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“The guy is a pothead. He's waved the white flag on drugs, Stan.”

“No he hasn't. He's made it easier for people with debilitating illnesses to get access for medicinal purposes.”

“There you go again. Getting all wordy and defensive. Just say he's given kids their gateway to heroin.”

Phil was driving me batshit. He was simultaneously demanding that I begin my attack on Tobias before his people had even committed to a face-to-face interview, and requesting twice-daily reports on Alex's efforts to lure him into my studio. He pretended not to hear but backed down somewhat after I reminded him that Tobias would never cement the invitation if I was already on air saying the things Phil was recommending. Meanwhile, I was kind of hoping that Tobias couldn't manage to come into the studio now that he was running for president. While I recognized the PR value and knew that the attention could be just the kind of circus that boosts the career of a guy like me, I didn't relish the idea of confronting him in the way that Phil had in mind. The upside for him would be to show that he could appeal to centrists who would play a pivotal role should he receive his party's nomination. After all, if Governor Bob Tobias could hold his own on
Morning Power
, maybe he was
the type of fusion candidate who could get the left and right to coexist? Still, I figured the odds of him consenting to an in-studio interview were slim, even after I had been hospitable to his main rival—but then Alex delivered the thunderclap.

“I got him,” was all she said, handing me a printout of an email she received at the end of the day's program. “They heard your interview with Vic Baron and now they want in. And he's willing to come to the studio.” The fact that she offered no further words told me she shared my dread of what might unfold when he walked through the door. Alex was intuitive like that. I never let her into my thinking, but then again, I didn't have to. I took the paper out of her hand.

“The governor looks forward to continuing his civil dialogue with Stan Powers,” wrote some media flack in the email. Oh shit.

For a few seconds I contemplated not sharing the news with Phil and scuttling the interview with a fake scheduling conflict. He'd have no way of knowing if I didn't tell him. Then my ego got the best of me. This was a potential coup on the road to syndication. Phil's instincts were, as usual, correct in sensing opportunity. Tobias was the newly anointed Democratic front-runner coming from an electorally rich swing state, and the fact that he was sitting down with a regionally important, conservative talk host guaranteed that this would make news. This could be the start of a six-month run that would culminate when the GOP convention came to town and all the print, blogosphere and cable television news outlets wanted interviews with someone on the ground who knew the Florida political scene—and I could be that guy. A major interview now, with a Democrat, would cement that role.

“He's coming in next Tuesday,” I said on my cell while driving home.

“Perfect,” was Phil's response.

“You've been handed a golden opportunity, Stan. Don't fuck it up,” he warned before proceeding to assure me that he'd come up with some talking points. My stomach turned as I listened to his plan.

“In a word, religion! You've got to expose this heathen.”

I knew instantly what he was thinking.

Bob Tobias had never been one to “Tebow” in order to get elected. Throughout his political life, he'd consistently refused to detail his religious convictions, saying that he believed all faith was “a private matter that has no place in American politics.” That earned him praise from the likes of Bill Maher and Richard Dawkins, both of whom interpreted his unwillingness to play the usual game as a sign of a lack of faith, something Tobias never confirmed. But he'd created a YouTube sensation when someone with a cell phone had captured part of a speech he delivered to a reform Jewish group in Miami where he said that “America was founded on the notion of freedom of religion, and freedom from religion,” emphasizing the latter part of the sentence. The blogosphere went bonkers with speculation that Tobias was an atheist or an agnostic. Ever since, many a Florida barroom conversation had included someone asking: “Tobias, what kind of name is that?”

Fucking Phil was right, of course, in sensing that Tobias' past proclamations about religion, while they might be sustainable in a swing state election where voters were familiar with the entire package the man presented, could seriously hamper his ability to emerge on a national stage. Being labeled as an atheist before the public knows anything else about you is a nonstarter.

“No religion, no morals. Remember that Stan. He can't be president without embracing the Judeo-Christian roots of America.”

