"Beth's Story"

Last week, I started to relate to you the saga of a La Jolla damsel who was locked by her rich parents in her bedroom, forbidden to see her lover, a lowly carpenter. It all started when Lee Baby Simms, the KCBQ jock played, ”If I were a Carpenter.” One of his phone lines began blinking. It was a young woman, heartbroken because her parents had considered her too good for her carpenter lover, and now she was pleading with Lee Baby to help her escape captivity. He gently shined her on, and went on with the show. Then, the phone lines lit up with listeners enraged with the parents and insisting that Lee intercede. “Do something,” they demanded. But what? More outraged calls. The show was in a shambles with Lee fighting for control.

This went on for several nights with the young lady calling, increasingly grief-stricken. Her heart break finally got to Lee Baby. Moved to action, he asked for volunteers to help him rescue her from her home. A rock climber called offering help by climbing the fifty foot cliff to her bedroom window, and carrying her down to the beach below. A reformed burglar called, offering to climb up with the rock climber and break into the bedroom to rescue the damsel.

Before he made his final commitment, Lee talked heart to heart on the air with the carpenter who swore his undying love for the girl. That did it for Lee. He determined to reunite the couple.

Lee told his audience that he would not be able to tell them when and where the rescue would happen, because it was obvious that hundreds would show up on the beach and ruin the caper. A couple of nights passed; then, Lee announced, after the fact, that he and his rescue team had succeeded in springing the young lady. The wedding would take place on the show.

Lee Baby. The loving couple. A minister, and a few others gathered on the show and performed the emotion-charged ceremony.

It had all seemed so real, the tearful wedding and the joyous uniting of this couple. Lee never had the heart to tell his listeners that it had been a sham.

The “rich girl” was a surprisingly fine actress but, in reality, the station receptionist; the carpenter was George Wilson, the renowned programmer playing the role of his life. The rapt audience was proof positive: no one can requite unrequited love like a radio listener. To this day, reminiscing listeners get choked up over the rich girl and the carpenter.

I admired Lee Baby’s skill at creating faux reality literally out of thin air.

I did find an extra dimension in radio. There was an invisible audience I had sensed but never really experienced until. I went to a lawn party and was approached by a distinguished looking man who told me that years before, he had ridden across the Mexican border from Durango on a burro, and wound up here in San Diego He knew no English but gradually picked it up mostly by listening to me on the radio. Over time, He became a citizen and went to college “And now, Happy Hare. I am Professor Joseph (Jose) Medina, a professor of English Composition at Grossmont College.” Ay caramba!

In 1970, I was appointed the county chairmanship of Cystic Fibrosis a horrific children’s diseases . The money raised was to go for research and for support of home treatment by parents who spent long hours daily desperately exercising their kids, just to keep them breathing.

One of my specialties was teen charity walks energizing kids, most of whom refused to make their own beds, to find sponsors and walk 20 miles for a cause.. I often raised over $150,000, a fortune then, and in today’s money?,., forget it.

I never said dire things like, “If you don’t give money, these children will die.” It was more, “Give me all of your money. Money is nothing but dirty green paper…yech! Get rid of it.”

Let’s jump past the fact that I inspired over 15,000 young marchers to raise money for each mile they walked and move to the real story, the story of Beth.

Her father phoned me with concern in his voice. “I know this isn’t your problem Happy Hare but my daughter, Beth, has raised $613.00 if she finishes the walk.” “ Great!’ I said. This was more than many kids raise by a long shot. Her father’s voice trembled as he spoke. “Beth is so proud, but she is a good forty pounds overweight I don’t have the heart to discourage her from walking.” Twenty mile walks are brutal. I promised her dad that I would watch over her and asked him to come the day of the walk and introduce me.

The day of the walk is always festive. Thousands of walkers, eager to get started, with manic overtones of eagerness, straining at the braces to get started. Beth’s dad sought me out and walked me over to Beth who was all smiles, not the introverted kid I had pictured in my mid,. She was fifteen and seemed oblivious to the rigors of the coming walk. ”Happy Hare!” she gushed, reaching out and pulling me into an embrace. Her dad was right. She would never make it through the twenty miles. Then the whistle blew and the time came to set out. “I’ll see you later,” she said, laughing happily.

Four hours passed and the fleetest of them had already run the course with ease. Some were high school runners, so the twenty miles flashed by in three hours. Or more.. Others were naturally gifted with energy and spirit and soon several hundred of them flooded the finishing line with pounding feet. cheerfully ready for more. Beth’s dad had stayed on the side lines, but I could see him anxiously scanning the groups as they came in, By now, those who finished were limpers, then more stragglers. We were down to the last of the stragglers, but still no sign of Beth. When a large gap of walkers happened, Her dad ran up to me and said, “I am really worried. Maybe she’s hurt. I’m going back along the route and see if I can find her.” I was hesitant too, but I didn’t want to sabotage his daughter.

“Maybe, she is near and we don’t want to undermine her.” I said. He wasn’t having any of it. Seeing his anguish, I gave in. Okay, I said, “Come with me. I am driving the station news wagon. We’ll go in that.” Truth was, I agreed with him.

The route was well lit, but there were dark patches, and we drove by those slowly, looking for Beth. Finally we saw a lone figure, a good two miles back, limping painfully. It was Beth plodding toward the finish line.

I sped up until, we were alongside her. “Beth,” her dad shouted.” Get in the car.” Her head was down, bent on putting one step in front of the other.” Then she saw me in the car and smiled bravely despite what I now saw were bloody feet. “Happy Hare,” she shouted. I am almost through. Go back and wait.”

Her dad interrupted her. “Beth, please get in the car. I…” Beth cut him off. This time, there was a cold fury on her face.’ Dad!” She screamed, her arms flailing, “Get way from me. If I fail, it will be because of you. You never believed in me, dad,” She broke down in deep sobs, then gathered herself up again.” Now shut up, dad, and leave me alone.” I didn’t wait for her dad to reply, but quickly turned around and drove away.

He was disconsolate, but he still didn’t get it. “She can’t make it and that will hurt her even more.” He said to himself more than to me. Back at the finish line, he rambled on within ear shot of some of the walkers who were lingering after they had finished their walks. They started to form a group around him. I pulled him away and practically ordered him to shut up and wait.

It was almost an hour before we saw Beth in the distance. Only this time there were others with her, and somehow she had forgotten her badly bloodied feet and was walking with a spring in her step. The ones who had heard her dad and me at the finish line apparently had made a group decision; they walked back into the route and found her, Now they were her cheering escorts a good twenty of them. Beth fell into her dad’s arms at the finish line and together, they left. I never forgot her, but assumed I would not hear from her again.

Ten years later, I received a phone call. It was her dad. “How is Beth?” I asked. “She’s great” he said. “She is a long distance runner at college, fifth ranked in the state, and she’s is working on her law degree.” He paused a long time. “Happy Hare, I thought I knew my daughter when she was growing up, but I did a lot of thinking about it after the Cystic Fibrosis walk and realize that I had done all the talking all those years, and never let her express her opinions. I never knew her at all.”