REFLECTIONS FOR FATHER'S DAY * BILL'S COFFEESHOP NEWSLETTER * VOL. 9 June 13, 2008

I WISH DAUGHTERS EVERYWHERE THE SAME GIFT

By Joyce Kilgore-Carlin

I was a little girl, probably all of 4 or 5 years-old, when I began wondering how my dad fit into the little white plastic AM radio that used to sit on the kitchen counter, next to the sink.

My four brothers and I, for no apparent reason, had assigned seating around the dinner table. My place at the table put me in direct view of the radio. I remember starring at it on occasion and wondering how it all worked. How did my dad's voice get out of the radio?

Gordon Kilgore was a newscaster for KDTH radio in Dubuque, but all I knew at that age was somehow my dad must have fit himself into that little plastic box on the kitchen counter.

Dad put great effort into explaining the wave nature of sound, but it wasn't until he took me to the transmitter site, near Shore Acres in East Dubuque, that things began to make sense. Seeing the tall transmitter tower and watching dad explain the hundreds of blinking lights on the monitors inside the transmitter building helped me begin to understand sound waves.

Listening to him also reinforced something I already knew. Dad loved his work as a radio man.

I treasure the relationship I had with my father. It was a gift. I wish daughters everywhere the same gift.

Dad was passionate about life. He was passionate about people. Like his coffee mug, he filled each day to the brim. People who knew him intimately knew the two things he loved most were his work at the radio station and the Mississippi River valley. And dad loved a good story. It stood to reason then, that if a news story involved the river, life was good, and so was the story.

I was 10 years-old when a flood ravaged communities along the shores of the Mississippi River, including East Dubuque where I grew up. Dad let me ride along a few times while he reported flood conditions to his colleagues at KDTH (via the mobile car radio).

Occasionally he'd drive back to the station to do a live broadcast. He'd have me wait in the newsroom while he went into an adjacent room. The only thing separating me from my dad was a picture window-size piece of glass. Above the door adjoining the rooms was a large "ON AIR" sign that lit up in bold red letters when dad went "live." I remember watching him through the glass and feeling proud that the man behind the glass was my dad.

Whenever I visited the radio station, dad introduced me to his friends and co-workers. He taught me social graces when he didn't realize I was watching. He taught me a lot of things when he didn't know I was watching.

Dad sure was blessed to work with such nice people. There were many.

All these years later, some of those same "nice people," as well as many other dear neighbors, friends and colleagues attended dad's wake and funeral. We hugged and shook hands again -- and we cried -- this time, to bid farewell to Gordi, their colleague and friend and my dad.

I miss his stories. I miss his voice. And I miss that familiar chuckle. Sometimes, on my way to work, I pick up my cell phone and just hold it to my ear. I talk to dad -- and feel comforted knowing he understands the wave nature of sound. 
 __________________________

Joyce Kilgore-Carlin is the second youngest of Gordi's five children. She is married and the mother of three. An MSW graduate from the University of Iowa, she is now a pediatric oncology clinical social worker at the University of Wisconsin Children's Hospital in Madison, Wisconsin. While a student at UI, Joyce hosted the "Good Evening from Bill's Coffeeshop" shows with Tom Gilsenan.
 

MORE REFLECTIONS

FOR FATHER'S DAY

From the song "A father and a son" by Loudon Wainwright III

 

When I was your age I thought I hated my dad

And the feeling was a mutual one that we had;

We fought each other day and night:

I was always wrong, he was always right.

But he had the power and he needed  win;

His life half over, mine about to begin.

I'm not sure about that Oedipal stuff,

But when we were together it was always rough.

Hate is a strong word; I want to backtrack;

The bigger the front, then the bigger the back.

 

Now you and me are me and you,

And it's a different ballgame though not brand-new

I don't know what all this fighting is for;

But we're having us a teenage/middle-age war

I don't want to die and you want to live;

It takes a little bit of take and a whole lot of give.

It never really ends though each race is run,

This thing between a father and a son.

Maybe it's power and push and shove,

Maybe it's hate but probably it's love

 

 

THIS COULD BE THE

500 YEAR FLOOD

North Hall, home of Bill's Coffeeshop, has been closed because of the overflowing Iowa River. The river has overflowed its banks and poured onto the campus on both sides of the river. Hardest hit by the flooding at this point is the campus area on the west side of the river, where the Art and Music buildings and Hancher Auditorium are located. Classes on campus have been canceled for the coming week. For more information, visit the UI website at www.uiowa.edu. For additional pictures and video of the flood, visit the Gazette newspaper website at: www.gazetteonline.com

________________________

Wild Bill's Coffeeshop is a project of the School of Social Work at the University of Iowa. It has been a part of campus life in Iowa City for more than 30 years. The coffeeshop is located in North Hall. For more information, call (319) 335-1281.

Bill's Coffeeshop Newsletter is a virtual extension of the coffeeshop. Published since 2000, the Newsletter extends the legacy and spirit of Bill Sackter via email. The Newsletter is written by Tom Gilsenan, a former manager of the coffeeshop (2000-2005). Opinions expressed in the Newsletter are those of the writers and should not be construed as representing the School of Social Work or the University of Iowa. A file of back issues is available at the Bill's Coffeeshop website: www.uiowa.edu/~socialwk/bills.