At the Station

 

Photo: Carol M. Highsmith, Radio Station Studio
Courtesy Library of Congress 

I was in a radio studio tonight.

No, not the one here in Greenwich. I visited another one tonight.

There's something about being in a studio that will always feed my soul.

It's like being among your own type of people in that you speak the same language, even if the equipment is different.

In this case, I've worked in this studio before. Many times. But I hadn't been back in several years so it was nice to be there. It's one of those places where you just wind up coming back to when you least expect it.

I did what I needed to do and learned some of what I needed to learn.

That's the thing about broadcasting. You learn to never say never and it's why I strive to not burn bridges. That's not to say I've never burned a bridge but my preference is to always take the high road.

Eventually, you just might wind up back in familiar surroundings.

There's a smell to a radio station. It's hard to explain. It's a combination of electronic equipment and probably some food (even if it's not supposed to be in the studio) and other scents. Fortunately, nobody smokes in a radio station anymore so that isn't a factor.

Or they're not supposed to smoke in the station.

The lighting is familiar. The studio area is lit while the office area is dark,

But my eyes darted around at the equipment. The mixing console is the same one I used so many years ago. There are myriad computers and screens. There are CD players and recorders and processes and other instruments of communication.

So long as the people you've met understand you, then you are speaking the right language. They come to realize you're no newbie and you reach an understanding.

Oh, I'm not new. I'm an old dog learning new tricks.

I'll likely be back there again. Another in a long line of places where I can hang my hat.

I often liked just hanging around the station. For instance, I'd just sit at WGCH sometimes. There is a level of peace about it, especially when it's empty. There was one night when I was working at HAN and I was in the Greenwich area. I still had a key and the code to get in and I decided to visit.

And I just sat there in the peace and quiet. All I was missing was some chicken soup in that moment of comfort food.

My soul felt right.

We all need those places of comfort, where we just feel right even if it's not our usual home. 

That's what tonight felt like.