Imagine having a child in your home whom you did not notice until his 7th birthday.
Yes, parents are busy. Especially when both are aggressively pursuing careers. But somebody should have spotted the kid.
On Monday at noon, when church bells across Culver City may or may not peal, NPR West, the National Public Radio’s way, way, way out in the covered wagon Old West affiliate, where they just heard about the Lincoln assassination, will celebrate its 7th birthday.
In?
You probably should guess where NPR West’s broadcast facility is — Salt Lake City? San Antonio? Bozeman? West Manhattan?
As if this community is a hideout for terrorists — or militants, as NPR would say more softly — the public broadcasting network that might give out Dick Cheney’s cell phone number, never has revealed its own secret cave to millions of listeners.
Since Nov. 2 of ’02, NPR West has been hunkering down on Jefferson Boulevard in — all together now — Culver City.
Were this the East Coast, say radio observers, eastern-oriented NPR would announce 4 times an hour what block they are in, what floor they are on, what room they are in, and they would email a map of Culver City to the first 15 million callers.
You know, the Heart of Screenland, the town that NPR contends means nothing to their sophisticated audience in the Middle West and the East.
But since this is the West Coast, or as radio people say, the Much Less Coast, Culver City isn’t even treated like a step-child. More like an abused child, some would argue.
With its 7th birthday beckoning, NPR officials went to the doctor — in the East — had their civic amnesia excised, and reporter Melissa Block drew the short straw, meaning she got to interview the Mayor of Culver City, on the big-time radio, before all those smart people in the East, the Middle West and sections of downtown Kabul.
Hardly pausing to catch its breath, NPR yesterday devoted 2 minutes, 43 seconds of time they could have used to sell global warming or the wares of the magician who performed the latest facelift on House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.
Where Am I? Where Am I?
Taping the other day in front of The Culver Hotel, Ms. Block slickly morphed into the radio queen of cheek-slapping understatement.
“You may have noticed that NPR West isn’t terribly specific,” she said.
Never, to be precise.
“Could be a lot of places. Sometimes, they say ‘I’m in California,’ which narrows it down a little bit. But it’s a pretty big state.
“We have somebody here who is going to help us out,” Ms. Block said, nodding toward the always dapper Mayor Andy Weissman. “When we say NPR West, Andrew Weissman, what do we mean?”
“You are in Culver City, California,” said the mayor, whose well-known wittiness was locked away in an NPR vault just ahead of the interview.”
This kind of penetrating parrying went on for the next 2 minutes and 20 seconds of riveting radio, and perhaps that is why, if one were standing in the center of the country, he would have heard a single sound, Ms. Block and Mr. Weissman.
The lady kept trying to say, “But I flew into the Los Angeles Airport.”
Obviously, Culver City will have to erect an airport.
At least National Public Radio listeners — with photographic memories — will know NPR West is in Culver City — until the next time it is mentioned on the radio, to celebrate its centenary.
