Jeff’s Dark and Early Blog

When I left the quiet halls of a small town newspaper, and eventually embarked on a career in broadcasting, I was warned about the big heads.  Not literal giant heads, but the egotism of the field I was about to enter.  These friendly pieces of advice could not have been more right.  And they could not have been more wrong.

I began my career at KKOW radio in Pittsburg, spent time at WIBW in Topeka and have spent the last two years, and hopefully, many more here at KMBZ.  And while I have certainly run into my share of strange, full-of-themselves individuals, the people I have worked with could not have been more welcoming.

For instance, when I was hired as News Director in Pittsburg, there could well have been jealousy.  I was 22-years-old, with no radio experience, and was being put in charge of one of the most prestigious newsrooms in the area.  Instead of jealousy, I found only hands extended in welcome.  Program Director Thom Watts would stand up with me at my wedding years later.  Then-DJ Dalton Windsor and I are still close friends.  Sales Manager “Danger” Dave Fink still screams “Jeffrey!  Jeffrey!  Jeffrey!” whenever he sees me.  I could say the same for the staff at WIBW.  Greg, Dob, Dave, Jan, Jen, Jerry……and on and on.

When I came to KMBZ, I encountered more of the same.  Short on egoes….big on family.  I’m not trying to paint an unrealistic picture here.  We all have challenges with co-workers from time to time.  But our News Director Nichole has offered to help with my kids.  I have attended church from time to time with Bill Grady.  Eric Bushman and I share an odd sense of humor that most people cannot begin to understand.

The point is, in a field where big heads and big egos should be everywhere, 90 percent of the people I consider colleagues are also great friends.  We all want to be the best we can be.  But most of us want to see our co-workers succeed just as much.  I wouldn’t still be doing this if I didn’t feel that way.

I was on the scene of a homicide the other day when Channel 9’s Brenda Washington called me to the carpet yet again.  It was 19 degrees outside, and there I was, coat unbutton, no hat, no gloves, no scarf.

“There he is, Mr. Hot Blooded!” she smiled.

Brenda wore a hat, earmuffs, a cozy winter coat and a scarf.  On a day like this one, even a snuggie probably would not have done the job.  She was still cold!

Now, this may make me seem irresponsible.  You might think I often catch pneumonia and scare my children when I arrive home with ice dangling from my hair.  Not so.

I just so happens that I am an extremely warm-blooded individual.  And I don’t mean just the average “doesn’t mind the cold” type of guy. 

I’m the guy who can shovel the driveway in a light jacket and usually be okay.

I’m the guy who rolls the windows down when it’s 35 outside because the heater made me feel too warm.

I’m the guy who blares the air conditioner in the heat of summer and freezes the rest of the family out.

In fact, I think they need to put flames on the sides of Cruiser 980.  I could change my on-air name to Blaze Anderson.

Okay, maybe we’ll leave the name the way it is.

It was Sunday morning, the snow was falling and Connor was pooping.  That’s my youngest son.  I had only a few minutes to prepare for a news report.  We were in Operation Storm Watch and I was calling in some of the conditions in Shawnee from home.  So now I had a decision to make.  Leave the poop until after the report, or change the poop AND do the report at the same time.  Neither seemed promising.

About that time, Nichole called.  I missed her call, but responded promptly with a text message…..”Sorry.  Everyone poops.”

It turned out she was calling to tell me I didn’t need to go on the air until noon.  Crisis averted.

Such is the life of a broadcaster.  When the tornado comes in and the kids are huddled in the basement, Dad often has to be either on the front porch calling in storm reports, or in the car trying to find a funnel cloud.  It’s not always an easy choice to make, but it’s just what you do.

People depend on us duing severe weather, and we’ll always be there to deliever.  But if you ever hear a gassy sound in the background of one of my reports, don’t worry.  The storm didn’t get me, but one of Connor’s bowel movements may have.

As I touched on a few blogs ago, I took some time off as my wife and I welcomed our second child into the world.  Connor David Bell was born on Super Bowl Sunday and is currently doing a great job of making sure no one in the house gets adequate sleep.  Luckily, I’m in radio, so I haven’t had adequate sleep in over eight years.

Since I was unable to report the news while I was gone, I decided to bring with me a little bit of reporting on something the average reporter might not get to cover.  I present to you now (drumroll please)…….a list of things everyone should know about staying in a hospital recovery room after your child is born.

1)  About half the dads don’t stay.  I was informed of this by one of the nurses.  She also informed me that half of those don’t stay out of the dog house once the wife gets home.

(For the record, I stayed the entire time.  Dog house EMPTY!)

2)  The nurse you have during the day is not that important to your wife.  If she doesn’t like the overnight nurse however, you will pay dearly for every mistake she makes.

3)  Take full advantage of the galley….orange sherbet, coke, orange sherbet, crackers, orange sherbet, oh, and orange sherbet.  And it’s FREE!

4)  When the lactation consultant arrives, it is best for dads to make a swift exit to the cafeteria.

5)  People you haven’t seen for years will show up and sit in your room.  Some of them will grunt inappropriately.

6)  Newborn babies often sound like little kittens.  If you find yourself up in the middle of the night looking for a kitten, you aren’t as pathetic as you think.

7)  If you’ve ever taken a cruise, you know how small the showers are.  Your shower at the hospital will be miraculously smaller.

