Alyssa Cwanger, Post-Gazette photos A year after his gastric bypass surgery, KDKA radio talk show host Fred Honsberger compares his look today to a promotional photo from 1997-98. Click photo for larger image.

The incredibly shrinking Republican is pumping himself up for yet another radio battle.

But before he grabs the mike to rail against Michael Schiavo, debt-ridden Americans and assorted idiots, Fred Honsberger peers out of his KDKA radio office at a new vending machine, the candy and chips beckoning him.

"They just installed it outside my office to mock me," he says.

A few listeners mock him, too, though they can no longer resort to fat jokes because the radio talk show host has shed 140 pounds after undergoing a gastric bypass operation a year ago.

"You should have stapled your mouth, not your stomach," one told him.

Honsberger, 54, smiles when retelling that zinger. With or without a gut, Honsberger likes to get a rise out of people.

Honsberger is an institution in Pittsburgh talk radio, both admired and reviled. He's also the latest celebrity to take the drastic measure of a gastric bypass, a weight-loss surgery that is exploding in popularity. In the past year, he has gone from 376 to 236 pounds, from size XXXXXL to XXL shirt, from a 54- to a 42-inch waist.

He no longer walks with a cane or takes diabetes or high blood pressure medication. He can button his blazers and feel his collarbone. Everywhere he goes, people tell him he looks great.

Gastric bypass surgery left Fred Honsberger with a stomach the size of an egg and a refrigerator full of restaurant leftovers. At right are his wife, Christine, standing; Christine's brother, Philip Wittenberg; and sister-in-law Susan Wittenberg. Click photo for larger image.

But Honsberger also looks angrier, his mouth drooping into a frown.

"I don't smile now that there is nothing holding them up," he says pointing to cheeks that are no longer cherubic. "I'm grimacing."

Then again, a grimace isn't necessarily a bad thing in the daily rumble that is talk radio. Honsberger's growl is one reason for his longevity -- 16 straight years on a KDKA talk show.

Honsberger says the angry booms during the afternoon drive slot are radio shtick, pure theater. So do his friends.

"I laugh when I hear him on the radio, because it is not him," says Eric Bakow, a childhood friend who is a business associate for Heritage Valley Health System in Beaver. The Fred he knows is polite and loyal.

But John McIntire, a liberal KDKA radio host, has another take on the two sides of Fred. "He disarms you with his regular-guy charm, then goes on to spout ignorant gibberish on the air. I think he makes very good money, skipping down the boulevard, repeating the Republican talking points and laughing all the way to the bank."

Not worried about fitting in

Honsberger was always the chubby kid, a 60-pounder by first grade.

He says he was never bothered by the occasional taunts during his childhood in suburban Philadelphia.

"I didn't mind being a chubby kid. I was a happy kid. So I got beat up in the bathroom a few times. Who cares? It didn't scar me for life."

A tuba player and C student who didn't study at Springfield High School in Delaware County, he stood out for another reason. His father, Fred,, a Navy veteran, insisted he wear a flattop while the other teens were growing their hair as long as the Beatles.

	KDKA anchor Jennifer Antkowiak will give a report on Fred Honsberger's gastric bypass at 9 a.m. today on "Pittsburgh Today Live."

Honsberger, who went to two Beatles concerts himself, rebelled by growing a moustache.

He would argue with his father about the Vietnam War. Dad was for it and the son, who supports the war in Iraq, was against it.

"I didn't dodge the draft," Honsberger says. He attended the now-closed Brandywine College in Wilmington, Del., and helped start a college radio station. He left college three credits short because he didn't want to take a literature class. "I hated 'Beowulf,' " he says.

He never bothered to get the degree, saying it wasn't important. He was onto another chapter, having met his future wife, Christine, the daughter of his Salvation Army pastor.

After college, he took a brief foray into the fast-food business to help open a McDonald's in Sinking Spring, Berks County. He once ate eight Big Macs at one sitting. He would fill the fryer with a big wad of beef talon. But he never blamed his weight on lard and special sauce.

"I was fat before McDonald's, and I was fat after McDonald's."

Love-hate relationship

A news junkie, Honsberger worked at radio stations in State College, Harrisburg and Philadelphia before landing a job as a reporter at KDKA radio in 1979. He was promoted to news director in 1984. He would fill in for talk show hosts but was offered a permanent talk show job around 1989.

Some people were appalled by the transformation in his personality. "You used to be so nice," they told him.

