A sketch of Claude Hall, 
circa 1976, by Chuck Blore

"MURDER at the Busted Bird Cafe"
by Claude Hall

Chapter 10

I don't know how many miles it is from the Scandia restaurant on the Sunset Strip to my apartment in the San Fernando Valley near Calabasas, but it's too damned far to walk. Almost too far to taxi, unless you own the taxi company.

The trip, even at this hour of a Sunday evening when traffic has faded from impossible to just madhouse, took almost an hour.

I wasn't really all that excited about entering the apartment. The image of the remains of my pickup this morning was still fresh in my mind.

I live in a small apartment complex with a swimming pool and a Jacuzzi that had somehow more or less dodged the most recent earthquake and the numerous aftershocks. My furnished apartment is up a flight of steps. I have become rather fond of the few cracks in the plaster wall along the steps. The manager has planted vines and slowly the vines are climbing the wall and eventually they will hide all signs of the earthquake. Until the next earthquake.

When the taxi let me out, I walked through the passageway into the postage stamp of a garden and sat in a lawn chair beside the swimming pool. A girl about 17 years old swam back and forth in the pool; it was not really long enough for lap swimming and she was constantly turning around at first one end and then the other.

I asked if she'd been there most of the day. She said she had and that she'd seen no one hanging around my apartment. No one yesterday either.

"I'm training for the high school team," she said.

"Keep practicing," I said. "You'll get there."

Since I couldn't stall much longer unless I wanted to sleep the night in the lawn chair by the swimming pool, I got up and went up the steps.

There was a small card taped to the door underneath the apartment number.

It read: "Your apartment is safe." The card--printed in pencil--was signed: "Sawyer."

There is a strange feeling when you return home after being gone for a while. I'd only been gone a day, more or less, but a lot had happened during that time. Too, I didn't quite remember my last few hours in the apartment before the jaunt over to the Society of Critical Studies.

So, I was interested in everything. I'd slept, evidently, because the bed was rumpled. But I hadn't turned down the covers. The TV switcher was laying on the stand beside my big easy chair, but it was pointed the wrong way; something I wouldn't have done because
of habit. Not while sober, anyway.

The small red light on the telephone answering machine was blinking. But I didn't feel like talking to anyone, so I didn't bother to listen to the messages. Good news could wait, bad news could wait longer.

There were three Elephants left in the refrigerator. No Coors. The remains of a stale pizza was on the kitchen counter along with this morning's Daily News probably left by Hey You or one of his people.

I went to bed. This time, underneath the covers. I slept well. No nightmares. I didn't wake up even once. And I overslept. But since it was my day off, who cares? I was on nobody's schedule, including my own.

Neither an Elephant nor a piece of stale pizza precisely excited me for breakfast, so I showered, shaved and left the apartment and walked three blocks to a Taco Bell.

It was another beautiful day in the San Fernando Valley. My breakfast burrito was good, or I was hungry, so I had a second one and another glass of milk. The dull hangover headache of yesterday was gone.

There was a Chevrolet dealer a mile or so off. I walked over there and talked to a salesman.

The salesman was willing, without much persuasion, to sell me a used pickup. I called my insurance agent. He said he would expedite my claim. I gave him Sawyer's phone number so he could verify the bombing.

>From a nearby bank, I withdrew enough cash for the down payment and then some.

The dealer was reluctant to let me have the pickup until the insurance money fell into place or I came up with a bank loan.

The possibility of a bank loaning a disc jockey money is as rare as snow in Mexia, Texas. I'd purchased the dead pickup back when I led a more-respectable life as a college student. So, we called back the insurance agent and he already had talked to Sawyer or someone else and they got everything worked out in some fashion and I drove off with a pickup only a couple of years old that ended up costing me about $500 out of pocket.

I felt good! A new pickup, even if it was a couple of years old, and a breakfast burrito will do that sort of thing to you. And a day off, of course.

At the moment, I only had one problem. Jo.

I thought about the problem for a while and then decided to procrastinate and ignore it. Why should a man with a new pickup worry about women problems? Without question, women have a tendency to screw up your life. A man must fight fiercely against that kind of hang-up.

So, I stopped and filled the pickup with gasoline at an Arco station and got on the Ventura and headed what I've always assumed was east.

