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"This is the Way I Remember it"
Episode
1
Episode
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Episode 3
Episode 4
Episode 5
Episode
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Episode
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Episode
8
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Chuck and Kendall
visit with the Bush family in Houston (click
photos for larger views)
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About
"The Way I Remember It"
While attending High School in Houston, Texas I
had a group of friends who went places mainly on the
weekends as a group. We were rarely seen apart. One
of my buddies, Bobby Moronko, was
very good looking and got
all the girls. Rose
Annette Saragusa liked him a lot. The rest of the gang
were pretty average guys who would go to dances and just
stand around because none of us knew how to dance. There was
Kinard Daugherty, Dickie Wilson and Big John. Dickie Wilson
was an adopted child and his parents indulged him by giving
him anything he wanted and that included a new car. Because
Dickie had the only car in the group we always went
places with Dickie.
Since I
was double promoted in school as a youngster I was the
youngest and least experienced of all the guys. Mainly I
acted as comedy relief
to the guys who would occasionally
and individually get lucky with a girl, but good
looking Bobby was the only one with a real girlfriend. Bobby
went to St. Thomas Academy, Dickie and Kinard went to Austin
High with me and Big John attended Milby High School
which was and is a very rough school in a rough part of
town. You had to be tough to get by and Big John was
the toughest kid in our gang.
He played football and acted as our
protector. When you're a small kid
you need someone to
watch out for you.
Bobby
had an Uncle named Fred Nahas who was a big radio
personality in Houston. He was the top announcer at
the local ABC affiliate, KXYZ, and hosted a weekly national
network show entitled Saturday at the Shamrock. The Shamrock
was a spectacular hotel on the extreme north end of Main Street,
built by the famous Texas oil wildcatter
Glen McCarthy. Glen McCarthy made fortunes and lost them
many times according to legend. The character James Dean
portrayed in the movie "Giant" was supposed to be
based on the life of Glen McCarthy. When the Shamrock Hotel
had its grand
opening, my
friend Bobby Moronko had his uncle arrange for us to be in
the front row to see the Hollywood stars up close. I
remember John Wayne pointing to the Shamrock from a stage
erected in the huge front lawn and saying "mighty nice
teepee Mr. McCarthy has built for you Houston."
Fred
Nahas had a deep mellow voice that sounded big-time.
I was impressed with Bobby Moronko getting us on the front
row, but radio had not become anything I wanted to be
involved with yet. That came later when I discovered a disc jockey from
Memphis who could make you want to eat at Kapan's Restaurant
and buy tailored pants from Rex The Tailor's. That man
was barely older than we were, but he and others like him
changed the music we enjoyed and the lifestyle we led in the early
50's.
That
is where my story, "The Way I Remember
It," began .... "
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The Way
I Remember It (Episode
Nine)
The day I received the call from program director Jerry Hahn, asking me
to
join the staff of KXOL in Fort Worth, will live in my mind as one
of the
luckiest days of my life. His call would result in a move to a
much larger
market, where I would compete directly against other stations for
the first
time. I would meet people with much more experience, who could
tell me
radio stories. And Fort Worth was only 30 miles from Dallas, the
radio
Mecca of the day. So I gave two weeks' notice to KLUF. It
was "Goodbye,
Galveston" and "Hello, Fort Worth, I love you."
The salary from KXOL was a whopping $90 a week, plenty big for a
young
Texas broadcaster, husband and father who had been in the business
a little
over two years. And a second child was on the way. I was working
fast in
all departments.
With the few dollars I'd saved during the stint in Galveston, we
bought a
'49 Plymouth coupe to move the family to Fort Worth. We arrived
after a
five-hour drive, and quickly rented a furnished apartment on a hill
in an
area close to the KXOL studios.
As I said, our second-floor apartment was furnished, but very
sparsely
so. The only piece of furniture we owned was a rocking horse. My
son John
would spend countless hours on that horse, while his father would
spend
countless hours learning more about the wonderful business of
radio.
