Audience as talk-show participants
When a call-in program works, there’s ‘a collective genius’

"It's like family [dinnertime]. It's not like you expect every meal to be fascinating conversation," says Middleton, "but there are enough good, important moments that keep you coming to the dinner table."	Originally published in Current, Dec. 16, 1996 By Jacqueline Conciatore In Connecticut, a man who is ill, blind and losing his speech regularly calls a local talk show, speaking while he can, to as many people as possible. In Washington, D.C., a man sits by his phone, his arguments listed on paper, waiting for a talk show to take up the war in Bosnia. In Wisconsin, a talk host complains about the coming winter, says she hates to exercise, and one of her regular callers, a self-described neo-Nazi, mails her a barbell exercise plan. Talk radio wouldn't be half as interesting without its callers. These are the folks, after all, so driven to share their opinions, facts, and stories that they drop what they're doing, phone in, and queue up for what could be many, many minutes — with no guarantee they'll be selected. Besides the glimpses of humanity they provide, callers broaden the perspective on topics, add to knowledge at hand, and move programs in unanticipated directions. What callers on any single show don't do, according to research and several talk professionals, is mirror overall public opinion. For one thing, research has shown that the people listening to public affairs talk radio — commercial and noncommercial — are more affluent, educated and male than the population at large. They are also more politically engaged. One study, conducted in 1995 by Talk Daily, a recently expired digest of Limbaugh, Liddy, et al., showed 92 percent of listeners are registered voters, compared to 60 percent of the population. Different research, by Michael Traugott, professor of communication and political science at the University of Michigan, showed the talk audience to be more politically involved, but only a "little more," the professor says. What research firmly establishes, he says, is that the talk audience is not a bunch of paranoid militia men. "These people are more conservative, but not necessarily more cynical." This finding is relevant to charges, following the Oklahoma City bombing, that radio polemicists such as G. Gordon Liddy propagate hate in a sphere of kooks. The 1994 congressional elections also spurred interest in the composition of talk radio's audience and in the influence of shows such as Rush Limbaugh's. Apparently there is no research on demographics and political participation of the public radio's talk audience. "My speculation would be that it is somewhat better educated and more affluent — and less conservative" than the commercial audience, says Bill Adams, founder of Talk Daily.
.	Echoing the opinions of virtually all talk hosts interviewed, Kathleen Dunn, host of an afternoon public affairs show on the Wisconsin Public Radio (WPR) Ideas Network, says her audience is "a group of curious, intelligent people who have opinions and want to contribute to the democratic process." Those in the business say public radio callers are less reactionary than their commercial counterparts. "I do think the public radio audience ... you can do more with them," says Marty Moss-Coane, host of Radio Times on WHYY, Philadelphia. "I listen to commercial radio. Everyone is just as opinionated, but [on public radio] we can have a level of conversation that I think is more interesting. ... People are better informed and opinions aren't based on conspiracy theories." No one argues about "whether the world is flat." Public radio callers are nothing like the "sycophants who will call Rush Limbaugh, the ditto heads," says John Stupak, host of Sunday Rounds, a weekly health program. "People who will call Ray Suarez [host of NPR's Talk of the Nation] are generally informed and not dittoing anybody." Who gets through the screening The tenor of a show and the overall quality of contributing callers depend largely on programs' screening policies. Traugott of the University of Michigan says talk radio is a heterogeneous media form whose spectrum runs from "ideological/entertainment" to "nonideological/news" programming. On the "ideological/entertainment" end, screening processes produce an "essentially homogeneous conversation," he says; those who reach the air generally have views that conform to the host's. "If someone gets through with a different point of view, it's usually to give someone the chance to attack the caller. It's like throwing in a piece of red meat." Public radio programs, topically driven, do not fall in this category, he says. Many public radio talk shows have loose screening policies — requesting only the callers' first names and ensuring that they want to address the day's topic. Diane Rehm, who says callers are central to the mission of her morning NPR show, objects even to the word "screening" to describe her producers' handling of calls. The show takes calls as they come and Rehm chooses based on what points her guests are discussing. "I don't want somebody else making those judgments, because whether a caller fits into a conversation depends on where we are in the conversation, and what might come up that's totally unexpected," she says. Other shows will screen for the callers' ability to express their ideas, and offer suggestions if nervousness or other hindrances are apparent. "If someone has trouble," says Moss-Coane, "but has potential as a caller, [producers] will stick them on hold, get other people lined up, go back and actually help them figure out what they want to say." One man who has trouble articulating his ideas when he calls, phones in every day, but in vain, she says. "We say, we just can't put you on the air." By and large, public radio programs give greater access than commercial shows to those who don't do "good radio." Wisconsin's Dunn, who hosted a commercial talker for years, says the AM station told her to screen out older callers. "They wanted to make sure they had this young, lively demographic," she says. And a recent New York Times Sunday Magazine article profiling radio shrink Laura Schlessinger offered this: "Schlessinger's producer, Carolyn Holt, screens about 100 [calls] every hour. Holt looks for people who have a dilemma, a conflict, something that will make good radio, but not anything too dark like suicide or sex abuse. True psychosis does not entertain, and nobody wants to hear about the abyss on the way to the grocery store." Likewise, some medical shows won't give the air to folks with incurable conditions. In contrast, Faith Middleton of Connecticut Public Radio regularly talks to a man who she says is fighting "four major diseases," one