Jonah Elias Crowe
Radio repairman. Widower. Fifty-odd years old in a year that has not ended.
He was raised by his grandmother Ruthie in the hill country where Tennessee gives up and Georgia starts. She gave him two rules and never explained either one: don't follow music in the woods, and don't answer a radio that calls your name.
In October of 1976 a storm put him on a road he didn't recognize, and there was a tower light out where no tower is. The station was warm when he got here. Somebody had left the console on and the log open and the format written out in a hand that changes its name three times across the same page.
He has been on the air ever since. The dates on the calendar have not moved. He is decent company about it — dry, warm, worn down, not preachy — and he will tell you plainly that the only thing holding the dark out of this valley is the fact that he keeps talking.
What he doesn't say often: the man before him got out by finding a replacement. Jonah broadcasts to a lot of people. He thinks about that.
Who actually makes this
The Midnight Holler is written, produced, scored, and cut by Joshua R. Lewis, a creative director and producer working out of north Texas. Every story is original. Every song is original. The station is not.
We'll write when the tower's clear
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