It is customary, when writing about the things that animate one’s feelings, to quote an authority. I want to write about radio, so naturally I feel like quoting Lorenzo Milam. Far as I know, nobody has ever written or done more good for radio than Lorenzo, a fact that may not be known to SUN readers more familiar with other radiations from his soul.
I thought I might have lost my only copy of Sex and Broadcasting: A Handbook on Starting Community Radio Stations (Dildo Press, Saratoga, California, 1971), and wrote the first draft of this story without it, “quoting” what I could from memory. But today, in a rare moment of peace, satisfied at having completed my first article in many months, I remembered where that book was: in a box of files buried beneath some old books and heaps of clothes in one of the bedroom lofts. Now it sits open to the right of my typewriter, teaching truths I had forgotten, as nearly as the book. Here, on plain brown paper, in rainbow shades of spilt fountain ink, bearing the opening disclaimer, “No part of this booklet is copyright in any way; it may be reproduced in all ways, shapes and forms by anyone who may care to do so,” is a found piece for the puzzle of my life. Inserted where it belongs, a new picture emerges, and I find myself writing this story over again, remembering how very deeply I felt, and still feel, about radio; and more importantly, how very frustrating it has always been to put those feelings to work. Thanks to my newfound evidence, I also remember how well Lorenzo expressed those feelings:
