Eric in The Evening

I don't know what he looked like but he had just about the perfect voice for radio. He could be found down there at the low end of the dial (WGBH 89.7 fm), where a lot of mysterious good things were revealed to me in my teen years. He hosted a jazz show for many years. I was not an avid listener, but he was a fixture. Spinning the dial or pushing the buttons, I'd stop when I recognized his voice to listen to what he had to say, or to play. He was a reassurance. A certainty. A late night ally to my spirit.

One night in something like 1990, I tuned him in on my clock radio while reading late at night for a college class. I heard sadness in his voice. He said that his show had been cancelled and that this was his last one. 

I called the station impulsively. It was after 1 A.M. Eric answered the phone. I tried to tell him what his show, no - his voice, no - his presence had meant to me. He thanked me, I don't remember what we said to each other, but we stayed on the phone for a couple of minutes together. I could tell he was crying. And I was feeling like we were all about to lose something real from late in the night that shouldn't ever be lost. 

I don't know what happened, but his show was somehow saved. And he remained out there in the wee hours, tending a small warm light in the vast darkness, until last night. I heard today that Eric Jackson passed away, and I'm feeling like we lost something real from late in the night that shouldn't ever be lost.