So many things can change as we move into our late senior years; our hair thins, turns white or even disappears; our bellies and rear ends often get larger; we forget things; and sometimes we become crabby with our dear spouses (which is always a losing proposition). But thankfully, we get wiser, or should, anyway. A good friend from Brookfield, Fritz Heise, tells me, in his own style of broken German-English, “We get so soon old, and so late schmart.”

Musing over all these non-essential bits of wisdom the other day, the image of another friend of mine, Joe Dorsey, popped into mind. Joe isn’t German; he’s as Irish as the Blarney Stone that he has to have kissed at some point in his long and eventful life.

Toward the end of the Golden Era in Radio in the decades following World War II, his voice was the most popular on the airwaves; few other deejays were even close. He had a deep, melodious voice that his listeners loved. Joe entertained us for more than 30 years while on WEMP, and for 10 more on WOKY, back in an era when radio, not television, was the leading entertainment venue.

In 1990, Joe was given his last retirement party by all of his cohorts and fellow workers, and it was a gala affair. The word “last” is not redundant; it is used because Joe had tried to retire a couple of times before then. But he always came back. It might have been that every time Joe said he was going to quit, it was cause for a party, and Joe loves parties.

Today Joe is quite happy and content in his retirement years, splitting his time between condos in Brookfield and Phoenix, Arizona, with his lovely wife, Shirley, and their little three and a half pound teacup poodle, Mary. It’s getting warm here now, so Joe, Shirley and Mary are all back in good old Wisconsin.

At that 1990 farewell soiree, Joe, then 65, decided it was really time to call it quits. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the gig any more or that the world was passing him by, there was another, more compelling reason. Joe was then married to his first wife, Lois. The two had been sweethearts ever since they had met as students at Messmer High School back in the ‘30s. Over those wonderful decades they had brought forth into this world four children, and they, in turn, brought forth a bunch of grandchildren. Between all those kids, all of their friends and all of the tens of thousands of Joe’s avid listeners, who were also friends, life had been good for Joe and Lois. But in the late 1980’s, Lois began a losing battle with cancer, and Joe wanted to be with her in her last days as much as possible. A year later she was gone.

To return to the subject of changes that occur as we grow older, Joe has had his share. He is remarried and is no longer spending most of his time behind a microphone.

I ran into Joe by accident not too long ago. He was standing outside of Sendik’s Market on Capitol Drive in Brookfield, leaning against a lamppost with his dog, Mary, in his arms. Mary, with a red ribbon tied around her neck, is really a cutie. When I asked him why he was standing there with the dog he said, “Shirley is inside blowing whatever money we have left in the world. They will allow our little dog here to come into the store, but not me.”

Just then a woman walked up and looked at Joe and Mary. “Oh, you’re just darling,” she cooed.

Joe looked back at her, beamed that wolfish smile of his and replied, “Well, thank you, my dear. But what do you have to say about my little dog here?” I burst into laughter after what he said, and so did a few other people who were nearby at the time.

You cannot be in Joe’s company for more that a minute or two before he begins reeling you in with his comic stories and jokes.

This spring marks the 20th anniversary of Joe’s retirement. In connection with that, allow me to move from the light tone of this article for a moment. Joe has never complained about it or mentioned it to me, but isn’t it strange that in all that time he has never been inducted into the Wisconsin Broadcasters Hall of Fame? He has had more than 40 years as one of the most popular radio personalities in Southeastern Wisconsin. To me, that’s akin to the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame failing to induct Joe DiMaggio or Warren Spahn. Ridiculous.

Joe Dorsey was born in 1925 in Iowa, but his family moved to Milwaukee 10 years later. He attended Messmer High School and later Marquette University. In both schools he studied journalism and dabbled in radio. But it was during World War II, while serving in the Army infantry in Europe, that Joe got his real start in radio.

One night a captain heard Joe on stage emceeing a show. He was so impressed with Dorsey’s performance and how well the audience took to him that he offered him a spot with Armed Forces Radio.

Following his discharge, Joe worked at a station in New Orleans for a year before moving back to Milwaukee.

Those were the days when radio was king and the local airwaves were filled with the voices of some exceptional talent. There were the Bobs, his longtime pal, Bob Barry, as well as Bob Berringer (better known as Lucky Logan), Bob (Coffeyhead) Larson, Bob White and Bob Heiss; and others such as Jack Lee, Gordon Hinkley, Judy Marks, Tom Shanahan, Barbara Becker, John (Mad Man) Michaels, Don Metzger, Robb (two Bs if you please) Thomas, Charlie Hansen, Wally Phillips, Hal Walker and Carl Zimmerman, and in sports, Earl Gillespie, Tom Collins, Merle Harman and Ted Moore, just to name a few. Great voices and talent, and yet it was Dorsey who radio listeners voted as “The Best Radio Voice in Milwaukee.”

Fans today still fondly recall Dorsey’s long running “Wire Request” show at WEMP, where listeners requested songs for their sweethearts and special occasions via Western Union telegrams.

Through his radio shows and love of music, Joe got to know many top performers such as Al Hirt, Pete Fountain and singer Rosemary Clooney. It was during a performance at the Riverside Theater that Dorsey was asked to emcee a Clooney show and introduce her. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “It is my pleasure to introduce to you one of America’s greatest sinners . . .” and as he stopped, realizing what he had said, the audience roared. “That was probably my biggest flub,” he said. “People still kid me about it. For years Rosemary used to send me a Christmas card, signed simply, ‘the great sinner.’ All kidding aside, Rosemary Clooney was a wonderful person, one of the finest and nicest entertainers I’ve ever known.”

There was another hilarious incident that they still kid Joe about. During the days of the Milwaukee Braves, Joe had a “dugout” show in old County Stadium in which he talked to Braves players and coaches. During one such show, Braves pitchers Warren Spahn and Lew Burdette, who were both noted pranksters, jumped on Joe and managed to strip him of all his clothes, except his under shorts. They then threw everything out on the field in everyone’s view. “It was impossible,” he still recalls in mock horror. “I couldn’t leave the dugout, I was trapped. The players were laughing so hard I didn’t know how they were able to get out to their positions and play. I could have killed Lew and Spahnie.”

Then there was the time when he was interviewing Johnny Logan, he of the fractured syntax. They were talking about how nice the weather was that day when Logan said, “Yes, Joe, the sun is blowing and the wind is shining.”

Those were the days. Or maybe now are the days. And many more very good days, for Joe, Shirley and little Mary.