Make me a promise – when I die don’t let any corporate types write kind words about me – it’ll be a “statement” written either badly (even if its sincere) or by some PR flak. It would be real, it likely won’t have any personality. And that would be sad. This week I’ve seen a bit too much of that upon the death of a broadcasting legend.

Everybody wants their life to mean something – everybody wants to believe that something they did in their life mattered to at least one person, maybe more. For most people, like parents, they want their life to have meant something to their children and, in fact, that their legacy would be the good person their child or children have become.

Most of us don’t believe our lives will impact a generation or even longer than that. Having reflected it a bit now after his death, I don’t think Dick Clark felt that way either.

But his life’s work DID impact millions of people and it affected the culture of America.

I think Dick’s life work was something that he enjoyed and certainly made money on – but the initial intent I do not think was to leave a wonderful legacy. But that is what Dick Clark did. And there is one sure way to tell.

When you first read about his death, did you gasp or say outloud “oh no!” like I did? Were you genuinely saddened, like a well liked neighbor had died. Did his death stick in your mind a bit?

That’s my litmus test for legacy. I think alot of people felt that way about the man who voiced so many radio shows, commercials, TV shows and more. And what a voice.

The United Stations Radio Network (which was around when I was in radio – and I played more than a couple of them when I was in radio) has a great list of quotes and remembrances. I found myself especially touched by, of all people, Snoop Dog’s quote – it just read as so sincere and respectful from a performer who strikes me as neither. Great videos too.

But my memory is this song which summarizes American Bandstand (Dick’s fourth ‘baby’ he said) and always leaves me with a smile – which I think is how Dick Clark would have liked it. Thanks Dick for everything.

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Here’s another one of those situations where I missed out in meeting somebody whose work I always enjoyed.

Last week the voice over world and TV fans everyone bade farewell to Dick Tufeld.

Most of us “of a certain age” can remember Dick as the voice of “Robot” in the TV series “Lost in Space” and he WAS great in it.

But I also remember him on a number of award shows where at the end, he would say “This is Dick Tufeld speaking.”

I’ve written about Dick before on these pages. Here also is an obit.

Two nice ways to remember – or learn about – a great voice talent.

And of course, have a listen:

Tags: commentary, requiescat in pace, voice actors, voice talent, voiceover by peter k. o'connell, your friendly, neighborhood voice-over talent
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Often times there is so much I want to write about, I get overwhelmed. Then backed up with all the day’s tasks, I forget to write about a topic entirely. This is one of those catch-up posts.

For lots of folks, watching sports on ESPN SportsCenter was their favorite way to catch the latest sports news. I liked it too but I actually preferred watching CNN with Fred Hickman and Nick Charles. I liked the presentation, their chemistry, just everything about the broadcast.

Individually and as a team, Charles and Hickman just clicked. Nick Charles stood out to me as a great interviewer and the perfect authoritative but not over the top sports anchor. I have no idea if he was a big ego sports anchor or awesome guy in real life (years of personal experience has taught me in media, things are not always as they appear on TV) but it doesn’t matter…I’m going by what I saw on TV and that’s good enough for me.

So when I saw a few years ago that Nick Charles was diagnosed with bladder cancer, I felt awful for him. We exchanged emails with me offering him support in his battle and he offering that he was planning to fight.

On June 24 of this year, Nick Charles lost his battle and we lost a pretty amazing sports broadcaster. His wife and four children (including Nick’s 5-year-old daughter) lost their patriarch. Their loss is immeasurably greater.

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Jack C. Rang, September 27, 1923 – February 7, 2011

I had not spoken to Jack Rang since I graduated from the University of Dayton in 1986 and possibly before that. So when I read today in the school’s quarterly magazine that Jack had died on February 7th at the age of 87, I felt a bit idiotic.

My world was all about radio when I was at UD, specifically WVUD. I got on the air there in my freshman year with a regular, professional weekday gig at this FM station serving three states and I never looked back. I didn’t know how professional voice over would take over my radio passion at the time, although the seeds of joyous commercial production were being sewn then.

While I was at school, Jack Rang, who at one time was the GM at WVUD, was one of my broadcast teachers. He was a nice man and a wonderful voice talent. Jack had a rich, low voice that spoke of another era in broadcasting (maybe a better one). He taught a broadcast performance class to communication majors that in most instances had to be (for Jack) like listening to nails on a chalk board every school day.

Thinking back though, it wasn’t just about broadcast performance, it was about script interpretation, proper breathing, acting,  all the things I do today and speak with my fellow voice over talents about when they sign up for my Voice Over Workshop.

Thus Jack was really my first voice over teacher. And I never kept in touch. I didn’t reach out to him, say hi, ask how things were going, etc. I didn’t so much as reflect or give a moment’s thought to him and how he impacted my career.

Until I read his obituary.

