For the past 20-years I’ve had the pleasure of welcoming KEZW listeners to a new day each morning, and in the beginning it was just that, a pleasure. But lately it’s become a bit more of a challenge for everyone. Let’s face it, the news hasn’t been a lot of fun to listen to lately. For anyone 10 or younger America has always been at war. We’ve been living with a recession that has caused many of our family and friends to lose jobs, or give up careers they’d worked a lifetime towards. And yesterday came the news that 1 in 6 Americans is living in poverty. Hard to wake up with a smile when that’s the world you wake up to. Well, I have an idea how we might be able to dust ourselves off and get a bounce back in our step. We’ve waited quite a while for someone else to right the ship so maybe we should try to tackle this ourselves. Seems to me there’s a group among us who have already made this journey and we need to sit down and listen to how they got through it, and grew prosperous from it.
When I started at KEZW in 1991 I was spellbound by the stories of my grandparents, and the WWII generation that made up most of the listening audience of AM 1430. The first 10-years I was host of this show America was living in pretty tall cotton and we couldn’t imagine a world where people chose between dinner or a new pair of shoes. How could anyone possibly have lived without a three-car garage? Walk to school…are you kidding me? And wear the clothes my brother wore the year before? Right! But every older person I had on the air told the same stories which meant they were true, or there was one heck of an old person conspiracy going on! We heard our parents and grandparents talk about growing their own vegetables and stretching out meals by adding water. Kids played games in back-yards, rode bikes for hours and read stories of the far-away places kids today see on TV, and their laptops. Children of the 40’s slipped notes to each other in school, and their fathers wrote letters from the battlefield. Today’s kids text, and soldiers Skype or call on cell phones.
I’m not suggesting we give up all the new inventions that have shaped our lives and made them largely more enjoyable. I am saying until lately it’s been easier for us then it was for our grandparents. Baby boomers were beneficiaries of the great American post-war spirit of the late 40’s and 50’s. We loved the world we were born into and helped ourselves freely to the things our parents created for us. And we passed that love of things along to our children and wanted nothing more than for them to have the best we could afford, and many times even more than we could afford. But we forgot one thing. We never shared the lessons that were supposed to go with the gifts. We ignored the words of our elders who enjoyed the TV’s, microwaves and other new gadgets of their day, but didn’t buy them until they had the money in the bank. They didn’t wait at the store beginning at midnight to be the first to buy anything, unless it was a war bond. Many WWII vets tell of getting the first pair of new shoes they ever owned when they enlisted. When I was young we had Christmas Clubs at the bank and saved all year to buy one gift for Mom and Dad and siblings. And we were so proud of that.
If we want to fix the problems of today I think we need to have a long talk with the people who survived the Great Depression and WWII while they’re still here to share the lessons they learned. In fact, I think we need to create a Department of Life Lessons. Staff it with people who put on potluck suppers at church to raise money for the community. We’ll need someone who remembers baking pies for the neighborhood, or sharing leftovers when you had them. Heck, we’ll need to start by actually meeting our neighbors. We’ve got to add the guy who can make an overnight sleepover in the backyard seem like a trip to a foreign land and throw in a storyteller who can take us anywhere…with his words. And we’ll need people to remind us to put money away for a rainy day. And we need to hear that when one of us hurts it only gets better when all of us helps. There’s plenty of help all around us…just waiting to be asked. The Department of Life Lessons. Ready to start

