There's even a song -- "American Pie" -- that immortalizes the day a plane crashed, killing pop legends-in-the-making Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper.

There was no such plane crash Monday, but I'm predicting that Nov. 25 will also be remembered by millions -- OK, probably just me -- as the day the music died.

That's the day WCHL changed from a charmingly eclectic mix of any kind of music you can think of -- can you imagine hearing Dean Martin, Sam Cooke, the Beatles and Steve & Eydie back to back? -- to what has become the flavor of the moment in broadcast circles. Yep, my favorite music radio station has gone "all news and talk, all the time."

And not just all news and talk, but "all Chapel Hill news and talk."

Jim Heavner, the man to credit or, in my case, to blame for this revolting development, said -- jokingly, I hope -- "if there's a shooting in Durham at high noon, WCHL will interrupt its broadcast only if a Chapel Hillian is shot."

Heavner, president of Vilcom, the company that owns WCHL, said, "I believe broadcasters have a responsibility to not only entertain, but to provide a service. ... A community radio station should be more than just a jukebox."

To which I replied -- to myself, of course -- "What's wrong with being just a jukebox?"

A jukebox sounds infinitely more appealing than befouling the airwaves even more with another station full of angry dudes calling for war.

Tuning to WCHL during the day was like opening a box of chocolates: You never knew what you were going to get.

With most music stations seemingly programmed by the same unimaginative demographics- and research-driven computer, each song sounds like the one before it.

On WCHL, though, I once heard the Temptations, Patsy Cline, Frank Sinatra, the Rascals and Connie Francis in one set. WITHOUT CHANGING THE DIAL! I know, because I was so impressed that I pulled over and wrote down the names of the artists.

Alas, those days are no more, and to hear Heavner tell it, I'm one of the few who will miss them. "You," he told me, "are a member of two minorities" -- by which I think he meant I'm a left-handed columnist and I liked WCHL the way it was. "We have had not one complaint over the change."

That was surprising, especially since I arrived at the station's new offices Monday expecting to be joined by hundreds of other angry music lovers in mourning. I even had a momentary vision of us storming the Bastille and locking ourselves inside the station, where we'd play "Louie, Louie" or Elvis' "If I Can Dream" until the cops broke down the door and hauled us out.

I lost my nerve upon realizing I was the only protester. But I didn't lose my sadness. To paraphrase Don McLean in "American Pie":

"I can't remember if I cried/

"When I read about his widowed bride.

"But something touched me deep inside/

"The day WCHL went all-talk, all the time."

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