On the fifth anniversary of the murder of George Floyd, a remembrance of 38th and Chicago, my old neighborhood, the place where it happened, and the hope that that address could still become the symbol of a new era.

Wine, song, and a visit to the lairs of the Mad Poets who lived on Lake Garda, Italy plus a wave from Juliet's balcony in Verona.

The Magaphone, which had its origins in the megaphone, aka the bullhorn, cowhorn, blowhorn, or loudhailer, is today, as it was in the past, used to make a weak voice loud. Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Android | TuneIn | iHeart Radio | Spotify | Deezer| Pandora A weak voice is projected into the narrow end of the Magaphone by holding it up to the mouth and shouting, thereby, in technical terms, amplifying the acoustic impedance of the vocal cords to match them to the outside air while forcing the sound waves loudly in one direction. This is frequently manifested in a screech because the frequency response of […]

My Baptism into the Realm of Radio: about Ducks, Border Blasters, and a Visit from Charlie Gringo

Celebrating International Radio Day: a memoir of how listening to the radio as a youth instilled in me a passion for radio and traveling the world.

In 1984 I produced a short film that began on the Portuguese Island of Madeira, off the coast of Africa, and ended with Vincent Price and an Egg McMuffin.

On the night before the night before Christmas I boarded a Russian helicopter to fly to where the spirits are high and the air is thin, Mt. Everest. where, gasping for air, I recorded my holiday greeting. Listen to an excerpt from my book Tales of the Radio Traveler and check out the photo gallery. Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Android | TuneIn | iHeart Radio | Spotify | Deezer | Pandora Photo Gallery All photos ©Russell Johnson

If you have ever traveled for business, you have probably experienced a few night alone in some faraway place over the holidays. A few years ago I flew to Frankfurt, Germany the day before US Thanksgiving for a 1/2 hour business meeting. The meeting was a bust and alone, in a terrible mood on a bone-chilling afternoon, I boarded a train for Heidelberg,