Luther transcended generations

photo Luther Masingill, then 89, is reflected in a mirror as he thinks about his time in the radio business. Masingill was on the air when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

Generations of Chattanoogans knew him only as Luther, and that in itself was a sign of respect.

He told current listeners, their parents, their grandparents and perhaps their great-grandparents when they could stay home from school due to weather emergencies. You didn't dare risk it if you didn't hear Luther say it, because you knew he had the best information.

He was the guardian angel for thousands of pets, his broadcasts uniting the chocolate Labrador retriever found in Maple Acres with the home owner desperately seeking him in Whitehaven.

His was the calm voice in the morning when all else was falling apart in individual homes or in the world. He told Chattanoogans Pearl Harbor had been attacked in 1941 and the World Trade Center was under siege 60 years later in 2001.

The Vietnam War may have been raging, a president may have been resigning or the economy may have tanked, but if Luther said, "Gooooood morning," you knew it really was.

Luther Masingill, whose voice was heard on WDEF radio for 74 years - the most ever for one broadcaster at one station - and as recently as last week, died Monday morning after a brief illness. He was 92 and was a member of the National Radio Hall of Fame, the Tennessee Radio Hall of Fame and the Tennessee Journalism Hall of Fame.

He'd been profiled by CBS News and the Associated Press and received two Marconi Awards. His community awards are too numerous to be named.

It doesn't seem possible Chattanooga can greet the morning without his presence, but it will. It just was assumed he always would be there. He was that much a part of the consciousness of the city after parts of eight decades on the air.

Baby boomers rolled their eyes as they heard Ray Coniff, the New Christy Minstrels and Petula Clark in between Masingill's banter as a parent drove them to school but reveled when they became parents themselves and heard Neil Diamond, Elton John and Billy Joel in between the broadcaster's now-valued words while they drove their children to school.

Indeed, he transcended big band music, swing, rock and rap.

Masingill would be all wrong for radio today. He was an old man in a young man's world, bald in a medium in which appearance is important, conservative in nature where being hip is everything, and kind and compassionate where rudeness and confrontation get ratings.

But his mellifluous voice had a calm, avuncular quality that exuded trust and confidence. If he said it, you could take it to the bank.

Area grocery stores were delighted every time he mentioned "snow," because they knew bread and milk soon would start flying off their shelves.

If he advertised the tires this business sold or advised to take your dry cleaning to that business, you did it because he recommended it.

Off the air, Masingill was a veteran, husband, father of two, grandfather of two and, according to stories being told at the watercooler, on radio stations and among friends Monday, was the same nice guy Chattanoogans heard on the radio and watched making community announcements on television.

His passing is likened to that of Bob Hope, Bing Crosby and Johnny Carson in the entertainment field. It was understood that someone would fill their shoes, but it was clear no one would replace them.

Thanks for the memories, Luther.

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