A thirteen year old child used to build miniature studios in his bedroom. There spread before him were his cassette tapes and what was called a ghetto blaster at the time. He played like he was a disc jockey calling his own show. This young child would grow up to be me, a man with a dream to have just his piece of the American Dream.
A lot has changed in twenty-six years. I have taken many different paths, some I wanted, many I did not want. However, the fire still burns on the inside of me. I now want to be on talk radio so bad; and excuse the clique, so bad I can taste it. It isn’t about the money; while that would be nice, it is my drive to want to be heard. My need to be known that I have a voice.
I know nothing else in life but the skill to entertain. I can’t use my hands to build, craft, or any such things. I only know how to make others aware of life, and like to do that with some humor. If I don’t make it in radio then I know no where else to turn. I want to do nothing else.
I wish it was like in the days long ago when a man/woman could have a skill and not need a piece of paper to show he can do it. I know without a doubt I could sit down at a mic and once it becomes hot I could entertain people. I just lack the opportunity; and that piece of paper.
I have had people ask me. “Curt, what is your greatest fear?” My answer is always the same: failure. I cannot see my life continuing down this path of not being able to express myself. That is why I want to be in talk radio and why I need talk radio. It is my means of survival. You say, “survival?” Yes, because without my success I believe I will die of a broken heart. I eat, sleep, and breathe radio. It is more than a career for me, it is my life support.
winslowzone 