I’ve told this story before, but it bears repeating. I met Rush in about 1970, but I didn’t know it until I read Senator Al Franken’s fine treatise on the life of the man who has become not only the Voice, but also the Conscience and the Intellectual Rudder steering the course of the Modern Conservative Movement.
I am speaking of course of the bestselling blockbuster, and I’m sure Political Science 101 reference book, “Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot and Other Observations” (http://www.barnesandnoble.com/... , Highly recommended to the politically astute)
In this book I learned that contrary to conventional wisdom, Rush was not a Fulbright Scholar with a full scholarship to study History, Political Science and Philosophy at Oxford and the Sorbonne. In fact he found the rigorous academic requirements at the Internationally renowned South West Missouri State College so beneath the level required to stimulate his genius that he decided to leave after only two semesters to search for another path. I believe his own sweet mother put it best when interviewed for the historical record. She proudly remembered: “he flunked everything”, and “he just didn’t seem interested in anything except radio.” Indeed. But I digress…
I was fortunate to meet Mr. Limbaugh when he entered his dream of Radio (He does have such a Face for Radio). He was a “Disk Jockey” at WIXZ AM in Pittsburgh and famous throughout the TrI-State area under the name of Jeff Christie. I can only imagine that the Great Man knew his destiny, and instinctively realized he could not trade on his real name while he perfected his craft. His innate sense of pride told him that mere mortals such as his listeners today could not grasp the strain involved in learning where the switch for the mike was. This false identity would not be the last time this Giant broke with reality.
You can imagine my excitement when my Father told me that I would soon be in the presence of my hero! He had hired WIXZ to broadcast the Battle of the Bands LIVE from the swimming pool patio of Cabana Beach Amusement Park, my home. And the Hosts would be two personalities names Tommy Lee and Jeff Christy! I was on cloud nine! I hope I don’t seem boastful, but I believe even at my young age I may have been among the first to recognize his extraordinary talent. My ears will never forget the first time I heard him introduce “Mony Mony” by Tommy James and the Shondells. Even suffering the limitations of AM and a 9 volt transistor radio, I felt the glow only acquired in the presence of True Genius for the first time.
It seemed that the Big Day would never arrive. But on a special August Saturday afternoon the Big Show set up and the Magic began. Terry Lee started the event and warmed up the crowd with some banal pandering that got the crowd into the special moment that only I knew they would never forget. I kept searching for The One, but since I had only heard his stirring vocal instrument on my $4.99 Lafayette Radio, I couldn’t pick him out in the crowd. Worse still, this fat dork on the crew had found out I was the owners son and kept pestering me to go get him hot dogs, hamburgers and sodas every ten minutes and to put it on a tab until they got paid. Terry hogged the mike through the entire show until the last band had played and they had an intermission until the votes were counted. I was a frantic wreck thinking that some more important mission had insisted the star attraction abdicate his promised obligation, leaving a void in my life that would last forever.
The dorky guy inhaling the hot dogs went up to the mike to kill the time. Imagine my surprise when he introduced himself as Jeff Christy! He certainly wasn’t what I was expecting, but I focused on his every word. I immediately regarded his previous gluttony as the price that was necessitated by the caloric requirements of a hyperactivly imaginative computer-like mind vice. Intellectual carb-loading if you will, although the conservative mind would never conceptualize that silly elitist term back then. Or even today.
I really don’t remember what he spoke of on that magic afternoon. I must have been in such awe that my rapture prevented my from recalling his wisdom to this very day. But looking back, maybe he had just had a rare off day. It happens to us all. I lean towards this explanation because he had to have sensed my glowing admiration basking in the white hot light of his rhetorical majesty, and realizing he had not lived up to my unreachable expectations, left quietly without facing me, his biggest admirer. Not even to pay his tab.
To this very day I tear up at the very thought of a man with such a majestic burden and honor. It is obvious that this sacred burden could not possibly be carried forever, even by such a spectacular example of humanity who walks among us as our very own 21st century Socrates.
Not even with all the Oxycontin in the world.
Thank you for allowing me to share with you the true story of a normal every day American boy. And his brief encounter with a legend who helped him become the exceptional man he is today. A chance encounter which would help turn him in to the sick, sarcastic and world class cynic he has become. One that would stay up and write bullshit such as this instead of doing something productive or sleeping.
God Bless you Mr. Limbaugh. I pray I will someday get to meet you in person to show my appreciation. Wear a cup, just in case.