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RESPONDING

So this was the place...a tall city building with wide steps leading up to its wide main door. Bobby Marsh drew a deep breath, excitement mounting. The big moment had actually arrived. A dream was about to come true.

For as long as he could remember, he had been fascinated by the warm and wonderful world of radio communication. He loved the romance of it, the link-up with all those faraway places. There was satisfaction in being part of that kind of network. It had all become less and less of a game as the serious interest brought the development of the specialized skills. To hear all those voices, some sounding as if they were coming from the next room yet with the words being spoken on the other side of the world...messages, reports, casual exchanges...others with a compelling quality like the one he'd heard that day, the one which had brought him here now. Only a few weeks back there had been that Mayday call, the voice weak, weaker...fading in and out of reception's range, and almost lost when his mother had begun, as usual, to nag about such irrelevancies as homework. He'd hardly been able to wait for her to leave so that he could get back to the radio and try again to locate that faint, desperate pleading. And he'd found it -- the voice had been there still. He'd been able to pick it up, had made his call relaying the information, and then waited, as instructed, to hear further from the Police department.

Recollections of what happened next were vivid. In less time than seemed possible, there was the flurry of the cop's arrival. Shaped by anxiety, urgency, action, events had moved into fast-forward mode, with the cop -- Starsky -- asking his rapid-fire questions, absorbing basic facts, calling in his own quick message before being out of the house and on his way almost as soon as he'd arrived. That visit had been over in minutes. Starsky had shown something of the same kind of desperation as he'd detected on the radio.

The whirlwind departure had left Bobby with a sense of anti-climax. Alone again, he'd tried to recapture the radio voice...nothing.... But another voice echoed in his consciousness: his visitor's quick promise -- 'Show you Communications at Headquarter,' -- no details. No time for those or for any more talk. But a moment snatched for that glittering promise.

Bobby had held on to the prospect, cherishing the possibility, while half expecting to hear no more. People, he'd noticed, did sometimes make promises but didn't follow through. He wouldn't let himself hope too much. But anticipation stayed as the weeks went by.

And Starsky hadn't forgotten. Bobby had come home from school a few days ago to find the invitation waiting. His mother had taken the call -- Saturday morning, okay? Even his mother had been impressed, persuaded now that his obsession with radio was no mere game. It had led somewhere, had served a real need. There had been the promise of a lift home, but she'd been willing to deliver him to his rendezvous.

Now, four weeks after those events, he approached the enquiry desk and waited to be noticed, while above his head a telephone conversation went on...and on. No one seemed to be taking note of his presence. No problem -- it was enough to be here, drinking in this new universe, just watching the comings and goings.

"Bobby?" He turned to face the tall man who had stopped at his side. "Bobby Marsh?"

"Yeah." They all knew your name around here? This one wasn't the cop who had come to the house that day.

"Ken Hutchinson," the other introduced himself. "We talked once," -- he smiled wryly -- "a one-sided conversation -- remember?"

"You're that cop?"

"Right. Dave Starsky's partner. He's told me about you."

"Oh." A name Bobby knew.

"Been wanting to meet you. What you did made a lot of difference."

"I like doing it. It's fun -- really interesting."

"I can imagine. Anyway -- thanks. Been waiting for a chance to say that."

Bobby grinned, regarding his companion with a proprietary interest. It was true: he -- and his radio -- had been involved in some real police work that day.

"Starsky couldn't get here right now," Ken Hutchinson was saying, "so I came to collect you instead."

"Thanks."

"So -- let's go, huh?"

Progress in this crowded, busy place wasn't fast, especially with a guide who seemed to be relying partly on a walking cane. Again, no problem; the enjoyment of being here made up for everything else. The elevator took them to another floor and to a door bearing the magical inscription -- 'Squadroom'. His guide led the way to a desk piled high with an assortment of files, papers, telephones, typewriters, the remains of a chocolate bar, a colorful piggy bank.

"Have a seat."

Bobby sat down at a real Squadroom desk. "This is where you work?"

"Sure. Some of the time."

"Not enough of the time," a gruff voice joined in. Hutchinson gave a resigned shrug and Bobby glanced around to see a substantial black man observing him. "This is the expert who helped crack that case?"

"Yes, this is Bobby. Bobby, this is Captain Dobey."

"A Captain of Detectives!" This was turning into the sort of day you never forgot.

"Right." The word came from a new arrival...Starsky -- someone here he already knew. The wide grin welcomed him.

"You did some fine work there," Dobey told him as he moved on. "Congratulations."

Starsky settled on a corner of the desk. "Hutch found you okay?" He gestured toward his colleague. "This is Hutch." His look lingered on the blond man. "Whyn't you sit?" he demanded. "Take some weight off that." He waited 'til Hutch subsided into the chair opposite Bobby's, nodded approval. "That's better. So you two got acquainted. Know who this is, Bobby?"

"Sure -- you're the one -- the one I could hear out there."

"You helped save my life. You know that?"

"Really know what you're doing with that radio, don't you?" Starsky said. "Lucky for us." Again, his glance rested briefly on his partner. "Didn't really have a chance to thank you properly at the time."

"It's okay. Hutch told me."

Starsky stood up. "So how about we're on our way? Look in on Communications. Maybe you'll have a few tips you can give them."

"It's not far. They're expecting you," Hutch added.

They were. News had gone ahead of them. Bobby found he had something like celebrity status. No one could stop work to offer a conducted tour and he didn't expect that, but it was enough just to watch and listen to the way things worked.

What-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up ceased to be a question. A half-hour later he'd garnered an armful of mementoes -- print-outs, candy, weird and ingenious mascots, including a small model of a zebra which Hutch contributed to the spoils. If only school still featured those show-and-tell sessions of earlier grades.... The feeling grew that life could not hold more.

He found, however, that it did hold a burger lunch in the cafeteria where conversation turned to the delights of CB radio with Starsky recounting animated tales of a puce goose. Another ride in the car with the customized red-and-white paint job crowned the occasion. If only the other guys could see me now.... They were back home too soon.

"We'll keep in touch," Hutch promised as he and his partner prepared to drive away.

"Thanks. Again," Starsky said. His glance strayed back to his friend. "We'll never forget the way you helped."

"He's right," Hutch affirmed. "What if--" His own glance met Starsky's.

"Already thought of that. You think I hadn't thought of that?"

"I know."

"I know you know."

They turned back to Bobby, standing there, laden with the souvenirs of his memorable day. "It was great!" he told them for the hundredth time.

"Keep listening!" They waved as the Torino moved off. Bobby watched until it took the left turn, then hurried indoors. There were a lot of trophies to be fixed to the bulletin board, a host of treasures for Mom to see when she got in.

He put on the headset and tuned in to Radio Marsh. He felt like he'd tuned into a lot of things today...like the way those two seemed to work together. Maybe you could tune into people like that as well as the distant, unknown voices. He recalled the first brief meeting with Dave Starsky -- the single-minded concentration focused and fastened on his friend's need. Partner...that was the word they used. Sure seemed to fit their kind of responding.

With a sigh of satisfaction for a beautiful day, he made a delicate adjustment to a knob and leaned back, listening.

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