Email June ([email protected])
There was a rock ‘n roll radio show in San Francisco that I listened to, and kids would call in with requests to play their favorite songs. The best part was when the host told the audience who had asked for the song. The only name that has remained with me all these years is The Purple People Eater.
I didn’t know what a “Purple People Eater” was—but I loved the name. It was the best name I had ever heard. I didn’t even think of making up my own name. I was a little kid: Much too shy to call into any radio show, though. I was just a listener.
Until one day when a burst of boldness woke me up.
Guess what I did? I called in and requested a song for the Purple People Eater. The man who took my call had a radio announcer’s voice, mine was small. If he doubted I was the real Purple People Eater, he didn’t let on. And a few minutes later I heard him say the next song was for me? The Purple People Eater.