Bobby Bones' stomach dropped the second he saw the caller ID on his phone that morning.
It was 7:45 a.m. Oct. 21, 2011. His sister was on the phone, crying.
"Mom died."
Bones finished the show that day in Austin, Texas, with jokes and all. He was back on the air the day after the funeral.
No one inside Bones' tiny inner circle was surprised: The now-34-year-old had been turning to radio for validation and comfort since he was a little boy, when he would get on the phone and beg the local DJ to put him on the air.
Now at the center of a growing media empire, "The Bobby Bones Show" is heard weekdays in 80 markets, including on flagship station the Big 98 WSIX in Nashville. Bones' weekly country countdown show is in 100 markets. And he has just signed a deal to break into television.
But Bones says he still has a hard time shaking the guilt and pain surrounding his mother's lifelong struggles with drugs and alcohol and her death in Arkansas three years ago.
"The hillbilly meth is what got her in the end. And she was depressed. Not a good mix," Bones said.
"I'd always planned on her cleaning up down the road, later on. Later on never happened."
Bones remembers his mother with a lot of love — and a lot of regret.
That he didn't get her back into that rehab a week earlier.
That he didn't push her harder toward treatment before that.
Bones said he still can't shake the feeling that had his mom not gotten pregnant with him when she was 15, her life would've turned out much better.
"I took away her life by being born."
Then there are the trust issues. Dad walked away early and Mom, in his mind, often chose alcohol or drugs over her son, leaving the house and him in the care of his grandmother for a couple of years when Bones was a boy.
"I take everything personally," Bones said. "I feel like everyone's out to get me.
"A lot of therapy has removed some of that chip. Still a pretty big chip."
Some days are harder than others — her birthday, the day she died and holidays.
Memories of dad
Born in Hot Springs, Ark., as Bobby Estell (a radio programmer named him "Bobby Bones" early in Bones' career), the boy grew up in Mountain Pine, Ark., a segregated rural town of 800 people. The saw mill kept the town going.
His parents, 15 and 17 at the time, did get married and stayed married for five or six years before his father bailed, leaving Bones with only a few faint memories of living with a dad.
"Most of my life, he lived within five miles," Bones said, "just never knew him, never saw him, never talked to him."
Bones also remembers, from his earliest memories, his mother drinking and disappearing for days, weeks or even years at a time.
"I would see her drunk. Wouldn't really understand it, but I would see her drunk," he said. "It was just normal for her to not be around sometimes."
His grandmother, Hazel Hurt, legally adopted him and essentially co-parented with Bones' mother, Pam Hurt, when she was around.
And his grandmother was the performer in the family, the one who brought a guitar to church and led singing, told stories, held the audience in the palm of her hand.
"She had a big hearty laugh, could make other people laugh," Bones said. "Everyone was kind of drawn to her. Everyone respected her. It was neat to see."
So Bones knew, from first grade on, that he wanted to do the same. And that meant being a radio and TV star, a stand-up comic. And the calls to the local radio station began then.
From age 10, Bones was a regular on pop station 105.9 KLAZ, introducing songs on the phone as "Bobby the Barbarian," taking the "Barbarian" part from a popular wrestler of the day. No matter how often he was on the air, though, Bones couldn't convert that into being a cool kid at school.
In fact, it was the opposite.
"I was the head lice kid, the poor kid," he said. "They knew I was on the radio, but they didn't care. I got the crap beat out of me."
His grandmother did what she could, but his mom was no help.
"I loved my mom. Very much so. And I was angry at her a lot," Bones said.
"My mom and I never talked about anything personal, no intimate thoughts, personal feelings. ... I never talked to anyone about anything."
Bones did really well academically, eventually earning a full scholarship to Henderson State University in Arkansas, and he continued to pursue his radio career with vigor.
No partying in college for Bones. In fact, he decided early on that he would never drink alcohol or do drugs.
"I remember thinking, 'I don't want to end up having kids that are as sad as I am right now.' It was never an option. I was convinced, and I still am convinced, if I take a drink, I'll be an alcoholic," he said.
"Everything I do, I do 100 percent. I have no moderation inside me."
Bones said he gets jealous of his friends who can drink and have fun. But he says he'll never do it.
"I know what would happen. No doubt about it."
Reversed roles
Bones' intense work ethic and a couple of attention-getting pranks — he once took over a competing radio station's signal and talked on their air for five minutes — propelled him into fame and national syndication.
But the fame and the money that came with it weren't enough to make him feel whole or to save his mother.
"I became the parent after college," he said.
"I bought Mom a trailer and an acre and a half of land. I thought that would fix everything: If she had that, she wouldn't have to worry about other things."
That just meant, though, that his mom would use most of the money she did have for drugs and alcohol. Bones said he learned later than instead of helping his mother, he just enabled her to get crystal meth, a highly addictive drug that's often made in trailers in rural areas of the country.
"I helped in the completely wrong ways," he said.
"I'd give her money constantly for things when I shouldn't have. I should've taken care of things myself, paid the bills myself."
Soon, his mother was just calling for money or to set up the next ask for money.
At first, Bones would reluctantly go home to be with his family for holidays. Eventually, he stayed in his apartment and spent Thanksgivings with his dog, watching football.
"I don't want her to sound like a bad person. She wasn't. I knew she cared.
"I didn't understand what alcoholism was."
Her death three years ago brought on more guilt and isolation.
Radio became his only true outlet, which explains why Bones often talks about things most broadcast personalities would consider too personal for the air.
"The only time I'm comfortable is when I'm on stage or behind a microphone in a studio. I can open up easy because it doesn't feel real. It is real, but it doesn't feel real.
"I'm not lonely when people are laughing."
Bones said he's quiet off the air.
"I'm a very quiet, super reserved shy guy."
Bones, though, is aware of his trust and fear issues, and he has been in therapy for several years.
The therapy allowed him to have what he calls a "real" relationship with a girlfriend when he lived in Austin.
And Bones said he does love his longtime on-air sidekicks Amy and Lunchbox — their full names are never disclosed — though he rarely says so out loud.
"Relationships scare me. I'm afraid everyone's going to leave," he said.
"At least therapy allowed me to learn what I wasn't good at. And it has been great."
And Bones has found another healing outlet off the air. He often speaks to groups of family members of alcoholics and addicts.
His message: Don't give up on them.
"I would throw my hands up and go, I can't do this anymore. I would give up for periods of time. You're going to be disappointed over and over again until you're not. And then you'll be disappointed again.
"We all disappoint each other, and it's a really tough place to be. It's hard.
"I love my mom. I loved her. I just wish I hadn't given up so many times on her."
Bobby Bones is Slappy on Alt 98.3
Seems Bobby Bones can't get enough of live radio. Secret revealed: Bones also does afternoons on Nashville's new rock station, Alt 98.3.
He's "Slappy," half of the Slappy and Zeus team on from 3 to 6 p.m. weekdays. "Zeus" is Bones' friend and chief of security, Cruise. His last name is not disclosed.
The two love rock music and they enjoy supporting Nashville's growing rock scene, which boasts Paramore, Ben Folds, the Black Keys and all things Jack White, among others, Bones said.
If Bones is in Nashville, he usually does the broadcast live, from his home or from a small studio on Music Row. Other times, Bones pre-records his on-air chatter, something called "voice tracking" in the radio world.
Bones said he wants to have fun, but he also hopes Slappy and Zeus generate an audience for Alt 98.3. "We're not trying to lose," he adds.
"If people like it, it'll do well, and if they don't, it won't."
