My first memory of radio brings back a black Bakelite box talking to me, telling me stories and chatting about laundry soap and breakfast cereals. Those memories go back to the mid 1940s in a house in Spring Lake Park, Minnesota. I am perhaps three years old when I begin every Saturday morning in eager anticipation to hear a pleasant-sounding man’s voice say, “Let’s Pretend.” He always mentions that the show is sponsored by Cream of Wheat. I loved Cream of Wheat then. Still do. The show’s stories always conveyed a moral, although at the age of three or four I wasn’t tuned in to sermonizing. I do recall the overall mood of doom and gloom throughout Let’s Pretend’s interpretation of “Puss in Boots.” But, on the whole, I was spellbound by the talking cat who wore a tiny pair of boots and his loyalty to his human master on his sleeve.

There were many other radio programs we listened to as a family. One of them was Sky King with his nephew and niece flying about the skies over Arizona, keeping the peace. The show had a distinct airborne-cowboy flavor but it was always exciting. My parents enjoyed Inner Sanctum but they wouldn’t let me listen to it. As soon as the door started its eerie squeaking, I was bundled off to bed. The creepy sound of that dumb door scared me anyway.

Mother listened to daytime radio with a passion and often talked back to the ethereal people she differed with. Arthur Godfrey Time, a 90 minute talk show, was a favorite of hers. She used to iron sheets and pillow cases, my little undershirts and my dad’s boxer shorts along with her aprons, Dad’s uniform shirts and the tablecloths while she listened to the nasal voice of The Old Redhead as he promoted Liggett and Myers cigarettes and Lipton Tea. Mother despised smoking and never drank tea but she thought highly of Arthur Godfrey. She also enjoyed some of the soap operas.

Tearjerkers filled the air space left vacant by Arthur Godfrey when he went off air for the day. I recall my mother listening to Our Gal Sunday, Against the Storm and Pepper Young’s Family. She claims she was not a soap opera fan but I remember these diversions coming out of the kitchen radio.

The bigger living room radio set had better sound and, to my child’s mind, it talked about profound, more significant things than Mr. Godfrey did. The sharpest memory I have of both my parents from that time is of them seated close together on the couch, listening to a special newscast and weeping over the death of President Roosevelt. They had held FDR in immense respect. His death was very hard-hitting for them. History repeated itself in 1963 and I came to understand their profound sorrow.

I was lucky enough to be in my mid teens when Rock hit Radio. Wow! What an uproar that got started! Pious people all over the country wanted to burn those heathen (later hippy heathen) musicians at the stake. Of course, they considered rock ‘n’ roll and rhythm and blues “black music.” A beautiful white Southern boy named Elvis who came along in the mid-fifties shocked them considerably, in more ways than one. As for myself, I didn’t know any black people but if this was their music, more power to them and hail to their taste in talent.

There were many other singers who entertained me through those teen years. I recall a beautiful smooth baritone voice coming through the speakers. It sang songs like “Racing with the Moon,” “Riders in the Sky,” “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!” I figured he was a Minnesotan like me. He had to be to appreciate snow so passionately. His name was Vaughn Monroe and before Elvis broke onto the scene, Vaughn had my heart.

Naturally, Vaughn shared my girlish affections. Guy Mitchell made my feet tap and my outlook soar. “My Truly, Truly Fair,” “Ninety Nine Years,” and “Heartaches by the Number,” were all added to my Top Forty list. Frankie Laine, Pat Boone, The Everley Brothers, Buddy Holly, Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, and Frank Sinatra all made a dent in the musical part of my brain and had a place on my list.

The girl singers and the girl singing groups stirred me significantly, too. The Chantels, the Shirells, The Supremes, all followed the tight harmony and trumpet-like tones of the Andrews Sisters, the legendary female trio of the 1930s through the 1950s. Their renditions of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” and “Bei Mir Dist Du Schon” (To Me You Are Beautiful) put the Andrews girls in a separate class of singers. They sang the nation through World War Two, providing courage to the troops and to all the people worrying at home. They rightfully held on to the best girl trio crown until such girls as The Supremes and Martha and the Vandellas, whose biggest hit was “Dancing in the Street”, came along.

The solitary girl singers early on included Doris Day, Jo Stafford, Leslie Gore, Peggy Lee, Sarah Vaughan, Kay Starr, Brenda Lee, Petula Clark, and Carole King. Some of the best chanteuses ever born. Each one owned an extraordinary gift. Jo Stafford had the clearest voice on radio or records. Doris Day’s vocals were filled with unusual depth when they weren’t sounding perky.