That was another perennial trope in my line of work. “The Judeo-Christian roots of America.” A great sound byte offered by me and repeated by many but with no real meaning. I don't think any of the Pilgrims were Jews, and Thomas Jefferson said nothing about Christianity in the Declaration of Independence. But, of course, I said none of this to Phil.

Sensing reluctance from the silence at my end of the phone, Phil followed up by saying, “Do you want to play on the national stage or not?”

That always shut me up. I did, and he knew the strength of my desire. I wanted the attention. I wanted the power. And I wanted the money that would come from reaching a few hundred affiliates. I was already doing a program that I believed surpassed that of many national players, and it would require no more effort on my part to reach millions more people. I just needed a bigger soap box. I had wanted a bigger platform ever since I got my bearings on air in Tampa. I thought of myself as a musician who had built a good set list and had sold out clubs in medium-sized cities. What additional professional effort was required to go sing those same songs in front of a stadium crowd? None. But taking that larger stage was about to come with an escalating personal price.

Part of my angst about the interview was that I was expected to play political hitman. But I confess that I was also feeling more than a little unsettled about meeting the man who was married to Susan Miller. The fact that she and I had never crossed paths in the years since I had established myself as a radio host was testament to the political and ideological divide within my industry. I often thought about whether she'd heard my radio program (probably not) or had seen me on television (probably had) and whether she'd recognized that Stanislaw Pawlowski was now Stan Powers (wasn't sure). But the odds were about to
increase that all three questions would be affirmative if her husband came back home Tuesday night and complained at dinner about how some right-wing asshole had set him up on religion.

In the end, South Carolina was unable to turn around a new ballot in time for the Democratic primary, so Florida now would be the first state to go to the polls with the new candidate roster—a big advantage for Tobias. Already, all seven of the candidates were swarming the state and the presumed frontrunner was now coming into my studio.

“Good morning Tampa Bay, it's 7:35, 35 minutes after the hour, and you're tuned to
Morning Power
.”

On the day of the interview, the program began as it always did without any on-air hint of the spectacle that was to unfold. Inside WRGT was a different story. Governor Bob Tobias was about to make his third appearance on my program, only this time he'd be in studio, and with a hoard of media in tow. From the time I'd first gone on air at 5 a.m., there had been a slew of technicians laying cable in and around my studio and a satellite truck parked out front. One of the network morning shows was going to do a live cut-in and simulcast at least a part of the interview. And we'd been told that several members of the national press corps were now traveling with Tobias and would be in tow.

That morning I went through my usual ritual right before the “on air” light went on. After I'd completed my prep, I went to the can down the hall from the studio and splashed some cold water on my face. I usually paused for a moment and stared into the mirror while wiping myself dry, studying the likeness in front of me. Maybe I was looking for some final assurance that the listeners won't see the image of the person about to say the things that earn my keep. But I was careful to never allow too much time for second-guessing. Within seconds I'd turn off the
light switch, walk ten paces back to the studio and illuminate the “on-air” light that tells a passerby the show is hot.

During the preceding commercial break, Alex had told me that the governor was running 3-5 minutes late, which wouldn't seriously curtail the interview time, but meant there'd be no private words spoken between us off-air. We didn't have a green room, and the control area where Rod and Alex sat was too cramped to hold guests for any significant amount of time. In the rare instances when I had an in-studio guest, I'd usually walk out into the adjacent hallway and say hello before we went on air. I'd try to be courteous while keeping the pre-air conversation to a few simple pleasantries, lest they say something interesting and then leave it in the locker room. But there'd be none of that today. With Tobias behind schedule, it meant whatever was spoken between us would all be in front of live microphones.

