Early Saturday morning, I was getting ready to leave work. It had been an evening worthy of occurring on Friday the 13th, to be sure. In addition to the massive workload, I was covering an unfamiliar account, and the computer system kept crashing at a critical moment. Added to this mix, an employee had been assaulted outside our building earlier in the evening, so that set everyone on edge.
Even more upsetting, I learn President Trump bought hook, line, and sinker to an obvious false flag and launched an attack into Syria. I don't know what he was thinking, or not thinking, but sadly, it's proved Tom Woods' law on elections. No matter who you vote for, you always end up with John McCain.
But the evening was over, the work was secured, and I was looking forward to a busy weekend. I decided to get on Twitter for just a moment, and got a final kick in the shin.
Art Bell had died.
I used to listen to Bell quite a bit back 20 years ago. I remember listening to him as the Hale-Bopp/ Heaven's Gate controversy embroiled him. It always frustrated me because I couldn't stay up all night to listen to him. The situation was aided a little by my university installing computer that could play audio files. They had sufficient power to do so, with all the processing power available at the time, 133 MHz, Real Audio.
The first time I actually heard Bell myself was in October 1996, discussing the Santa Ana winds. Apparently, they were fueling some wildfires in California at the time. The next time I tuned in, it was in March 1997. He was interviewing some guy who was building his own rocket. OK, so that wasn't as exciting or creepy as a show about serial killers, vampires, or demonic possession, but when you're by yourself in a creepy old house in not-so-nice neighborhood, maybe a safe, sane show about amateur space travel is best.
I could tune into Bell a little more during the summer of 1998 when I was living outside of Nashville, and I could catch the opening hour of his show, before needing to turn in.
It was a shock to hear him leave in October that year when he cited a "terrible, threatening" event and his mysterious disappearance from the radio. I incorporated part of that into the last term paper I wrote in college, on the subject of talk radio.
The following summer when I was in Charleston, SC I got really indulged in the Bell world. The local carrier aired the previous night's show before the current show, and since I was working late nights, I could listen to a lot. Everyone on my team listened to Bell. Half of us hated Bell, my half loved him, and we always had something to discuss at work.
Everyone who knew Art knew his style, knew he had his convictions but was still open-minded on many subjects. There were exceptions, and one was on the subject of vegetarianism. One of the most hilarious calls he took was from a woman who said one day she was mediating in her garden and a blue energy field enveloped her and the plants said they wanted to be eaten. Bell managed to suppress his laugh, and as the show closed, he said. "I went out to get my mail, and there was a cow across the road. A blue energy came around him. If he could he would have cooked me a burger. He will eventually."
So, I will say my final farewell to Mr. Bell. When everyone else hears ABBA, I'll be thinking of your voice, "East of the Rockies, top of the morning."
