I’ve spent a lot of my life listening to the radio.  Most of my listening happened in the car on shopping trips with my parents.  It never failed that they would find one of Casey Kasem’s many countdown incarnations for the return trip home.  I remember sitting in the backseat of the car listening to Casey.  I recognized something about his voice, but as a child, I couldn’t tell you exactly what that something was.  I just knew that Casey Kasem was familiar to me.  I don’t mean familiar in the way that radio hosts are supposed to sound—you know, like they are talking to you exclusively—but like I’d heard his voice before.  I remember trying to figure it out, and I must have been figuring out loud because my dad answered, “That’s Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.”

That’s it. 

The format of his shows was always the same—a countdown of the week’s hits with some long-distance dedications unrelated to the list sprinkled in.  You never knew what kind of dedication you were going to get.  Some were about lost loves, and some were about estranged lovers.  Parents sent songs to their kids who were off at college, and kids sent dedications to their parents just to say thank you for being there for them.  There were dedications to current servicemen and women, and sometimes there were remembrances from loved ones who may not have gotten to see them again.  Most of the time, the dedications were sweet, sentimental, and nostalgic.  Even as a child, I understood sentimentality—and most importantly—I knew it wasn’t always a bad thing.

The sentimentality of the long distance-dedication can seem asinine or hokey to some or utterly romantic to others—I kind of fall in the middle in how I feel about it.  As a child, I always felt like they were kind of dumb.  I didn’t understand why the person sending the letter to Casey couldn’t have sent the letter to the person they were dedicating the song to.  Now, being 40, I completely understand why.  Rejection is a real thing, my friends, and to be honest, how many of those dedicatees actually heard those dedications without a heads up to listen for them?  I’m sure that sending Casey Kasem a letter to read on your behalf was a safer bet to declare your love for someone when you are terrified of being rejected.  It’s like being anonymous on the internet unless you have an unfortunately unique name that might narrow the scope of your identity.  Of course, you could put a lot of information in your letter hoping that your special someone would figure out that you were kind of keen on him.  While the idea of losing anonymity is kind of exciting, I’m sure I would absolutely die of embarrassment if my identity were found out by the object of my affection—unless we were already in an established relationship.  Even with that parameter, it’s possible I would still be too embarrassed to write a gushy letter to be read over the airwaves to millions of listeners, including my beau.

On the flip side, maybe the sender of the dedication was highly extroverted and had no problems wearing her heart on her sleeve.  Or perhaps she had informed her beloved that something special would be read on the air sometime during the 4-hour show.  Then it would be a special surprise—another, or first, song to celebrate, another opportunity to declare her love for her husband/boyfriend/significant other, another memory to recount when times get tough.  Between you and me, and now that I’m older, I would love to receive a long-distance dedication from some dashing young man.  That’s the romantic in me. 

Looking back, I’ve often wondered why Casey didn’t follow up on some of those long-distance dedications from lovers, especially the estranged ones.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who remembers hearing the sad stories of love gone awry and wondered if things ended up working out or if there was some sort of legal action taken against the party that sent the letter in the first place.  I’m not a nosy person.  I don’t ask a lot of questions.  I’m one of those people that believe if someone wants me to know something, they will tell me.  But some of those letters really flipped my personality upside down in that respect—like the letter Suzanne in New York sent to Casey in hopes to reach George in Philadelphia.

Now, I’m not old enough to have heard this long-distance dedication the first time around, but I did hear it a few years ago while driving—of course, while I was shopping.  SiriusXM’s 70s on 7 replays the old countdowns each week, and if I’m in the car, I like to tune in and relive a little bit of my youth.  But this time was a little different.  Younger me wouldn’t have understood the dedication from Suzanne.  She wouldn’t have understood the song lyrics in the song Suzanne wanted to dedicate to George, which means she also wouldn’t have understood what kind of “good times” they shared if the song choice was any indication.

But, thanks to the awesomeness of the internet, I was able to track down a YouTube video/recording of the October 14, 1978, broadcast of Casey Kasem’s American Top 40.  Around the 38-minute mark in the 4th hour of the show, Suzanne’s letter to George was read to listeners from coast to coast.  For better or worse, here’s how it went:

Dear Casey,

After hearing about your long-distance dedication, I knew this might be a chance to reach someone who played a significant role in my life.  Two summers ago, I was seeing one of my coworkers with whom I eventually fell in love.  Well, the relationship didn’t work out.  Things turned sour and, what was a beautiful friendship, ended in bitterness.  There has since been a complete break in communications, and the last time I heard, George was working in the Philadelphia area.  During that summer, however, there was one particular song which meant a lot to both of us.  When I hear that song, even now, I smile, remembering those good times that we shared.  That special song is “Afternoon Delight” by The Starland Vocal Band, and if George is listening, wherever he might be, I hope that he, too, is smiling.

Thank you,

Signed Suzanne

After hearing Casey read that letter, I want to know the outcome.  Did George know that Suzanne wrote to Casey Kasem, describing their summer romance to God only knows how many listeners in hopes that he might want to associate with her again?  If George didn’t realize it in 1978, does he know now since SiriusXM replays Casey’s American Top 40 on Saturdays?  If he did know or just found out after all this time, how does George feel about all of this?  Does he have a wife and a family to explain how “Afternoon Delight” was a special song for him and this other woman?  And I don’t just want to know about George—let’s think about Suzanne, too.  How many people knew of her romance with George?  Was she not a little embarrassed about sending that dedication?  I mean, I’m pretty sure I would be embarrassed to tell America about my summer romance and that the special song he and I shared (because we all know what “Afternoon Delight” was really about); fast forward to the present—does she regret it now, knowing that satellite radio and the internet are the perfect tools to dredge up the stuff we considered lost and forgotten only to be made available in some kind of medium forever?

I also want to know if (instead of thinking that things didn’t work out between the two of them) George heard this dedication and if he did, in fact, smile.  Did he catch up with Suzanne and now have three grown kids with a passel of grandchildren to chase around with her?  Did he find out about Suzanne’s long-distance dedication, freak out a little, but then decide that it was sweet that she still had fond memories of their time together?  If they didn’t reconcile as lovers, did they at least come back together to be friends?  Is there any embarrassment that everyone in the U.S. potentially knows that “Afternoon Delight” was a special song for you and your lady love?  Because like I said before, I would be. 

However, my embarrassment only goes so far since my curiosity has gotten the better of me with this dedication.  If I could meet Suzanne today, I know the question I most want to know the answer to (and I’m sure the rest of America wants to know, too): was it really “like skyrockets in flight” with George?

Stephanie L. Haun holds an MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Creative Nonfiction from Queens University of Charlotte. When she isn't teaching, or scrambling to meet deadlines, Stephanie is a Perry Mason fanatic, an avid knitter, and a sometimes trombonist. Her work has appeared in The Write Launch, The Smart Set, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.