THE SUMMER THAT ANDYMAN DIED
TERRY WILSON 7/25/10

Sometime around three-thirty Saturday morning I remembered the last conversation I had with Andy Davis. It had been almost a full week since his passing and I apparently went into a mild case of shock when I first heard the news.

That moment would usher in a situation where; the next move is always to ‘pull it together’ and prepare a composed presentation for the public. I have become used to this in the nearly forty years in the industry. This time it was difficult for me, it was personal.

After all of the tributes become echoes in our memories and we start to feel somewhat normal again, this will forever be refered to as the Summer that Andyman died.

Sharing the sense of loss with students at OCB all last week I felt that grief must be balanced by a celebration of the positive examples of Andy’s impact as a broadcaster and as a human being. The generosity behind the community’s show of support for his family at Thursday’s memorial was impressive in the scope of acknowledgment of his impact. Andy was loved and will be sadly missed.

Thursday evening I was able to actually start examining my own deeper feelings but it took to until the pre-twilight hours of Saturday, the day of his burial for this particular memory to come to the surface.

Late last Fall I accompanied the evening class from The Ohio Center for Broadcasting on a fieldtrip to CD 101 on a Friday night. Since we were not planning to arrive until seven or so, I was surprised and pleased to be greeted by Operations Manager Randy Malloy.... then was floored when I heard Andy’s booming voice from across the lobby calling my name.

While we waited for stragglers to arrive, Andy introduced me to several members of his current staff and we began to reminisce about some events that occurred at the original 101 studios on South High Street.

Then all of a sudden Andy blurts out, “..and when you die Wilson, I want your Waterbeds ‘n’ Stuff account.”

My response to break a somewhat awkward silence was, “..sure man, if I check out first, it’s yours!” (..cue nervous laughter..)

It reminded me of conversations between he and I after beers in the early ‘90s when we were both part-timers at 101. Andy had yet to develop his “Andyman” persona, and was a victim of self-doubt and occasional depression. During the three years we worked together, I remember only once mentioning concern over his growing weight issue and him passing it off with a self-deprecating comment. I respected his choices, so I never brought it up again.

We hadn’t been in close contact since I left the CD 101 family
in ’93, so I doubt if Andy had heard about my health issues over the past few years when he made that declaration. Knowing him as I did, I knew then that he meant it to be a request for a ‘passing of the torch’ in Columbus broadcasting, a generously-intended compliment. He always treated me like a long-lost brother.

Andy Davis' ability to make you feel that you are the most important person in the room when he spoke to you was one of many examples of his generosity. Examples of his courage and initiative include his triumph over his obesity and overcoming self-doubt.

My last impression of him was as a successful colleague who I will always be proud to have known.

This year the holidays will be particularly poignant for the 101 family, but knowing what great people they are, I am sure that the “Andyman-a-thon” will continue for years to come. The initiative and generosity of one man will continue to benefit the less fortunate.

I also know that Andy would have had an ‘..awww, shucks’ attitude about all of the attention this past week, but would have appreciated the support for his wife and boys.

So it's up in the air as to who might have been the next 'Crazy Gerry'. If I live long enough to bring that obnoxious character back to life to sell his “stuff, stuff, stuff..” again this Christmas, Andy you will be on my mind once again.