The pickup had a good digital readout radio and four speakers, one in each corner. The reverb from the rear speakers gave music almost a psychoacoutistic quadrasonic sound. I set the push buttons for Gary Owens, Robert W. Morgan, Rick Dees, Charlie Tuna, and the Mexican music station. Morgan and Tuna were two of the original KHJ jocks back in the days of Top 40. No one would remember Ron Jacobs or Bill Drake these days, but they had been gods in those days. Ron had programmed KHJ; Drake was the programming consultant. Someone said Drake was now involved with KRTH.

Ironic, but the Radio Hall of Fame in Chicago had inducted the late Rick Sklar into the same crowd as Edgar Bergen and Jim Jordan. No question, Gary Owens and Edward R. Murrow belonged there. And Gordon McLendon. Sklar, Russ Limbaugh, Casey Kasem...they were mistakes. Too early for at least one of the three and never would have been okay for at least one of the others. The fact that the "hall" had bypassed Bill Stewart, Bill Randle, and Jack McKenzie, and several other outstanding radio people, but remembered Alan Freed was ridiculous. And Hyman Brown? You've got to be kidding! Good men all, but not quite good enough.

I enjoyed listening to Rick Dees. He had come in the Los Angeles market sometime later out of the southeast and, I think, Memphis. Good with a quip. One day I'd been listening, long before I came to the market to work, and he'd used the line: "What do I like for a woman to wear behind her ears? Her heels." That line would have got you kicked out of radio in the old days. Now, no one thought much about it. Stern said worse. So did a lot of other jocks.

Once on the San Diego Freeway, I went up north to Valencia--an old Cuco Sanchez record coming off the radio--and stopped at a Lance dealer and he had a used eight-foot cab-over camper that was within my price range. I had to make another run to a nearby B of A, but I paid cash for the camper and then headed to a Big 5 sporting goods store to outfit it with sleeping bag, folding chair, and all of those things that go with camping out. Then hit a supermarket for a few necessities of life.

Three hours later, I backed my pickup into a site on the ocean at Carpinteria State Beach.

If you've never been in Carpinteria, I would appreciate it if you never go. It's already crowded enough, which is not very crowded at all. The state beach has a number of campsites fronting the ocean and even more a few yards away. I slung up a piece of plastic tarp for shade and put a folding director's chair just outside the door of the camper and sat there and stared at the waves. It was low tide.

Some sea lions rested in the sun on some rocks off out in the water. They watched me and I watched them a while to see who would get bored first.

A mother played with her two children a few yards away in the sand. They were filling up a plastic pail with sand and then emptying it out. Seemed like a very pleasant thing to do.

I had absolutely nothing on my mind at the moment except several dead bodies at the Busted Bird, a bombed pickup in the K-Oldies parking lot, and a girlfriend with a vicious pet werewolf who was mad at me.

But what a great place in which to not think about things like that!

A couple of hours later, I walked into the nearby village and had a late lunch at a very good Mexican restaurant. There are only two states in the world that have good Mexican food--Texas and California. You eat Mexican food in Arizona or New Mexico or anywhere else, watch out; the food has probably been yuppied to death.

A bookstore was across the street. I picked up a new copy of Cosmopolitan. Hey, women are a major target audience in radio. Got to know what they're thinking. I'm not sure Helen Gurley Brown knows, but I find Cosmopolitan a hilarious magazine to read, so it's okay. It's a lot dirtier than Playboy, but from the woman's viewpoint, not the viewpoint of some idolistic hedonistic male.

After lunch, I felt pretty good. So I took a nap, closing only the screen door and opening the windows to get a flow of fresh air.

High tide was washing across the rocks a hundred yards off the beach by the time I woke up, so the sea lions had moved on somewhere else.

I sat in the canvas chair and watched the sun drift toward the horizon. Off out there a couple of miles and further were some offshore oil rigs. Further beyond those steel towers some clouds waited to pounce upon the coastal areas along southern California. At
night, the fog sometimes got pretty thick here.

I love camping. Gives me an excuse to go to bed at sundown. Before the sun pulled a disappearing act, however, I thought I'd check in with the real world and see if Hey You still intended to come by the radio station tomorrow morning.

There was a pay phone up by the park entrance. I walked up there and dialed Sawyer's office. No answer. I called his cellular phone.

"About time," he said. "Did that insurance agent tell you that I needed to talk to you? Don't you answer your phone?"

I explained that I hadn't talked to the insurance agent except for a brief early morning call and I seldom returned calls even when I did listen to my phone's answering machine.

