, no gaping wound. But then again, I couldn't see the babe-quarium either. Maybe it's just that my eyes are shot.

Suburban Man: A Perfect Storm

By Rick Kaempfer





It was the worst storm to hit my home town in more than 40 years.

We were lucky. We only lost our power for 48 hours and our phone service for 72 hours. We didn’t get flooded, and we didn’t lose any trees.

My mom’s house, about two miles south of us, was not nearly as lucky. Her 50-year-old maple tree snapped like a twig, shooting branches onto her roof, her phone lines, her fence, and her neighbor’s yard.

If you ever wanted to see the effects of a tornado-like windstorm, my mom’s neighborhood is like a living weather laboratory. As you drive down the east-west street and look down each of the north-south streets, you can see a perfect line of fallen trees, mid-block, block after block after block. It looks like God was playing tree dominoes.

Unfortunately for my mom, her house was also mid-block.

Her power went out (and is still out five days later), which caused the sump pumps to fail, and caused the basement to flood. By the time she could pump out the basement, the sewer system couldn’t handle all the water at once, and backed up into her toilets—which then flooded her first floor too.

It was a nasty mess. We spent most of the weekend there helping her clean up inside and outside her home.

And you know what? It was kind of fun.

A funny thing happens to a neighborhood when everyone doesn’t have power for several days. It brings out your sense of community.

After that first night of no power, one of her neighbors lent her an extra generator. My mom, in turn, let her other neighbor hook up their sump pump to the generator too, and soon all three of them were able to pump out their basements.

Once the generators had pumped out the basements, a neighbor hooked up a chainsaw to start chopping up the huge chunks of her tree. The branches had come down with such force, that some of them were buried a foot deep in her lawn. People from up and down the street showed up to help us pull the branches out of the ground, chop them up, and carry them across the street into the park (where the village told us to put the fallen trees).

Once we had cleared off the lawn, I climbed onto Mom’s roof with a hand saw and cut the branch that had fallen onto the roof into small enough pieces that could also be lifted and carried across the street.

It took the better part of five hours to clean everything up, but without the help of a dozen or so neighbors, we would still be at it five days later.

That was the fun part.

There’s a certain amount of comfort that comes from knowing that when the going gets tough, your neighbors will be there—just as they know that you will be there for them. It’s what makes it a neighborhood.

And it’s why I don’t worry so much about my widowed mother living by herself anymore.

She’s far from alone.

Suburban Man: Radio Station Phone Home

By Rick Kaempfer






This summer presented me with an interesting challenge I hadn’t yet encountered.

I knew I would have all three boys at home with me, and I knew that I was going to be doing dozens of interviews to promote my book, but I never really considered that I would somehow have to do both of those things at the same time.

I did morning show interviews, midday interviews, afternoon interviews, evening interviews, weekend interviews, taped interviews, live interviews, and out of state interviews; and almost all of them were conducted on the phone.

If any of you have children, you can imagine the difficulties these interviews posed for a father of three boys. When kids see a parent on the phone, something happens to them. They suddenly and inexplicably desperately crave the parent’s attention or they start behaving like wild animals that shouldn’t have been released from their cages.

I have an additional problem.

My four year old son Sean loooooves talking on the phone. When the phone rings he runs to answer it. It’s not uncommon at all for him to pick up a phone in another room in the middle of a conversation and refuse to hang it up. He has no problem talking to complete strangers about topics like Pokemon until I can track him down and take the phone away from him.

So, needless to say, I had to take preventative action. Every time I was about to conduct a telephone interview with a radio station, I gathered up the boys for a family meeting.

“See this red piece of paper?” I asked them.

They all nodded.

I turned the piece of paper around. “See this cartoon legless torso?”

They all nodded.

“What’s that Dad?” Johnny asked.

“That’s somebody who walked into the basement while Dad was in the middle of his radio interview. Does everybody understand?”

They all nodded.

“What do I have in my other hand here, Sean?”

“Telephones?”

“That’s right. This is every single telephone in the house. I’m bringing them all into the basement with me. If you hear a phone ringing, what do you do?”

“Answer it?” Sean said.

I smiled patiently.

“But the phones will be in the basement,” I pointed out.

He glanced at the cartoon legless torso.