On my side of the studio glass things were mostly business as usual. I was wearing my standard uniform: an Oxford cloth button down shirt, conservative sport coat, pair of Lucky jeans, and Bruno Magli shoes (no socks). (I stopped wearing them for a few years after OJ, that cocksucker, gave them a bad name. But they're so damn comfortable that my protest ended after a couple of months and a lot of experimentation.) Normally I sat alone in front of the big electronic bank of blinking lights, knobs and switches illuminated in front me, but today I had the cameraman from the network morning show to keep me company. Notes and newspapers spilled out around me, and on my left were two computer screens, one connected to the Internet and logged on to the
Morning Power
web site or my Twitter feed, and the other showing me the information that Alex gleaned from callers. “Joe…on a mobile…from St. Pete…thinks you're a jerkoff.” Across from me sat two chairs for guests, each with
its own mic stand and pair of Sony headphones. I'd recommend you get a tetanus shot before you wear ‘em. When I was working in Pittsburgh, we had an old-timer who used to do a weekend Beatles show and he'd come into the studio with his own cleaning supplies and hose the place down, spraying Lysol on the microphone and headphones before he'd start. I used to laugh at him, but no more. The one thing I can't afford to be in my business is sick.

I sat with my back to a wall, looking at a landscape that consisted of the console, guest positions and finally, 15 feet away, the glass separating the broadcast studio from the control room, with Alex and Rod seated on the other side in close quarters. Alex was on the right, dressed in drab with a t-shirt that said, “There Is No Plan B.” A small looped earring protruded from her left eyebrow, and she wore a sleek headset with a mouthpiece that made her look like she was working in a call center in Mumbai. Rod sat a few feet away, wearing his bow tie, while his outstretched arms and hands ran “the board” as we call it. His job was to maintain audio purity, keep close track of time and play the commercials. It's a job that demands attentiveness and organization, and although I personally found him to be a major ass pain, I had to admit that he was damn good at it. The obsessive nature of his personality was one of the reasons that I never wanted to see him outside the studio, and the same reason I wanted to make sure he
was
there when I was working. Rod looked suitably dour, no doubt at the prospect of a prominent Democrat having been invited onto our show.

But today, Alex and Rod also had company. Jammed into the already narrow confines of the control room alongside them were three cameramen from the local Tampa network affiliates, plus two guys I assumed were print reporters more on account of their scruffy looks than their tablets. Funny how the media
world is evolving at a rapid clip, but the newspaper guys always look the same.

“We're awaiting the arrival of Governor Bob Tobias here in the WRGT studios,” I began. “He'll give us the latest in his thinking about his run for president, and I'll try to include your calls.”

I killed some time by recapping what had been going on in the race, namely how the Democratic Party was more unsettled in its nomination process during this election cycle than any other in recent memory. With seven serious candidates, including the governors of two big states—Florida and New York—readying to do battle, the primary process for the Dems still had all the makings of a cluster-fuck. President Summers' announcement had caught everyone by surprise, and there hadn't even been time for the candidates to use that old canard about how “people have asked me consider it” when in fact they were dying to run. Tobias was garnering support from some party elders who believed the Democrats were behind the eight ball and needed to quickly coalesce around a candidate who could appeal to centrists. Proving that appeal was no doubt one major reason that Tobias was about to walk through my studio door.

As I jabbered more or less on autopilot, sharing tidbits about the bios of the more serious candidates, I kept the right-wing rhetoric to a minimum and kept my eyes fixed on the other side of the glass, looking for a sign of Tobias' arrival. The harbinger came when the three cameramen all turned on the lights atop their cameras, and then swung their gear in the direction of the corridor that led to my studio. I couldn't see what they were focusing on but I knew it had to be Tobias. Rod looked like he'd just seen Janet Jackson's nipple. That was to be expected. But Alex's expression was more unusual. She
looked surprised. As the cameramen got their shot of something not yet visible to me, I watched as her eyes widened. Then her head swiveled to look squarely at me, still with that quizzical facial expression, while the heavy soundproof door to my studio swung open. Something was coming and it wasn't good.