"Alexander whathisname made a serious mistake when he invented the damned telephone," I explained. "I'm thinking about starting a campaign to have him tarred and feathered."

Hey You said he'd been trying for several hours to reach me.

"Where are you?"

"In Carpinteria," I told him.

"Good. Do not go home. Repeat: Do not go home. If you're calling from home, get the hell out of there and go to a motel somewhere."

"Now you tell me. I slept there last night," I said. 

"Then you're a very lucky son of a bitch, Buddy."

He explained that the apartment had been rigged with a bomb.

"But there was a sign on the door from you. It said the apartment was safe."

"Hell, Buddy! That wasn't me. I know computers. I don't know bombs. We have a bunch of screwballs on a bomb squad who handle bombs. I suggested they look over your apartment this morning. They found a bomb in the TV. If you'd tried to watch Jay Leno last night, you'd now be ancient history."

I told him that I never watched Leno. I was, after all, a radio man. No radio man with any self-respect would even think about watching Leno. Not even Gary Owens or Bill Ballance. Although there was a malicious rumor that Don Imus once watched Johnny Carson. "Imus had a fever at the time from the flu. We forgave him. Finally."

He said that Jo was trying to reach me.

"I'm not going to become a telephone answering service for you, am I?"

"I didn't give her your number," I said. "She must have tracked you down."

"What do I tell her if she calls back."

"Tell her I said to go screw herself."

"That is not precisely the way to win friends and influence people," he cautioned. "Especially a girl."

"I'm giving up women forever."

"Good idea," he said. "When are you going to tell her this?"

I'm not going to tell her. I'm chicken plus. I'm merely going to Alabama. She'll never find me down there."

We made arrangements to meet tomorrow at K-Oldies.

"And by the way, Buddy. Alexander Graham Bell is dead."

"Some people will do anything to avoid tarring and feathering," I said.

(To be continued)

e-mail  claude@claudehallonline.com

Commentary
by Claude Hall

July 14, 2003

I loved the old Ernie Kovacs television show. Without question, he was a comedic genius. For those of you who're too young to know, Kovacs was on television back before color...back when Chuck Blore could get away with "Color Radio" in Los Angeles. If Chuck tried that now, no one would probably know what he was talking about. Too busy, more than likely, hiphopping. Back then, it was a gigantic concept but that's because Chuck Blore, too, is a genius. And Art Holt adds a new perspective to that situation further down.

I remember some of the Ernie Kovacs stunts just as if I witnessed them yesterday. In one skit, he's sitting on the branch of a tree sawing it off between where he's sitting and the truck of the tree. He finishes. The tree falls down. Does this seem funny to you? I'm chuckling about that skit even as I type this.

Another skit was the Nairobi Trio. He announced that this trio, at great expense, was going to be on his show next week. But when next week's show came around, the Nairobi Trio couldn't appear because they'd missed their plane or something. He assured the audience that they would be on the show next week. The next week, something else occurred to prevent their appearance. But next week....

Then, the following week, at long last, the Nairobi Trio! Three guys dressed in gorilla suits came out on stage and beat on some toy instruments. Again  I'm laughing as I remember the skit.

Well, this is not a Nairobi Trio stunt. I actually do have an article about writing an article that I was ready to run as Commentary for this week. Actually, I'll more than likely have to feature it in two installments.

Then, something came up. So, Nairobi Trio--I mean "How to Write an Article"--starts next week.

From Art Holt at HoltMedia@aol.com: "I could probably still skiffle to the Nairobi Trio's catchy beat! There was a hit hidden in the hook of that tune of Ernies! But then, he was a no-shit genius. Who else ever upstaged Alex Guiness as in, 'Our Man in Havana', with a performance that should have made even Graham Greene proud to be the author! Keep 'em coming!"