Saturday morning at 8:30a I am going to be on my back deck enjoying a beautiful Colorado morning, much as I was five-years ago. I’ll have my coffee, and my paper, and Diane will be nearby. I suspect we’ll both have tears in our eyes as we look at each other for that will mark the exact moment five-years ago that Diane had her stroke, in that very spot. In a split second we went from enjoying a rare moment of time alone to having our world turned upside down and our lives changed forever. From the frantic ride to the hospital, to the zillions of questions and tests and then finally a bed in the critical care wing of Aurora South Medical Center we were, for a time, no longer in control of our own lives and that ended up being a good thing because we were placed in the loving and caring hands of people who knew better than us at that moment. I know without hesitation that we would be living much more difficult lives if it were not for the amazing people at Aurora South Medical Center who responded immediately upon our arrival and seemed to always be there right before we needed them. They didn’t just treat Diane, they cared for her and one special angel on their staff, Dawn, was always there to make the dark moments brighter. And then there’s Cindy’s amazing team at Spalding Rehabilitation Hospital. I’m only half kidding when I say they not only restored Diane’s speech, they made it better than before the stroke. It was at Spalding one day that Diane realized she had been blessed with a second chance. I’ll never forget that moment. I’ll also never forget the moment in her hospital room when she recited the Lords Prayer word for word. They were the first complete sentences she spoke. Father Steve still talks about it being one of the most powerful moments of prayer he’s ever experienced.
I will also never forget the incredible outpouring of support we received from KEZW listeners. When I first went on the air I never said where Diane was hospitalized and I asked my staff not to release that information. And yet somehow people found out and soon Diane’s room had more flowers than the Rose Garden. And the cards came by the hundreds. Please know she draws strength to this day from your kindness.
I must say that I don’t know anyone stronger on this Earth than my wife. Five-years after she couldn’t put two words together in a sentence she’s managing the Colorado Freedom Memorial project, acting as part time room mother for Larissa, babysitting all three grandkids a couple days a week, taking care of me and being the best friend a person could have. I am inspired by her strength, her generosity for others and the determination she showed to recover. There was a bit of luck in it as well, but it was love from family and friends, faith and sheer willpower that helped her recover.
And so this Saturday morning we’ll hold hands a little longer, smile a little wider, and have the peace that comes in knowing each day is a gift. Happy Anniversary Di.

I will admit from the very beginning that I was one of those very excited about IKEA coming to Denver. Not in the mass hysteria way that many of my fellow Coloradoans were consumed by. I didn’t have a desire to wait in line 4-days, but in a curious way. I’ve driven past many IKEA’s on trips to Europe and friends of mine from around the world have told me how cool the store was. So, when it came time for IKEA to open in Denver, I wanted to be there. I even had Diane talked into going on opening day until the bat flew into our house and we got a bit sidetracked. Finally, at 3:45p on Friday, we pulled off I-25 and County Line Road and began our adventure.

Now I must say the site of police cars spaced every 100-yeards or so for about a mile made me wonder what I was getting in to, but we followed their directions and were led to the street going to the IKEA parking garage. Dozens and dozens of vested traffic directors guided us first along side IKEA, then to the front of IKEA, then under IKEA into the parking garage, then past lots of empty parking spaces and out the other side of the parking garage and back onto the street leaving IKEA. After all this time I had just be sent beside, in front of, under, back in front of and out IKEA without stopping. I felt like Moses seeing the Promised Land from afar, but never entering. What the heck just happened?? So, back into line we went, past a few more vested traffic directors and finally, we were granted a parking space. Finally, we were on the path to see the wizard, and I have to admit I was a little excited!

I wish I could think of something more poetic to describe my first impression entering the store, but OMG is all I can think of. This place is HUGE, but it doesn’t seem like it when you’re in it at first. You start walking through rows and rows of themed merchandise. Kitchens, Bathrooms, Bedrooms, Living Rooms, Home Offices and there’s even room after decorated room for each area. You also find bins of merchandise that are very reasonably priced. Odds and Ends that you’ll find useful and probably a lot of stuff you don’t need, but who can pass up the price. It was obvious to me that many in the herd have never been to Europe and some of the styles of items puzzled them. One lady standing next to me said “It’s about time Denver had authentic European furnishings available.” I didn’t have the heart to show her the made in China label on the back of the lamp she was holding. I’m also hoping they found assistance for the person who said “Is this Heaven?”, to be answered by his spouse who said “No, it’s IKEA.” That’s just wrong.

My advice to you on your first visit is to not load up your cart at first. Walk all the way through the store. Go to the restaurant and enjoy some Swedish Meatballs, then go back through with a better understanding of what there is. It’s so HUGE you’ll be changing your mind a couple of times about things. What did we end up buying? The lovely new office chair I’m sitting in while writing this; a new comforter set for our bed and a few odds and ends. It was two-hours of window shopping, planning for our next visit and seeing things you don’t usually see around here. It was obvious many were there just to say they were there. Some wondered around in a daze looking for a place to lie down, mostly husbands. But I LOVE THE PLACE!!! I can’t wait to go back, but Diane says it’ll be a couple weeks. She’s afraid I’ll ask if this is Heaven again!

