By Mike Cox My buddy Mike still has an old juke box that plays real records. I bet he’s spent more on it than my son did for an MP3 player and 50,000 downloads from I–Tunes. I’m pretty sure Mike likes the way the Wurlitzer operates and the fundamental oldness much better than the sound quality. There is also something about being the one who decides.

The same principle of power was in play when we used to phone in requests to the local radio station, control of the song coming out of the speakers. No one understands such a concept anymore. AM broadcasts, disc jockeys, and real time songs on the radio are long forgotten relics of a simple, distant past.

I can vividly recall the last time I requested a song. It happened 44 years ago, and my memory is still hi def. The tune was “You Must Believe” and it was dedicated to Gloria, my often estranged girlfriend. We were fighting; she was not speaking to me.

For once, I can even remember the cause of her consternation. She had found a note—a steamy, sappy love letter sent as a joke because my girlfriend was jealous of her—written by one of my female buds. Karen explained herself on page two, which never saw the light of day. My sister found page one and shared it with my true love. I never knew if the omission of sheet two was intentional.

I called the local AM station and asked the disc jockey to dedicate “You Must Believe” by the Impressions to Gloria. I knew she would hear it. She eventually calmed down, but I don’t think she ever actually believed my story.

A few months later, we were fighting again, and she decided we needed to see other people. When she figured I had been punished enough, she forgave me and suggested exclusivity once again. I told her I liked the new arrangement. She stormed out of my house and didn’t speak to me for 25 years.

Being able to drop money into a juke box and select songs used to be an act of courage. Minor courage, but still. Our musical preference would be judged by everyone in the room, friends and strangers. People without taste or the money to participate could criticize our choices.

The same was true to a lesser extent when some distraught soul tried an act so desperate as to call a radio station and beg some late night DJ to play that one song. First, he had to play it. Then she had to be listening. Most likely she would ridicule you in front of her friends if she did happen to get the message.

DJs and AM radio have given way to MP3 and Twitter. Juke boxes only exist in the basements of old romantics. Today, you can text your estranged partner endlessly to apologize or criticize. They can reply or delete. You can break up with someone by barring them from your private Facebook section. Maybe you will make her mad enough to quit speaking to you for 25 years. That’s real power.