Is the Nairobi Trio worth waiting for? From Virginia Campbell, vcampbel@brockport.edu: "Yes, indeed, you taught many students how to write and write well. I've been communications manager at SUNY Brockport for six years now, and was recently promoted to assistant director. When our director retired, my vice president asked if I was interested in that position, but I turned it down. Too much stress. I'm very happy with my decision. Enjoying life at Brockport -- writing articles for our publications, graduate recruitment materials, and much more, also editing, editing, editing everything, including the college's catalogs. I count myself as one of your success stories. Thanks, Claude. Ginny"

Lee Bayley, Lee.radio@verizon.net, writes: "Hello from Holly Lake Golf Ranch, E. Texas. Enjoyed your commentary involving Wayne Newton. My experience with Wayne was while consulting KFMS-FM in Las Vegas. Being #1 with a 13.4 share made us a very important station for exposing music. Doug Shane, one of the best PDs and morning men in the business, kept me posted on how often he would hear from Wayne or Bear about playing Wayne's latest release...they always felt it should do just fine on a country station, etc. I think it got a little tense on occasion. Truthfully, we all got along just fine. There was
another time when a young guy, the opening act for the Judds, showed up in the lobby...yep, Garth Brooks. I could write a book about this stuff. Keep healthy." 

Neal Barton, neal@nealbarton.com, writes: "We both are friends of Larry Shannon and contribute to RDN and other things. I was in radio and then TV for more than 20 yrs. Do you agree that the more talented a person was, the more screwed up they were as well? I know there are always exceptions...but did that ring true to you? I know you have interviewed so many people in our business."

It's true a lot of men...and women, too...that I knew had messy lives. Most didn't want it that way; it happened to a great extent because of their phenomenal love for radio. Wisest statement I ever heard was from a friend who, when I told him about a deal that I
could virtually drop in his lap, said, "No, Claude, I've already lost one family and I'm not going to lose this one." The pressure gets to many. Result: Drinking, drugs. Because of smoking, a lot of guys are falling now with cancer. But I only know a few who would have had their careers any other way. Much of the time. Most people.

Jim Long, jim@onemusic.com: "I really enjoyed the 7.7 commentary, about your trip to Vegas to meet Wayne Newton. Also loved the story about Jack 'Cowboy' Clement, that ran a few weeks back. I worked with Jack on a Charley Pride project, he is the biggest trip there ever was, ether stoned or drunk or both. But he has the best 'Nashville' stories I have ever heard."

You know who once knocked me out with Nashville stories? Roger Scutt, known as Captain Midnight on one of the Nashville Top 40 stations way back when. I've often wondered what happened to Roger. Just wish
I could tell him that I enjoyed those stories.
Immensely.

Regarding the Nairobi Trio e-mail promotion I sent out, Big Lou Massey (Masiello), Superlou97@aol.com: "Thanks for the heads up...looking forward to learning...need some help. Played golf a couple weeks ago with 'The Duker' Larry Morrow (CKLW, WIXY,
etc.)...what a nice man he is...I told him about your web cite. The first time I met Larry I was working at WREO, Ashtabula, OH...and he and Chuck Dunaway came out to the station from Cleveland to record the spots for Thompson Drag Raceway...we got a good laugh remembering how they used to open the mike...stand back as far as they could...and scream: S U N D A Y...AT BEAUTIFUL THOMPSON DRAG RACEWAY...with Steve Miller's 'Livin in the USA' in the background...sure was fun back then...hope you are well...and we keep on keepin on."

Explanation. I've been pushing, shoving, kicking, screaming to get some of the veterans of radio to tell some of the great radio stories they know. Kent Burkhart, Chuck Blore, Art Holt, Burt Sherwood, Gary Allyn, Lee Bayley, and so many others. Don Keyes must have so many great tales. I know that Ken Dowe and Bill Stewart met Jack Ruby. Wow! Larry Shannon has been nice enough to give me this space. If you have a story, I'd like to see it. Just as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. I'm sitting here with a story about the late Lee Zhito, once editor and publisher of Billboard. My viewpoint. Doesn't pay to run it. I will never see him again, spiritually or otherwise, because I know he's not in Heaven. Rollye James Cornell, ROLLYE@rollye.net, also could spin an interesting tale. But that's her story, not mine. However, we should make an attempt to preserve the good stuff, in my opinion. And printing it, even electronically, is a methodology of preservation to some extent. Maybe someone will pass by and remark: "So that's what radio was all about!" Because I've always know radio was more about people and magic than test tubes and knobs (sorry, BME).