This last week I took vacation and for the first time in my adult life, didn’t leave town. Counting weekends it was 9-days of doing nothing but work around the house and we worked ever single one of those 9 days. Diane and I had a plan going in. We wanted to clean up some gardens, work a bit on the yard and maybe have a little free time left over for a day trip to the mountains or something fun like that. The fun part never happened. For 216-hours we never got any further than the yard. Oh we visited the hardware store, the landscape supply store. 8 times, and went to the grocery store twice for medical supplies and ice cream, but that was it. For nine-days we worked side-by-side in the heat, then the downpours, and in a miracle not known since old testiment days, we remained married…and friendly! But during these days of unwavering dedication to reclaiming our fertile soil, we lost a dear friend. My back. It seems the 5 ton of rock moved, 2 ton of gravel laid, 200′ of landscape timbers installed, 5 truckloads of Washington Cedar mulch spread, lawn fertilized, new shower head installed, outdoor canvas gazebo put up, 300′ of backyard fence line garden weeded and trees trimmed was enough for my back to say, that’s it. I’ve done your dirty work for almost 55-years and this has got to stop. And with that, a new era began. One filled with ice packs, pain relievers and a new 15-minute dance that looks like wild animals mating but is only me trying to put socks on. I believe this was glorys last shot. No longer will I be able to say, “Oh, I’ll climb that large Maple tree and get the cat.” Never again will I speak out loud, “Let me put in the new concrete driveway.” O.K., I never said those things before, but they were on my bucket list!!!  It seems my 9-days of vacation and non-stop yard work taught me something new. Damn I’m getting close to old!!! Through shear determination and good old hard-headedness we finished our list…just before it finished us. We got the house with the big yard so the kids and grandkids would have room to play. We never saw them once in 9-days. Amazing how that happens even when they’re older when there’s work to be done. Anyway, it’s on to the Yardwork Senior Tour for me now. I’ll be the guy on the porch with an ice cold beer supervising younger people.  That’s the life for me.  Except Diane said we’re not paying someone to do what we’re still capable of doing.  Sure hope the neighbors like weeds!

Have you ever wondered what you were really like as a kid? We all have memories of random things from our childhood. I remember my very first girlfriend. Her name was Patty and we were nine-years old and living in Germany where our fathers were stationed in the Air Force. I don’t remember lots about Patty other than she had curly brown hair, and she visited me often when I had my tonsils out. I also remember the Cactus Bowling Alley in Tucson where I hung out many days after school with the janitor, Jessie, who would let me bowl free if I helped him clean the place up. Jessie was the first black man I befriended and it was in 1968 when most of America was still trying to figure out race relations. A 13-year old white boy and a 60-year old black man didn’t have a problem with it and we often shared French fries and a coke. Sometimes I bought with my allowance, but not often. I do remember things, but I don’t remember me. What was I like, and I mean really like? Not the memories your Grandma shared about how much you talked, or how you couldn’t sit still in church. What worried me? What did I want to be when I grew up? What was I really like? Well, yesterday I found out. On a pile of rocks, 5-ton to be exact, in the front yard of my house in the middle of the afternoon, I met me. It’s true. Sitting right on top of that mountain was six-year old me and for 30-minutes we talked about all the things I must have been captured by 49-years ago. As 6-year old me and 54-year old me tossed the rocks from the pile into the garden we talked about baseball. I told me that when I was six we didn’t have T-Ball like they do today, we started with the real game. Then 6-year old me said he thought T-Ball was ok and we must have been brave to start with a real baseball. Our visit moved to spiders and we took turns holding a daddy long-legs or two then moved on to how you would never long-kiss your Mom and in fact you would never long-kiss anyone until you’re 30! Then we shared how we both had seen with our own eyes how Moms can hear things all the way across the yard even when you’re whispering. And it’s usually when you say bad things. I asked 6-year old me what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said, “Like when I’m in 5th grade?” On and on we went, never quiet for long, and then it was time to finish and head our separate ways. “Poppi”, Ethan said as we climbed off the rocks, both covered with dust and dirt, “that was fun.” Yes it was little me, it was great fun. Thanks for sitting on the rocks with your Poppi and reminding me what it was like to be me when I was six. And please don’t let me go so long with coming back for a visit. Who knew there was much wisdom in a pile of rocks, and in a six-year old.

