My friend Mike Horn died. A radio guy in LA. We hung w/ Shatner, Fred Dryer, Larry Elder, and Robert Conrad. His daughter Jennifer called to tell me the awful news. “He loved you very much,” She choked out. Mike Horn. “Not that gentle soul! No!” And gone the same day I heard of another pal Mike Ditka being taken. Mike Horn not as well known as “the coach” but much loved. Good fella. He loved radio as much as me. Not many came close to our love of the art-form. Radio is now like an ex-wife for me. I was so in love w/ her once but that was long ago. But there was a time… We would share radio stories that few would understand I’m guessing. Back when radio still meant something. I remember hearing The Doors “riders on the storm” in my teens slowly emerging from the static as I got radio out of Chicago’s WLS w/ Fred Winston as I was soul- lost in the outskirts of KC Mo in Suicide Falls. Hadn’t heard it before. At least not like that. Eerie and exciting. I so very cold that night and so very lonely then as I was stacking wood for our heat. I grew in a house heated by wood. Listening on a Realistic portable radio w/ antenna atop positioned precariously on the woodpile. It was in the middle of America. So dark. The kind of pitch you can only experience in the nowheres. Radio waves travel on forever. Godspeed Michael.