Over my 13+ years as a WAPL employee, I've received my share of mail, whether it be "e-" or "snail". Unfortunately, 90% of it is junk. But over the years that other 10% has run the gamut. The most consistent mail I get is from WAPL Superfan Mort who sends a Christmas card to the staff every year. And as technology evolves so has her cards.
(BTW, Mort... the Stones card this year could give Hallmark a run. Great job!)
I've received letters from prison (hell, I think all of us here have at least once) and letters from those not incarcerated. And it's not just letters, either. I've received packages in the mail with gifts from listeners. I remember getting a box of candy from someone a few years ago. I think the piece of mail I'll remember the most is the white box that I got from a listener about ten years ago. He was appreciative of the overnight show so to show his gratitude he sent me...
...a Makita rechargable power drill. Used. I still have it too.
But not all the mail I get is sunshine and flowers. So when they told us that we were going to be able to post regularly on the new WAPL.com I started to save some of the mail I get so that instead of needlessly responding to some of these individually, they can be discussed in a public forum. So let's go to the mailbag!
From December 18, 2008
"You and your buddy Len need to lighten up on Brett Favre being named to the pro bowl. Brett is playing at a high level and he is exciting to watch, and teams still fear him more (evidence the players and coaches who voted for him) than say your choice of Phillip Rivers who no one wants to watch and no one fears. Like Santa said to you, "Don't go thru life drunk and stupid"...it is not attractive dude."
Lynn in Auroraville
Now I get that just because Favre's gone it doesn't mean that his fans are no longer fans so I empathize with Lynn's e-mail missive. There's only one problem with it, however...
I wasn't on the morning show that day.
The people on the show talking about Favre were Rick McNeal & Len Nelson -- you know, the two guys that have been on the show for twenty-plus years. I was not on with Len talking about Favre. In fact, I may have been asleep by then considering I do the overnight show. I find it interesting that Lynn couldn't figure that out on his or her own. Surely he or she can distinguish between Rick's voice and my own because they're quite different.
And even if I was on the show that day, why would you feel the need to e-mail me about your Favre issues instead of one of the guys who's name is actually on the show? I don't pick the topics so take it up with the fellas in charge. And as much as I'd like to chat up our friends in the greater Berlin area I'd rather not have it be some puddinhead who spouted off before he or she did their homework. Maybe Lynn should be the one who should heed Santa's warning. Onward!
From May 14th, 2008
We want Randy Hawke!!!
Michael - Team Leader
Fair enough. Here you go... but you probably could have done that yourself. It's called Google. Try it sometime.
But seriously. Randy's gone and probably not coming back so let it go and move on. If you're still crying yourself to sleep because you didn't hear the "Friday yell" after... what, ten years... find a therapist. Sheesh.
(NOTE: There was a guy who used to sit at the south end of the rink during Green Bay Gamblers games in the Arena and he always held up a sign against the glass that said "We Want Hawke!" every time we were out on the ice doing our radio thing. I'm guessing it's this guy. [Ross just got a faraway look on his face.] Gamblers games in the arena... those were damn fun.)
From May 4th, 2007
Dialled up my own name and your host Ross Maxwell popped up.
I usually spend time in Milwaukee region every summer to escape the New Zealand winter and have interests in motor racing and good rock music so sending a hello to my namesake.
See? Some of the mail is nice too.
I hope to open the Maxwell Mailbag once in a while so feel free to e-mail or snail me with your thoughts and concerns... just be warned that I might post 'em. So don't be a puddinhead.