Chuck Dunaway

Chuck and Kendall visit with the Bush family in Houston (click photos for larger views)

 The Way I Remember It (Episode 12)

In 1955, Julie, my second precious child, was born. Unfortunately, I
wasn't a stay-at-home father, due to my local celebrity and my desire to make
money. I made many appearances, and never refused to show up at a high
school, or an event where a crowd was gathered.

Paul Glass became my manager as I made the switch from WRIT to WMIL. Alan
Freed was booking rock 'n' roll shows into the Brooklyn Paramount Theater,
Arnie Schorr was doing the same in Detroit, and I was about to do it in
Milwaukee. After I had been at WMIL for only a month, I was informed by
Paul that the first "Chuck Dunaway Rock 'n' Roll Revue" would take place
at the Colonial Theater on Vleit Street in Milwaukee. The Colonial was
located on the edge of the area where the black population lived, and could be
reached easily by both black and white kids.

 When I was growing up in Houston, I would attend concerts and dances
 featuring black bands and singers, and the hundreds of white kids would be
 required to sit in the balcony: we were not allowed on the main floor to
 mingle and dance. But we never had a problem when the kids mingled in 1955
 Milwaukee.

Chuck signs autographs during a record store appearance

 Willie Dixon got together some musicians from Chicago, and they became the
 backing band for every concert we presented. Willie's band knew every song
 by heart, without a rehearsal or sound check or charts of the music. The
 performers would show up on time, go on stage, rock the house, pick up
 their money in cash, and be on their way to their next gig.

 The most we paid anybody was $250, and Chuck Berry was the only one who
 earned that kind of money. Some of the performers would play in Chicago
 and Milwaukee on the same night because they needed the money from doing two
 shows. But as the crowds grew bigger, we began to do two shows a night
 right there in Milwaukee. The performers liked that better, because they
 would get twice the money without needing to pack and unpack their stuff.
 Our shows featured headliners like Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, The Spaniels,
 The Flamingos, The Cadillacs, Bobby Charles, The Charms, Joe Turner and
 acts of that caliber. We'd then add a couple of acts of similar or lesser
 popularity, and the concert would last for about an hour and a half.
 Before the music began, we presented a movie, rented by the theater for a flat
 fee. I liked the Bowery Boys and the Dead End Kids, so usually we showed a
 film of that type, ahead of the live entertainment.

 Those movies were only about an hour long, which was important because
 even with the movie, we could put together a show that lasted two-and-a-half
 hours or less. When we began doing two performances a night, the length of
 the movies and live performances became critical.

 Even with one movie and one live show, sometimes we rocked far into the
 night. Those evenings were magic for a young rock n' roller like me.

 After the movie was shown we'd then "fly the sheet," meaning the screen
 would be pulled up to reveal a fairly large stage: no props, nothing
 fancy, just a bare stage with speakers, instruments and microphones. The band
 would begin playing a rock 'n' roll riff, and I'd appear on stage to
 cheers from the audience.  I'd introduce the band and the first act, and the
 place would come alive, with people dancing in the aisle and having a rockin'
 good time. And admission was a mere dollar bill, tax included.

 I was in the middle of the music I loved, plus I was hanging out with the
 people who made the music. It was a dream come true.

 We began to book a show a month, then a show every two weeks, and finally
 four shows a month, and the money was rolling in. I had free rein on WMIL
 to talk about the shows as much as I wanted, and play the music I wanted
 to play. It was a delirious time for me to be sure. Paul would hand me a huge
 amount of cash after each show for my cut. I never asked how much expenses
 were, and I didn't care. All I knew was that I was making a lot of money.

