I was so sad to read last night about the death of Paul Harvey. America's Voice has fallen silent, friends, and it's a sad day for all of us.
I remember spending the night with my grandmother when I was just a child. Two memories always float to the top of my foggy remembrances when I think of her. One of them is the cool touch of a satin pillowcase against a hot face in the middle of the night. And the other is Paul Harvey.
My grandmother listened to him every day as she "put her face on," and I was happy to sit and watch her, and listen to him. I was captivated by the news when he read it, and I could not wait to hear The Rest of the Story.
Sometime in college, I took up the Paul Harvey habit, and without fail, his voice always brought my grandmother to mind. She's been gone a long time now, and I still think of her when I hear him.
We were on our Christmas pilgrimage this winter across the flatlands of west Texas, where you're lucky to pick up any radio signal at all. As the crimson steed sped into the next radio zone, Paul sputtered through the speakers to me, and his voice was as staccato and yet soothing as it had ever been.
I listened to the news. And Now, Page 2......it almost made me want to stop and buy some Citrical, and sleep on a Tempur-pedic bed, and listen to his voice on my Bose radio. I remember thinking at the time how sad it is that he wouldn't be with us forever. Little did I know that I was hearing him for the last time.
Paul Harvey was the king of the airwaves, the grand daddy of them all. And he did it without Butt Bongo or porn stars or offensive language or sexual innuendo. He showed up and read the news, talked about products he truly believed in, and tugged at our heartstrings with The Rest of The Story.
It makes me sad to think that with his passing, we have lost forever a broadcaster with such wide appeal and enormous talent for telling it like it is and enthralling his audience at the same time.
Rest in peace, Mr. Harvey.