PFC FINLEY RECOUNTS HIS ARMY RADIO CAREER

As a 16-year-old musician I had older friends (sock hops, remember them?) who were in radio, and they had such a cool life(chicks and everything)or so I thought, that I wanted desperately to be a disc jockey...I mean, being a reporter AND a disc jockey were the apex of career aspirations. So when I joined the Army I wanted to become a MOS 703 (radio dude), and then I got sent to the Army Information School at Fort Slocum NY (God! what a fabulous place!) but when I got there, the Radio Sarge said, “but you've never actually DONE radio, have you, son?”

“Aw, no sarge,” I said.

“Son, did you join the Army to become a radio guy?,” because it looks like here that you're a pretty good writer.”

And me, ever accommodating even back then, demurred,
“Well, I guess I could be a writer then.”
So I became a 701 Information Specialist instead.

So it turned out that I was pretty good at this writing business, and
went off to Korea where I wrote fabulous articles about Brig Gen R.E Peters, my uber boss at 7th Logistical Command. And he loved me. Or at least the copy I kept turning in.

But still...the dream hadn't died.
I made friends with a fat guy who was a jock at Armed Forces Korea
Network, and through him managed to convince his Sarge to give me a shot running the Sunday Morning radio show at AFKN Radio Kilroy there in Taegu. So we practiced and everything...

Sunday morning rolled around and I, in my very best radio voice, took over the Sunday show. There wasn't much to it, I had to every half-hour say, “You're listening to Radio Kilroy, the Armed Forces Korea Network, and I'm your host, Pfc Dan Finley,” or some such blather in my radio voice, and then spin one of the huge transcription records we had. In this case it was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir Sings Jesus.

Okay. Pretty good so far. EXCEPT that just as the Mormons were getting under way, I happened to notice that I had not switched my mic off and switched them on. Frustrated with my ignorant self, I let out a "God fuckin DAMmit!" over the airwaves.

Meantime, across the base, General Peters was shaving, listening to HIS station and getting ready for HIS church, and nearly sliced through HIS carotid artery.
Holy fuck!
It actually took about fifteen seconds for the general to reach the sarge, who took about 15 seconds to slam through the door and pull my ass off the air.
Thus ended my radio career.
Probably a good thing over all. I'm not tall enough to be Brian Williams nor (are those heavenly trumpets sounding?) Peter Jennings. Although I am often told that I am strikingly handsome.

So there. Why, Yes. Yes, I have had some radio experience. But not to speak of.


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