By JAN LARSON McLAUGHLIN
BG Independent News
It seems fitting that Dave Horger envisioned his cancer as a heavyweight boxer beating him to a pulp in the first round. The name of his opponent in the ring – multiple myeloma.
It’s also fitting that Horger, the radio voice of local news and sports for decades here in Bowling Green, would pull a rope-a-dope on his opponent and then come out swinging.
Horger, with WFOB radio for 27 years then the 88.1 morning show for another five years, had become the beloved voice of Bowling Green. He was the voice of local news in the mornings and play-by-play sports at night.
He grew up in East Liverpool, on the other side of Ohio, listening to Bob Prince broadcast the Pittsburgh Pirates. Because of the time zone differences, once the Pirates were done playing, he and his dad could sometimes catch the last couple innings of Harry Caray announcing the St. Louis Cardinals.
“I remember thinking, I could do this,” Horger said of doing play-by-play on the radio. “I never felt it was a talent as much as it was a knack.”
It was a knack that Horger soon proved he had. In 1971, he started hanging out at the East Liverpool radio station. He would grab news off the Associated Press machine, get some sports copy and some records and give it a whirl.
“They were kind enough in the evenings to let me go in and use their production room. I’d do my little show that nobody was hearing but me,” he said. He would then play it back, reel to reel, “so I could hear how bad I was.”
One night, he was playing around, introducing the Carpenters’ song, “Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down,” – which by the way, he was not a big fan of. But one of the radio executives liked his voice and his style. “That’s just what we want for a disc jockey at night,” he said.
To this day, Horger is sure the radio station just wanted to avoid the hassle of interviewing for the job.
From there, Horger went on to combine his two loves of sports and radio. He covered BGSU football and basketball from coast to coast. “Just to be a part of game day, it was fun,” he said.
He remembers well the personalities he covered over the years – Gary Blackney, Urban Meyer, Jim Larranaga and Dan Dakich. After Fran Voll came to coach women’s basketball, Horger started covering that too.
One of his favorite games was during his first year of doing play-by-play, when BGSU men’s basketball hosted Michigan State, which was one of the top five teams in the nation at that time. Anderson Arena was jam packed, and “BG just blew them off the floor,” Horger said.
All the while during his years in radio, Horger was feeling blessed – not only by having his dream career, but also in escaping cancer that had devastated his family. His father had died of cancer in 1964, and both his brothers have fought prostate cancer.
But Horger was physically fit, on no medication, and hadn’t stayed in a hospital since he had his tonsils out at age 5. “That’s how healthy I’d been.” His colonoscopies consistently came back clean.
“I thought I was just the luckiest guy,” Horger said during a talk to Bowling Green Kiwanis Club this week. “I’m going to buck the trend here,” he remembered thinking.
Then in 2013, Horger started having lower back aches. Not just little pains. “I’d have a back spasm and it would drop me to my knees,” he said.
Getting out of bed for his morning shift on the radio could take him 15 minutes, the pain was so intense. So Horger and his wife, Cathy, went to a pain clinic, where he was told his vertebrae were rubbing bone on bone. He had surgery, hoping that would solve the problem.
“I fully expected to walk out of the hospital that night OK,” he said.
But the doctors wanted to do a bone marrow biopsy – with the results meaning the end of life as Horger had known it.
The doctor said, “Your bone marrow’s like mush,” Horger recalled. “I think he probably knew what it was.” He soon got the word that he had multiple myeloma – which was treatable but not curable. The average life expectancy was three to five years.
That news came on Feb. 13, 2013 – his 63rd birthday.
Horger, in his cleancut optimism, quoted the character Sherman T. Potter, of MASH. “Horse hockey,” he remembered thinking.
“The battle was on,” he said.
Horger started radiation and chemotherapy. He had surgeries to put cement between his vertebrae. The cancer and the treatments took their toll. In less than two months, he went from a healthy 6-foot 1-inch, 195 pounds to 5-foot 10-inches, 142 pounds.
To those who had known Horger for years, the disease quickly ate away at his health and aged him greatly. In almost constant pain, he would sleep on the couch. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever be able to walk again.
Cathy shared those same concerns, but kept a strong presence for her husband. She often approached him on the couch with the fear that he had stopped breathing.
“I wouldn’t have made it without her,” he said.
Horger turned to the world of sports to help get through the pain. He quoted the eloquent Yankee catcher Yogi Berra, saying, “Success in baseball is 90 percent mental. The other half is physical.”
As Horger watched his body waste away, word trickled out about his failing health. The city that he had talked through many mornings and evenings on the radio rallied around him. Letters, cards and food came from his church, his friends and his fans. He was put on prayer lists from Indiana to Pennsylvania.
“That really helped to keep me going.” People took time to write notes about how tough they knew Horger was and how he could beat this disease. That mystified Horger, who had to lay down when he had blood tests. “It’s not tough to talk into a microphone,” he said. “I’m a big sissy. I don’t like the sight of blood – especially my own.”
Horger said the community support wouldn’t allow him to give up. “I don’t have any choice,” he recalled thinking. “I’ve got to beat this disease or this community will be devastated.”
Dave Horger talks about his battle with cancer.
When he was home alone, Horger said he would talk trash to his cancer like they were in the boxing ring together. “I personalized this Multiple (first name) Myeloma (last name). I don’t think so pal,” he would say to his cancer. “You’re putting up a pretty good fight, but you’re not going to win this thing.”
Horger started throwing jabs and left hooks. “No referee is going to step in and stop this fight,” he said.
Discussions with the oncologist began about the next step of having a stem cell procedure. But before that occurred, tests showed a turn around. Horger had his boxing foe in the corner and was pummeling him.
“This is amazing,” he recalled the oncologist telling him. “This cancer is already in remission.”
Another great day came last week. Horger’s bloodwork kept coming back normal, but he was told he still had the disease. So they did another bone marrow biopsy – that also came back normal.
Life will probably never be as carefree as it once was for Horger. His appetite still comes and goes, his balance is lacking, and he’s on a regimen of pills. “I don’t have nearly the energy I used to have.” But he is still focusing on living – not just surviving.
A speaker at a myeloma support group advised that he not go to public gyms because of the germs, not lift weights and not ride bike. Horger does all three of those regularly – though he admitted when he’s done on weight machines, the next kids to use them now bump up the weight.
Horger prefers to follow his oncologist’s advice: “Live your life,” he said.
“I haven’t rollerbladed,” but that may be in the future, Horger said, smiling.
Horger has not only beat his boxing opponent, but he has shared his winning spirit with the community that he spoke to over the radio waves for decades.
“You are truly one of our community blessings,” said Bowling Green Mayor Dick Edwards as Horger concluded his speech to the Kiwanis.
