editor’s note
Fondly, Farewell
Karen Werner “This little magazine has given me many happy moments.”
hen we started Wavelength five years ago, magazines were thick and hopes were high. Today, I’m looking at an empty page, searching for the right words to say goodbye. The assignment I was handed when we launched this publication was to cover the world of public radio—specifically the bailiwick of KJZZ and KBAQ. As a listener, I adore these stations and strove, as an editor, to honor them. In return, this little magazine has given me many happy moments. Standing in the moonlight, waiting for the right time to take a picture of a listener dancing. Sitting hunched over a microphone in the StoryCorps trailer, recording an interview with the love of my life. Playing bongos in a drum circle with a roomful of cancer survivors. Touring a world-class museum as it was being built. And watching a 60-something luthier do handstands in a parking lot while my tape recorder rolled. I’ll always count myself lucky to have lucked into a gig where experiences like these are work. Earning the right to be editor of Wavelength, year after year, was its reward. I could spin this last issue all sorts of ways, each with a little bit of truth. I could say I welcome spending more time with my family (which I do) or I’m looking forward to new professional challenges (which I am). But the fact is this magazine is folding because it wasn’t making sufficient economic sense, and the stations decided to concentrate their resources on endeavors more firmly within their domains. To have led and learned from the people who put this magazine together for a half-decade was my delight and good fortune, and a privilege, too. I thank the talented writers, creative photographers, wonderful art director and my KJZZ, KBAQ and FPRAZ colleagues and friends, who joined me on a thrilling editorial experiment. But most of all, I thank the listeners who came along with us. Speaking of, I’ve been thinking a lot about listeners lately—the various people Wavelength has covered over the years. If there’s one who stands out it’s got to be Max Henry, the cowboy we introduced you to in our very first issue. Max lived alone on a 40-acre ranch in Ash Fork, Arizona, and KJZZ was his news source, companion, and just about only contact with the outside world. After I interviewed him for an article in Wavelength’s premiere issue, he wrote me a beautiful letter, explaining how proud he was to be featured in the magazine. So I felt like I owed it to Max to say goodbye. I called his cell phone, but the call was answered by an automated message. I wrote him a letter, but it came back stamped, “Return to sender. Attempted—not known. Unable to forward.” I don’t know if Max has moved on, dropped out, taken shelter, or passed away. But I want him to know I was touched by knowing him and telling his story. So in lieu of a private farewell, I’ll say goodbye here, proud of what we’ve accomplished and thankful for the chance to create and curate a magazine celebrating public radio and the incredible people, like Max, who listen to it. We’ve had an exhilarating run and I’ve loved thinking of you all as my friends. And even if we don’t meet up on these pages, we’ll all stay connected when we convene each day at two certain spots on the radio dial.
Warmly,
6 Wavelength