True, I doubt he gave me a second thought among the thousands of people he taught, which is fine. But the shame is on me for not once in those 25+ years offering even a voice mail or an email with a quick thank you. It was the least I could have done and I didn’t do it.

My point here today is not merely to let you enjoy my self-flaggration and internal conflict. I hope it will more importantly give you pause in your day to consider a few of those folks to whom you owe a long delayed thank you. And then just do it.

Hi Jack,

You may be busy at the moment but along with this public apology I would like to offer my sincere thanks for your efforts as my teacher. You made a positive difference in my career. Thank you.

Best always,
– Peter

Tags: commentary, requiescat in pace, university of dayton, voice talent, voiceover, voiceover advice, WVUD by peter k. o'connell, your friendly, neighborhood voice-over talent
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It was a Monday night. I remember that for a couple of reasons even after thirty years.

First, I remember because my high school internship in the news department of WFXZ-FM/Buffalo (then known as Foxy 93 FM, now WBUF, using the Jack-FM format) was on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My music department internship at the station was on Mondays and Wednesdays if memory serves.

I was in bed at 10:00 p.m., and I had possibly been in bed since 9:30 p.m. because 4:30 a.m. came pretty early when you are helping in news department during morning drive.

The news anchor of the station was a woman named Susan Hunt. She was a friend of my other brother Michael and he mentioned to her my burgeoning interest in broadcasting. A discussion ensued and an internship evolved. My work was subpar; I didn’t cause Susan any damage but I wasn’t much of a help either. It was a baptism by fire; I’m embarrassed by my meager accomplishments there but remain grateful for the opportunity.

How that internship happened still surprises me when I think about it. My high school hadn’t ever had a broadcasting internship…or possibly an internship of any kind. My high school produced doctors, lawyers and men of industry (occasionally a priest or two if they calling was heard). Not radio and TV people (Tim Russert, a graduate of this same high school, was not following a broadcast path at the time of his graduation).

Fortunately, the school did have a small TV department and my teacher, Terry Fisher (who went on to be my video production business partner for six years and a groomsman in my wedding) helped facilitate the opportunity.

On that Monday night, I also remember hearing my brother Chris come upstairs in our family house, he had been out. He came upstairs to ask our Mother if she had heard about John Lennon. Yes, she had seen a note on the TV screen.

I believe I came out of my room to ask what they were talking about and they told me. They were no cable news outlets at that time but there was news on TV about what happened.

What ever the brightest color of green there is, that would describe the sum of my knowledge of how to gather facts for and then write an actual news story. But I tried…I tried to be ready for the morning.

I knew this was a big deal. I did not understand how big.

So I arrived at about 5:45 a.m. or 6:00 a.m. when ever the bus dropped me off in front of the station. Susan appeared to appreciate my efforts in gathering news items about the event even though as a music station, the story would gather 2-3 sentences of a local intro or outro followed by a network news actuality or special report. Plus the local morning newspaper had all facts by that time.

But I was in the middle of it all….my first big news story as a news intern, writing copy, grabbing network feeds and then trying to stay out of the way.

Shooting, death, assassination – I understood all that. The Beatles, I got – I was born on the night they first appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. John and Yoko I knew about. The new record, Double Fantasy, I knew about, especially through my music internship. Fame – I had a passing understanding of the concept.

Generational impact? What?! I had no idea.

I missed the story’s lead…I didn’t understand it. I didn’t comprehend it.

I had to watch, observe and listen in the days, weeks and months to come.

Today I could write the lead and the story, grab the network feed with audio, video and links.

But a high school junior needs to learn. Fortunately, even at the time, well that I understood.

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Editor’s Note: This was read as part of a memorial mass this afternoon for my brother who died on October 28, 2010.

Thank you everyone for coming today. Thanks for the calls, conversations and remembrances about Christopher.

Special thanks for Monsignor Mack for serving as our celebrant, Frank Scinta and the St. Louis Church choir for helping with the music and Linda O’Connell who has been so selfless in planning this funeral with our family, especially Mary, Michael and myself.

There are so many broken hearts among us today. While we truly celebrate Chris’ new life in heaven, we are a selfish lot and are sad for ourselves and our loss. I certainly join I you in that emotion.

Yet while it is hard to make sense of a tragic, accidental death like Chris’- dealing with the hurt of knowing we’ll not see him here again on earth- I am amazingly heartened to have experienced the joy that Chris brought to so many people throughout his life as told to me by so many friends.

Fortunately, all of us here today have many examples of “Chris Stories” that you have shared and I hope will always share with your friends and family and us for years to come.

Just to prime the memories pump, I’ll recount a story from Chris’ grammar school days (about 2nd grade, I think) right next door at Saint Mark School. Chris called my Mom from school one day and said he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to come home. My Mom drove over to the school and Chris was standing out front, waiting for her. When they got home, Mom told him to go lie down in his room and as he left, Chris asked if he could have a PB&J for lunch. This gave my mother pause; if he wasn’t feeling so well, he had a pretty good appetite.