8)  Bring your own Tylenol.  No matter how much you beg, the nurse will not steal any for you.

9)  If your child is born the morning of the Super Bowl, and you want to watch the game, pray that your wife is understanding.  (Thanks, honey!)

Anyway….good to be back.

I may eventually write a book called, “Strange People I’ve Met When I Should Have Been Sleeping”.

It was early in the week…Monday, I believe.  There had been a rash of car break-ins in Lenexa, so I was on the story.  As I sat at the Oak Park Village Apartments, a resident walked up to my car and motioned for me to roll down my window.

“You with the radio?”

“Yep.  Are you one of the residents here?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about my car.”

“Oh, was it one of the ones that was vandalized?”

“Nope.”

“What’s up then?”

“I need to sell it.  Could you talk about it on the air?”

For the record, folks, this is not tradio.

But the man was persistent.  He even offered to go on the air and talk about it himself.  I’m sure E.J. and Ellen would have loved that.

“Well guys, before I report on this crime, I’d like to introduce our audience to Reggie.  He’s got a car to sell!”

Anyway, Reggie’s car may still be for sale….if you are interested.

I had to laugh.  Really, there was nothing else to do but chuckle.  The mystery of Pat Mohi had been solved.

When I first started working for KMBZ, I received the cell phone of a retired co-worker.  It had a full list of news contacts, many of which I utilized to this day.  One contact, however, was someone I was not familiar with.  His name was Pat Mohi.

While I never had the courage to call him and ask who he was, over time, I developed a vision of Pat Mohi.  I imagined a wise man, perhaps of asian descent, who would, from time to time, impart news wisdom to those who called him.  I imagined his humble home, surrounded by beautiful plants and flowers, and how he might serve me tea as we talked.

Then, today, my vision of Pat Mohi was taken away.

At around 7:30 this morning, I called Cooper at our front desk to get a dispatch number for the Missouri Highway Patrol.  When I punched it into my phone, I realized the number had already been saved.  Pat Mohi.  (Patrol MO Highway)  Pat Mohi.

I felt silly.  I felt sad.  I laughed hysterically.  The legend of Pat Mohi was only in my mind.

It could be today, it could be two weeks from today.  Whenever it happens, I’m proud to share that I’m about to become a father for the second time.  It also means I’ll be away from Kansas City’s Morning News for awhile, as my wife and I adjust to being the parents of two.

As with the last time around, I will find time to join E.J. and Ellen on the air after Connor David (after his grandfather) has found his way into the world.  I appreciate the kind words we received from listeners the last time around, and thank you in advance for the well-wishes this time.

Above all, keep us in your thoughts as we welcome what will hopefully be another happy, healthly, giggling little baby boy.

Car seats for Cruiser 980!

During the early days of my career in radio, my general manager called me into the office one day.

“How are you adjusting to waking up at 4 in the morning?” he asked.

“I don’t think I’m quite used to it yet,” I replied.

He smiled.

“You never will be.”

More than eight years later, those words still ring true.  Back then, I was a single guy getting up at 4.  Today, I’m married with children getting up at 3.

It seems that no matter how early you go to bed, when you get up at that early hour of the day, your body never quite seems to catch up.  I’m fine during my shift, due mostly, I suppose, from hard work and coffee.  But once I get home, the exhaustion always seems to catch up with me.

When I find myself getting tired, however, I always remind myself of several facts.  I was once a young man who had no idea what he wanted to do with his life.  Since finding my way into radio, I’ve had a chance to interview a former president.  I’ve been involved in a heart pumping tornado chase that put me within inches of the storm.  I’ve shared hugs and tears with victims of tragedy.  I’ve covered everything from politics to police work and developed friendships along the way that will last a lifetime.  And the list goes on.

The bottom line is this.

I love what I do much more than I love a few extra hours of sleep.  And besides, how could anyone sleep when a smiling, giggling one-year-old boy has been waiting all morning to see his daddy?

As E.J. Becker so appropriately put it, I may well have witnessed the first documented case of scraper rage.

It was last Thursday, the morning after the latest big snow.  I was at the stop light at the intersection of Johnson Drive and Antioch.  Directly in front of me was an SUV.  To the right of it, a smaller car, let’s call it a Taurus.

The driver of the Taurus, God love him, had apparently decided that scraping his windshield was not necessary.  So there he sat, snow packed winshield, hanging his head out the window like a dog in order to see.

Then, suddenly, the driver of the SUV got out, scraper in hand, and walked up to the Taurus as it sat waiting on the light to turn green.  The man proceeded to scrape the windshield of the unsuspecting motorist, gave him a look as if to say, “You’re Welcome”, and proceeded back to his car, pulling through the intersection as the light turned green.

Both the Taurus driver and I just sat there for a moment, clearly shocked by what had occurred.

To the driver of the SUV….sir, you are truly a man with no fear.

To the driver of the Taurus….here’s hoping you scrape next time.

Dear Dog,

I get up to go to work at three in the morning.  I understand that this is very early, and that you miss me very much when I’m gone.  I miss you too.

However….

When you become so excited to see me when I get home that you 1) bark uncontrollably, 2) urinate everywhere, and 3) poop on the couch, the bonding experience just isn’t what it used to be.

Perhaps you could bring me slippers and some cocoa.  Just a thought.