1953 Crosley

In Nick Hornby’s seminal 1992 book Fever Pitch, about being a fan and about obsession, he says that because he was such a fan of soccer team Arsenal that he knew there were 50-100 people in the world who, when hearing about, reading about, or watching Arsenal - would think of him.

And he thought that was nice.

I haven’t been collecting radios for nearly as long as Hornby has been an Arsenal supporter, but I get what he means.

It does feel nice.

When people travel, they now send me photos of antique (and some not that antique) radios they stumble upon. Both my friends the Matlows and the Pratzers have sent me pics of radios they have walked by in the shuk in Jerusalem. My nephew Natan was having dinner at a friend’s house and got up in order to take a picture of a radio on the shelf.

At the out-of-towner’s dinner for Danna and Robbie’s wedding, her sister in laws, who I had never even met, did a short skit about Uncle Ronnie’s radios.

Sammy and her husband Dan shipped me a dozen t-shirts they had made up emblazoned with a picture of me holding a Zenith transistor with the words Radio Ron - Boca 2022. Brian Green, the heartless son of a bitch who got me addicted in the first place, created a mock Globe and Mail newspaper article in which I was awarded the Order of Canada for my radio collection and contributions to Canadian culture. It’s not something I ever expect but it is nice when it happens.

My friend Gary was coming to visit from San Francisco. He had a few meetings set up but mostly was coming to see me. He is a very easy guest. He will eat week-old leftovers and is happy to watch a movie after dinner and then call it a night. He is also very thoughtful and considerate - he often sends me articles which I might be interested in. He is truthfully one of my best friends and favorite people in the world.

Since moving to San Francisco however, he has become one of these waste not want not, recycling, ban the bomb, composting, environmentalist, save the earth type of people.

To be perfectly honest, I am too. Like, not cloth diapers, but I recycle as much as the next guy.

I just don’t wear it on my sleeve.

But I’m not judging.

And of course, he drives an electric car.

Anyway, he was coming into town and I told him he didn’t have to rent a car, he was free to use mine. It wasn’t much in the way of generosity because I hardly ever leave the compound and am more likely to drive my golf cart. He said thanks but he was going to try to use my bike as much as he could.

I said my pleasure.

Cause you know, I don’t judge.

We had a great week. We reminisced about our adventures ‘back in the day’. Women we dated. Women we wanted to date. Women who didn’t want to date us. It didn’t take long for me to be reminded why we were such good friends.

He used my car a few times. A couple of times for a meeting. A couple of times to see his mother in law. And once, very early in the morning of his ungodly 7:00am flight, to run some sort of errand. He knew better than to ask me for a ride at that time of the morning. He did mention however, that he had put gas in the tank.

All in all, it was a great trip.

I did get up earlier than usual that morning because I had agreed to an early tee time with my friend Phil at his home course. Had I not been in such a rush, I might have noticed the thank you gift he left on the kitchen table.

But I was in a rush.

So all I noticed, after I turned the car on, was that, although he had in fact put gas in the tank, he had not filled it up. I knew it wasn’t a money thing. He just didn’t want to be part of the problem.

I’m not going to lie.

It pissed me off.

So I sent him a text.

I gave him a piece of my mind.

And a piece of some of the other parts of my body too.

It wasn’t pretty.

Just fill up my tank.

You know.

Had I not been in such a rush, I might have seen the 1953 Crosley on my kitchen table. The one he had purchased at an auction in Oakland. The one he had schlepped in the overhead compartment all the way from San Francisco. The one he had stashed at his mother in law’s house so he could surprise me with a thank you gift after he left.

I felt like an idiot.

A huge idiot.

But don’t worry.

I learned my lesson.

I will never ever play golf in the morning again.

The End