One
evening in early 2000 my Mom and I were discussing some sad news we had
received earlier in the day. Long time 101.5 KGB DJ “Long” John Leslie had
passed away. I was blessed to meet and hang out with John on a few occasions
and he was a throwback to the good old days of radio; often bringing milk
crates full of his own records into the studio to supplement the extensive
playlist.
Just as
saddened as we were for the loss of a man who was like a cool older brother to
thousands of San Diegans’, our hearts went out to his long time on-air partner
and off the air friend Coe Lewis. Coe was charged with the monumental task of
announcing his death on the air and for all of us it was like a member of our
own family had passed on.This past year has had me thinking of John Leslie’s death on more than one occasion, in part due to his lifestyle and how it inspired me to make changes in my own life. Yet even heavier on my mind and in my heart was the way our local media personalities ingrain themselves into the very fabric of our lives. And this year, the year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Fourteen, the collective loss shared by the San Diego community and family have been unlike any previous year. 2013 closed with the devastating loss of Loren Nancarrow, our go-to guy for weather and anything we might want to learn about our gardens.
Our baseball world was rocked before 2014 was even a week old; as long time Padres announcer, former World Series MVP and USMC combat veteran Jerry Coleman was called for one last sortie into the heavens. Jerry was there for many camping trips on Rosarito Beach in the 1980’s, a source of comfort in the turbulent early 90’s and a prime example of what it is to be an American well into this new millennium. In short, he was like a grandfather to three generations of San Diego baseball fans.
Not long
after the first Opening Day in forty years without “The Colonel” behind the
microphone, San Diegans were devastated by the second part of the worst one-two
punch we’ve ever known. Tony Gwynn. Need I say more? I’ve written extensively
about the man and his impact on me, echoing the stories from thousands of
others not only across America’s Finest City but across the baseball world. For
all his awards and on-field accolades, they pale in comparison to the love we
had for him.
And just
when we think we might finish the year without losing yet another local icon,
Larry Himmel loses his valiant battle with brain cancer. Each man was unique
from the other in their chosen crafts but we were able to enjoy Larry all year
round as opposed to a spring-through fall schedule.Tony was most well-known to us on the baseball field and Jerry was most known to San Diegans for his “Oh, Doctor!” catch phrase and Larry well, he was just Larry. He was just a man who just made us laugh through the 1980’s with one of my favorite shows; San Diego at Large, and he merely became the man who showed the most outstanding example of on-air humility when he covered live the burning of his own home during the 2007 Wildfires. Many San Diegans knew someone who lost a home in the fires, and even more knew someone who was evacuated. But Larry made sure we all did, reporting live as years of irreplaceable memories went up in flames before our eyes. He gave a face to the faceless, a name to the nameless. With one selfless act, we all knew someone who lost their home that tragic day.
I don’t
know if it’s a combination of age and the losses we’ve suffered this year, but
the impact local personalities have had on our lives have occupied a large part
of my mind this past twelve months. I began wondering about the ones who have
moved on to other cities and of course those who have moved to the big news
desk in the sky. Good folks like Captain Mike Ambrose and Larry Sacknoff, and our
writers like Jerry Magee and Barry Lorge. They greet us over coffee in the
morning and welcome us home after a long days work. They sit at our table every
Thanksgiving, they go to the beach with us every summer. They said goodnight to
us on Fridays when we stayed the night at grandma and grandpa’s house and
shared wonderful stories of our fair city every Saturday night. They shared
their triumphs and sorrows with us; who can forget the stoic message Dave
Rickards sent to our enemies after 9/11; the way we mourned with him when his
beloved wife Beth passed away?
I will never forget sitting in my Mom’s 1972 Mustang; her risking being late to
work and my brother and I being late to school so we can hear Cookie “Chainsaw”
Randolph’s “Joke of the Day”, nor will I
ever forget “North Mission Beach” and that dastardly Kurt Bevacqua after he
stole Biff’s dream girl Roberta. And who among us hasn’t learned something new
About San Diego from Ken Kramer?
Beloved figures all, and when we encounter
them in public we greet them like the old good friends they are. I remember my
Mom telling me a story of a company convention she attended which included Ted
Leitner as Master of Ceremonies. They say Ted is the kind of guy you either
love or hate and Ted, if you ever read this, I love you man.
Many of
our local personalities came from other towns, from other states. Yet they are
as local as the fish taco, as much a part of our identity as the San Diego Zoo.
They are reliable as the waves at Windansea, timeless as the pines in the
Cuyamacas. They are our newscasters, our reporters, our writers and our
announcers. They are like the wise grandfather, the cool uncle and the neighbor
down the street with all the latest gadgets. And when they mourn, we mourn
right along with them. For they are part of our town, part of our lives and
part of our family…