Funny thing about nicknames - sometimes they defy logic and reason. They often don't carry any real sense of what the person was actually like. If anything, they portray just the opposite.
The Crazy Redhead was, in all reality, anything but. A redhead, sure. Crazy by any definition, absolutely not. Tim Karlson was about as sane as they come.
To make another relevant comparison, you might remember The Big Fella. That would have been Terry McNulty. Terry called himself The Big Fella for years. He was no such thing. Terry was thin and fit, he could run ten miles and barely break a sweat, and he was of perhaps average height.
One thing they both had in common was that they were nice guys.
Another thing is they're now both gone.
Tim died Thursday afternoon. Terry left us roughly two years ago. A third thing in common, along with this blogger, we all worked together for years at WARM.
Let me tell you about Tim Karlson, The Crazy Redhead.
One of my first assessments of Tim was an easy one to make, it was that obvious; he was a devoted family man. I doubt we'd worked together a week before he invited me over to their home for lunch one day. Off of Main Street in Old Forge, the Kidwells lived on the second floor of an unremarkable duplex in a pleasant working-class neighborhood, the exact same type of neighborhood I'd known growing up.
(In case you might wonder, no, I never did change my name. I will, though, admit to having several "air names" picked out before that first job came along. My full name is Vincent Thomas Sweeney, Jr., which I seem to remember mentioning elsewhere on this blog.)
Tim was a PK; a preacher's kid. PK is not a term of derision. The PK is sort of the civilian version of the Army Brat, inasmuch as moving around a lot is a part of life for them. Most children of clergy are quick and proud to tell you that they're a PK. His Dad was an ordained minister in The Reformed Episcopal Church, at the time shepherding a flock which had recently moved to a brand new church on Scranton's East Mountain. Tim's Dad was a heck of a nice guy, as was his Mom. It was easy enough to see that Tim was one apple that hadn't fallen far from the tree. He was gregarious, warm, pleasant, and quick with a compliment. Quick to laugh, too.
Tim was just an ordinary guy, an everyman who'd been blessed with a great voice, one that he used to create an on-air presence, first on radio, then on television. There wasn't an ounce of pretense about him, none whatsoever. Trust me, though, he wasn't just a voice. Hardly. Tim had style and a head for timing. He also knew his stuff. Stuff in his case ranged from music to cars to sports.
Tim was every bit at home wiggling his way under his car to change the oil as he was running a slick and successful afternoon drive show on the area's far and away #1 radio station. Tim was handyman, had all the tools, he could fix most anything.
Even from our first hour together I knew this was a guy who loved sports, lived sports, and who was infected with a passion for the Baltimore Orioles. Baltimore was Tim's hometown. Although he'd been transplanted here when his father accepted the call at Grace Reformed Episcopal Church, it was clear a big piece of him never left Baltimore.
My first recollections (very clear at that) of Tim were listening to him at WSCR, which was one of the many WARM wannabes in the 60s/70s hereabouts. To come out of broadcasting school, Career Academy in Washington, and land at WSCR was an accomplishment. His WSCR Days were his Crazy Redhead days. Once out of there, he was just Tim Karlson. (Fellow blogger David Yonki recalls Tim being The Crazy Redhead when first at WARM. Could be he's right, though he'd lost that nick by the time I got there.)
So, come 1978, there we were, working at WARM. Over the next several years, Tim and I did a lot together. We even fished a time or two. What we didn't do together was run the saloons at night. Like I said, he was a family man. At night, he was home with that family. Besides, while neither a prude nor teetotaler, I can't say that I ever knew him to take a drink.
By the early 80s we were both fed up with our situations at WARM. Abundantly clear was one thing; WARM had become a dead end street. Let's be generous here for a change and not blame WARM. The fact was, he and I were both in our early 30s, we wanted more, we wanted a challenge or two, a change in scenery, we needed a different place to go to every single day. He was the first to go. My escape would have to wait at least a few more years.
Many won't remember this, but Tim's first job in television was at WBRE, where he briefly did weekend weather. It wasn't long after that WNEP offered him a part-time position in their sports department. There were three of us who traveled the same path out of WARM; Tim, Brian "Francis" Roche, and me. We all, and in that order, took the weekend weather job at WBRE. We all got fired at WARM shortly after we did. We all didn't care. Moving along was a pleasure at that point, although it was admittedly a financial burden for a while.
In time, Tim was appointed WNEP's Sports Director. Perfect. He deserved it, he was more than capable of handling the job, which he did for many years. When I wound up with the main weather job at WBRE, Tim and I joked about how luck had smiled upon us. He was so right.
Time takes no prisoners, it leaves victims. Too much of Tim's time on earth was taken up battling a dreadful illness. God rest his soul. God bless his family.
This is for Tim alone - "...ain't the beer cold!"
Tim was just an ordinary guy, an everyman who'd been blessed with a great voice, one that he used to create an on-air presence, first on radio, then on television. There wasn't an ounce of pretense about him, none whatsoever. Trust me, though, he wasn't just a voice. Hardly. Tim had style and a head for timing. He also knew his stuff. Stuff in his case ranged from music to cars to sports.
Tim was every bit at home wiggling his way under his car to change the oil as he was running a slick and successful afternoon drive show on the area's far and away #1 radio station. Tim was handyman, had all the tools, he could fix most anything.
Even from our first hour together I knew this was a guy who loved sports, lived sports, and who was infected with a passion for the Baltimore Orioles. Baltimore was Tim's hometown. Although he'd been transplanted here when his father accepted the call at Grace Reformed Episcopal Church, it was clear a big piece of him never left Baltimore.
My first recollections (very clear at that) of Tim were listening to him at WSCR, which was one of the many WARM wannabes in the 60s/70s hereabouts. To come out of broadcasting school, Career Academy in Washington, and land at WSCR was an accomplishment. His WSCR Days were his Crazy Redhead days. Once out of there, he was just Tim Karlson. (Fellow blogger David Yonki recalls Tim being The Crazy Redhead when first at WARM. Could be he's right, though he'd lost that nick by the time I got there.)
So, come 1978, there we were, working at WARM. Over the next several years, Tim and I did a lot together. We even fished a time or two. What we didn't do together was run the saloons at night. Like I said, he was a family man. At night, he was home with that family. Besides, while neither a prude nor teetotaler, I can't say that I ever knew him to take a drink.
By the early 80s we were both fed up with our situations at WARM. Abundantly clear was one thing; WARM had become a dead end street. Let's be generous here for a change and not blame WARM. The fact was, he and I were both in our early 30s, we wanted more, we wanted a challenge or two, a change in scenery, we needed a different place to go to every single day. He was the first to go. My escape would have to wait at least a few more years.
Many won't remember this, but Tim's first job in television was at WBRE, where he briefly did weekend weather. It wasn't long after that WNEP offered him a part-time position in their sports department. There were three of us who traveled the same path out of WARM; Tim, Brian "Francis" Roche, and me. We all, and in that order, took the weekend weather job at WBRE. We all got fired at WARM shortly after we did. We all didn't care. Moving along was a pleasure at that point, although it was admittedly a financial burden for a while.
In time, Tim was appointed WNEP's Sports Director. Perfect. He deserved it, he was more than capable of handling the job, which he did for many years. When I wound up with the main weather job at WBRE, Tim and I joked about how luck had smiled upon us. He was so right.
Time takes no prisoners, it leaves victims. Too much of Tim's time on earth was taken up battling a dreadful illness. God rest his soul. God bless his family.
This is for Tim alone - "...ain't the beer cold!"