 Somebody sent me a recounting of his experience at one of the first
 Colonial Theatre show: part of some CD liner notes, or perhaps a section
 of a book. I have no idea who wrote it, but this is the way he remembered it.
 It varies a bit from my recollections, but unlike him, I've got the old
 promotional placards to help jog my memory:

 "The first R&B stage show in Milwaukee was promoted by Chuck Dunaway in
 early spring of 1956. Only slightly tawdry in 1956, the theater could
 swallow 1600 patrons in balconied gold-leaf splendor. Dunaway lined up a
 host of Chicago and Midwest acts, and plugged the hell out of his show
 weeks before the show date. He filled our ears with tracks by the artists
 he was bringing to town. I doubt that any other station in the world
 played 'Down and Out' by the Daps every day for four straight weeks. Long before
 the first show time, the crowds in front of the theater were enormous and
 loud. The tickets were $1.25, unreserved seats only, and I especially
 wanted to see one of my favorites, Bobby Charles, whose latest, 'Why Did
 You Leave Me' and 'Take It Easy Greasy' were both heard only
 on -- where else -- 'Rockaway With Dunaway.' Also on the bill were the
 Spaniels, Dells, El Dorados, Moroccos and Jimmy Reed.

 "When I arrived at the theater, Bobby Charles was set up at a card table
 in the lobby, signing autographs. I didn't recognize him since I expected
 from his songs that he was black. He was the other color and probably still is,
 and quite unimpressive off stage. Dunaway came on stage, the height of 50s
 deejay in his Kelly green suit and bright green shoes. Oh, how I envied
 his good taste! When the headliners began appearing the audience went wild, a
 scene repeated at all of the shows I saw subsequently."

 Whoever wrote this got most of it right, and it evokes the excitement of
 the performances. I am so pleased to know it created a great memory for him
 and so many others. Bless him.

 -------

 I turned twenty, and was living high on the hog in Milwaukee. I had two
 cars, which was very unusual in those days, and of course one of the cars
 was a bright yellow convertible, which I would park in front of the WMIL
 studios while I was on the air. When I'd leave the studio after my
 program, hundreds of kids would be waiting for me.

 Signing autographs was becoming a chore. Can you imagine the ego I must
 have had, to consider autograph signing a chore? I got the word Alan Freed
 had a body guard, so I got a body guard, too. As I drove from the driveway
 of WMIL, the kids would hold on to the car: pretty heady stuff for a
 twenty-year-old kid. I was out of control, and loving every second of it.

 I'm sure it was hard living with someone who was so full of himself, and
 eventually my wife could take it no more. She packed up the furniture,
 took my two children, and waved goodbye to me and Milwaukee. Our radio program
 had gotten so big and the crowds for the concerts had become so huge that
 we moved the whole circus downtown and began playing three days in a row,
 doing two shows daily. For me, it was like being a movie star.

 Soon after my wife left with the kids -- which she was perfectly correct
 to do --I came to my senses, and realized that the money was not the most
 important thing in my life. My family was. It was extremely hard to call
 Paul Glass to tell him the party was over and I was leaving Milwaukee. We
 were in the middle of a three-day run in which I was doing my radio
 broadcasts from the lobby of the Fox Palace theater downtown. Paul
 immediately came to Milwaukee and met with me at the hotel where I stayed
 during the show's run. Emceeing two shows and doing a three-hour radio
 program from the lobby consumed a lot of time, so I lived at the downtown
 hotel and grabbed sleep whenever I could.

 Paul was not happy with my decision, but I'd made up my mind, and had
 accepted another job, this one at KENT in Shreveport, Louisiana. My
 14-month stay in Milwaukee was an unbelievable experience, and I was
 leaving people whom I considered real friends: Montague, The Chess
 Brothers and Paul Glass. I'd soon learn that there are too few "real friends" when
 it comes to record people and DJs. The Chess brothers were rare
 exceptions.

 From radio stardom in Milwaukee to beginning again in Shreveport was
 quite a leap. My family joined me in Shreveport, so it seemed like the right
 thing to do, as I made another emotional move, and attempted to conquer
 another city.

Thanks for reading.

Edited by Stacy Richardson

© 2003 Chuck Dunaway
All Rights Reserved