His dad was murdered. Just outside Tulsa. You probably never heard about it.

It was an average winter night out in the country. No snow. Cold as you-know-what.

Harry Aurandt and his buddy, Ike, had been rabbit hunting. They were hiking through thick underbrush, beneath the stars, bundled tightly in jackets. Cradling shotguns in their elbows.

They were cops. Off-duty tonight. In good moods. Cheerful. Cold. Worn out. Likely laughing about something as they walked together.

They were ready to go home and see their families. Harry, 47, had three kids and a wife waiting for him at home. Ike, 40, had two daughters.

When they reached their car, something was wrong.

In the middle distance, a Model 45 Buick sat parked by the side of the road, idling.

Four men stepped out of the car.

“Hello there!” said Harry, using his cop voice.

The four men were armed. It was a robbery.

Ike attempted to fire his shotgun. But it misfired with a loud click. Then, all perdition broke loose.

The four gunmen opened fire. Ike was shot in the back. The bullet severed his spine. He would be paralyzed for the rest of his life.

Harry was shot at least three times. One bullet punctured his lungs. One pierced his liver. One hit his leg.

The gunmen left them to die.

Wintery frost gathered on the hood of their car. Harry and Ike were left slumped, riddled with gunshot wounds. Ike was out of it. Harry was slipping in and out of consciousness.

But Harry had just enough awareness to know that if he didn’t do something, they would both die out here.

He managed to get behind the wheel and drive one mile until he reached a lone farmhouse. He mustered enough fortitude to stagger onto the porch, beat on the door, and then collapse.

He would die the next day. His wife, Anna, remained by his bedside. He left behind two beautiful daughters; Susan and Frances. And one 3-year-old son, named Paul.

Harry’s widow never remarried. To support her family, she was forced to transform their home into a boarding house.

Growing up without a husband was hard. Especially for her son, Paul. Boys need their dads. Boys need someone to play catch with in the yard.

Growing up without a father is like being turned loose in a wilderness without a compass. Or shoes. You don’t know where you’re going. Or why.

But all little boys eventually grow up. They must. At some point, all boys must be ravaged by the brain-damaging effects of testosterone.

Paul Aurandt grew up. At age 22 he got married. Shortly thereafter, America entered the War. He enlisted in the Army Air Corps.

After military service, he would move to Chicago. There, he would land a job at WENR, reading the news. The experience of growing up without a dad would imbue him with empathy such as had never before been seen in his line of work.

He would change his name. This new on-air name would become a household name, garnering an audience of 24 million daily listeners. Each listener, tuning in to hear him say what he said after each five-minute broadcast:

“And now you know the rest of the story.”