The piece below was written by one of the industry’s pros. I could not agree more. So I asked for permission to republish this piece and it was given. So. To clarify, everything in this piece is how I feel as do most veteran broadcasters. But the beginning is not me. I DID come looking for radio. I DID stay up late nights as a kid listening to a crystal set I built. I did take the course and graduate. The dream I had since childhood. The bug bit me when I heard Jerry Thomas on 55WKRC Cincinnati doing a morning show. I became fixated until the reality of life set in. After many years of law enforcement and the silk screen printing industry: I wound up IN RADIO by accident. Thank you Alan Gardner and Randy Michaels for the start at 700 WLW. Where I walked in for my first shift as overnight news anchor: in full Hamilton County Deputy Sheriff uniform including the Smith & Wesson Model 19 Chrome dandy I carried. I was still working for the Sheriff when I started. This piece (Dear Radio) is NOT affiliated with the website of the same name dearradio.band.
Dear Radio,
I didn’t come looking for you.
You weren’t a dream I’d carried since childhood. I wasn’t the kid who stayed up late tuning through AM stations trying to catch distant signals, or recording myself on a cassette deck pretending to be on-air. That wasn’t me. I didn’t grow up fantasizing about being in radio. I fell into it because I needed a job while in school, and this job sounded cool.
That’s all it was at first. A job that was a little different from flipping burgers. I walked into the building with no idea what I was getting into. And within a few weeks… I was hooked.
Not because of some dramatic moment. Not because I suddenly found “my calling.” But because the work started to get in my blood. There was something about the structure, the pacing, the daily rhythm of it all.. the clock, the board, the timing, the live reads, the tension between chaos and control. It was sharp. It was disciplined. And I loved that.
You had to think. You had to listen. You had to work quickly, but with precision. Everything mattered. You learned how to prep a segment, how to write a tight tease, how to hit the post, how to talk like a human being while still keeping the train on the tracks. You weren’t just filling airtime, you were building trust with people you couldn’t see. And if you didn’t take that seriously, they knew.
That’s what I fell in love with. The craft.
Especially in local radio, where the pressure might be lower in terms of market size, but the stakes were real. You weren’t speaking into a void. You were speaking to your people. People who lived in your community. People you’d see later that day at the grocery store or the ball field or at church. You were part of their morning routine, their lunch break, their drive home. They didn’t just hear your voice.. they knew you.
That part meant something.
Because local radio wasn’t just a job. It was a presence. It had weight. You weren’t just delivering “content”.. you were delivering information that actually mattered to the people on the other end of the signal.
-You let them know school was closing early because of weather.
-You gave them the scores from last night’s high school game.. the one their kid played in.
-You reminded them about the city board meeting or the local fundraiser.
-You helped the small business down the street make payroll because you voiced their commercial with just enough sincerity that someone actually walked through the door.
And the station? It was a voice for the town. A thread that wove people together. We didn’t do it for attention. We weren’t chasing “likes.” We didn’t need a viral moment. We were just… there.
We showed up on location. We did live broadcasts from grocery store and bank parking lots. We did Christmas parades and pancake breakfasts and festivals and fairs. And yeah, it wasn’t glamorous.. half the time the gear didn’t work right and you were sweating through your shirt by 10 a.m.. but it mattered. People trusted us. They relied on us. They saw us as a part of their community.
That’s what radio was.
And then… slowly… it started to change… All over the country.
Stations got bought. Companies got bigger. Budgets got smaller. Automation started creeping in. Live shows got replaced with voice tracks. Local newsrooms were shut down. Engineers got spread across multiple markets. And before long, those stations that used to be so deeply rooted in the communities they served… well, they started sounding like they were coming from anywhere.
Because they were.
We lost the personality. The unpredictability. The humanity. We traded connection for convenience. We called it “efficiency,” but what it really meant was, “This matters less now.”
And then podcasting exploded.
Look, I don’t hate podcasting. There are some fantastic ones out there.. I produce 7 of the top podcasts in the world. So, there are people doing real, meaningful work. But that’s the exception. Most of it? Let’s be honest.. it’s people chasing fame, jumping in because it’s easy. Because now, with $100 and a laptop, you can do what used to take years of training and experience. And nobody’s stopping to ask whether they should.
Just because I own a wrench doesn’t mean I should start working on jet engines. Just because I have access to paint and brushes doesn’t mean I should hang my stuff in a gallery.
But that’s where we are.
People jump in, hit record, and figure they’ll fumble their way through it. No training. No respect for the craft. Just the assumption that because the tools are easy to get, the job must be easy too.
It’s not.
What we did.. what radio is, when it’s done well, is an art form.
It’s not just talking. It’s timing. It’s tone. It’s judgment.
It’s knowing when to move on and when to lean in. It’s learning how to say more with less, and how to say something real in 90 seconds.
It’s not just filling silence.. it’s building trust.
But we stopped teaching that. We stopped holding people to that standard. We started measuring success by clicks and impressions and reach, not by whether anyone’s actually listening or cares.
And maybe the saddest part? We stopped mentoring the next generation.
We used to pass it down.. how to run a board, how to structure a segment, how to prepare, how to breathe.
We used to teach people how to be broadcasters. Now we just call them “creators” and tell them to post more often.
And I’ll be honest.. it breaks my heart a little. Because I remember what it was. And I still believe in what it could be.
I don’t do local radio anymore. That season’s gone for me.
But I still think about it all the time. I still think about what it meant to serve people right where they were. I think about the power of walking into a place and hearing someone say, “Hey, I listen to you every morning.”
I think about the stations that used to be at the center of the town, and now sit empty, the lights off, the building forgotten.
And I think about all the voices we’ll never hear, all the talent that never got developed, because we were too busy trying to cut corners and “scale content.”
But here’s the thing.. radio still works.
Even now, in this noisy, distracted, screen-filled world… a good voice with a good story at the right moment can still cut through. It can still matter. It can still serve.
But only if we respect it. Only if we stop pretending this thing is easy. Only if we start teaching again. Only if we start investing again. Only if we stop chasing what’s quick and start building what lasts.
You’re not dead, Radio.
But you are scattered. Watered down. Overlooked.
And I just want to say, for what it’s worth, I haven’t forgotten what you gave me.
You taught me how to communicate. You taught me how to connect. You gave me a front-row seat to what it looks like when real people, in real communities, feel seen and heard.
You weren’t perfect. But you were good. And when we did it right… you were powerful.
I know I’m not the only one who remembers. And I hope.. no I pray, that someone, somewhere, keeps the light on.
Because radio, at your best, is still one of the most human things we’ve ever built.
—A Broadcaster Who Still Believes