“So this thing, this thing that you do...it’s like the radio, but not really?’
“Yeah,” I say, positioning the mics. “They’re called podcasts.”
“Pod casts.” He does that little twist of his lip, and shakes his head, the twist becoming a smile. “And folks listen to these here things, but not on the radio?”
“Yeah. Radio’s sort of takin’ a downturn. There’s still a lot of talk radio out there, but music wise, big companies have bought up most of the stations and little by little are starting to toss the DJs, going with automation. The younger folks aren’t listening as much, not with Spotify and Apple Music and a number of other things. Mostly, they just listen to the playlists on their phones. So, podcasts have picked up in popularity.”
He shakes his head again and chuckles. “Listen to their phones.” Reaching over, he playfully pats the mic that I’ve set on his side back and forth between his outstretched hands. “So, you talk to ghosts on these?”
“Pretty much.”
“How’d that all start?”
“Not sure, exactly.” I lean back into my chair, watching as he combs his thick black hair. “I was just trying to make a go of it, when one day Thomas Edison walked in.”
“The electric guy?”
“Yeah, him. We talked a bit, he was a bit defensive when I brought up Tesla, but it was fun. Then, the next week, Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee stopped by and we had a nice debate on the Civil War. With that one, my ratings ticked up, which I guess prompted interest by the others.”
“Other ghosts?”
I nod. “Yeah. And that’s when things began to happen. Someone new would show up every week. But...wow, Buddy Holly. He was the tipping point.”
His smile broadens and he stands. With a sway of his hips he begins to sing,
“If you knew
Peggy Sue
Then you’d know why I feel blue
Without Peggy
My Peggy Sue-a-hoo...”
His dance brings me a smile. “That was really good.”
“So who was next?” he asks, sliding back into the chair.
“Jim Morrison.”
“Don’t you love her madly...”
He winks, his lip curling into that twist.
“Then Jimi.”
“Purple Haze...”
He stops singing, turns, and looks away. “I always wondered how he did all that with his guitar.” But then his eyes narrow and he leans forward, setting his elbows on the desk. “Wait...did you say not one of those folks knew they were dead?”
“Exactly. Not a single one. And I made sure to never tell them.”
“Tarnation. They musta been a heap confused on how they ended up here?”
“I’m sure they were. But it’s never come up. So far.”
“Whoa. So, any idea who might be next? Or do they just show up?”
“Mostly they just pop right into that chair. But this time I know who’s next. The King.”
His face goes flush. His eyes widen. His mouth drops open.
“Yup, it’s you, Elvis.”
“Yeah,” I say, positioning the mics. “They’re called podcasts.”
“Pod casts.” He does that little twist of his lip, and shakes his head, the twist becoming a smile. “And folks listen to these here things, but not on the radio?”
“Yeah. Radio’s sort of takin’ a downturn. There’s still a lot of talk radio out there, but music wise, big companies have bought up most of the stations and little by little are starting to toss the DJs, going with automation. The younger folks aren’t listening as much, not with Spotify and Apple Music and a number of other things. Mostly, they just listen to the playlists on their phones. So, podcasts have picked up in popularity.”
He shakes his head again and chuckles. “Listen to their phones.” Reaching over, he playfully pats the mic that I’ve set on his side back and forth between his outstretched hands. “So, you talk to ghosts on these?”
“Pretty much.”
“How’d that all start?”
“Not sure, exactly.” I lean back into my chair, watching as he combs his thick black hair. “I was just trying to make a go of it, when one day Thomas Edison walked in.”
“The electric guy?”
“Yeah, him. We talked a bit, he was a bit defensive when I brought up Tesla, but it was fun. Then, the next week, Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee stopped by and we had a nice debate on the Civil War. With that one, my ratings ticked up, which I guess prompted interest by the others.”
“Other ghosts?”
I nod. “Yeah. And that’s when things began to happen. Someone new would show up every week. But...wow, Buddy Holly. He was the tipping point.”
His smile broadens and he stands. With a sway of his hips he begins to sing,
“If you knew
Peggy Sue
Then you’d know why I feel blue
Without Peggy
My Peggy Sue-a-hoo...”
His dance brings me a smile. “That was really good.”
“So who was next?” he asks, sliding back into the chair.
“Jim Morrison.”
“Don’t you love her madly...”
He winks, his lip curling into that twist.
“Then Jimi.”
“Purple Haze...”
He stops singing, turns, and looks away. “I always wondered how he did all that with his guitar.” But then his eyes narrow and he leans forward, setting his elbows on the desk. “Wait...did you say not one of those folks knew they were dead?”
“Exactly. Not a single one. And I made sure to never tell them.”
“Tarnation. They musta been a heap confused on how they ended up here?”
“I’m sure they were. But it’s never come up. So far.”
“Whoa. So, any idea who might be next? Or do they just show up?”
“Mostly they just pop right into that chair. But this time I know who’s next. The King.”
His face goes flush. His eyes widen. His mouth drops open.
“Yup, it’s you, Elvis.”
