Noting Lopez's hairless head (the result of a second, 10-day round of "whole brain" radiation in November), McEwen throws in, "Make sure you call him Uncle Fester."
Lopez takes it all in, outwardly amused.
Kirk McEwen, far left, Mark Ondayko and Bob Lopez have been doing 98 Rock's morning show together for seven years. The longtime Baltimore radio newsman has encouraged McEwen and Ondayko to share in his lighthearted on-air references to his cancer, which includes making cracks about his hairless head, the result of a recent round of radiation treatment.
(Photos Marvin Joseph -- The Washington Post)
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"Of course I laugh about it," he says later. "I can't imagine why not. The basis of humor is everything that's taboo. Race, sex, death, disease. They're all verboten topics."
Lopez makes it sound simple: Humor is his defense, his sword and shield.
It isn't, of course, as simple as that.
Handling the News
"You didn't write that story about the girl who had brain cancer, did you?" Lopez asks a visitor one morning. "Because I hope this isn't going to be that kind of story. I don't want it to be a tear-jerker."
He's been a news reporter and commentator all of his professional life. He's trying to spin his own story.
After all, he adds, "I can come back and haunt you."
In public at least, Lopez tries hard not to invest his condition with too much sentiment. Eager to show the visitor a little bit more of this public face, he directs him to drive around to the side of the radio station's building. "Check out the sign on my parking space," he says proudly, pointing across the lot. It appears to be a typical official-looking marker, but it reads: "Cancerous, Left-handed Hispanic Radio Newsman Parking Only."
Lopez has transmuted his illness, on air, into something more than just shtick. Lopez's wife -- whom he refers to during the show as Trixie but whose real name is Jean -- came up with the idea of selling plastic bracelets to commemorate his battle and to support the Greater Baltimore Medical Center's Oncology Services unit, where Lopez has been a patient. The $3 bracelets, sold by the station, look like Lance Armstrong's "LiveStrong" wristbands but with a couple of local wrinkles. For one, the Lopez version is purple, the color of the Baltimore Ravens. The slogan is different, too: "Laugh Hard."
The listeners have been great, he says. Over the months, the mail and the calls have poured in. They are overwhelmingly positive (a tiny percentage, upset by Lopez's oft-expressed liberal political views, suggest that he drop dead). "They say, 'Keep fighting.' 'We're praying for you.' 'We love you.' You can't help but be touched."
You never know who you'll touch in return.
Growing up in Prince George's County, Lopez dreamed about being a novelist, but the phrase "starving writer" kept sticking in his head. One day, when he was at the University of Maryland, he saw an announcement seeking students to work at the campus radio station. He applied, went on the air and realized, "There's a paycheck in this."
Early on, Lopez worked with Galen Fromme, a legendary Baltimore radio newsman. People grew up listening to Fromme; he was more than just a voice. Lopez recalled that when people met Fromme, they'd tell him things like, "You're the guy who let us out of school early on snow days."
