Krok Talk and other pressing matters.

NOTE: To those of you referred by the Beltway Young Republicans, greetings. Please note my entire internship journal is being published piece-by-piece at www.internshit.blogspot.com.

I’m trying to do better about writing every day, even if it’s crap. I’m going through a barn-burner of a bout of insomnia which isn’t helping matters, but hell or high water I’m posting something tonight. Also, if I wake in the middle of the night—even if it’s after only a couple hours of sleep—I’m getting up, by God, and writing. I know I won’t get back to sleep anyway, so why not be productive.

By the way, last week I recorded a voice note at 12:30 a.m. about insomnia, and when I listened to it later it sounded like one of those records played backwards back when people were trying to convince us rock and roll was the devil’s music. I couldn’t make out a single identifiable word, at least in English. Scary crap.

DINNER
This is my first night at home in quite a while and I’m celebrating by doing several loads of laundry and cooking dinner. Tonight’s menu is baked chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, broccoli and carrots. It feels good to be home again. I was going to try to do some homework, but then I saw my wife and thought I’d much rather reconnect with her than stick my nose in a geography book.

MEN IN SUITS
Today a man in a suit came to the newspaper. He’s the new head honcho at the monolith that bought our company, and he has all sorts of lofty ideas for it. His company owns about 3,000 small-town newspapers, and here’s an indication of what type of shrewd businessman he is: He wants our local news to increase by several pages per issue, and he instigated a hiring freeze meaning the full-time staff writer position that was dangled in front of me upon hire is now history.

I’m starting to think there might be something to some of my fellow bloggers’ distrust of Corporate America. Companies like the one I mentioned are doing for newspapers what Clear Channel did for radio, and if you wonder what I mean just turn your FM dial to the nearest “Jack FM” station. This is a station that prides itself on having no DJ’s; just a sarcastic, pre-recorded voice that announces commercial breaks. Makes sense. Why have anything remotely human doing the announcing?

Anyway, this big-wig used lots of important-sounding polysyllabic words like “revenue” and “projections” and “intellectual property.” Sometimes I think that before you can walk out of Men’s Wearhouse with a suit they make you take a “big word” quiz. Anyway, he seemed to think himself very important, as did several other people there if their cow-towing to him is any indication, but I wasn’t terribly impressed.

CHRIS KROK
I’m going to use his name. What the hell.

My pal mntwinmom commented after my last post that Twin Cities’ talk show host Chris Krok announced that last night’s broadcast was his last for AM 1500 KSTP. He claims that he received an offer he couldn’t refuse, and this may be technically correct. My guess is that the new Program Director offered him the opportunity to quit with dignity or be forcibly removed by security.

Anyway, I have a special place in my heart—the place that harbors all my grudges and hate—for Chris Krok. Chris Krok is one of the four people walking this planet that I must unfortunately admit that I hate.

Regular readers of my blog might recall that just about a year ago, I worked an internship at AM 1500 KSTP that nearly destroyed my already fragile mental health. The reason for my resulting nervous breakdown was largely due to my frenetic schedule. I was working full-time as an administrative assistant, working 20 hours per week at the station and attending school full-time. However, another part of the equation was Chris Krok’s attitude.

He had a reputation of being hard to work with. That’s putting it mildly. He regularly heaped impossible demands on me, his intern, and his producer, young Jason. Jason, it must be said, has what they call in the business “balls of steel,” because he remained with Krok up until the end. More on Jason towards the end of this post.

Chris needed his microphone adjusted to a certain angle before he arrived. I needed to adjust his chair height. Brew a fresh pot of decaf. Turn on his laptop, arrange the guest microphones just so; the list of tasks was endless.

I took the internship for college credit and part of my responsibilities was keeping a daily journal of my activities at the station. I’ve read it several times since then, and frankly I should have it published because it is a day-by-day chronicle of a gradual, complete mental breakdown. Here’s an excerpt from Day One:

This was the first day on the job, and it was great. If Day One was a harbinger of things to come, I am very optimistic indeed.

Here’s an excerpt from a little further on:

I nearly lost my mind yesterday. I essentially had a nervous breakdown, probably the third in as many years. I cried, broke things, and injured myself. But for a promise I made my wife a couple years ago in a moment of weakness, I would probably have killed myself.

Chris and I had a bona fide run-in once. He used to hate it when Jason and I would talk in the control room, because he couldn’t hear what we were saying. He used to ask that we please cease all non show-related conversation. Well, I arrived at the station the day after my father’s funeral, and to kick things off Chris offered no condolences nor did he ask how I was doing. Instead, he was in a surly mood, and Jason and I committed the Cardinal sin of talking during the broadcast. During a commercial break, Chris asked me to come to his studio. When I did, he asked that I excuse myself to a different room and listen to the show; that my presence in the control room was distracting him.

I had just planted my dad in the ground and this petulant little shit was giving me a time-out.

I left, all right. I left the building. A producer approached me the next time I was at the station and said, in an awe-struck manner, “You’re my hero.”

There were a few other instances like this, but the piece de resistance was for a public appearance that was to be held the Monday after Easter 2005. Chris was hosting a “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em” promotion at a local bar to commemorate the Minneapolis smoking ban, and he had the bright idea that Tom the intern should appear in a giant cigarette costume. It was to be a team effort; Chris, Jason and I were to meet that weekend and spend a day working on it.

However, neither Chris nor Jason returned my e-mails or phone calls the week before regarding the task, and on Good Friday Chris sent me a brief e-mail saying that he and Jason were opting out: It was up to me to create a functional cigarette costume by the following Monday. Here’s an excerpt from my journal:

The excitement I felt for the promotion has all but evaporated completely.