“Don’t answer it?” he tried again.

“Very good. And what will happen if I hear screaming, yelping, thumping, pounding, crying, whining, or loud crashes while I’m on the phone?”

Tommy, the eldest, pointed to the cartoon legless torso again.

“Exactly.”

I’m sure I’ll feel bad about that some day. But on the other hand, it worked like a charm.

We only had two incidents during all of my interviews, and neither one turned out to be a big deal. Sean opened the basement door right before I went on the air once, but I managed to scream “Look at the red sign on the door” just before I went on the air. Another time I heard a loud crash, followed by an audible “uh oh” while I was on the air, but they wisely took care of whatever it was before I got up there.

Other than that, they were perfect angels.

I can’t say that I was totally able to concentrate during any of the interviews because I was worried that something terrible would happen at any moment, but overall, I think they went pretty well. (You can hear some of the podcasts here).

As far as the boys and I are concerned, this story has a happy ending.

After all, all three of them still have their torsos AND their legs.

Celebrity Snippets: Boy George

Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”






Boy George was the lead singer of the Culture Club.





By Rick Kaempfer



The year was 1985.

Boy George was one of the most famous singers in the entire world, and his band The Culture Club had just released their third album.

Unfortunately, their third album was a flop. The record was floundering, and the crowds were not coming out to see the concerts. I think the best way to describe how badly it was going for them was this--one day the program director of a radio station in Champaign-Urbana received a phone call offering up Boy George as an in-studio guest.

That program director was me.

I accepted the offer immediately, of course. I was also doing the afternoon show on WPGU at the time, and Boy George was far and away the biggest celebrity I ever had the opportunity to interview. I researched his controversial career diligently, and had a long list of questions ready.

He was scheduled to arrive at 4:00 p.m.

Around 3:15 one of the WPGU staffers came into the air studio to tell me that a huge crowd was forming outside the radio station door. That was certainly a new phenomenon for us, and only made me more nervous.

Around 3:45 the same WPGU staffer told me that a limo had pulled up to the door, seen the big crowd and left.

By 4:30 it was pretty clear that Boy George had been spooked by the rabid fans, and had decided to cancel the interview without telling us.

I did what any professional broadcaster would have done at that moment. I asked my friend Dave to come into the studio and pretend like he was Boy George. We were having a great time goofing around. Dave talked in the worst British accent you’ve ever heard, jokingly referred to himself as “Oy George” (Dave is Jewish), and began describing his favorite sandwiches in ridiculous detail.

Imagine our surprise when a newspaper photographer arrived at the studio about ten minutes later.

“I was listening on the radio and heard you had Boy George here,” he said.

“Did he sound like this?” I asked, pointing to Dave, who used that same horribly fake British accent in front of the photographer.

“Yeah,” the photographer said. “Where is he?”

Half Empty: Middle Aged Road Trip

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.


Because tomorrow is the 30th anniversary of Elvis' death, we're re-running the piece about our recent trip to Memphis. We hope you enjoy it.




By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern & Dane Placko




Let us set the stage.

Rick had to go to Memphis for a media conference. He knew that Dave badly needed to get out of town (he has three little girls including twin one-year-olds), and they both knew that fellow college buddy Dane would be game for coming along. So…after getting approval from mildly disapproving spouses…the plans were made for an old fashioned boy’s road trip.

Of course, it wasn’t technically a road trip in the old-fashioned sense of the word. The idea of driving, for instance, was abandoned pretty quickly when Dave and Dane pointed out to the clueless Rick that Memphis was not “about four hours” away from Chicago.

Other than that, it was exactly like a traditional hard-core partying road trip…

*In the airport, Dane had all of his hair products confiscated by security. Dane, a news reporter, had no idea that these were no longer allowed in carry-on bags. The airport security man was kind enough to pose for this picture with Dane’s confiscated items.


*In the airport, Dave bought three bagels. When the total came to $8.10, Dave asked if they offered a financing plan.


*Our first meal in Memphis (lunch) was memorable. When the waitress brought Dave’s lunch, she slammed it on the table and snapped—“YOUR PLATE BURNED MY HAND!”


