The radio on my nightstand usually played classic rock, but 1994
was my summer of talk radio. During those heady days of
populist-conservative backlash, the medium was a near constant
companion. Lunch with Rush, drive time with the indefatigable
Beacon Hill-basher Howie Carr and a full five hours a night with
David Brudnoy.
Anyone who has ever cruised up and down the
static-and-blather-filled AM dial knows that few hosts are capable
of providing five hours of meaningful discussion, but rarely did
the "David Brudnoy Show" disappoint. So every weeknight, unless the
Bruins rudely interrupted, I and some 3 million others in 38 states
and Canada tuned into WBZ, Boston's 50,000-watt superstation, to
hear the master at work.
There were plenty of hosts who could effectively mock the
Clinton administration, rail against Hillary's health care power
grab, and attack the day's legislative outrages (remember midnight
basketball?). What set Brudnoy apart, aside from eloquence and
polemical skills that put most of his peers to shame, was his
ability to go beyond such well-worn subjects. His show was no less
interesting when he was interviewing antique collectors, obscure
academics, and authors of books on subjects that would have
otherwise made my eyes glaze over.
Many libertarian pundits praise liberty and excoriate the state,
but talk about nothing except politics and government. Brudnoy
celebrated life -- films, theatre, travel, wine, classical music,
literature -- and demonstrated an encyclopedic knowledge of
virtually all subjects, with only one notable exception -- he was
charmingly ignorant of professional sports and relentlessly tweaked
Boston for its obsession with athletics.
Which is not to overlook how scathing he could be in his
political analysis. Brudnoy's position on welfare payments to unwed
mothers was, shall we say, Charles Murray-esque. He skewered
multiculturalism by insisting, "One culture, one country." He
derisively referred to the Clintons as "Bubba and Evita" and was
equally critical of the "Almost Lifelike Al Gore."
Not all his barbs were directed at Democrats, however. He didn't
think much of conservative hero Jesse Helms (I vaguely recall him
once describing the North Carolina Republican as "morosely
grotesque") and occasionally crossed swords with the religious
right, though friends with such socially conservative Boston
newspaper columnists as Jeff Jacoby and Don Feder.
Such friendships cut across the political spectrum: He was also
personally fond of such Massachusetts Democratic Party barons as
Billy Bulger, Tom Finneran and Boston Mayor Tom Menino. While most
talkmasters stroke their audiences' political predilections,
Brudnoy was unafraid of offending either his conservative fans or
liberals who listened to him despite their ideological
differences.
"Boston's most informed talk show" wasn't just some slogan
cooked up by WBZ's crack marketing team. After all, Brudnoy had
degrees from Yale, Harvard and Brandeis, was on the faculty of
several colleges, most recently Boston University, and had been a
contributor to the pages of National Review and the
Saturday Evening Post before he ever slid behind the
microphone. But he did intelligent talk radio without the
pretentiousness of staid NPR. It's hard to imagine the South Boston
retirees and late-shift workers who called into Brudnoy's show
similarly enjoying "All Things Considered."
And Brudnoy's show had some excellent regular callers: Cheryl,
Cookie, libertarian Lou from Baltimore, Eddie from Allston. They
consistently raised the level of discourse and gave guests as much
reason to be on their toes as the host, who seemed expect such
quality. The only time I ever heard the genial broadcaster lose his
temper was when ill-mannered callers would seize the show as a
platform for their incoherent rambling. There was no speaking out
of turn in Dr. Brudnoy's class.
It was only a few months after I became a devoted fan that
Brudnoy's battle with AIDS was publicly disclosed. He struggled to
keep working throughout a persistent illness he described only as
the flu. His deep, firm voice had slipped into a labored, breathy
rasp and his guests often seemed concerned about his health. He was
near death when he was finally hospitalized and many listeners
wondered whether he would ever again return to the airwaves.
But return he did, in a show that featured his old friends
William F. Buckley, Jr. and Ted Kennedy as guests. Both interviews
were upstaged by Brudnoy's opening monologue, a detailed account of
his illness in which he for the first time gave his predominantly
conservative audience a frank glimpse of his life as a gay man
suffering from AIDS.
I remembered that monologue last week when I learned that
Brudnoy had succumbed to a rare form of skin cancer. In a final
interview with his longtime WBZ colleague Gary LaPierre from his
hospital bed just a day before he died, he joked and reassured his
listeners. ''If you accept, as everyone must, this stage in life,"
he said, "then I do not complain about my 64 years."
To some, his illness was just another in the long list of
paradoxes that were David Brudnoy: the gay, Jewish agnostic
right-winger with AIDS and a top-rated New England talk show. But
this catalog of apparent contradictions misses the point. The
courage in the face of suffering and imminent death, the commitment
to the students whose grades he spent his final days completing and
the devotion to his fans -- these were the characteristics that
made him one of America's most beloved radio figures.
And, without question, one of Boston's finest.
topics:
Health Care, Sports, Books
