I can’t begin to describe or explain all of the feelings that I have as Bob retires from radio. There’s joy, because he’s worked and provided for nearly his entire life and now it’s finally his turn to catch a break. Wake up without an alarm. Go whole days and maybe even a whole week with nothing on the calendar. No more meetings. No more scrambling to hit deadlines. No more negotiating when or how he might take a day off.
Then there’s the shock of a day that we’d talked about, wondered about, and tried to plan for – and that day arriving for real. The whole idea of retiring was something Bob wrestled with for a very long time. But you know how it is with big decisions like this. One day you just…know. And once you know, everything inside of you seems to change. You see things differently.
We are a group of people that have worked together for so long that all the lines are forever blurred. There’s no work/life separation for us. It’s all the same thing. A lot of workplaces want to tell you what a family they are. But for us, it’s real. We have every ingredient a family needs: disagreements, long-simmering feuds, piles of embarrassing photos, stories we love to tell – and stories we can never tell. And memories. So many memories. We’re blessed that most of them really are truly wonderful. But, like every family, we’ve also carried each other through disappointment, troubles, heartbreak, and grief. Bob retiring isn’t just some guy you work with choosing to go play golf. It’s the end of an era in our family.
I can only speak for myself now, and it’s hard to speak through tears. I have so many Bob Lacey stories – no one in this world has ever made me laugh so hard, or for so long. I don’t think he’s ever really gotten his due in our business – for his brains, guts, or sheer talent. In part because he makes it look easy. Bob’s a naturally funny person, and a natural storyteller. To watch him work is to think that it’s all just effortless. But let me tell you something: that man lived and breathed it. All he cared about was the audience, our little community of listeners. That’s why he came to work sick, and worried about taking any time off at all. That work ethic – it was one of the many things we have in common. We put our heads down and did whatever we had to do. Until the day when we looked up and Bob said, Sheri, I think it’s time.
And it is time – because Bob feels it’s time. You think I don’t want to chain him to his chair? Of course I do. But to love a person is to want their happiness, even above your own.
If I had a million pages and a whole year to write, I’m not sure I could find the words to sum up what an extraordinary adventure we’ve had. How proud we are to have built this kooky little thing. How grateful we feel to have found each other (it was so unlikely). How much fun we’ve had with you. How lucky we’ve been, even on the hardest days. I just can’t find the right words.
Bob and I have been like a couple of 12-year-olds rampaging through life without adult supervision. We played every single day – and it didn’t matter what the day brought, because we knew how to turn it into a good time. When we got into trouble, which was surprisingly often, we covered for each other. You couldn’t divide us, and you couldn’t break us. Even if one of us was in the wrong, the other would put on a poker face worthy of a gangster and announce that you’d just have to punish both of us ‘cause we ain’t talking.
We were a nightmare for some of those poor managers, something we now kinda sorta maybe regret. But only a little, and only once in a while, if we’re honest. Our loyalty was always and only to each other – and to our listeners.
The door that Bob kicked open for me was one I didn’t even know existed. Now I can’t imagine anything else. Every single thing I have in my life, everything I’ve done? It all began with one sentence that Bob dropped over lunch at a restaurant called The Foundry:
“I’ve been searching for a partner, and It’s you.”
I genuinely had no real idea what that meant, but it’s clear to me now that I already trusted him. Even though I didn’t know it at the time. Even though he’d tell you that I spent the first three years of our working life eyeing him with suspicion. I must have seemed like a wild thing afraid to trust that here might finally be a place I could call home.
The question I’ve been asked countless times now: how do I feel about Bob retiring? I feel like a kid who’s just learned that her bestest friend and playmate and constant companion must pack up his toys now and leave. That it’s time for him to go, that other things are calling. It’s not a forever goodbye, true, but it’s the end of something you secretly hoped would last forever. And you tell yourself, don’t be greedy. After all, didn’t we get to play like 12-year-olds for so much longer than anyone gets to be 12?
That’s how I’m always going to see it. Bob’s retiring is just a different way for Bob to play. And I hope it’s the best time ever because he deserves it. He’s earned it. And if you see him out there doing all kinds of un-Bob things? No you didn’t. Let Chit Chat run free.
