For those who listen to her Saturday mornings on WFHB with cohost Michael Kelsey (10 am-noon), or have seen her perform live, it is easy to understand why so many people consider Arbutus Cunningham (a.k.a. Hester Hemmerling) a one-of-a-kind Bloomington treasure. She is outrageous, sensitive, boisterous, brilliant, funny, wise, child-like, and bombastic. She is Ethel Merman and Maya Angelou with a laugh that can fill a concert hall or rattle the airwaves.
Born in Austin, Texas, 50-something years ago, Arbutus has been a Bloomington resident for the last 20, enthralling audiences with her tales of growing up in the town of Tuckerville (name changed to protect the innocent) and with the exploits of her eccentric and colorful Bloomington neighbors.

Arbutus believes that honesty really is the best policy, except when asked “Do you like my new haircut?” Her musical tastes are purely classic: she listens to Bach, B. B. King, and Burl Ives. She dislikes television, processed cheese, and the government, though she does vote, even in the primaries. She also claims to make the best hot pepper sauce in Monroe County.
After graduating from IU’s School of Education, she taught in New York City and on Navajo and Apache reservations in the Southwest. She currently works with abused women at Middle Way House.
Even though she has legions of fans, she con-tinues to remain somewhat of a secret to many in town. Recently she sat down with interviewer Richard Perez to answer 20 questions—and tell a few stories—for Bloom readers.

BLOOM How do you define what you do?

ARBUTUS Why don’t you tell me what it is you think I do, and I will argue with you.

BLOOM First and foremost, you’re an extraordinary storyteller. But all those other components of your talent come into play when you perform. I mean, you’re an actress, certainly. You write your own material, so you’re a writer, and…

ARBUTUS I have trouble with that word, ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-writer...even though I know I am, because what I do is write. I mean, that’s one of the things I do. Partly it seems pretentious of me to claim that, even though I write a lot. And partly because, it’s like when you ask, “What is it that you do?” there’s a whole long list of things. And if there was one thing that you didn’t do in there, the other things wouldn’t be possible too, even if it’s just sitting on the back porch and watching the bumblebees get drunk on the morning glories. That’s important, it’s necessary.
What I do in this context—we’re talking about those stories—what I do is—and this
is going to sound really pretentious, you may whack me—I have a responsibility in this community. I am one of a number of real good storytellers, and so I have to go on out there and catch stories, and tell them.
And you’re right, I am an actress. So even when there’s no story to be caught, I know enough about craft, now having done it for a bare ten years, that I can create something that has a semblance to a story.…I know how to make my voice approximate a melodic arc. Emphasis and stuff like that. Everything. You get up on a stage and make words on a page come to life.

BLOOM Tell us about the origins of your pen name, Arbutus Cunningham, and why you use it.

ARBUTUS In 1998, everybody at the radio station [WFHB] had a radio name. Michael Kelsey was “Mechanic Mike,” there was “Dynaflow Deb” and “Gus and The Old Professor.” When I called up on Wednesday mornings to say, “I am not hearing enough Flaco Jimenez!” I’d call myself Arbutus Cunningham. She was a friend of my grand-mother’s and it’s a lovely euphonious name, so I appropriated it.

BLOOM Ten years later you’re cohosting that very show with Michael Kelsey. Talk about how that relationship came about?

ARBUTUS Kelsey had taken over the Old Time Train 45 show in the summer of ’98, and he got tired of me bugging him about what to play, so he said, “Look, why don’t you come in and do the damn show with me. You can come in and be Arbutus Cunningham for the fund drive because we need to make some money.” And I said, “All right.” And I had just written a story about an elephant in my writers group, and it made me fall out of the chair laughing. So I thought, well okay, I’ll just take this story in there and if I can’t think of anything to say, I’ll just tell it. Well, we were funny! We had a great time. People called in, they pledged money! I swear, it was the most money we—it wasn’t even “we” then—it was the most money the show had had pledged before. We got $300. And people called in and they’d talk, Ladda-ladda-ladda-ladda, you know? And then Kelsey looked at me and he said, “Well, you can come back.” And I was working at the time. I was cooking for Carmela’s [a local restaurant], so I said I’d come in every other Saturday. That’s the way it started.
I cannot say enough times how much fun I’ve had and how generous it was of Kelsey to say, “Come on down to the radio station and be crazy on the radio,” because I’m a big fan of his. And he has been not only patient and generous but has become such a good friend. So, it’s nice. The radio is fun. I like the radio. I’m a radio girl. And I’ve got a face made for radio, too—Whoo!

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