When I was in college, a long time ago, I majored in journalism. I didn’t have a minor four semesters into my academic career at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh. Heck, it took me that long to learn how to spell Duquesne.  I was more interested in playing baseball than worrying about what my minor would be.

Eventually, I was called into a meeting with an academic adviser whose name I cannot recall.

“Bill, we need to get you a minor,” he said.

“Ok. How about eligibility?”

The adviser didn’t laugh.

He looked over my academic records for a couple of minutes. He pursed his lips a few times and then sighed.  I sat there, in a small, cramped office, thinking, “Uh-oh. This can’t be good.”

“Well,” he finally said, “Sociology is pretty easy.”

My immediate thought was, “Sociology?”  The “pretty easy” part though caught my attention. It wasn’t a hard sell.
“Alright, sounds good to me,” I told him.  So, that is how ended up with a sociology minor.

It also happened to be the only time I ever met with an academic adviser at Duquesne. And he didn’t lie to me; sociology was “pretty easy.”  Although, looking back, why would the academic adviser suggest an “easy” minor for me?  Just wondering.

My first radio job out of college, in 1984, was working for WRKL in Rockland County New York . I announced high school football games on Saturday and during the week covered insanely boring things like planning board and town hall meetings.

One of the few meetings I actually enjoyed covering was the monthly board of health gathering. I found it interesting and informative to know which restaurants had been fined for health code violations.

At the first board of health meeting I covered, I spoke with a woman who was there for the local newspaper. She warned me about Doctor Fletcher Johnson, the board of health president. She told me he was tough to deal with. When the board of health members walked into the meeting I was struck by how huge Dr. Johnson was. He was about 6’8 and solidly built. All throughout the meeting I kept thinking, “Fletcher Johnson. Where have I heard that name before?”

At the conclusion of the meeting, I went up to Dr. Johnson, a cardiovascular surgeon, while carrying my tape recorder and introduced myself. He didn’t appear all that impressed with me. He wasn’t rude, but he gave the impression he had other, more important things to get to.

Before I began the interview I asked him, “Are you the Fletcher Johnson who played basketball at Duquesne?” He stared at me. Then his eyes lit up. He even smiled.
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