“This is 1340 WKEY”

I heard that Dwight Rohr passed away. And with him passes a chapter of small town Virginia life. It’s an era that’s gone, but, for me, it’s certainly not forgotten.

You see, Dwight Rohr was an announcer on the local radio station, WKEY. As such, he was the voice of my youth, especially since he was a regular for the weekday mornings. I still remember my mother turning on AM 1340 while in the kitchen. The station broadcasted the community announcements: church bazaars, fundraisers by service clubs (I favored the spaghetti suppers of the Ruritans at Callaghan Elementary), the StreetScene car show (with barbecue sandwiches from the Izaak Walton League and homemade ice cream from Granbery Memorial United Methodist), the Christmas Mother, holiday parades, and, of course, birthdays. You had to turn on the radio on your birthday to hear if it was announced on air.

One tribute I read said that, six times a day, Mr. Rohr brought the local news. “From The Alleghany Highlands Newsroom, I'm Dwight Rohr Reporting.”

You have heard of them, right? The Alleghany Highlands? Probably not. On a regional map of Virginia, they reside in the “Valley and Ridge” section, which is a deceptive generalization. Folks in the Shenandoah Valley, like my grandfather, would balk at being lumped in with the wild mountain people. In his Depression-era childhood, the civilized farmers of the Valley would wear slacks. The folks from the west would descend on Friday nights in their “dungarees” (blue jeans) to tear up the town. Perhaps the old C&O Railway saying was right: “There’s no Sunday west of Clifton Forge, and there’s no God west of Hinton.”

In any case, we denizens of Alleghany County had to make our mark somehow. To the East was the Shenandoah with all its storied history—the birthplace of Sam Houston and Cyrus McCormick. To the south, the big city of Roanoke—they had shopping malls and everything. To the north and west were the Homestead and Greenbrier resorts, the twin pillars of Sam Snead’s golfing legacy. But Alleghany County claimed an industrial history.

The railroad dominated the city (now town) of Clifton Forge while paper and rayon built Covington. The tragically ruptured Terrill family had all but been forgotten in the popular consciousness. While the legendary John Henry probably passed through and may have even completed his famous race against the steam drill at Lewis Tunnel, you would’ve never have known it. The colorful and eccentric “Mad Anne” Bailey was primarily remembered because of a named sandwich at the local eatery.

But we knew what was going on, especially in Covington, because Dwight Rohr and his fellow announcers at WKEY told us. And they also gave us what we loved and valued. I vividly recall how the weekday mornings would feature recordings of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” and Tennessee Ernie Ford singing hymns. Ford’s style of singing, of course, represented an ideal for many American Protestants of days gone by. That’s what you were supposed to sound like in church.

The stations also featured the short devotional segment “It’s Something to Think About” by Pastor Howard Merrell of Covington Bible Church. He would be my own pastor in my high school years, but, before that, I mostly knew him because his wife taught me Kindermusik. Before the short devotional, right around noon (if I recall correctly), we had to “stand by for news.” Paul Harvey came on, and, if he said it, that’s the way it was. He said so.

In my naïve childhood mind, Dwight Rohr existed on the same level of fame as Paul Harvey. After all, they were both on the radio, they reported the news, and everybody in town knew who they were. But Paul Harvey I never met. Mr. Rohr, however, taught me my Radio merit badge with some local HAM enthusiasts at the annual Moose Lodge Boy Scout Camporee. As far as I was concerned, I had been in the presence of greatness.

Those days are gone. Even back home, folks don’t live the way they used to. And many have moved away. Young people in particular often have to go to the city to find work. And we miss the Alleghany Highlands of our childhood. All flesh is as grass.

I’m sure policy experts suggest that Covington’s future—like that of many other small industrial towns—is a grim one. But history is chock full of surprises. When I pass through, I still catch the sulfurous odor of the paper mill, which my father always assured me was the smell of money. Folks there are still making a living. Even if it may look differently than it used to, I don’t think Covington will go extinct. But there’ll never be another Dwight Rohr. Sometimes, nostalgia is exactly the right way to say thanks.