In the coming month I’ll be hitting two career milestones that I can’t quite get my arms around, and I have long arms!! The first happens on Wednesday, May 17th, when we broadcast the 5000th edition of the Breakfast Club. Think about that. 5000 times I’ve sat behind the microphone in the KEZW Studio and shared the morning with you. Over those 5000 sunrises I’ve interviewed countless celebrities and hundreds of hometown heroes. One of those shows was broadcast from the American Cemetery above Omaha Beach in Normandy, France. Another came from aboard the USS Missouri in Pearl Harbor on the 60th anniversary of the December 7th attack. Each show had its own special moments and both contributed to my ongoing effort to honor all our fallen heroes with the construction of the Colorado Freedom Memorial.
The second milestone comes June 17th when we celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Breakfast Club with a special broadcast from the Wellshire Inn. The Wellshire was home for our Friday morning broadcasts for over 7-years and the site of some incredible shows. It was there that Captain Rober Morgan, pilot of the Memphis Belle during WWII joined us. So did countless other actors, singers, war heroes, athletes and authors who shared their stories and talents. The Wellshire was also where our daughter Sara had her wedding sendoff and granddaughter Larissa had her coming out party at age 4-weeks!! I’m often asked what my favorite memories are of the last 20-years at KEZW and I don’t really know how to answer that. It has seemed to me, for the most part, to have actually been like watching someone elses life. Who gets to interview the likes of Julie Andrews and Tony Bennett and Mel Torme and Perry Como and Maureen O’Sullivan and John Glenn and Buzz Aldrin and John Denver and so many others? Who gets to mingle with Medal of Honor recipients and travel the world with listeners? I have stood at Pearl Harbor with 9-11 first responders and WWII veterans as they embraced one another. I have been in the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, with only one other living person there after it had closed for the day. I have been at my best friends bedside and watched as she spoke her first complete sentence’s after her stroke, reciting the Lords Prayer, and knowing she would recover. I have known so many blessings in my 20-years at KEZW and there are not enough days left in my life to repay everyone who has made this journey possible. It has been more enjoyable because I had my buddy Diane at my side, and you close at hand. Thanks for sharing these last 5000 mornings, that add up to 20-years. It has been an incredible adventure, and we still have lots more to do!! Thanks.

In 1989 Ann Landers had an idea. She had been approached by the Veterans Administration to mention in her newspaper column that National Hospitalized Veterans Week was coming up. Not many of these veterans ever receive a visit during their hospitalization so Ann asked her readers to send Valentines Cards to patients at VA Hospitals as a way of supporting them, and send cards they did. Advance to 2003, the year after Ann passed away, and we decided to carry on her tradition at KEZW. This year the 9th annual Breakfast Club Valentines For Veterans program is bigger than ever!! We’ve been joined by Black-Eyed Pea Restaurants in metro Denver and the three Stacey’s Hallmark stores who are official drop off locations for cards. You can also mail them to the station like always. All the details can be found on the main page of our website. Thanks to Stacey’s Hallmark, The Black-Eyed Pea and all of you for not forgetting our veterans. I’ve seen the look on their faces as they’ve received your cards and it means so much to them. Kind of nice to know something so simple can mean so much!!!

Earlier this week I received several emails and phone calls from friends asking if I had heard the news that Major Dick Winters had passed away. He was the person whose service in WWII the original Band of Brothers was based on. Major Winters passed away January 2nd at the age of 92 and had requested that no word of his death be announced until after his funeral. His way of protecting his family in their time of grief. Then a day later the notes arrived from Boulder asking if I had heard that Col. Bill Bowers had passed. Bill was the pilot of B-25 #12 that left the deck of the USS Hornet on April 18, 1942 and joined 15 other Doolittle Raiders on the first air strike of Japan after the attack at Pearl Harbor. I had the pleasure of spending an hour one afternoon with just me, Bill and a cameraman and he shared his story from start to finish. Later we went to meet a group of students and he was the swashbuckling aviator we all remember from the movies. Good Looking, full of confidence to a point of cockiness and sharing tales that were AWESOME!!
Major Winters and Colonel Bowers are the latest of a grand generation that’s leaving us. It underscores the importance of capturing as much of their history as possible. In as short a time as a decade we will lose all of our first- person knowledge of the WWII era. If you were a 17-year old serviceman in 1945 when the war ended, you’re 83 today. We should all have some urgency to gather up recordings, printed materials, photos and other items that document that era before it ends up in the hands of children or others who don’t understand the value and simply throw it away. I’m afraid that already happens more than we care to know. It has fallen on our generations to carry the torch and tell their tales. They are not gone until they are forgotten and I don’t want to be the one to let that light extinguish. This December 7th marks the 70th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and the first time the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association will not conduct an official reunion. A couple years ago the 10th Mountain Division WWII veterans held their last reunion. Time is doing what the enemy couldn’t, taking our WWII living history from us. I can see day soon where we take their seats at the bar and continue the tradition of storytelling. But instead of telling war stories, we’d tell war hero stories and recall their exploits as if they were our own. I think they’d be happy to know we had been listening. God Bless You Dick Winters and Bill Bowers. May we never forget you were here.