In the mid-'90s, Honsberger started doing TV commentary on PCNC, WPXI's cable news channel, and got a permanent gig in 1999. He was amazed that he was asked to step in front of a TV camera. "The last thing I thought I would be is a fat boy on TV," he says. "The camera is supposed to add 10 pounds. The camera sees me and says, 'It's impossible to add 10 pounds to this guy.' "

If he could make fat jokes at his own expense, he could also let fat jokes roll off him. And in the insult-happy world of talk radio, he got plenty, especially from McIntire, who came up with lines such as "The Carnegie Science Center officially named Fred a planet."

Honsberger shot back: "All you do is call me a doughnut eater. Let's debate the facts instead of all the fat jokes. He never took me up on it."

But Honsberger's critics say he won't entertain debate.

Don Hardin, 70, a Democrat from Plum, can't bear to listen "to the loudmouth, boorish person who talks over anyone who disagrees."

Honsberger has even inspired an off-air rebuttal, a blog called "Honsberger is a Liar" (honsmanlies.blogspot.com/).

Others are delighted by his tell-it-like-it-is conservative opinions.

"He's not a phony," says Norman Zaney, 52, of Cuddy, who listens to the four-hour show daily at his desk. "He doesn't waffle. He's a true believer."

In his broadcasts, Honberger often preaches personal responsibility, telling people to stop racking up credit card debt and to improve themselves.

When a poorly educated caller complained that she was refused a raise above the minimum wage, he boomed, "This woman can't spell, can't write, can't communicate, and she is complaining she is not getting a raise. I say you are lucky you are being paid the minimum wage."

Then a caller named Kay lit into him.

Kay: "I hope and pray you lose your job and you find yourself on the bread line."

Honsberger: "If I lose my job, I wouldn't have to go to the bread line. I saved."

Kay: "That is the biggest bunch of hooey, the biggest pile of manure. You are so full of it. ... You are more fortunate."

Honsberger: "I am not fortunate. I am responsible."

Kay: "I hope you lose your job. ... You have a big mouth."

Honsberger: "People like you bring this country down. Go to Cuba, Kay. Fidel will take care of you."

Jay, the next caller, who called minimum wage slavery, mangled the pronunciation of a few words. "Learn the language, Jay," Honsberger bellowed.

The barking Honsman doesn't exactly come off as Mr. Compassionate during this broadcast. Callers, he says, "Get what they give."

So how to explain the fact that he spends much of his free time working for the Salvation Army, his church? "He is very compassionate," says Tim Duperree, commanding officer for the Pittsburgh Temple Corps. "He will do anything from clean the floor to set up the tables for a benefit to give from his own pocket to help someone in need. He has a heart for the mission."

Some people see a contradiction. "You say you are a Christian," they ask him. "How can you have so much hate?"

Honsberger replies: "Being politically critical is different than hate. Jesus was critical of politicians. He even showed anger. ... The Salvation Army helps people help themselves. But before you can administer to their spirit, you have to take care of their empty stomach. It's not welfare."

But sometimes his listeners throw his take-personal-responsibilty argument back at him and his weight problem: You didn't exactly take personal responsibility when you over-ate? Isn't having your innards rearranged the easy way out?

Choosing gastric bypass

On a recent evening at the Holiday Inn in Green Tree, Honsberger is explaining his decision to about 20 overweight people who were attending a seminar about Allegheny General Hospital's bariatric surgery program, which performs gastric bypass surgery.

"I felt like garbage," says Honsberger, who is paid to be a spokesman for the program. (Four people who attended the seminars have had the surgery, and others are awaiting approval).

Like the people in the audience, Honsberger had failed at every diet. He was once canned as the NutriSystem spokesman. He had trouble balancing himself because of his weight and severe nerve damage in his foot.

"The first day I met him, I had to stand still so he could catch up," says Dr. Joseph Colella, one of his two surgeons at AGH. "He was almost immobile."

So last July, Colella and another surgeon reduced Honsberger's stomach to the size of an egg and created a bypass to the lower part of the small intestine so less food is absorbed. Now he eats small portions and hardly any sweets. "I don't miss it," he says of the mountains of food he used to consume. The refrigerator of his meticulously clean house in Monroeville is filled with boxes of leftovers from restaurants. He still walks with a slight limp, but he is much more mobile.

His wife, Christine, a tall slim woman who has two teenage sons with him, says he is the same Fred -- only there is less of him.

But his co-workers, including producer Amy Muntean, say the trimmer Honsberger is more upbeat and agreeable than the old Fred. Others have told him he is even nicer to callers.

"I am?" Honsberger asks incredulously.

People on the street often don't recognize him, and it wasn't until he looked at his driver's license that he realized he has a totally new face. He plans to vacation in England in August with a passport that shows his old round moustached mug.

"I wonder if I will get back in the country," he says gamely. "I may end up in Guantanamo Bay."