By the time the fifties faded into the sixties I was a young married. The husband person and I had necked many times in the front seat of his ’57 Chevy to the superb voice of Johnny Mathis singing “It’s Not For Me to Say” or “Chances Are.” We both liked most of Elvis’s stuff, too. But as the 60s marched into the future I began to lean toward groups like The Mamas and The Papas, The Beach Boys, Bread, The Lovin’ Spoonful, Spanky and Our Gang and, of course, the magnificent Beatles. Husband person decided I had turned into a hippy and expected me to march downtown with flowers in my hair. Having little grasp of the demonstrations going on all over the country I didn’t plan on marching anywhere. I merely required some relief from caring for five children all born between 1960 and 1965 – single births, too. For twenty-plus years the radio and its music saved what passed as my sanity.

Throughout the 70s, 80s, 90s and the 2000s I enjoyed all the music on offer, except the disgusting disco stuff. Day to day, radio music carried me through and gave me a yen to own the 45s, 33 and 1/3s (both known as platters) and finally the CDs of the musicians who touched me. Surprisingly, the present-day kids singing and writing their hearts out, are much more intelligent and talented than the historical minstrels that came to entertain before them.

I’m talking about Chris Daughtry, John Mayer, Taylor Swift and my main man, Uncle Kracker. Among them they have written and recorded some of the highest quality music I’ve ever heard. And this is after 60-plus years of listening to the radio.

Daughtry, a hard-hitting, head-shaved singer/guitarist, has written some of the most moving lyrics and music to be found these days. His output so far includes “Feels Like Tonight”, “What About Now”, “Home”, and “It’s Not Over”. Every one of them is extra special with a genuine message of profound love.

The stunning Taylor Swift lights up the whole globe when she smiles. She writes her lyrics for her fans, she says, and takes them from her own life, she sometimes denies. At a mere twenty years of age she has written at least 99 songs. Incredible! I most enjoy her titles “Fifteen” and “Teardrops on My Guitar.” The rest of what I’ve heard of Swift is too twangy for me.

Bad boy John Mayer has been around for a while. His written musical output is nearly as fantastic as Ms Swift’s. His lyrics are frighteningly intelligent and, for a nasty guy, his sentiments are deep and seem to be genuine. For example: “Daughters” is a song pleading with parents to be good to their daughters since they grow up to be lovers, then mothers. “Heartbreak Warfare” realistically paints the pain of a struggling couple. At least, it does so from the male point of view. It’s still a great song. “Half of My Heart” is another example of Mayer’s insightful soul-searching and heart-searing. Or not. One can’t really tell with John.

OK, let’s get to one of the most original lyricists living at this moment. Of course, this is my very own opinion and any of you are welcome to disagree with me. That won’t change my mind. Not even to an nth degree. (Please sustain in your brains that I am a crotchety old broad and nothing much scares me anymore.) Let me introduce you to Michigan-born Matthew Schafer, father of three, tattooed to within an inch, heavy smoking genius, wild driver, aka, Uncle Kracker. Put simply, he’s the best around. “Drift Away”, “Follow Me”, and “Smile” are just three of his. Possibly, they are the best of him. All I know is that the radio station I listen to, a “Best Hits of Yesterday and Today” format, plays these three titles more or less constantly. For that, I thank them profoundly.

Kracker claims to have written “Smile” for his eldest daughter. She had complained to him that nobody but nobody can dance to his other songs. Therefore, the bouncy and delicious “Smile” came to pass. And even if Kracker didn’t write it with his little girl in mind, the song works. The lyrics are very clever throughout, but there are a few lines that say something every child should hear during their early days.

“Don’t know how I lived without you

Cuz every time I get around you

I see the best of me inside your eyes.”

What more could a person of any age ask for?

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About the author Cate Lane: Born in Minnesota and raised a temperate progressive, I was carried off to Texas 10 years ago by the tsunami that was my husband's retirement. Texas is not Minnesota, not by a long shot. However, I hear that Minnesota isn't Minnesota anymore either.

Writing was always my first choice in life. I began writing at the age of 8, small books about pioneers heading west. Little did I know then that I would be living in the most "western" of all the states, Texas. No one told the Texans that they are simply Southerners who, like Bugs Bunny, took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up here.

I am sneaking up on 70 years of age and now own a vast store of useless knowledge. Happy to share any or all of it with you all.

Email: CthlnLn@aol.com

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