Site Presented By
Monday, Nov 9, 2009
He's been a radio icon since Limbaugh and Stern were in grade school. More than that, he is the finest huckster ever to roam the airwaves.
Sep 25, 2001 | In late August, 83-year-old broadcasting legend Paul Harvey returned full-time to radio land. For three months, he'd been out of commission thanks to a lingering virus that zapped his once invincible voice box. For a man whose physical health had been largely unwitherable, it was a frustrating ordeal. "When the engine's running, don't check the carburetor," he'd often say, putting a typical Harveyesque spin on his leave-well-enough-alone philosophy.
Following some rest and a fairly simple vocal cord procedure, Harvey began working mornings only, and eventually continued his midday and evening shifts as well. He knew the comeback was a bit premature, but he couldn't help himself. "Americans," he rasped, "can we visit for just minute? In my eagerness to return to work, you can tell ... you can tell by the cloudy, fuzzy voice that I may have returned too soon ... ABC and our wonderfully loyal sponsors have been so very patient that I am reluctant to take any more time off from these visits."
His wonderfully loyal sponsors were no doubt reluctant as well. For more than a quarter of a year, they'd lost their genius of a pitchman, whose show was left in the capable hands of fill-in hosts like Fox's Bill O'Reilly, who, bless his smug, bestselling soul, is no Paul Harvey.
To be fair, though, there are few if any media figures left who loom as large as Harvey, and it's unlikely there will be again. As the radio icon once remarked of former President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, "Now this is not a man with whom I necessarily would have agreed with philosophically. But he was still a giant. Oh, my goodness, what a giant. And there are so few. We're up to our ankles in pygmies."
A few years ago, in the pages of Chicago magazine, radio storyteller Garrison Keillor fondly recalled his run-in with Harvey at a "stuffed-shirt" dinner in Chicago. "When the salad plates were whisked away and the entree brought in, he leaned over toward me and said, 'Page ... 2,' just like he does on the radio," Keillor wrote. "In fact, Mr. Harvey was exactly as he is on the radio. He read me a number of stories from a script in his pocket, most of them about ordinary Americans and their struggle to deregulate industry and give large corporations the freedom to do good in the world, and during all of this, he sold me a tin of liver pills and a utensil that dices, slices, chops, minces and prunes."
It may be cynical to say so, but therein lies the key to Harvey's longevity and success. Sure, he's an astute dissector of current events, cultural phenomena and middle-American minutiae. But more than that, he is perhaps the finest huckster ever to roam the airwaves. He is so good that sponsors are said to be stacked high and deep, waiting to wow him with their products. Because if he is wowed, and only if he decides something is worthy of his own personal use, he will sell the hell out of it. And even while it is sometimes hard to believe that the multimillionaire workaholic finds time to strap on leaf blowers and operate load handlers, one willingly suspends disbelief if only out of respect and admiration for the magical way he woos us to spend money.
This, it's fairly safe to say, is the main reason ABC Radio Networks, Harvey's employer for 51 years, recently laid a 10-year, $100 million contract at his well-shod feet. Not because he commands a large and loyal enough audience to sway presidential elections (he leans unabashedly to the right, though less so now than in years past), and not because his "The Rest of the Story" segments, long written by his son and announcer, Paul Aurandt, are so brilliant (occasionally intriguing is more like it), but because he can move merchandise.
For the sake of example, say you're an avid Harvey listener. Perhaps you realize this already, but the suits at ABC Radio truly care if you care about what Harvey says during his twice-daily news and commentary segments and his evening "The Rest of the Story" yarns. Why? Because if you care, it means you're listening. Not just hearing, listening. There is, as many frustrated wives and preachers will tell you, a difference. See, if you care about Harvey's stance on some foreign war, or about the German marathoner whose toes were fondled in the night or the Nebraska woman whose driveway sprouted watermelons, you'll keep on caring when he proclaims, "Now, Page 2," and seamlessly segues from current events to an impassioned pitch for Chevy's Impala or the dietary supplement Citracal (the "cit" is for "citrus," the "cal" is for "calcium" ... did you know that osteoporosis is pre-ven-ta-ble?), or the Bose Wave Radio. Lord, how he loves that radio.