of them Lou Gehrig's Disease, and is losing his speaking ability. These words may be his last, she thinks. "It can be very hard to understand him, and sometimes he takes a long time," she says. "And sometimes I get letters saying, 'When I hear that man, I say, 'Oh, no, it's him again.' ... But I just feel life is so fast all the time. This can be slow." Other public radio producers had similar stories; WPR producer and occasional host Ben Merens says, for example, that one of his most valued callers speaks with an electronic voice box. As for screening out callers who might depress the audience, Rehm producer Carol Beach says the most moving call she remembers was from a mother grieving the loss of a son. "Her son came home to die of AIDS. She had been taught in her support group to give him permission to die. She did, and he immediately died. She was in agony about it. The engineer was in tears, we were in tears, I am [in tears], now, just talking about it." "Oh, gosh, there's Rose ..." "I have a rule, and this rule serves me well." Rehm is talking about her one-call-per-month limit, and anyone who's heard her politely give hell to someone sneaking in a second call will understand. Rehm's rule is stricter than most. WPR limits callers to once a week, but that encompasses all 24 hours worth of the talk programming on its Ideas Network of stations. Other shows typically limit callers to once per week. Open admission would be unfair to other listeners, producers and hosts say. "There are just too many people trying to get on the air," says Rehm. "It's not fair [that] because you've learned the tricks of redial ... or have that device on your phone, that you should have greater access to the Diane Rehm Show." Not all callers agree. "We do have some regular callers who, given the opportunity, would call every single program every single day," says Joy Cardin, program manager of Wisconsin Public Radio. "There are many who will try to disguise their voices to get on the air." This particular behavior is common to talk radio; Rehm says that generally, when the incognitos are caught, they're embarrassed and won't try again. Moss-Coane of WHYY hears her regular callers when she tunes in to other stations. "I think, 'Oh, gosh, there's Rose. I know exactly what she's going to talk about," she says. Sources say many of these promiscuous callers have particular issues: immigration, the Middle East, abortion. "We have one guy we call 'Balkan John,' says WAMU Program Director Steve Martin. "All he wants to talk about is Eastern Europe," and he's always prepared with cue cards. Public radio's attempts to provide access to a wide range of callers don't always translate into a representative sampling. Conversations with Kathleen Dunn, for example, conducted a poll before the presidential election, asking listeners to call in and vote. In an outcome that pubcasting's conservative foes would surely seize, callers elected Ralph Nader. "People will say, 'That's public radio and we're left [of center]," says Merens. "But I have people tell me they've been listening for four to five years, and they still don't know what my politics are ... Our listeners are more liberal, but we also have decidedly right-wing listeners." Shows that aim for a balance of opinions come closest to representing public opinion. Perhaps more importantly, they can perceived as such. In 1993, Rehm asked listeners for their opinions about Zoe Baird's nomination to be attorney general. The public had just recently learned that Baird once employed an undocumented resident and failed to pay Social Security taxes. Callers overwhelmingly said the nomination should not go through. According to Rehm, civil rights activist Roger Wilkins heard the program and was surprised by the strong sentiment against the nomination. He discussed the show with his wife, Georgetown University law professor Patricia King, who had predicted the nomination would be quashed. She promptly sat down and wrote an opinion piece for the Washington Post, urging Baird to withdraw. Days later, Baird did. Rehm believes her national audience is representative of the "body politic." But she says she didn't try for the eventual result. "I didn't go on the air asking people to throw out Zoe Baird." What they bring More than anything, the show depends on the chemistry of the day's callers. Middleton favors an analogy given her by a local theater director. "It's like family [dinnertime]. It's not like you expect every meal to be fascinating conversation, but there are enough good, important moments that keep you coming to the dinner table." Commenting on the improvisational nature of her WPR call-in program, Jean Feraca says: "I love the interaction with the callers. ... They move the program in surprising and revelatory ways. There's a collective genius at work. It's often very inspirational and what makes it worthwhile." In a recent program, scientist William Clark, author of Sex and the Origins of Death, discussed cell death. One caller remarked that's Clark's discussion "was like listening to a different version of Genesis." Feraca extended the analogy. "He had talked about cell suicide, called it a 'dance macabre.' I used the Genesis analogy to add that it's like the cell gives up its life for the greater good. That's the kind of interaction that can weave together layers of meaning, this active involvement of other people and their images." Callers also bring their banks of personal and professional knowledge. Hosts say they frequently hear from scientists, economists, lawyers, doctors and other experts who offer valuable information. "There is going to be information on any given subject that a listener is going to know more about than me," says Merens. Stupak says listeners frequently offer solutions to medical conditions that have stymied a caller's doctors. Callers also serve to keep a host "honest," says Merens, raising a glaring question that the host is missing. Listeners and callers, says Rehm, "are the program." They bring "their own understanding, education, appreciation, learning and caring to whatever the subject or whoever the guest is. Or their own criticism, their anger, their hostility, their feelings of being left out, depending on who the guest is. And I think that's really important for country to hear."	"I have a rule, and this rule serves me well." Rehm is talking about her one-call-per-month limit, and anyone who's heard her politely give hell to someone sneaking in a second call will understand.

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Later article: Diane Rehm's rise, and her ordeal with a rare speech problem, 1999.

Current Briefing on the audiences of public broadcasting.

 

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