by Kim Redford
Shane, Jack, Nathan, and Ken were all clustered in the studio, putting the finishing touches on the new radio system. Nathan kept running in and out, picking up supplies in town, and bringing them back. She sincerely hoped they could be on the air by late afternoon.
She wasn’t needed in there, so she’d been filling her time with researching what-if dreams and what-if possibilities. She particularly admired The Warrior radio station in Bonham, Texas. The country station had been established in 1948 but updated and upgraded to give its audience access to all the latest tech advantages.
Everything she’d discovered online simply confirmed the knowledge she’d brought back from LA. Long gone were the days when there wasn’t competition in local areas such as Wildcat Bluff County. Not physical competition now, of course, but a wide variety of radio content was readily available to listeners across many delivery formats.
In addition to AM and FM broadcasting, KWCB now competed with newer technology like satellite radio, HD radio, and internet radio. Microwave receivers and relays as well as satellite dishes had joined traditional towers to broadcast signals. There were public, community, and commercial radio stations.
And then there was radio content—live, canned, syndicated, podcasts, which all came in several formats. Lots of content could be bought if you had the bucks or pay-to-play if you had the audience. She didn’t have the resources for either. What she did have was Wildcat Jack. And now Eden Rafferty. She could create a new show for each to go along with the regular music, news, weather, and infomercials. But what would be the focus of their programs?
She picked up a pen and doodled on a piece of blank paper. Country music was their bread and butter. And she loved it, along with other listeners in the big audiences of the United States, Canada, and Australia. When she thought about it, maybe KWCB was more Americana, a type of country station that played classic era, alt-country, and cult musicians. Americana usually developed strong cult followings, and that fit with the Wildcat Den’s listeners. But how did she capitalize on this audience segment, as well as enlarge it?
She shifted in her chair, glancing past the open door of the studio. She hoped all was going well. The place reeked to high heaven. It’d be a long time before the stench was gone, but if everything actually worked, they could live with the smell.
She glanced at her doodles and added a few more circles. Even if they wanted it, they couldn’t afford to pay for current pop country—disdainfully called “Nash Vegas” by country purists—like the mainstream country stations played for their listeners. KWCB used playlists created over time with songs that were in the public domain because they were free to play, no matter performer or performance date. They’d picked up wonderful music way back to the 1920s. They also played unlisted, locally produced music that avoided music-licensing fees.
Fortunately, the Wildcat Den had advertisers that appreciated all demographics, so she could appeal to a wide age range. Another plus, the station did manage to turn a slight profit every month. All good, but it wasn’t good enough to get back in the bigger game that would give her what she needed to revamp the station.
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. KWCB needed a hook—a great big one—to break out of the pack. Graham had put them on the national, as well as global, map with all his shenanigans, but how did they capitalize on the priceless publicity? It’d take more than a snazzy platform and clever jingle. It’d take something she didn’t have right now, something she couldn’t even imagine, and something she didn’t know how to get.
She dropped her feet to the floor. She could only take so much pie-in-the-sky when she didn’t even have a viable radio station at the moment. Still, she needed to think positively about the Wildcat Den. The station hadn’t come together overnight. It had taken faith, hope, and lots of hard work. Now was the time for her to do the same thing as her ancestors. Believe.
As she glanced at the stark utilitarianism of reception again, she wished she’d brought the yellow roses with her. They’d have brightened up the area and sweetened the air at the same time. But they’d looked perfect on her dining table, so she’d left them there to enjoy when she returned home. She also wished she could wear Shane’s star sapphire ring, but she’d tucked it away in the bookshelf for safety, even though it tugged at her heart just knowing the precious ring was there and not on her finger.
“How’re you doing?” Shane stuck his head out of the studio, looking at her in concern. “Feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Any big news for me yet?”
“I don’t know if we’ll get it done today, but we’re making progress.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Chuckwagon takeout later would be mighty appreciated.”
“You got it.” She tapped her pen on her doodles, wanting to share with him what was bothering her most. “I just don’t see a way out of where KWCB is stuck. We need so much more here. Maybe it really is time to let the station go.”
He walked over, planted both hands flat on the table, and stared her in the eyes. “I don’t want to hear it. And you know why.”
“The ring?”
“Right. You can find a way to pull KWCB out of its doldrums. You just need to up your game. Besides, the Wildcat Den and the Rocky T are a team. How can we have one without the other?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know good and well the ranch can stand on its own two feet.”
“So can the Wildcat Den.”
“If so, I need something to make it happen. I need a hook, an idea, anything that’ll make KWCB stand out in the marketplace and draw new listeners.”
“What do you mean?”
“We need a bigger base. I’m talking about a sizeable cult audience that’ll help bring in more ad revenue. To do that, we need a larger presence. Website. Email. Podcasts. Mobile apps. We could even sign up with a system that’s already in place on the internet, so we’re not just sitting out there on our lonesome.”
“Is that what Nathan and Ken have been talking about?”
“Somewhat. We need an entire platform and package.”
“What’s stopping you from getting it?”
