This is the Way I Remember It  (Episode Four)

Thanks to the generosity of the Morales sisters -- and due to their inability to speak the fluent English -- I was given most of the talk time on our Saturday-morning teen radio program. I took full advantage and became the hammiest teen in town. I said "hammy," not "talented." One of my problems was that I was speaking twangy Texan, not correct English. Even so, I soon was noticed by the speech teacher at Austin High, Mrs. Dement, and was recruited for the speech team.  

I had no business on the speech team, and was a total embarrassment to the school and myself at a Baylor University speech tournament, where I entered a debate category called "Radio Speech." Despite my failure to win anything, I got my name in the Austin High School newspaper: the first time I felt the glory of seeing my name in print.  The article is still in my scrap book. 
 
I was always the youngest kid in my class, having been double-promoted from second grade to fourth grade.   So when I graduated in June of 1952, I was only 17 years old.  But I was ready to leave home to get my first real job in radio. The plan was to go to every small town in Texas, and visit the local radio station with my "Teen Canteen" credentials. The first station to offer me a job would get my services.

A dear friend, Robert Johnson, had a 1946 Plymouth in pretty fair condition. He offered to drive me around Texas in search of a radio job. I'd saved a little over ten dollars, and we would use that money for gas and food.

Our first stops were close to Houston: KTLW in Texas City and KULF in Galveston. The program directors at both stations were nice enough to give us some commercials and allow us to record an audition for them. 
 
In Texas City, the program director reminded me that my Texas accent would need lots of work. He pointed out that it was "aspirin" and not "assburn." And he told me to speak while looking into a mirror to be sure I was opening my mouth and enunciating, rather than mumbling.  He also suggested I listen to the pros on the networks, and try to talk as they did. That was good advice. I took it to heart, and also worked on some practice copy he had given me.

Having exhausted the possibilities close to home, Robert and I began to drive across Texas, sleeping in the car at night, and stopping in every town that appeared big enough to have a radio station. We'd look in the phone book, and if a radio station was listed, we would head over there for a job interview. At some of the stations we were told to get lost; others were nice enough to see us in person, if nothing more. 
 
Our travels took us all the way to Big Spring, in oilfield-loaded West Texas. The program director at KBST in Big Spring was J. N. Young.  He gave me plenty of time to read the copy before taping my audition.  I rehearsed for about an hour, practically memorizing the script, and I tried very hard to speak English, rather than Texan.  I did well enough to impress Mr. Young, who ran my audition by the owner, Winston Wrinkle. Mr. Wrinkle feared complications because my 18th birthday wouldn't arrive for another six months, on the first of December, 1952.  So he called the wage-and-hour people in Big Spring to be sure he could legally hire me at minimum wage, which was 65 cents an hour, and work me 60 hours a week.  Everything must have been in order, because I was then offered my first paying radio job, at KBST in Big Spring.  And one of my first challenges was to say Big "Spring", not Big "Springs." 

I said goodbye to my good friend Robert Johnson, and he headed back to Houston to find his after-graduation job.

Now that Robert had left, I had no car, so I got a shared room close enough to walk to work.  In fact, it was only a block from the studios, at a boarding house where most of the tenants were oil field workers. The shared room and three meals a day cost $7 a week. Not only did I walk to and from work, if I wanted go anywhere else, I'd have to walk.  But I was so involved in being on the air that I never once went to see a movie.  In fact, I went downtown only one time, to buy my first suit.  I spent every waking hour at the KBST studios, and even slept on the floor many nights.  Those were happy times indeed. 

When I didn't sleep at the station, I would return to the boarding house and find a half-inch of sand on my bed, which I'd have to shake off before going to sleep. Blown-in sand: a reality of life in West Texas.

Even though I was a full-fledged employee of KBST, sometimes I had to fight for air time. Next week we'll talk about that. 

Thank you for reading.