The remaining props of semi-serious adult American culture are few enough in number that a threat to any of them feels like an assault. No wonder that topic No. 1 among Boston's intelligentsia for the past week has been the fate of "The Connection," the radio call-in show started by Christopher Lydon at local public radio station WBUR.

Listeners in the other 80 markets the show reaches may simply assume Lydon is on vacation. In fact, as readers of the Boston papers have known since the story broke on the front of the Boston Globe, there's been what an impolite person would call a scab filling in for him the last 10 days. The station, bogged down in a battle over whether Lydon had any ownership rights to the show, simply locked him out a week ago Friday, saying that for at least two weeks he would have to listen to someone else man his microphone.

The dispute is interesting enough on its face: Lydon says that, like WBUR compatriots the "Car Talk" guys, Bill Moyers or Charlie Rose, he and his staff deserve an ownership stake in his show, and should profit from it as more and more public radio affiliates place it on their schedules. Management says no, that the station owns the show and that public broadcasting shouldn't be about making profits.

But all of it only really matters because of this: "The Connection" is the best call-in radio show that anyone's ever done; Lydon is America's best interviewer; and the hours between 10 a.m. and noon feel lonely as hell without him.

Those are large claims, but you can test them out for yourself at theconnection.org, where a full archive of recent shows can be accessed via streaming audio. Maybe you'd enjoy Paul Theroux on why we love wicked books, or Chris Cerf on 30 years of "Sesame Street," Lorrie Moore, Illinois Jacquet, David Halberstam on the art of rowing, Arthur Danto on "Where Is Beauty in Modern Art?" Maybe you'd like to program your fantasy film festival, discuss the structure of algebra, hear from Lou Reed or spend an hour learning about Nigeria.

Lydon devotes an hour or two most weeks to some contemporary political issue (after the first 10 days of the Florida recount story, he found some of the only interesting angles), and he gets the authors of the big books while they're out on tour. But what sets him apart is the ability to discuss the poetry of Wallace Stevens back to back with the last episode of "Seinfeld" -- followed a couple of days later by Loudon Wainwright III, and then Robert Coles on "The Great Gatsby."

And it's not just the topics -- it's the flow. The reason all talk shows, even good ones, sound alike is that they follow a predictable rhythm: The host tees up an issue, the guest takes a swing, and 18 holes later we're finished. You can usually guess the answer before it's given; politicians simply repeat their stump speeches. It's the exceptions that prove the rule. For instance, Terry Gross, host of "Fresh Air," mixes it up wonderfully -- but even her job is relatively simple: one guest at a time, usually from the world of popular culture, and no callers to deal with.

Lydon's great love is jazz, and he no-doubt-about-it swings: Conversations go off in different directions, or circle back to sore points. You can hear guests, even those zombies out on book tours, think aloud about some new tack on their subject. Lydon will solo for a long minute, showing off a very-nearly-but-not-quite annoying erudition, then back off gracefully for a ramble from his guest, or interrupt abruptly with a call or two.

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