She sighed as she motioned around the radio station. “Time. Energy. Money. You name it. I don’t want KWCB to be just another country station. I want us to be extra special, so we’ll draw a loyal audience.”
“The Wildcat Den has always been special.”
“Not anymore.” She abruptly stood up, frustration setting her on edge. She paced across the room and back again. “After we get the Den back on the air, I’ll talk with Wildcat Jack. He may have ideas that wouldn’t occur to me.”
“You probably know as much about this station’s history as he does.”
“But he’s got more experience.”
“True.” Shane glanced back at the sound studio. “You’ll come up with something. Right now, I better get back and help them.”
“Thanks. Repair absolutely does come first.”
After he walked away, she picked up the black phone’s receiver, thought about how long it’d been in use, then set it back in place. At least it worked again. She drew another series of doodles. She didn’t have much she could accomplish while she waited to get back on the air. She’d already written a few more catchy phrases to promote the May Day Rodeo.
She listened to construction in the studio, noticed the smoke stench again, and suddenly remembered the key in her jeans pocket. With all the excitement of the fire, she’d forgotten she’d picked it up while putting out the blaze. Could it be the lost key to the Quonset hut storage? Maybe. Probably not. But what if it was? She leaped to her feet. Now was the time to find out.
She hurried outside, ran into her home, opened the washer, and pulled out her jeans. She hoped the key was still there and hadn’t been lost again. She felt in a front pocket. Nothing. She tried the other, felt a h
ard shape, reached inside, and emerged with the key, triumphant.
She felt her heart pick up speed as she quickly walked over to the storage hut. It’d obviously seen its fair share of rough weather over the years, as evidenced by metal dents and flaky paint, but it still looked sound outside. As far as she could tell her uncle had kept it tightly closed to keep out bugs, dust, and moisture, but she wouldn’t know for sure if that had worked until she looked inside.
Now or never. She inserted the key in the lock and tried to turn it. Nothing happened. She jerked out the key, feeling disappointed that it might not be right for this lock. She inserted it again and gently jiggled as she turned the key. Finally, the lock popped open. She tucked the key safely back in her pocket, feeling excitement race through her.
She slowly opened the door, hearing the hinges creak as if she’d suddenly stepped into a horror movie. She couldn’t see much because sunlight only slightly penetrated the gloom inside. She looked for a light switch and finally saw a cord hanging down near the door. She pulled it, and an overhead light bulb coated in dust came on to cast a dull glow over the front of the hut.
She hesitated before she took a step onto the concrete floor, concerned about disturbing wasps or spiders or scorpions. She couldn’t see far into the semidarkness, but she caught the strong plastic scent—sort of acidic—that came from disintegrating old reel-to-reel tapes. She could also smell musty, aging paper. She assumed there must be other overhead lights with strings she could pull deeper in the hut. A path wound between rows of cardboard boxes. They were stacked haphazardly down the long room with tan-colored dust as thick as flour coating the top of everything. Some boxes had collapsed from the weight of those on top. Overall, it looked fairly neat but not touched in a long time. Her uncle had obviously not gotten around to going through the contents.
She felt a vast sense of relief because everything here felt peaceful, calm, and as if it were waiting for a new beginning. She could understand the feeling because she was in that very same place herself. It was time to build on the old to create the new. Whatever little nuggets of gold were here, she wanted to find them.
And yet, it’d take a minor miracle to locate anything, but maybe over the years, the boxes had been labeled in some way. She’d probably find handwriting by Mom, Dad, Uncle Clem, Jack, and maybe others. She very much wanted to embrace her past and carry it forward with her into the future.
She walked down the center aisle to the end of the circle of light. On her left was a stack of dusty boxes with the word taxes written on them in Uncle Clem’s handwriting. Those she could definitely leave for another day. On the right side, a box had been crushed between two stronger ones and the side had crunched out. Several items had fallen, so she leaned down and picked up a flat, square box with writing in red grease pencil on its side. She looked in the box and saw a reel-to-reel tape. She couldn’t imagine what it had on it or how old it was, but it probably wasn’t important. Still, she looked to see what was written on the box.
She felt a chill run up her spine and her hands trembled with excitement as she read aloud, her words filling the hut. “The Highwaymen interview by Wildcat Jack for KWCB.”
She hugged the box over her heart, then carefully set it aside before she picked up another box. Hank Williams. He was still considered one of the ultimate leaders in country music and that made his music and everything about him completely collectible. She could just imagine him being driven up to the station in a gleaming new 1950 Cadillac, maybe after hosting one of his popular “Garden Spot” radio shows in Waxahachie, Texas.
She set that tape beside other one before she moved farther into the hut, feeling her heart beat fast in anticipation. She opened another crumbling cardboard box, sneezing from the dust, and found more valuable tapes. George Jones back when he had a flat-top haircut. Conway Twitty when he thought he was the next Elvis. Loretta Lynn as a hopeful teenager. Buck Owens before he invented the Bakersfield sound. Patsy Cline when she was country’s sophisticated songstress.