At KXOL I worked a split shift, 6:30 to 8:45 a.m., and then came
back from
noon to 3:00. I was the morning-drive guy and the mid-day guy,
wrapped into
one. The only other D.J. to work a split shift was Jerry Hahn.
He took the
11:00 a.m. hour, then followed me in the afternoon from 3:00 to
5:00. The
rest of the air staff: the Hobbies, a man-and-wife talk team, who
were on
from 5:00 to 6:30 a.m.; Parker Wilson, who played country music
from 9:00
to 11:00 a.m.; Chem Terry from 5:00 to 10:00 p.m.; and, last but
not least,
a TCU student who worked nightly from 10:00 p.m. to midnight. His
name was
Kent Burkhart.
KXOL was off the air from midnight until 5:00 a.m. each day. It
was block-
programmed with mostly pop music, except for the shows from Kent
Burkhart
and me. Kent and I were allowed to insert some of the
rhythm-and-blues
music we grew up with on the Texas coast. In fact, the music
mix was
similar to what I had done at KBRZ in Freeport.
The KXOL staffers were much older than "the kids", Kent
and I. With more
than three hours between shows, I had time to visit around the
station and
coax radio stories from the veterans of the business. I also used
the time
between programs to listen, learn, and experiment in the
production room.
-------
About two months after I arrived at KXOL, the starter broke on my
old
Plymouth. It was necessary to park on a slight incline on Camp
Bowie
Boulevard where KXOL was located, so some of the employees could
give me a
push to get my car started. In the early morning I'd push the car
by myself
to get it started (luckily, we lived on a hill). I saved the money
I might
have spent fixing the Plymouth, for eventual use as part of the
down
payment on a new car. My father had agreed to co-sign the loan,
which was
an absolute necessity, for I was only 19, and not legally able to
do much
except work, pay taxes, and father children.
After three months of pushing the Plymouth to get it started, I
did
eventually save enough money for a down-payment. I bought
the cheapest new
Ford: no radio, no air conditioning, and no carpet on the floor
(carpeting
was available only on the upscale models). Therefore, the
floorboard was
covered with a rubber mat where the carpet would have been; no big
deal. I
bought a radio at Western Auto for $25 and installed it myself.
-------
One day at KXOL, I was talking to a station advertising salesman,
and I
discovered ratings. I had asked the salesman about their method of
selling
commercials, and he mentioned Hooper. My question was, "What
was 'Hooper'"?
He replied, "I'm surprised you don't know what a Hooper is.
You've got a
tremendous share."
Hooper ratings consisted of raw numbers of people listening at a
given time
with little demographic consideration. It was a simple telephone
survey,
not as scientific as surveys are supposed to be today. When Hooper
called,
the person who answered the phone told the survey taker how many
in the
house were listening, the station to which they were listening,
and that
was about it. Hooper's reports did list teens separately from
adults. That
was the extent of their demographic breakdown.
At that time, some stations operated under the theory that if
teenagers
were listening to your station, and a teen who listened to your
station
answered the phone, your station would get credited in the ratings
as if the
entire family had been listening.
Apparently that was a Gordon McLendon theory, because it was
repeated to me
and attributed to McLendon by Bill Weaver, who managed several
McLendon
stations. That quirk of the ratings may partly explain the
teen-oriented
on-air presentation, and the ratings success of youthful
rock-and-roll
jocks. The salesman at KXOL pointed out that 42 percent of the
listeners in
my time slots were tuned to my programs, the highest numbers on
the
station. He assured me that the guys at KLIF in Dallas were aware
of my
numbers. Whether or not his statement was true, a chill went up my
spine,
as I realized that KLIF program director Don Keyes might know who
I was.
