One Legendary Conversation

By Bill Mack
Truckers Connection

2/14/2008

Hearing stories about people who go “out-of-their-way” to perform services benefiting others always grabs my attention. Certainly, it’s encouraging to read news pertaining to organizations within our nation who are feeding, clothing and educating those in need. However, some of the most interesting stories are not categorized as monumental or extremely needed happenings.

The story I am about to relay refers to a personal incident that I had forgotten about until reading an entire chapter devoted to it in a book titled Legendary Conversations, written by a disk jockey from Brady, Texas named Tracy Pitcox.

According to Tracy’s book, we’re looking at the anniversary of the incident. It is marked as happening in February, 1989.

Tracy was beginning his radio career and had called me several times to chat about the latest news in country music or rumors that were making the rounds. Both of us have always attempted to dig deep into the “rumor mill,” especially if what was being verbally distributed was regarded as hot material. I have found that most radio personalities follow this same nosey pattern. It’s a system that “makes us tick!”

Tracy was a senior at Brady Texas High School when he and several of his fellow FFA (Future Farmers of America) members made a trip to the annual Fort Worth Livestock Show and Rodeo in February of 1989.

It’s important that I insert this fact: there is a persistent saying when the weather is “winter tough” in Fort Worth: “It’s Stock-Show weather!” Reason being, most of our rougher winter weather always seems to occur when the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo are running in high gear.

After Tracy and his pals had bedded down in their hotel rooms, he decided to give me a ring, since my all night radio show had just begun. During our phone conversation, I invited him to grab a cab and join me at the radio station. Obviously, it was an invitation Pitcox couldn’t refuse. Although no one was supposed to leave the hotel without permission, Tracy and one of his pals decided to sneak out of the room, exit the hotel and grab a cab to the Fort Worth radio station.  “It was too late to awaken anyone for permission,” he said.

It was beginning to snow as I opened the door at 1 Broadcast Hill for Tracy and his pal. The clock was ticking around the two a.m. spot as I did my regular thing during those wee hours of the morning. Pitcox seemed a bit in awe as telephone calls were coming in from all across the nation because of the 50,000 watts of clear-channel power that the old station possessed at the time.

Tracy mentions in his book that Tanya Tucker and other top recording stars who were popular during that era, were calling in to check things out with me. Since he was still relatively new in the whizzy game of broadcasting, he was quite taken by the fact that these super-stars were so interested in me, and that they were up so late at night in order to hear my radio program in action. He had not taken the time to weigh the fact that some of those “stars” who were calling me up had one single purpose: to promote their latest recordings by dishing out the sweet-talk to me. These are not regarded as insults. Phone calls and sweet-talk just happen to be part of the expected proceedings when artists have new recordings on the market.

Allow me mention the fact that Tanya Tucker was always sincere with her sweet-talk. She is still one of my best pals.

As the early morning passed, Pitcox seemed more interested in the activity being presented by the phones and the unorthodox structure of my radio show—a system that still persists—than in what Harold Taft, The World’s Greatest Weatherman, was presenting on a regular basis: “The weather is going to be a mess today as blowing snow is making driving hazardous! All area schools will be closed, and I’m afraid attendance at the stock show and rodeo will be seriously affected.”

Finally, Tracy decided it might be best for him and his chum to call a cab and head back to the hotel before the rest of his group, including his professor, awakened. After dialing a few numbers from the yellow-pages, Pitcox’s face appeared to pale. He set the phone aside and moaned, “The cabs aren’t running because of the heavy snow!”

Without giving much thought to the issue-at-hand, I opened my microphone and announced that we were in desperate need of a cab at the radio station. “Tracy Pitcox and his pal need to get back to their hotel room before his professor wakes up and has him expelled for skipping out for th’ night to be with th’ Midnight Cowboy! If there are any cab drivers out there who are willin’ to take th’ chance to rescue my friends, call this number.”

After giving out the news-line “hot” number, all of the lights began flashing. At least a half-dozen cabs were on their way to WBAP. All of them requested that I not announce the name of their company. “We’re not supposed to be pickin’ up any passengers until th’ roads have been worked.”

When the first cab arrived and Pitcox and his pal had entered it for their grand get-away, I invited the other drivers making the scene to enter the radio station for some hot coffee and breakfast rolls.

After I had closed my program at five o’clock, I received the expected call from Tracy. He told me that he and his buddy had managed to sneak back into the hotel in fine form, even though the blowing snow was unbelievable. After informing me he had enjoyed the visit to my radio program, he added: “You’re not going to believe this. After the cab driver drove us miles through the blinding snow, on the slippery roads, I handed him the fare loot with what I considered to be a generous tip. He growled, ‘Keep your money.  Consider it a favor from Bill Mack.’ Then, as he shoved the cab into gear, he added, ‘Any friend of Bill Mack is a friend of mine!’”