Talking with Tim

His son said it best, as noted in this LA Times obit.

“‘He lived a long, eventful, satisfying, though sometimes tempestuous life,’ Dan Terkell said. ‘I think that pretty well sums it up.’”

Indeed it does. But there’s also the Chicago Sun-Times obit. Read all his obits that you can find. The man was fascinating and a damn fine storyteller and left every person he met with a story. I’m impressed at how the comments section of the obits even generate stories about Terkel.

Never heard of Turkel? Fortunately he has many books and recordings for you to inform yourself. Here is a bevy of online videos courtesy of Google/You Tube. Here is the Chicago radio station, WFMT, where he spent more than 40 years. Finally here is Chicago History Museum’s site devoted to Terkel.

Paul Sizer can always rely on me to be a major supporter of his work. One of his trade collections for Little White Mouse features a foreword by me. I was a beta tester on his latest book, BPM. The only thing I like more than reading Sizer’s work is when I get to interview him. Before jumping into the interview, though, let’s get the basic info on BPM.

“BPM is a full color 96-page graphic novel written and drawn by Paul Sizer (LITTLE WHITE MOUSE, MOPED ARMY graphic novels). The graphic novel will contain the main story, plus a comprehensive sketchbook section and detailed playlists and notes. Plus, the book will also be linked with iMixes from the Apple iTunes website that provide a ’soundtrack’ to accompany the book, as well as playlists for each of the main DJ characters, showing each person’s musical tastes.

“‘B.P.M.’ is Paul Sizer’s love letter to the music he loves. In combining the story of a young DJ with the power of computer enhanced artwork, Paul’s goal is to merge his love of comics and his love of music into a moving, dynamic story of passion, motivation and hard choices over following one’s creative dreams. Paul has challenged himself as a writer and artist, using new techniques to tell this story. Combining his art with hundreds of photos he’s taken in New York, Paul has worked to make “B.P.M.” a unique visual experience as well as a thoughtful and engaging story that transmits the raw power and inspiration that music can generate.

“‘Roxy spins records in dark clubs and small bars, hoping to make a name for herself as a DJ in the complex and demanding club culture of New York City. She stumbles across Robie, a burned-out former superstar DJ, who shows her how to rise to the next level of her art. As Robie’s mentoring begins to elevate Roxy’s career, she must choose whether to follow her heart or the beat of the music she loves. Looking for the ‘perfect beat’ is a long and demanding journey. Which path will Roxy choose, and what will she have to leave behind?’”

Once you read the interview, be sure to visit Sizer’s site which takes the concept of multimedia to its fullest extent. He taps into every form of media except reel to reel and HD, I think. The book is listed in October’s Previews (OCT084169) and will be available in stores by November. You can also buy the book via myriad links at Sizer’s site.

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My father died in 1985, when he was in his early 60s and I was 17. There is not a week that goes by that I do not miss him on some level. So when I just read that Skip Carey died in his sleep today, I missed my father greatly. Let me explain.

My father was not a touchy feely/positive affirmation kind of guy. I distinctly recall trying to hug my father once when he was in the hospital. My father, even in a weakened state, effectively blocked my hug with an extended hand and the perfectly executed forced handshake. My father was a curmudgeon who showed a father’s love through three square meals, a damn fine roof over my head and the best Catholic education money could buy.

The one way my father and I bonded was through baseball. No, he never took me to a baseball game–that was just not his style. He religiously watched the Braves on TV and listened to the radio. Atlanta’s Channel 17 in the 1970s (long before TBS) was always on in the evening or the radio tuned to WSB in the car. I grew up listening to Braves announcer Skip Carey. The man was even more of a curmudgeon than my father.

So whenever I heard Carey call a game after 1985, it gave me fond memories of my father. This past Wednesday, I was driving up to Tennessee and happened to hear the game on the radio (that’s the great thing about the South–the Braves Radio Network has affiliate stations in several states). Skip and old friend Pete Van Wieren were calling the game. It was like the 1970s all over again (complete with the Braves losing even). Even though it seemed like Carey was hitting the cough button to mute his coughs, I thought I could still hear it sneaking through Van Wieren’s mike. Maybe I imagined the whole thing, but I remember thinking: “Wow, Skip sounds weak.” It reminded me of my father’s voice in his final year.

And yet, Skip’s wit was still intact in that game. I’m glad I got to hear him one last time. Thanks for keeping part of my father alive for me for 23 more years, Skip. I’ll miss you.