Prior to the act, the national limit was less than 100. Business has never been better either, as radio steams toward its first $20 billion year in ad sales.

Yet as O'Shaughnessy noted, if the showdown were just the NAB haves vs. the low-power have-nots, odds are the NAB would be poised to suffer a humiliating defeat. Instead, the NAB found an invaluable ally in the most unlikely of places: National Public Radio.

By joining forces with the NAB to oppose low-power, NPR, the mighty nonprofit corporation that counts more than 600 member stations nationwide and is heard by 14 million listeners each week, has come to be regarded by low-power followers, both at the grass-roots level and in Washington, as Public Enemy No. 1.

"Public radio has got their piece of the pie and they're not interested in anybody but themselves, and that's regrettable," says House Minority Whip David Bonior, a Democrat from Michigan. He calls low power a "reasonable request" to give those usually barred from the airwaves a voice on the dial.

In a symbolic protest vote earlier this year, Bonior -- a longtime supporter of public broadcasters -- voted against NPR's annual funding. "I was not too enamored with how they have handled" low power, says the congressman.

Sen. Kerrey agrees: "Public radio sent a bad signal and got used by [commercial] broadcasters. The paradox is that the argument public radio makes against low power is the same one commercial broadcasters once used against public radio: engineering interference."

Low-power advocates say that NPR's vocal opposition has been the most costly blow to their cause on Capitol Hill, particularly among Democrats. (The NAB already enjoys warm relations with most Republican members.)

"NPR's participation confuses the issue for many members of Congress," explains the Media Access Project's Leanza. "Those who would normally support low-power FM -- those who support diversity on the airwaves -- believe they're doing the right thing [by opposing low power]. In fact all they're really doing is listening to a trade group protect their interests."

A spokesperson for the usually left-leaning Sen. Ron Wyden, D-Ore., says the senator supports the Grams bill because "he's committed to insuring that NPR has a interference-free voice on the airwaves."

In an interesting twist though, late last week Oregon Public Broadcasting, one of the state's largest public radio groups, broke with NPR and threw its support behind low power. Nonetheless, Wyden's spokesperson says the senator still has concerns about interference.

Says NPR chairman and CEO Kevin Klose: "We haven't been shy about informing members where we stand."

Some critics suggest that as NPR's programming has become more national and less local and corporate sponsors have taken on added importance, its intentions in the low-power debate are less than pure.

"They're trying to earn brownie points with commercial broadcasters: You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours," says Robert McChesney, author of "Rich Media, Poor Democracy." And what would NPR gain from the NAB? The group's 20 lobbyists could be helpful when it comes time to secure public funding from Congress, says McChesney. "It's a purely political calculation. It's perfectly rational, but totally indefensible."

Klose strongly denies any sort of quid pro quo with commercial broadcasters. "We are following our own issues," he says. He notes that "the NAB does not support low power. We do. We've said from the beginning it can be compatible and complementary with public radio." NPR supports only the Grams bill, not the more severe proposal to ban low power outright.

After frosty, on-and-off negotiations with NPR for most of this year, FCC Chairman William Kennard finally lost it last week when NPR rejected the commission's final efforts to address public radio's interference concerns. "It is a sad day when National Public Radio advocates a policy that would deny the public new radio service," Kennard fumed in a public statement.

Patience seems to be running thin on the other side as well. "The FCC killed low power. NPR is not killing it," argues Jon Schwartz, a member of NPR's board of directors and general manager of Wyoming Public Radio. "I want the FCC to do its job, prevent interference with existing stations. It's beyond me why the FCC wasn't more willing to do that." As for low-power supporters, "They are generally misinformed and don't realize it."

Klose complains the FCC's refusal to do field testing on the low-power issue "defies comprehension." He also warns that if Congress does not act on low power, NPR may join NAB in court to prevent the FCC from licensing any new community stations.

NPR's outgoing chairman of the board of directors, Kim Hodges, labels low power as "the most contentious external issue we've had to deal with in my four years. I hope we haven't burned any bridges."

For some, the damage is done. "NPR is the last group of people I really want to be fighting," says Pete Tridish, with the nonprofit Prometheus Radio Project, a low-power advocate group.

"But they've been so atrocious," he says. "You can't look at groups like that and assume they're friendly based on their public persona. That cost us. I think if we campaigned six months ago against NPR they would have changed their minds. But we didn't want to; we didn't want a cat fight between public media groups."

The current standoff revolves around technical questions concerning how much signal interference low power would create for public stations. The FCC in its tests found that new low-power stations on what is called "third channel adjacency" to existing signals would not cause static problems.

(Radio stations broadcast on odd-numbered decimals on the radio dial; each odd decimal point is called a channel. Third-channel adjacency means that a new community station at 92.7 would not interfere with existing stations three channels away, at either 92.1 or 93.3.)

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