Then the phone rang and it was Sr. Joan of Arc, the school principal asking my Mom if she had picked up Chris because no one at St. Mark’s knew where Chris was. He hadn’t said anything to anyone at the school about leaving. Realizing now that Chris wasn’t sick, my Mom said she’d bring Chris back to school right away. Sister said no, she would come pick Chris up herself.

A few minutes later, when the doorbell rang, my Mother asked Chris to answer the door. He causally opened the door and there stood the tall, very imposing figure of Sister Joan of Arc in full black and white habit, staring down at him. The jig was up! And back to school he went.

That story is an important part of O’Connell dining room history. History is a fancy word for memories and at the end of the day and at the end of our lives, it is that cumulative memory of our lives that live past our earthly days and are hopefully shared with future generations.

Most of us here knew of Chris’ Buffalo and Crescent Beach history but we didn’t know a lot about his life in Florida, which he kept fairly private. This week when I went down to Deerfield Beach to settle some of his affairs, I got to meet only some of the people who were a part of Chris’ life in Florida. I hope it will hearten you to know, as it did me, that people were just as fond of Chris there as they were here. That fact made me feel a bit better.

Because there were likely so many folks in Florida, whom I do not know individually, I felt compelled to write a letter that I cannot send, yet I mean every word. I’m guessing I could probably insert “Buffalo” instead of “Florida” in this letter and the meaning and sentiment would be the same.

Dear Florida Friends,

I write you today from inside St. Mark’s Church, in Buffalo, New York, a church that has meant a lot to my family. It was here in 1952 that our parents were married and our O’Connell family began. My sister Mary and brothers Michael and Chris were baptized here (me too) and we said goodbye to many family members here, as we now say goodbye to Christopher – our brother and your friend.

This is a thank you note from my family and from me especially. On my trip to Florida this week to settle some of Chris’ affairs, you all could not have been more kind and certainly you were all gracious. Thank you so much for that.

Chris held dear his privacy in Florida and so my family only knew you as names and sometimes not even that much. But on this trip you offered me the greatest gift I never expected. While sharing your sorrow at the news of his death, you confirmed for me something I always knew but was glad to hear again – how Chris brought joy to your lives, happiness to your days, friendship in your time together.

You see here in Buffalo, we knew all that. We could trade stories with you for days on Chris. I have a church full of people in front of me right now who could tell you of Chris kindness to others, his generosity, his selflessness. His parents taught him well. But because he didn’t share a lot about his life in Florida, I wasn’t sure if Christopher had changed his ways when he moved down there, maybe, I thought, he had become a different person. Clearly, he had not.

There is a film clip my Dad shot when Chris was about four or five years old and he is walking outside of our old house on Morris with happy, carefree abandon that all children should have. Chris walked right up to my Father and the camera with the most joyous smile and had a happy, giggly conversation. There was no sound on the film but it really wasn’t needed…the images told the story.

You know that smile from the film, don’t you? The childhood smile with the bright eyes I’m describing is the same smile you knew from Chris the adult. Along with his friendly demeanor, it’s the smile that helped make you friends with Chris, creating new stories, Florida stories that – when told – will help ease your sadness though this difficult time. Special memories of a special person.

His wasn’t a perfect life but I don’t know anybody who hasn’t slogged through life’s travails. Like here in Buffalo, though, with Chris you all took the good with the bad, the happy with the sad. It’s part of the deal when you are friends, family and siblings. Hopefully the support you and we offered (which was sometimes accepted and sometimes not) helped Chris get as far as he did for as long as he did. Thank you, Florida friends, for helping to take care of our friend and brother and for letting me know that you were as happy in his presence as he was in yours.

Sincerely, your new friend, Peter.

I have often said (not originally I’m sure) that life is a gift, not a guarantee. None of us are sure when our last day on earth will be and Chris didn’t know either. But he left us behind to remember not the challenges of his life but the enjoyment of his life. Those moments he gave to each of us individually and collectively that injected happiness, hope, opportunity, understanding and love where maybe it didn’t exist before or maybe it just got that much better.

Many of you have so kindly asked “is there anything I can do” to help our family in this sorrowful time. Today I will say yes there is. Your help is needed and I must insist you do the following not just today but for many days to come (now aren’t you sorry you asked?)

Say a prayer every day for the next 9 days. A mini-novena of sorts; the prayer can be about whatever you want, for whomever you want. Maybe spend about a minute but it can be longer. Nothing formal…you think it or say it however you please. But pray you must if you want to help our family as you’ve said you would.

With my sincere thanks, I’ll leave you now with the one I came up with:

Into your hands, O Lord, we commend our brother, our uncle, our cousin and our friend. And under your watchful and loving eyes Lord, and those of Christopher’s parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends who have gone before him – may Christopher now be granted the peace he so richly deserves in heaven. Amen.

– Peter K. O’Connell
November 5, 2010

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