Well, at least I tried to boast about those evils. I boasted about the evils of the religion of Islam. I told of a dream I had where Nancy Pelosi was the devil. I publicly shamed the student government for not giving the college radio station funding, but instead giving it to an Indian dance group, of which I poked fun at. Though I had never heard the phrase when I was in undergrad, my regular opinion columns fit the mold of being alt-right. Perhaps most significantly, at one time, I pursued a writing opportunity for my college’s student newspaper as a resident conservative. I proudly registered as a Republican when I turned eighteen because of that decision to join this particular political party, I was treated to a steak dinner by my family. I gleefully laughed at and shared countless jokes at the expense of others. I detested the pursuit of diversity over work ethic and ability, and I was loud about it. Those feelings and Limbaugh’s continued shepherding propelled me toward a lot of things. It was an intimate friendship, but it was unique because I knew I wasn’t alone as I tuned in with millions of others across the country. He was with me, wherever I was listening. And when I listened to him, he wasn’t background noise or a TV show that I bounced in and out of. I started learning how to tell stories and communicate because of what I was learning from listening to this one-of-a-kind talk show host. I could relate to my dad and start conversations because we listened to the same program. I could call myself a political junkie at a young age because I listened to The Rush Limbaugh Show. It’s that last phrase- he helped me feel smart again-that connected me to Limbaugh as a friend and teacher, not just a radio personality broadcasting from New York City. When I was tired of feeling outsmarted, he helped me feel smart again, like an espresso-shot of perceived righteousness.” David Dark mentions a similar feeling as he reflects on the life of Limbaugh, noting, “He helped me believe my anxiety when confronted by the fact of other people was about them, not me. More than simply not forgetting us, it always seemed like he was speaking for us. He was a midwestern guy who made it big, but he never forgot about us rural folks. I don’t know why that mattered to me, but it always did, kind of. Rush Hudson Limbaugh III was born in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, about a six-hour drive from where I was born. He was one of the chief voices that was molding me, and in a lot of ways, he changed my life. More than mere memories, though, these things push me to confront the reality that Limbaugh was not like any other entertainment I consumed. I can perfectly picture his face on ESPN as he says Donovan McNabb’s success is largely because the media wanted to see a Black quarterback do well. Even though I was too young to comprehend their meaning, I can still sing the parody songs he played after the Persian Gulf War, like “Yakety Yak Bomb Iraq” and “Hello Saddam.” I can hear “feminazi” and “lamestream media” leaving his lips and hitting his trademark golden Electro-Voice RE20 microphone. The sound effect at the end of a segment, just before the commercials came on, sounds clearer today than ever before. I can play back his show’s opening theme music at any moment. I didn’t really think he was forming or shaping me anymore than any other entertainment I consumed.īut to this day, I can still hear his voice rattling around in my head. I never felt like his words changed how I lived or how I treated those around me. I never really thought much about how much I listened to Limbaugh. Isn’t there something else we can listen to? He’d fill my headspace for a few hours and then I’d switch to that rock station to get back into the music.Įven before I willingly chose to listen to Limbaugh, I remember riding in the family Ford Aerostar, wondering why in the world we’re listening to this bellowing, commanding voice on this crackly radio station. I’d start my day out listening to my favorite morning show on a rock radio station in Kansas City, and then around lunchtime, I’d switch over to AM and try to find one of the many stations that carried The Rush Limbaugh Show. Growing up in the rural midwest, I spent most of my summers in trucks and tractors, by myself, for 10 hours a day. It seemed like he was always on, somewhere. There isn’t a moment in my life that I don’t recall Rush Limbaugh being part of the soundtrack.
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