IMUS AMONG US: Imus in the Morning is returning
to Tucson radio. That's tremendous news, and it brings to mind
a true story, as well as a few personal thoughts, if you don't
mind.
The other day I was in line at my ABCO buying a jar of pickles
and a box of Cheerios. A fellow ankled in behind me wearing an
Imus T-shirt bearing the call letters KTUC, the radio station
which, until late March, aired the show in question, hosted by
that wretched, male hag of a prune-puss in a cowboy hat, Don Imus.
It reminded me how much I miss him, and how much I'd like to
throttle the new owners of KTUC for changing the station's format
to--for lack of a more tasteless way of saying it--music for the
Polident and prolapsed prostate set.
Easy Listening. Jeee-sus.
Someone, please, explain to me what's easy about having to listen
to Wayne Newton doing "Dankeschon" before I even get
a chance to pee?
See, I used to have my alarm clock set to KTUC, and every morning
at six I'd awaken to Imus and his two disgraceful collaborators
ranting about one thing or another.
Some mornings I'd hear news-reader and Bible student Charles
McCord--a hip Ward Cleaver--describing a weekend with his wife,
Connie, at some awful dog show in Connecticut, and Imus would
be overcome by the pretentiousness of it all, and, of course,
say so.
Because he's the only man in America without an unspoken thought.
That's the first secret of his success, by the way. Honesty sells.
Hang on, the second secret is coming up here in a Marlboro moment.
Another morning it'd be Imus going on about some book he loved--such
as the one that finally and forever proved that Alger Hiss was
a liar and a spy, and Whittaker Chambers a truth-teller--and Ward,
er, Charles, sick to death of it all, launching into a wide-open-mouthed
screaming fit, begging his boss to close his pie hole on the subject
once and for all.
Or maybe I'd hear the stiletto sentences of that bald-headed
stooge Bernard McGuirk, a genius at one-liners, a kind of Henny
Youngman without the violin, suit, smile, personality, easy jokes,
or the blood in his veins.
Bernie wasn't born, he was assembled--from a kit that tells you
how to put together an East Coast barstool Irishman. He's all
fangs. After he riffs on New York Cardinal John O'Connor talking
about Jews, or the phoniness of Hillary Milhaus Clinton and the
Sexual-Predator-in-Chief, I feel like going in for rabies shots.
It also makes me feel like I'm home again, back at the dinner
table with my hideous brothers.
Some mornings these three louts were laughing so hard at one
another you could almost hear the snot bouncing off their mikes.
If this sounds a bit disgusting, without redeeming social value,
harmful to civic mores--or to use that currently fashionable catch-all,
"mean-spirited"--get over it. Laughing is better than
developing colon clamp.
You won't find a treatment for this national epidemic in any
doctor's office. But you might on the radio, and this is the second
secret to Imus' popularity:
His appalling honesty makes us feel more comfortable with ourselves
and the foul, filthy and absolutely unacceptable thoughts every
one of us have every day about other races, including the protected
ones, about women and men and their parts, dangling or otherwise,
about cardinals and rabbis, about politicians, pants-droppers,
gerbel-hiders, movie stars, athletes and other respectable maniacs.
Some can admit having such thoughts, and heaven bless them. They're
the salt of the earth. But we've bred a passle of pretenders who
act as if they don't have them, never did. They feign disgust
at Bernie and Don, not because they feel it, but because they
think they should feel it.
If it wasn't for their censorious outrage, Imus wouldn't be one
of the hottest radio properties in the country. He makes it okay
for the rest of us to have a good time in the morning, and to
laugh.
Anyway, back to the fellow in line.
I spotted his T-shirt and wheeled around, figuring I'm an instant
friend. I said, "Do you miss the I-Man? Boy, I sure do. Wasn't
he the bishop's knickers? Dammit to hell, why does life have to
be so cruel?!"
The poor man was too frightened to listen. He stepped back and
sputtered, "Ah, well, no. I wasn't a f-f-f-fan."
Aha, a T-shirt liar! He measured the hostility in my eyes. As
a woman came to his side with a bottle of Diet Coke, he saw the
extreme danger he was in and recovered quickly.
"But my wife here, she's a big fan," he said. "She
got me the shirt. Yes-siree."
Then he nervously shouldered her into my vision, and she and
I had a nice chat about our long exile in radio Siberia.
"But that's changing soon," I said. "Imus is coming
back to town."
A pall fell over the 10-item, cash-only line. Every knuckle-walker
in the building turned to listen. It's true. New station owner
Tom Hassey, the local boy who sold KTUC to the Easy Listening
Gangsters in the first place, hopes to return Imus to the air
waves by the end of September on KBUZ-AM, 1030.
"Hassey?" says my female ABCO-friend. "You mean
boner nose?"
That's what the Imus crew called Hassey. On the air. Can you
believe it? Somebody should put a stop to those guys. -- By Leo Banks
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