I’ve taken the last couple days off from work to spend time at home getting ready for the holidays.  My friends know just how big a baby I am about Christmas.  After my birthday, in early November, I start getting the urge to break out the decorations and Christmas records.  Its been this way my whole life.  And I’m not just an amateur Christmas lover.  If it was an Olympic sport I’d be a medalist!  Starting with my collection of over 1000 Santas, and 50 Nutcrackers the Crandall House at Christmas is quite a sight.  I’m fortunate to be married to a kind woman who indulges my Ho-Ho-Ho obsession.  There’s just something about the season that touches you in a way nothing else can.  The tree lights and decorations are warm and inviting.  Christmas cards arrive from relatives you only hear from once a year.  The smell of fresh baked cookies and the gathering of families fill your heart with joy.  A special season indeed.  But I’ve just realized that over the last many years I’ve lost touch with my favorite time of year in my haste to get it up, and over.  From the moment the last Thanksgiving dish is washed, it’s become a 30-day sprint to get as much in as possible.  Decorations up, gifts purchased, parties held, and attended, Church on Sunday and Christmas Eve, Christmas cards in the mail, concerts to attend, and before you know it comes December 26th and you pack it all up without really having taken the time to stop and enjoy it.  And so it goes year, after year, until we lose touch with why the season once meant so much to us.  It becomes a holiday we try to live through, rather than being one we can’t live without.  I’m afraid I was becoming that person, until I started to decorate the living room tree during my two-day break and an old blue ornament that belonged to my Mom opened the flood gates to my Christmas memories.  My earliest recollection of Christmas is 1964.  My father had gone ahead of us to his next Air Force assignment in Germany and we spent Christmas at my Aunt Fuss’s house in Detroit.  The Motor City in the early 60’s was a beautiful place at Christmas and it snowed, which was a treat for kids who had been living in Arizona.  We got to sled every day and somehow we managed to set my little brother Toms ear on fire, though I’m sure I didn’t do it!  Everything was like a Currier and Ives scene and I’ve never forgotten it, I just misplaced the memory for a while.  The blue ornament of my Mom’s reminded my of many other Christmases growing up.  It reminded me of the first Christmas Diane and I spent away from home, on the island of Guam with our 8-month old Sara.  We closed the curtains and turned the air conditioning on high to try and make it cold like in Colorado.  I remembered Christmases when money was tight and presents were few, and I remembered Christmas in 1982 when we got on I-25 as soon as the blizzard ended and took 3 hours to drive from Colorado Springs to Aurora to be home with Mom and Dad.  The blue ornament that Mom gave to us, along with others before she passed away, may be the best gift of this Christmas because it will remind me each year forward to stop and remember just what the season truly brings.  Not hustle and bustle, but love and peace.  On that oold blue ornament there’s a church and the words Silent Night.  In the silence you can hear lots of wonderful things.  Merry Christmas.

Back when I was growing up Halloween was my favorite holiday of the year. I’m not kidding. Sure, Christmas was a blast and your birthday when you’re younger is always fun. There was just something special about Halloween, especially being a little boy. Dressing up was serious business. You weren’t just putting on a costume, you were becoming a cowboy, or a pirate. You were assuming the identity of whichever hero you had chosen to look like and you couldn’t let them down! And I don’t ever remember going to the store and buying a costume. We made ours from stuff around the house. One year Mom put a cardboard box over me, painted it red with black buttons and stripes and I went as a tin soldier! I was a ghost another year and a cowboy. And then came the actual door-to-door attack. My brothers and I raced from house to house like we were on fire. We used pillow cases as trick-or-treat bags and I kid you not, it was not unusual to fill the cases half full with candy by the time the night was over. Filled with Necco’s and bottle caps and lots and lots of suckers. Mary Jane’s and pixie sticks and even a Carmel apple every year from Mrs. Jones at the end of the block. Then we’d get home, dump the stuff out in the middle of the floor, and start trading. And my brothers and I would trade for an hour, followed by Mom bringing out a big bowl for each of us and sending us off to bed. I’m convinced she and Dad helped themselves to a few treats after we were asleep, but that’s purely speculation! We didn’t worry about what could happen to us, because nothing bad ever did. We didn’t check the candy for bad things because who do something like that? It’s a shame my grandkids won’t know Halloween like that. Maybe I’ll lay on the floor and trade candy with them like me and my brothers did. Of course we’ll have to dress up like cowboys! Happy Halloween everyone!