Anybody out there who lingers under the impression that America speaks with one voice in the world has not crossed the country in an aging Subaru listening to local radio stations. A few hours cruising the AM and FM bands in a moving car reveals the unique preferences, concerns, and tastes of each one of the cities, towns and rural communities of the Republic. And no two are alike.
To be sure, the voices are less unique now than they once were. In the early 80s, when I would drive fairly frequently between Massachusetts and Ohio, I would listen in as the radio powerhouses in Philadelphia and Scranton (westbound), or Pittsburgh and Wheeling (eastbound), faded into the static, leaving a no-station’s-land in the center of Pennsylvania. There, high among the Appalachian ridges and villages with names like DuBois and Clearview, the airwaves were filled by a single down-home speaker, nattering away at his listeners as if he were propped up on a chair near the pot-bellied stove at the general store, his feet on the counter.
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