-------
Kent and I thought that we should print a list of our top twenty
tunes on a
sheet and place it in the record stores around town as publicity
for the
station. We explained the concept, borrowed from the Billboard Hit
Parade,
to manager Earl Fletcher, and he gave us the green light. The
little
"extra" we added to the survey was a weekly pick of a
new tune we thought
would eventually make the top twenty. We also wanted to put
photos of the
air staff along the side of the survey. And the survey
featured a big
"KXOL" logo, including a hole in the middle of the
"O" in "KXOL." The
surveys could then be hung on a nail, with the nail protruding
from the
middle of the "O."
In those days, record stores were not slick and dressed-up, as
later became
the case. The display area for records consisted of wooden racks.
Or the
records would be hung on hooks attached to peg board. I'm sure the
profit
in selling records was so small that it wasn't cost-efficient to
decorate
more elaborately. We solicited every record store in Fort Worth to
display
our new music surveys, and they all agreed to do so. The numbers
were based
half on actual sales and half on our opinion, for we were not yet
very
sophisticated in creating music surveys.
KXOL was playing 45 RPM records, although 78s still existed.
The
transition had begun just a few months before I arrived. Not
all stations
were equipped to play the new 45s exclusively. Some stations used
ordinary
45 RPM record players wired to the console, and would play the
record
without cueing it up, the jock talking his way into the music. But
that's
not what we did at KXOL. Our turntables had been modified to run
at either
45 or 78 revolutions per minute. We were able to cue our
records, and we
did so most of the time.
For the benefit of those of you who are not radio people of long
standing,
to cue a record meant placing the "pot" you were using
into the "audition"
or "cue" mode (see the definitions of "pot"
and "cue", below). Then you
placed the stylus on the record, and moved the disc until you
heard the
very beginning of the song. Then you stopped the record, and moved
it
backward one-quarter to one-half turn.
If you were backing it off only a quarter-turn, you were probably
using a
"slip start". That is, you held the record while the
turntable was spinning
beneath the disc at full speed, until you were ready to turn loose
of the
record and put the song on the air (assuming you remembered to
turn up the
pot). People who used the "slip start" method usually
ran tighter programs
and didn't suffer as many "wows" on the air.
"Wowing" a record, which
sounded indescribably dreadful, meant the beginning of the song
was heard
before the turntable had come up to full speed.
Most consoles had a couple of pots assigned to the turntables
which would
click when you turned the volume all the way down, past the
"zero volume"
position. When you heard the click or felt the resistance at
the
"click-cue" position, you would know the turntable pot
you were using was
now in "cue" mode.
The word "pot" refers to the knobs -- usually between
six and twelve of 'em
-- on the console. The pots were used for adjusting the
volume of the
various audio inputs: turntable, microphone, tapes, and so forth.
"Pot",
in this case, is short for the word "Potentiometer,"
although most of us
old jocks knew only that the "pot" was the volume
control.
-------
While I was working at KXOL, I became friends with Pat Boone. Pat
had a
local TV show, sponsored by a dairy, which featured area talent
and ice
cream from the dairy. I was a frequent visitor. Pat and I would
talk about
the entertainment business, and our ambitions. And he would give
me gallons
of free ice cream, which were stored in freezers on the set of his
program.
During the show, he'd serve ice cream to the audience and guests.
At the
end of the show, the ice cream was either left behind, or we'd
take it
home.
Then Dot Records, located in Gallatin, Tennessee, signed Pat to a
recording
contract. Randy Wood, the Dot Records owner, made a career of
covering
rhythm-and-blues hits, using white singers such as Pat.
I always told myself I would play the original R & B versions
of songs
whenever possible, but I broke that promise when I played and
charted Pat
Boone's version of the Charms' "Two Hearts," and his
cover of Fats Domino's
"Tra-La-La." We put those records on the KXOL
survey and Pat sent the
surveys, with his songs listed, to his mom.
We were all young. Magical events were beginning to happen. In the
next
episode, we'll meet Don Keyes and find that he did indeed know
about Chuck
Dunaway. And Keyes introduced McLendon to the KXOL survey; a KLIF
version
would begin publication three weeks later.
Thanks for reading.
Edited by Stacy Richardson
© 2003 Chuck
Dunaway
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