I was 6 or 7 years old, Nixon had recently resigned as President, and I wanted a t-shirt, specifically a “Booty-Shirt” with K.C. and the Sunshine Band on the front. To do that, I had to be “caller number eight” to the local radio station. Wait, what? A busy signal? Really? Wow, did I have a lot to learn.

First of all, I didn’t know what “booty” was, and secondly, I never realized
that calling a radio station was an art form – especially with a rotary dial. “Zip – rat-tat-tat-tat-tat… zip – rat-tat-tat-tat,” the dial seemed to move in slow motion, it was taunting me. I ever did get through, ever. Was there really anyone there?
Later in life I would recall that day, the day I learned not to call radio stations. I would lead a community-wide project to collect backpacks for the children of Army soldiers. I partnered with a local Christian radio station. They made the announcements and promised a remote broadcast as we distributed the backpacks at the elementary for children of enlisted soldiers. A local businessman who owned several furniture stores would allow his stores to be the drop off point for donations. He even drove one of his delivery trucks full of the bounty to Ft. Benning himself.
The sun was shining and it was going to be a great day. We headed off to meet the radio folks outside the gate.
But when we stopped along the way, the front right tire went flat on the furniture truck. The searing heat of the lingering summer sun would beat us down as I tried to plug the hole. The radio station was a no-show, I tried to contact them. The phone rang and rang, it was like I was trying to be ‘caller number eight’ all over again.
Disappointment turned to anger when I realized it was a bank holiday. No one was at the radio station. Instead of a live D.J. who was supposed to meet us at Ft. Benning we heard an automated program announce that the backpacks had been delivered. The on-air celebration ended with a “THANK YOU” shouted by the voices of many children. As I struggled momentarily with the thought that I had fallen in to a parallel universe, I remembered where I had heard those children’s voices. The recording was from last year’s Christmas project: gifts to an orphanage, not the Army kids. I wasn’t in a parallel universe, I was still putting air in a tire in the heat.
you!” heard on the radio on the side of the road.This applies to all forms of electronic communication. Build relationships because your “content” will never carry you where you want to go.