Nothing seemed out of place.

The rows of desks were filled and there was a certain buzz in the room as everyone worked on a project.  We weren't supposed to be talking, but with 25-28 seniors in one classroom, it was only natural to hear faint whispers as notes were compared, and other non-school focussed conversations occurred. I don't even remember it being a particularly nice weather day, just a regular early afternoon in Mrs. Edwards class. 

And yet that day would be what some refer to as a "Game Changer."

I watched as she made her way up and down the rows of desks.  Mrs. Edwards had a way of "tuning in" to her students.  She could feel the room, and could react and interact with it's inhabitants with the skills of a seasoned politician.  It was like she could see us, our thoughts, and anticipate what would happen next.  And she did it without being able to see.

I looked up as she worked her cane up my row.  She rarely used the guide stick in the classroom, because she knew the layout so well, I assumed.  Today, it was tightly held and she made her way my direction. 

"Mr. Brian," she said as she approached my desk, stopping directly beside me, knowing exactly where I sat.  "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied, a little nervous I was about to be "schooled" over something I had or hadn't done. 

"What would you like to be when you grow-up?" She asked softly.

You know how there are moments in your life where the world stops, or freezes, if you will, as you consider one of life's great mysteries?

This was not one of those moments for me.  Without even the slightest hesitation, I blurted "I wanna be a DJ on the radio."

Me and my buddy Troy used to make cassette tapes full of our own radio shows on a regular basis.  The technique was classic...we'd sit by the radio, listening to song after song, waiting for one of our favorites.  Once the first few bars began playing, we'd quickly hit "record" and permanently affix the song to the tape.  When the song was finished, we'd pick up our microphones and tell you who you just heard, try to make a funny joke, and then hit pause.  After 20 minutes of waiting for another favorite song, the process was repeated.  As you can imagine, filling a 60 minute cassette usually took the better part of 2-3 afternoons.  Over the past couple of years, our shows had become a regular hobby.  I had been bit by the radio bug.  Troy, on the other hand, discovered girls and I found myself hosting my own show...solo.

Mrs. Edwards smiled.  Actually, she grinned ear-to-ear.  She then proceeded to tell me she had been listening to me read the daily announcements over the loudspeaker at school.  She thought I had a pleasant voice, and that she suspected I might have a future in radio.  The conversation ended at that point, and she made her way slowly back to her desk.

The next day, she made her daily pilgrimage down the rows of desks until once again she was stopped beside mine.  I would eventually stop wondering how in the world she was able to find me or anyone else in that class, realizing that Mrs. Edwards was merely special, and that it was one of her super powers.

"Here," she said, reaching her hand out to my desk.  "Take this."

I unfolded the piece of paper.  Mind you, it was only the day before she had asked me what I wanted to do when I grew-up.  That was an entire day ago, and not even on my radar on this particular afternoon.  Perhaps that best explains the puzzled look on my face as I read the brief contents of the small piece of paper:

    
Jim Wilson
476-6608  


Before I could say anything, using her super powers, she sensed my bewilderment.  "He's a friend of mine, you should call him this afternoon.  He may be able to help you get on the radio."

Do you have any idea how long it took the next two hours of school to pass by?  I'm not THAT ancient, but there were no cell phones, and you were only allowed to use the pay phone during class breaks.  To this day, I'm pretty sure my mother is completely unaware how fast I drove home from school that day, and since she has no computer, I'd appreciate you keep this between you and me.  A normal 10 minute ride home took about 5 minutes as I came to a screeching halt in the driveway and ran into the house.  I punched the numbers into the baby blue phone sitting next to the couch, and after a few rings, the receptionist answered.

"KAJO Radio," she said

"Hello, this is KAJO Radio," she repeated after about 5 seconds of silence.

I'd like to think I can be a pretty sharp egg at times, but this was not one of those moments.  For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how calling a guy named Jim Wilson would get me connected to a radio station I'd never heard of.  At the time, KAJO was one of three radio stations operating in my hometown.  The music format?  It started in the 1940s and continued through about the 70s.  Easy listening...so not the type of music my friends and I would flock to.  We listened to the only FM station in town, KFMJ.  They played all the cool songs.  KAJO did not, and not only did I not listen, I had no idea the radio station existed.

"Hello?" she said, in one last attempt to connect with me before giving up.

"Um," I began ever intelligently, "Can I speak with Jim Wilson?"

"Sure, hun," Carol said as she put me on hold.

Mr. Wilson would eventually pick-up the phone and invite me to come meet with him, which I did that very afternoon.  After shooting the breeze about what I was studying in school and why I wanted to be a DJ, he made me a deal.

(There's much more, but my fingers are cramping, so watch for part 2)