Daylight Savings Time!

Fall forward! Spring back!

Wait! No! Darn! I screwed it up again!

Frankly, I struggle every time we change the clocks. It’s counter-intuitive!

How did the correct version of that phrase gain traction as a means of keeping straight the re-setting of our clocks when we gain or lose an hour?

When I’ve fallen, I’ve fallen forward. Haven’t you? We trip over a stool or a tricycle or a wrinkle in the carpet or a stair step we didn’t know was there. What happens? We fall forward, I tell you!

I never “fall back.” That is what regiments do: “Fall back, men!” Not me. I am not a backward faller.

When I’ve had occasion to spring, I’ve sprung back. Haven’t you? Backpacking, I came upon a rattlesnake slithering across the path. I did what anyone would do. I sprang back!

I never “spring forward.” That is what runners of the hundred yard dash do. Or lifeguards when they see someone going down for the third time. Not me. I am not a forward springer.

For most people, most of the time, accommodating Daylight Savings Time is no big deal.

But suppose you were a radio announcer, as I once was, at Columbus’ classical music station, WOSU-FM. Reminding listeners to adjust their clocks for D.S.T. is one of the service announcements that public radio stations provide.

When I worked there, in the late 1970’s, we devoted a portion of our Fridays to recording, in advance, the commentary and announcements the listeners would hear during the coming weekend. We strove to give the impression that we were “live,” trying to sound fresh, engaging, spontaneous.

The weekend when radio announcers must remind people to adjust their timepieces was upon us. You see what’s coming.

With supreme self-confidence (my policy: “Often wrong, but never in doubt”), I “pre-recorded” my announcement -- carefully, firmly, politely, knowledgeably — instructing listeners that, to be certain they were setting their clocks correctly, they must bear in mind the useful phrase, "Fall forward, spring back.”

Friday evening, my weekend’s broadcast “in the can,” I was driving home, listening to the car radio, when I heard another announcer get it right and realized with a jolt that I had gotten it exactly backwards.

There wasn’t a darned thing I could do. No use phoning the station; the engineers had gone home. My fate was sealed. The guillotine blade had been loosed and was already descending in slow motion, second by second.

My singular voice would boom out from the ether above Columbus, Ohio, misleading potentially thousands of hapless listeners foolish enough to imagine that I was a friend upon whose wisdom and guidance they could depend.

Whoever happened to be listening, trusting me, would get it squarely in reverse.

People would arrive at church or the matinée performance of concert or a play and find the parking lot empty. They would exchange glances, asking, “Where IS everybody? Did they ALL forget to adjust their timepieces? Ha! Not smart like us! WE got it right. Thanks to that nice announcer, Rick Sowash, who instructed us: Fall forward, spring back.”

Hoo boy!

It wasn’t the end of my radio career. My boss, friend and mentor, Mary Hoffman, kindly laughed it off.

Still, forty years later, recalling that blunder, I cringe. Jeezle Peets.

* * * * * * * *

I made a song out of a bit of prose from Henry David Thoreau's book, "A Week on the Concord & Merrimack Rivers.” It touches on sunsets, November and the affection we feel for our friends. Read the text, then listen to the song.

"As surely as the sunset in my latest November shall translate me to the ethereal world and remind me of the ruddy morning of my youth; as surely as last strain of music which falls on my decaying ear shall make age to be forgotten, so surely my friend shall forever be my friend and reflect a ray of God to me, and time shall foster and adorn and consecrate our friendship.
As I love nature, as I love singing birds, and gleaming stubble and flowing rivers, and morning and evening and summer, autumn, and winter and spring, I love thee, my friend."

To hear “As Surely as the Sunset” sung by baritone Dan Hoy, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.