good days

I discovered Paul Harvey when I was in college, working at The Old Post Office Theatre in downtown Pullman. I came in at night to work concessions then returned in the morning to clean out the theater. Dragging in to face the outrageous amounts of garbage a hundred college students could generate within a few hours (complete with a stench that had been fermenting overnight), I headed first to the sound booth and turned up the radio. Somehow I frequently managed to hit on The Rest of the Story and was instantly comforted; Paul Harvey's voice was warm & folksy, lilting & diving so perfectly that I forgot to be disgusted by the sticky mess under my feet.

Even when I disagreed with Harvey's conservative stance or grew weary of his cheerful promotion of various products in the midst of his commentary, his stories drew me into deep thought; he usually led me to consider an alternate viewpoint and sometimes even changed my mind. He often made me stop mopping to wipe tears and I always had to postpone vacuuming in order to hear, well, The Rest of the Story.

I am reminded of those days - ones I know I took for granted because at the time they were just filled with required classes and leftover cinemuck and the occasional mediocre date - because Paul Harvey is now gone. Yet I feel like there is so much more to hear.