*Dane and Dave were eager to go to Mississippi, just a few minutes away from Memphis, although they had very different reasons.
=Dane wanted to cross Mississippi off his state list. He now has been to every state but Alaska, Hawaii, Vermont, Texas, New Mexico and Oregon. Rick and Dave were just as impressed as you are.
=Dave, the same man that calls his mother every day and uses the parking brakes every single time he parks the car just like they taught him in Driver’s Ed, is actually a maniacal gambler, and knew that Mississippi has casinos.


*Rick and Dane walked around the casino looking at gamblers. Not one smile in the entire casino. Dave was one of the “happy” gamblers, sitting at the $5 blackjack table. Only the smallest bladder on the planet (or possibly an enlarged prostate) prevented him from remaining there to this day.


*While Rick attended his conference the following day, Dane & Dave went to Sun Studios and took the very cool tour there. That's Dane on the left standing in the exact spot Elvis recorded “That’s Alright Mama.” That's Dave on the right, proudly singing about getting the AAA discount even though his card had expired.


*Rick got home from the conference just in time to break up the fight between Dane and Dave. Dane wanted to go to the Cotton Museum. Dave said he would rather be poked in the eyes by Liza Minnelli.


*That night we explored Beale Street, the party center of Memphis. After an incredible BBQ dinner, we settled in at a blues bar. After one of Dave’s three trips to the bathroom, he claimed to have spotted Dennis Quaid. Rick and Dane would have been much more impressed by Randy Quaid.


*Next stop: Pat O’Briens. The Memphis version of the famous New Orleans nightspot is almost an exact duplicate of the original. A rock and roll cover band was playing Van Halen in the courtyard. Rick and Dave wandered out to listen. Dane yelled “This is too loud!” and went to the dueling piano bar to listen to the Billy Joel medley instead.


*After a night of drinking, we stopped in for a late night burger. After we ordered the burgers, Dane noticed they weren’t being made on a grill. They were being boiled in a vat of animal fat. Mmmm.


*The night came to end when Dave’s “throbbing headache” had to be relieved with a medication cocktail that included Tylenol and Ambien.



*The following morning, the three middle aged travelers went to Graceland, where we suddenly didn’t feel so old.





*Dave got a little cocky at Graceland. He tried to get the student discount with his University of Illinois student ID card from 1985. “1985 Dave” had a full head of hair. “2007 Dave” has a gray goatee, and a shiny polished dome. The cashier didn’t go for it. This is her reaction when we tried to take her picture.



*Rick was grumbling that there weren’t any new Graceland snow domes since his last visit, so he bought an Elvis/Nixon magnet instead. This is the geek by Elvis’ grave.



*Lunch at Corky’s was the best meal of the trip…an unbelievable BBQ pork meal. Dave went to the bathroom there twice. Dane told Dave that he would make a provision in his will donating his bladder to Dave.




*After lunch, Rick and Dave took a nap. Dane went to the Cotton Museum by himself. If you ever meet him, ask to see the video. He videotaped the experience on his cell-phone, but we couldn't figure out how to upload it here.




*Not wanting to go out drinking again, the boys settled on an excursion to Arkansas for their last night. It wasn’t until they arrived at the dog track that Dane & Rick realized why Dave was so excited about this…it was attached to a casino.



*If you ever feel like you are at the lowest point in your life, remember this: You haven’t hit rock bottom until you spend a Saturday night at a dog track in Arkansas.


*Although...the bar was serving 20 ounce Michelob beers for 50 cents a piece. Rick had three dollars in his pocket and a song in his heart.





*Dane picked the winners of the first two dog races. After that, not so much. This is Dane tearing up his betting slips.




*Dave got in a poker game, and was one $250 pot away from losing everything. When he didn’t lose the hand, he got out, and didn’t return. Although, he did stop at the video poker machines on his way back from his second bathroom trip.



*The night ended when Rick got heartburn. He bought Pepto Bismol in the hotel gift shop…at the nicer hotel next door.




*The next morning when we checked out of the hotel, Dave asked the clerk to name the most famous person who ever stayed at their hotel. She said: “The tall guy from the TV show ‘Martin’ had his family reunion here.” Top that.


So, was our middle aged road trip fun? I know it might not sound like it, but we had a great time. Will we do it again? Probably.

Next time, though, Dave is getting a catheter.