JIM McCLANAHAN'S HIGHWAY TO HELL

     It was New Year's Day and Jim McClanahan was coming home from a series of concerts and rowdy parties out of state. On the long drive back to Iowa City he had planned to listen to his collection of Kiss CD's on his new stereo system, passing the dreary miles of Indiana and Illinois highway while floating back to the hedonistic revelry of the previous night. "If the rest of the year is as good as last night," he thought, "well, all riggght!" Unfortunately for Jim, it was not the crunch of metal guitar and the soulful vocal stylings of Gene Simmons which came out of the speakers, but a loud electrostatic hum.

     "Shit." Jim said.

     After as thorough a diagnostic as he could run on the stereo system without compromising his 98mph pace, he concluded that the CD player wasn't working. If you have ever traveled I-80 between Indianapolis and Iowa City, you know that the scenery alone can drive you to madness. Jim wanted Kiss, but he needed music, needed it desperately.

     "This sucks," he said out loud, "maybe I can find something cool on the radio."

     A high pitched nasal voice with a slight southern accent filled the car. "-Remember! Fear of the Lord is the beginning of understanding!!!"

     "Fuck you." Jim said, punching the button to change the channel.

     The same voice was on the next station. "Repent and be baptized, everyone of you, in the name of JESUS CHRIST for the remission of sins and you shall receive the HOLY GHOST!!" Jim tried pushing the next button in the sequence, again the same voice filled the airwaves. "Today is the first day of the NEW YEAR! A day of reckoning before the Great Day of Reckoning we all must one day face."

     "Shit, is this thing broken too?"

     Jim punched the next button and the next, and the next. Still the same voice met him. With a great effort of will, Jim switched to the AM band to get away from the hellfire sermon of the unknown preacher. It was the same as before, The preacher was everywhere on the dial. Jim watched the indicator move across the band, but on every frequency the preacher chided him for a life wasted in sin. A small trickle of sweat traced its way down his back as he sped down the highway, uncertain if there was a mechanical failure in his radio or if there might be something to the idea there had been a moral failure in his life. He continued to listen. Faced with the choice of I-80 in silence or the mysterious sermon, he chose the radio.

     "-And so, I ask you today, to make a New Year's Resolution! Resolve to lay down your sins, turn your back on the wanton pursuit of sinful pleasures of the flesh, stop consorting with women of ill repute and paying for their sexual attentions, staring up at their gyrating hips as they openly ask you for your money....Remember the commandments, for blessed are they that keep them, and without are dogs. Sorcerers! Whoremongers! Idolaters! You must choose the narrow path or you choose only to have your part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone-the SECOND DEATH!!!!"

     After an hour, a very shaken Jim McClanahan pulled into a truckstop. He shut off the radio, turned off the ignition, and went inside. Inside the truckstop a radio was playing a country tune. It disturbed him to be so glad to hear country music. He ate a meal, browsed among the Confederate bandannas and naked girl mudflaps until he was ready to face the open road. For a long time he resisted trying the radio, but finally the drab surroundings led him to switch it on.

     "-And yet, and yet there is hope for you....even for you wretched sinner. There is yet time to turn from the path you are on, obey the laws of God and Man! Receive the peace you have not known. Repent thy wicked ways. Relinquish thy sinful pleasures. Receive the healing blood of CHRIST! If you do not, your name will be erased from the Book of Life and your soul will be cast by God's hand to burn FOREVER in the unredeeming fires of HELL!"

     The strange and persistent message from Jim's radio continued across three states and long into the night. Everywhere on the dial the preacher screeched out a sermon to pull Jim's soul back from the brink of damnation, a brink he had danced upon only the night before. Numbed and disturbed, Jim pulled into his drive and silenced the preacher by cutting the engine. He staggered inside and collapsed into bed, trying to recall even one of his childhood prayers.

     The next day the radio was functioning just as it always had, and so was Jim. His only thought was, "Man, that was weird....I wonder who's working at Dancer's this weekend?"