“Voices”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-17)

As a kid, I was endlessly fascinated by the ability of Mel Blanc to voice cartoon characters familiar to my generation in the reels from Warner Brothers. He seemed literally heroic for being able to build a career on the unique talent to voice characters like Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck. I often mimicked his work for friends. At church, I combined this ability with puppet show performances, where I began to write my own scripts. These spoken-word adventures veered a bit from the standardized doctrine that was intended. But my teachers let it slide. I used various accents and vocal tones to project each positive message. A youthful psyche made it impossible to fully comprehend that I had begun the journey of a creative performer. I was making as they say: “Art for art’s sake.” But from my childish vantage point, it represented nothing more than fun.

I could hear all of this in my imagination. It was simply a matter of translating the laughter and horseplay into a useful performance.

Many years later, I had the habit of listening to distant AM stations on the radio in my truck, while driving home from work. Because I typically had a later schedule, this meant tuning across the dial at a time when reception from far away locations was at its best. Familiar individuals like Art Bell provided companionship as I drove eastward, across the county. But then, I happened to discover a different audio vibe – on WKBN 570. It was a program that originated in California. The host sounded like a wizened veteran of the airwaves. Only later would I learn his name - Phil Hendrie.

I quickly became hooked.

One oddity of these broadcasts which I noted was that a sort of seamless uniformity permeated each episode. Almost like that of a musician forming different notes on the same instrument. It was intangible, but pervasive. The guests spoke with their own tonal palette, be it that of a studio microphone, low-buck condenser pickup, or vintage Bell System handset. But the umbilical cord had not been detached. I listened and listened again. Was he… Mel Blanc, smoking hemp of a mystical potency? Doing each character himself?

A bit of reading revealed his secret. Hendrie’s callers were ‘real’ but the guests and crew were alive only in his head. Bud Dickman, Robert Leonard, Ted Bell, Bobbie Dooley, Margaret Grey and so many others. His true genius lay in the ability to give these faux persons life in real time. Switching back and forth from one to another and onward eventually to himself, as the host and voice of reason.

It was a unique ‘shtick’ worthy of renown.

Having had this ear-teasing spectacle on during so many hours of the homeward trek from Chardon, I eventually developed a stream-of-consciousness show of my own. One born of imagination and fatigue. Thus, years after the Youngstown station had dropped Hendrie’s program, and on a night when Cleveland talk celebrities had labored into futility, I began to hear new voices. Not those projected from radio speakers, but a new bunch echoing over the open road as I sat at the steering wheel.

The receiver was off, but the programming, most certainly on:

“Welcome to Night Vision… I’m your host, Dean McCray!” a smooth, former disc jockey intoned. “With me this week, two guests who hold differing views on… the news!”

Theme music reverberated into the night.

“My name is Rascal T. Pettibone!” a country cowpoke intoned. “And the ‘T’ stands for Texas!”

A tinny, growling nerd answered with his own proclamation. “My name is Dudley Perks. And I don’t have a letter that stands for anything!”

Before I could fully comprehend their verbal interaction, the pair and their moderator had launched into a radio diatribe worthy of show-master Hendrie, himself:

D. McCray - “Welcome, welcome. Let’s begin our discussion.”

R. T. Pettibone - “Boy, I have had enough of the news. And when I say I’ve had enough, I mean I’ve had waaaaaay mooooore than enough!”

D. Perks - “Yeah, yeah. You’ve made that speech many times.”

R. T. Pettibone - “I’m tryin’ to talk. Why do you interrupt me, boy?”

D. Perks - “Sorry, hillbilly. Your rant is getting stale.”

R. T. Pettibone - “Stale? Boy, I sure don’t appreciate your disrespect! Why don’t you let me speak?”

D. Perks - “Say something new and I’ll start listening.”

D. McCray - “Gentlemen, please! Let’s get down to the issues.”

R. T. Pettibone - “My ‘issue’ is that they keep talkin’ about Trump. Trump, Trump, Trump. And Russia. Russia, Russia, Russia!”

D. Perks - “That’s dumb, dumb, dumb!”

R. T. Pettibone - “There you go again, boy!”

D. Perks - “What would you rather hear about, Raspberry? Tractor-trailer racing?”

R. T. Pettibone - “My name ain’t RASPBERRY, dang it! My name is RASCAL!”

D. Perks - “Who names a kid Rascal?”

D. McCray (Becoming frustrated) - “Gentlemen, please. Let’s leave the petty bickering aside, okay?”

R. T. Pettibone - “I wouldn’t mind hearing about NASCAR. Maybe the Country Music Awards or some hunting and fishing. But I’ve had waaaaaaaay mooooooore than enough of Trump and Russia. Russia and Trump. Trump and Russia. Russia and Trump!”

D. Perks - “Is there an echo in here?”

R. T. Pettibone - “Boy, we are about to go to ‘Fist City!” Do you hear me?”

D. Perks (Yawning) - “This is getting old. And stale.”

D. McCray - “Dudley, are you satisfied with the coverage of President Trump?”

D. Perks (Grinning) - “It’s all good. I never watch the news. That crap is boring.”

R. T. Pettibone (Exasperated) - “NEVER?”

D. Perks - “Nah. Give me a 12-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and the ‘Playboy Channel.’ Much better.”

D. McCray (Laughing) - “Okayyyyy… there go our sponsors for the week!”

R. T. Pettibone - “Well there you have it, why America is goin’ to hell in a hand basket!”

D. Perks - “Is that a Longaberger basket?”

R. T, Pettibone - “Boy, I’m mighty suspicious of you. No real man would know about Longaberger baskets. My wife collects those things.”

D. Perks - “What, she gave you advice on which one to buy?”

R. T. Pettibone - “No, dang it, noooooo!”

D. Perks - “Come on, cowboy! They are great for a picnic.”

R. T. Pettibone - “Fist City! Put up your dukes, boy!”

D. Perks (Dripping sarcasm) - “Duke Boys? What, are you Uncle Jesse? I’d rather look at Daisy strutting around in her heels!”

D. McCray - “Okay, ha ha, we’ve lost control here.”

D. Perks - “Wish I had a remote control. I’d change the channel!”

R. T. Pettibone - “Like I said… this is waaaaaaaay more than enough!”

D. McCray (Embarrassed) - “Well, we’re out of time, everybody. Join us next week for another installment of… Night Vision!”

Suddenly, the truck cabin had gone silent. I could hear road noise and the V-8 motor rumbling away, usefully. I had almost made it home, to Thompson.

Somewhere, out in California, I imagined that Phil Hendrie was talking to himself. And laughing.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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Published weekly in the Geauga Independent