The creation of the costume was originally to have been a team event. I was to have provided details to Krok and Jason as to what type of materials were available. After they gave their blessing, I was to purchase the materials and we were going to meet at Krok’s house and build it together on Saturday.

However, after I provided extremely detailed information to them on Thursday, I heard nothing for 24 hours. Even after explaining to them that the one place that had exactly what we were looking for was closed for Good Friday, neither Krok nor Jason would take five minutes to give me the “go ahead” so I could (hopefully) excuse myself from work for an hour to pick it up. Jason merely sent me a short “go for it” e-mail on Friday. Friday night, after the show, both of them sprung the fact on me that it was all up to me; they weren’t going to lift a finger.

I told them it would take a tremendous amount of work, and I might have to work from home Monday night rather than be in the studio. They approved this, then started getting somewhat demanding. “We don’t think it’s too much to ask that you come to the studio on Tuesday so we can approve the costume.” So, we went from a “team effort” to essentially pointing the finger at the $6.00 per hour intern and saying “You’d better come through.” Krok said that the Tuesday deadline should be adequate, because I would have “all day Tuesday” to work on it. I looked at him and said “Yes—except for my job.”

They either don’t understand or simply just don’t care that I have a life beyond the fucking Chris Krok show. This is taking its toll on my life and my marriage. I’m at the point of a nervous breakdown attempting to juggle work, school, internship, and my marriage. My wife and I were at each other’s throats yesterday, mostly due to the fact that I’m nearly apoplectic at the thought of having to create a goddamned cigarette costume on Easter weekend. No stores are open, I’m supposed to spend the day at my in-laws, and I am likely going to cancel this (much to the chagrin of my wife, I’m sure) in order to ensure I create the stupid thing on time.

This could go on forever, but suffice it to say that after one failed attempt, I lost my mind and I lost my day job. I then gave it one last shot and came up with something that worked, and in fact I was featured on the 10:00 news that night. Remember that, because it factors into the end of this post.

My tenure with Krok Talk ended prematurely because he sent me to a man-on-the-street broadcast from the premier of the last Star Wars movie, and after promoting my appearance incessantly for a week, he never put me on the air. He jeopardized the station’s relationship with the movie theater—a brand new client—and screwed over several kids in Star Wars costumes that had called their families and friends to tell them they were going to be on the radio. After the show I called Jason, the producer, and used more f-bombs during that five-minute conversation than I probably had in my previous 37 years combined. I called the Program Director and left him a voice mail stating that I was done: Chris Krok was officially no longer a part of my life.

A couple nights ago I was listening to Krok Talk on the way home from school, and he happened to be touching on the subject of religion. I thought I’d call in; what the hell. I told Jason the purpose of my call, and after a few words he asked “Is this Tom?” I told him that indeed it was. He then proceeded to tell me that “Chris is going to recognize your voice if I put you on.” I asked if that was a problem. He said “Well, I told you about how he forbid me to talk to you after you left, right?”

No, I had never been made privy to that piece of information. I was taken aback, frankly. For starters, I couldn’t believe Chris could be so petulant. Second, it disappointed me that Jason would follow those instructions; that if Chris Krok dictates the terms of your personal life, it is your duty to follow orders. Still, Jason is a young guy with firm career aspirations; I wouldn’t expect him to jeopardize his lofty plans for the opportunity to befriend a 40-year old former $6 per hour intern who once wore a ridiculous cigarette costume in a cold, Easter drizzle.

Then, last night I heard Chris tease that he had a “big announcement.” My first thought was that he’d been fired. My wife thought he was going to announce that he was having another baby. Well, we all know what transpired: An offer he couldn’t refuse, whatever that means.

Earlier I mentioned my appearance on the 10:00 news in my cigarette costume. Well, last night as Chris took calls from his “fans” reminiscing about his tenure at AM 1500, a guy named Inge called in. Inge is a talk radio junkie; he calls all the shows and he turned up at the smoking ban promotion that night. He had created a generator-powered cigarette in the back of his pickup truck that glowed and smoked. It was very impressive, and his truck combined with my costume attracted quite a few people to the promotion.

As Inge talked to Chris, Chris thanked him for his contribution to the promotion. “You brought people in,” Chris said, “and you got on the news, brother.”

That statement hammered home to me what sort of person Chris Krok is. He didn’t give me a single mention for my part in the promotion, and even fabricated an ex post facto tale about what aspect of the evening wound up on the television news. It’s a little like “1984” by George Orwell, frankly; the truth is whatever Chris Krok remembers it to be, or perhaps more sinister what he deems it to be.

This post may seem like sour grapes, and I apologize if I come across as petulant. The internship was valuable, and it was by no means all for naught. It was extremely instructive and fascinating, and in fact was at times fun. And the funny thing is, two nights ago when I turned on Krok Talk on the way home from school, I had a thought that was similar to the sentiment expressed by Linus on the Peanuts Christmas Special regarding Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. Linus looked at the pathetic little thing and said “You know, I never really thought it was such a bad little tree.”

As I listened to Krok Talk, completely unaware that 24 hours later it would be history, I thought to myself “You know, it’s really not such a bad little show.” I wish Chris Krok the best in his career. I know that it’s tough on him and his family, moving every couple of years as his career progresses (or regresses, as the case may be). One thing I’ll say for him, though: He’s passionate. He believes not only in his opinions but in his chances as a talk radio show host. He’s a hell of a lot further along in life than I am—than I may ever be—and at the very least I respect him for that.