The Soundtrack Of My Life
Perhaps the old WNEW-AM in New York City, the standards station that radio announcers listened to, the standard of “class” to which we all aspired but never reached.
Maybe the soundtrack would come from my years on the water, the slap of waves against our boat’s hull, the surf raging against the shore as wave after wave breaks with enough strength to change the shape of the beach with each storm.
Then, it might be the sounds, the noises, you hear only inside a radio station late at night when you are alone doing a six-hour shift. Those are strange hours when ghosts of announcers long past come out to see how you are doing and if you are keeping the station’s heritage.
I was an altar boy for years and am still a faithful church-goer. Could my soundtrack be the hymns and prayers and even the silence of the place? Some kinds of silence have their own sounds, and I am convinced that church silence is one of them.
Often, I will listen to the soundtrack of an electrical storm: While I can easily see the lightning going cloud-to-cloud, or cloud-to-ground, I can hear the show by tuning an AM radio to an unused frequency and listening to the static, lightning’s sound. Watch and hear the entire show nature provides for you.