Dreams, cigarettes, Top 40, whiskey and kindness from the radio booth.... "Jimmy in the Morning" signs off as death silences the deejay

Jimmy in the Morning is no more. 

Nah, it's not that James Baird ever changed his on-air moniker. It's just that he's dead, the switch on the base of his microphone turned to black. Gone. No more.

Hell, I should not say he's no more. Probably the soundwaves are traveling out into some Godforsaken galaxy.

But Jimmy's dead. That's what I said.

I've known a lot of radio broadcasters, some TV folks, too, in my half-century of minding other people's business to perform my journalistic wonders and not-so-wonderfuls.

But Jimmy in the Morning was as talented as any. And he was a helluva guy. He did not deserve to die in virtual anonymity as an old air-conditioner repairman fading away in some nursing home or long-term health-care facility, as the assholes who control our politically correct world now call them.

I hadn't seen Jimmy in decades. Oh, I guess he was at Scott "Badger" Shelton's funeral a few years ago. I can't remember because I was too busy crying. And dying in my heart.

The end, literally, of Jimmy in the Morning, was marked by a simple obituary a few days ago. No cause of death was listed. His age was basically my own.

Of course, we were both very young guys with mighty aspirations when I'd drop in on him and his broadcasts, fire up a smoke and laugh about life, love and ambition.

Forty-some years ago, it was not quite light outside when I walked down Madison Street from The Leaf-Chronicle parking lot at Second and Madison streets and climbed the stairs above, I think, an old furniture or insurance office. 

Doesn't really matter.  Been more handy if it had been a bar, but if you stepped out the front door, you could look 100 yards or so across some parking lots and see The Camelot, a sort of paradise for me and my friends, many of whom are dead.

Anyway, back to the story. I was going to see my friend Jimmy in the Morning and his ever-faithful news sidekick Scott Shelton at WJZM-AM radio, the hometown voice of Clarksville, Tennessee. This was sometime in the mid-to-late 1970s. Or something like that.

This was long before The News Brothers days, and I usually went to work by 5:15 every morning at 200 Commerce Street. If I got there early, I would walk past Mr. Broome's photo shop (Maurice Broom was a damn nice guy and gave me free film and dating advice sometimes). If I'd accepted his advice, I could have spared myself from my life's long-past most-horrible mistake. I eventually figured that out on my own, but this isn't a story about me. It's about dead Jimmy in the Morning. 

 Anyway, back then I'd struck up a friendship with Jimmy in the Morning Baird simply by dropping in at the radio station. Hell, I'd been listening to him every day. Scott … who was the news director … also was a friend and recently graduated Tennessee Volunteers fanatic and obsessive Democrat (another story) who yelled at kids who crossed his lawn (another story, but I loved him). 

I'd knock on the window of the DJ booth. Sometimes give him a simple, one-finger salute or blow cigarette smoke against the glass. 

Sometimes Jimmy would summon me into the booth. One day, he let me do three hours of Beatles songs, but I threw him and Scott off when I did "Helter Skelter" … they'd never heard it before. 

Scott, later “Badger” News Brother, didn't like the White Album by the Beatles. I loved it and that song in particular. Do you don't you want me to make you, comin' down fast, so I'll try not to break you.

Jimmy's bloodshot brown eyes were on the big time. 

And he was good. Every bit as good as Dr. Johnny Fever and Venus Flytrap. 

But he seemed scared to take his shot. He did get shot down once... I think it was by WKDA in Nashville, where Coyote was king, or something like that …

But I also think Jimmy in the Morning was the big fish in the Little Pond and enjoyed that role. 

I also don't think he gave himself enough credit. He also drank too much, probably, to succeed. I'm sure the scotch bottle wasn't far behind him when he left for work in the morning.

 But I can't judge him on that, as I was a pretty good practicing drunk myself for many, many years. Practice makes perfect, you know. Just didn't go to work that way, except for the morning after The News Brothers premiere. That's another story and chemical aid was necessary. 

 Anyway, I wrote a column about Jimmy for the front page of The Leaf-Chronicle. 

Gave him a few copies of the paper. He framed one and had it on his wall in Russellville, Kentucky, where he was living with a wife/girlfriend/whatever. She had kids. Don't think they were Jimmy's. 

The house burned down and he called me. He lost everything. The one thing he missed the most was the column I wrote about him. So, I got him one.

 I could go on and talk about Jimmy some more. Maybe I will. Who knows where this is heading?

 But I've been dealing a lot with death lately. I will tell you that Jimmy was a fine DJ, a really warm human being. He never wore socks and always had a gold chain dangling on his V-neck sweater. 

And I think that sweater always was red or burgundy. He drank day and night and sometimes I joined him, along with Rob Dollar, Jerry Manley and Clarksville's finest. 

Scott never was there, as he really wasn't a drinker and he probably was home yelling at kids crossing his yard.  Probably good he wasn't a drinker. his opinions were abrasive enough when he was sober, though I loved old Scott like a brother. Wrote about his death I think almost eight years ago or seven....long fucking time now, anyway.

 Course this little exercise and farewell is about Jimmy in the morning, who died the other day at some sort of extended healthcare facility in Clarksville, I think. 

 Booze play a role? 

Sadness? 

Defeat? 

Hell, probably just life in general.  You remember Jimmy, don't you?

 James, old boy, I have a small bottle of scotch upstairs. I don’t drink much anymore. But I'll have one to you and your memory. You were a damn nice guy. I don’t think you gave yourself enough credit, man. You coulda been a contender.

 Jimmy, if you are in heaven and you are sober, remember I admired you. I was pleased the many times you let me drop in on your show and hijack it. And the times I filled in as unpaid news reader when Scott was gone on vacation.

 You were great at what you did and you shoulda made it to the big time. 

But for 25 years, you lifted hearts and minds and sleepy heads in Clarksville, and you should be proud. Your Top 40 soundtrack and smooth, wisecrack of a voice were welcome dawn comrades in the Queen City of the Cumberland. 

Also, I loved it when you were passed out at the front table at Camelot and would open your eyes up just long enough to order drinks for me and Rob. 

Cheers old friend. You made your mark in the world. 

Like some of the rest of us, you never got rich at it. and I wish you hadn't gone into air-conditioning repair.

 I wish you had continued using your gift. For it was enormous, whether you were drunk or not.

 And you offered a sleepy old guy a place to hang out, either before going to work or between editions. And we enjoyed blowing cigarette rings in the WJZM outer office, much to Scott’s displeasure. Thanks. 

Oh yeah, if you are in heaven and not sober, hoist another one with my old pal, St. Pete, who is just hoping for the day when I come knocking on heaven’s door and tell him "howdy." 

Jimmy, I'll see you in the next world. I'll bring some music. I don’t want to listen to that Neil Diamond and Elton John shit you seemed to favor. 

Glad I knew you. You were unique. 

Although on winter nights, without those socks,  your feet must have frozen. 

Good thing you had antifreeze. 

I think it's about time I go upstairs and have that toast.

Jimmy in the Morning has signed off.... 

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS BLOG HAS A WHITE BACKGROUND BECAUSE I PICKED PART OF IT UP FROM A FACEBOOK POSTING. BUT HELL WITH IT, I'M NOT TYPING IT IN AGAIN.)