Excitement building, Eden reached up and pulled on another light. She walked down the aisle, stopped beside other crumbling boxes, and found more collectibles. Pristine recordings of local bands. Rock and roll that had been sent to the station but never played because it didn’t fit country music—plenty of Rock It, Shake It, Bop in the titles on obscure labels that she’d never heard of before. She discovered boxes of perfect records, although she knew the real money was in the programming.
She took a deep breath of dust-laden air and turned back. She didn’t need to look any deeper—she’d found her miracle.
She picked up The Highwaymen and Hank Williams tapes, clasped them to her chest, and hurried outside, leaving the door wide open. She dashed up the steps into the radio station, through reception, and over to the studio. She paused on the threshold, not wanting to interrupt Shane, Jack, Nathan, and Ken as they huddled in deep discussion over the new setup.
She’d come to see the Den fire as a blessing in disguise because she’d been forced to update, and so far, it’d been less expensive than she’d anticipated. Gearheads Nathan and Ken had done a good job of shopping online to find electronic bargains. Empty boxes of all shapes and sizes from several delivery services were piled in one corner.
They’d figured out they could run an updated version of the station off a laptop and shareware. They’d installed a laptop specifically for scheduling and automation, integrated a used compressor limiter, and hooked up the internet to the studio. For now, the old hardware and equipment had been shoved against a wall to make room for the new leaner and cleaner setup with high-tech equipment that took up less space and required less wiring. They’d saved the 1940s microphone that gave KWCB its rich sound and was far superior to anything modern.
Jack glanced her way, dark eyes shining with the thrill of the new. “What’s up?”
She held out the tapes. “The Highwaymen! You interviewed them?”
“Sure. Think they sang a little for me, too.”
“Sang a song?”
“Absolutely.”
“I found these two tapes in the Quonset storage.”
Ken’s head snapped around as he glanced at her with wide eyes. “You opened the hut?”
“I found the key. Place is full of boxes.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “When we got too full in here, we’d box up stuff and stick it out there. Your folks and Clem never liked to throw much away.”
“I’m holding a Hank Williams tape.”
“Nice guy. Great singer.”
“The historical value alone is tremendous.” She felt light-headed as she clutched the tape to her heart. She glanced up at the The Highwaymen poster. Not just good mojo—astounding mojo.
“Are you calling me old?” Jack asked with a chuckle.
“I meant—”
“If you are, you’re right. And if I’m real lucky, I’ll get a whole lot older.”
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You better.”
“I’m working on it.” Jack gave everybody a big grin. “If you want old stuff, I guess those interviews and live recordings are still out there. We’ve got forty or fifty years of football games, too. Local folks might want to revisit their youth.”
“Great idea for special programming. Lots of small stations monetize running football games.” Eden glanced around the group. “We could start Friday afternoons and run till midnight.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “Call it something like ‘Wildcat Football Lives On.’”
“Sounds good to me,” Shane said. “Friday nights were fun on and off the field.”
“The tapes may not be in very good shape,” Jack said thoughtfully.
“Lots of great tech to fix stuff like that nowadays. Right, Ken?” Nathan looked up from where he was fiddling with the computer.
“Right,” Ken said.
“Eden, where are you going with this?” Shane cocked his head to one side as he gave her a puzzled look.
“Don’t you see?” She glanced around the group in happiness. “We’re sitting on a gold mine and didn’t know it.”
“Do you mean to say,” Jack asked, “folks would pay good money to hear my old interviews?”
“Oh my, yes, I do think so.” She grinned at him, clutching the tapes tighter. “Think about it. We’re old and new. Male and female. Beloved, experienced, old-style delivery and new, fresh LA approach. Old microphone and classic country with new equipment that allows us to reach a broader audience and internet exposure. We launch to an audience hungry for both.”
Jack nodded with a sly smile. “I’m all in.”
“We’re all in,” Shane added, looking happy.
“No doubt about it.” She held out the tapes. “KWCB just got its hook.”
Chapter 32
A week after Eden had discovered KWCB’s treasure trove and they had the Wildcat Den back on the air, Shane sat on a bench in Wildcat Spring. Alone. He could hear water trickling into the basin, smell wildflowers, and hear birds chirping in nearby trees. Spring had sprung, but he felt like he was living in winter. Even worse, he felt as if he were living in the midst of a country song, lamenting lost love.
He’d figured Eden would be sporting his ring on her finger by now, since she had the means to total independence and financial security. Instead, he wasn’t even sure she remembered it. She’d plowed into that storage Quonset hut like a banshee, a woman on a do-or-die mission, dragging boxes into reception and her home till there was no more room except a narrow path to get through both places. She’d pushed everybody to their limit trying to find out what was in the hut, catalog it, and make it ready by May Day, so she could present a new and improved KWCB to the world.
A worthy dream, but it wasn’t possible. Too much stuff. Too little time. Too few workers. Everybody was flagging, no matter how hard she cracked the whip. And she was carrying the brunt of it, hardly eating, hardly sleeping, hardly speaking. He’d had about enough of it, as well as everybody else in her vicinity. But she had the bit between her teeth and her focus was strictly on that goal way down the road.