When you’re stuck in a wheelchair and can’t do the things most able-bodied people can, you learn to find other ways to occupy your time. For me, that’s always been music. Not just liking music — escaping into it. And yeah, I know, a lot of people say they do that. But this was different.

Picture this: you’re a kid, all your friends are riding bikes or climbing jungle gyms, and those places aren’t accessible to you. What do you do? You disappear into your headphones. You build a world in there.

In the early ’90s, I saw Pump Up the Volume — the story of a pirate radio DJ who shook things up from his basement. Around that same time, Fisher-Price (yes, that Fisher-Price) put out something called the DJ Machine — a plastic microphone, a built-in mixer, and one tape deck. I wanted it so badly that I wouldn’t shut up about it. Instead of getting me that, my parents got me something better for Christmas: a real microphone and mixer to connect to my home stereo.

And that’s when the trouble started.

I began recording tapes — introducing my records and CDs like a radio host — and forcing people to listen to them. It was amateur hour, but I was obsessed.

Meanwhile, I was listening to WIBA-FM in Madison, where a morning DJ named Sly was on the air. One of my school aides arranged a tour of the station, and I got to meet him. It was cool, but I’ll never forget what he told me: “You don’t really have a radio voice.” That stuck with me. So did the decision not to let that stop me.

Somewhere around eighth grade, my dad told me about WORT Community Radio — a volunteer-powered station in Madison. I toured the place and signed up for their volunteer orientation. At the time, I think FCC rules said you had to be 16 to be on air. So I waited.

By freshman year of high school, when they started asking what you wanted to do after graduation, I was the one kid who had an answer. And I heard the same discouraging line again and again: “You’ll never make enough money doing radio.” But I didn’t care.

The summer before senior year, I joined a work-experience program through school. One of my teachers got me an interview with Norm Stockwell, then the Operations Coordinator at WORT. I started small — answering phones, labeling reel-to-reel tapes, sorting CDs. But every time I came in, I’d bring a tape of one of my self-recorded shows and leave it in the music director’s mailbox.

Eventually I started running the board for The 8 O’Clock Buzz, the Wednesday morning news show. One night, Sybil Augustine — the music director — said she needed someone to fill in for her 2–5 a.m. shift on July 4th. I stepped up. I don’t remember much from that first show, but I filled in a few more times that summer.

By late August, Sybil asked if I could take over Monday overnights. Hell yes, I could. She even brought me along to see Helmet and (I think) L7 in Milwaukee. On the drive back, I asked if the guy whose shift I’d been covering was coming back. Her answer: “No. If you want it, it’s yours.”

There was only one problem: school. I was starting my senior year. When I told my parents about the permanent 2–5 a.m. shift, the first question was, “What about school?” I promised I wouldn’t miss a single day. They said I should talk to the principal.

So, a week before classes started, I nervously asked for a meeting with the principal. He heard me out — and then he said, “If you don’t do this, you’ll regret it. I know you’ll be in school every day.” That was all the permission I needed.

The following Wednesday, after producing the morning show, I told Sybil I was in. I ended up hanging around the station all day, as usual, and got pulled into producing In Our Backyard, the evening news program. At the end of each broadcast, they’d list the names of everyone who helped out. And one night, producer Rob Ferrett read out, “Our board operator tonight is Lucas… the Prince of Darkness.”

It stuck. explain to me the irony, all about Lucas electric! 🙂