Art Holt, HoltMedia@aol.com: "Wow, you bring up deeply buried stories from the long ago! I wasn't on hand for the actual events...which took place in the fifties when Gordon was consulting Crowell Collier (Colliers Magazine), who owned KFWB at the time and wanted to make it into a real radio station in the LA market. Check with Chuck Blore to see if he remembers the moving van from Dallas showing up at the studios in LA with Gordon's belongings from his home at 9300 Douglas in Dallas. Footnote to Radio History: Gordon was talked into being the Crowell Collier 'consultant' and putting Top 40 in LA. In those days you couldn't buy stations in markets like LA very often. GBM went for the challenge, since he could not buy a station in the market himself, and took on the job. Remember...this was in the fifties, when Color Radio on KLIF was the hottest thing on the dial. In the passion of the moment, Gordon raided his own Texas Triangle stations (including KELP in El Paso at the time) for the likes of Chuck Blore to come out as PD and jocks. The consulting gig did not last long, not too surprisingly. There was a bit of post-success triste perhaps. Later when Gordon bought KABL (KROW) in Oakland from Sheldon Sackett, Crowell Collier was in town a couple of days later buying KEWB (KNX) in Oakland from the Oakland Tribune.. They faced each other down over formats...and in a rational moment Gordon went beautiful music with KABL and had a lot of #1 books...CC went Top 40 with Gary Owens against KYA with less success in the ratings, but with one of the great sounding radio stations of the decade. Fun times for everyone!"

Dick Carr, DCarrCNY@aol.com, promised me a radio story. This is it. "Bill Mcloskey, a former associate at Metromedia and now with the Washington Post, sent me an article yesterday that recounted John W. Kluge's career. The article was in the form of an interview. One important quote caught my eye and keeps playing back in my mind. 'Kluge said he never bought a property without already focusing on who he was going to sell it to'.

"That quote is a partial answer to some of the
questions I have asked myself over the years. How is it that, after working for the best companies and doing my very best, I could not insure my future in these organizations. Things would eventually happen that were beyond my control and it was necessary to move on.

"Many aspiring radio professionals who work for public companies never get it. The company is always for sale. And, things happen to good but often naive people when they least expect it. 

"Eleven years ago, I found myself out of work with ABC. Aaron Daniels was brought in by CapCities and knew nothing about network radio. He and I weren't on the same page. Previously, I had the same problem with Mutual...I didn't understand that Norm Pattiz was taking it over via the purchase by Westwood One. A number of years earlier, I couldn't understand how good people like Harvey Glascock, Dave Croninger, Jack Thayer and myself could suddenly find ourselves on the outs with Kluge. The answer is...everything is always in play. Many good people find out that what appears to be an excellent association is often doomed by a negotiation they know nothing about.

"Anyway, eleven years ago, I found myself in a very difficult postion. I was 57 years old, living in an expensive co-op just off Madison Avenue, and had just been told by Mel Karmazin that I was a hasbeen or words to that effect. He was right. I realized that I needed repositioning fast. I accepted a job running Park Communication's Syracuse stations, WHEN/WRHP because I knew I needed to go back to square one. However, Roy Park Sr. died suddenly, and my deal was forgotten when the public company was sold.

"Fortunately for me, Park's son, Roy Park Jr. had a struggling privately owned outdoor advertising company (billboards) and needed immediate help. He asked me to do what I could for him temporarily while I was trying to decide my next move. I chose to stay and concentrated on advertising sales as a means of fixing his problem. Within weeks, I was VP/GM. Ten years later, Park Outdoor is a financial success in Syracuse, Elmira, Utica/Rome and Binghamton. Roy wants me to stay forever. I am now 68 years old, happily remarried and live a wonderful life in the Syracuse suburb of Manlius. My wife is a VP with Morgan Stanley and we have eleven grandchildren between us.

"But that's not the whole story.

"I love jazz. My knowledge of the music and involvement has been a life-long hobby. Also, the Great American Song Book standard music dimension was knowledge I gained while at WIP and WNEW.

"Well, almost two years ago, WAER Jazz 88, the Syracuse University public station, invited me to volunteer as a disc jockey one night a week. I thought it would be fun. I developed a show called Dick Carr's Big Bands Ballads & Blues. The music mix was half classic standards featuring Sinatra, Bennett, Ella, Krall and the rest. The other half was traditional jazz performers doing the same standards. Listenership developed quickly via word of mouth and a few newspaper articles.

"Last December, I signed a syndication agreement with my friend, Rick Buckley. Today BBB&B is syndicated by the WOR Radio Network and airing on commercial stations in over 30 markets including Detroit, Atlanta and NY. The affiliations continue to grow every week. I'm back on the air and playing the music I love. You may recall that I got off the air to become program director of WIP in 1962.

"I'm having so much fun. But, I haven't quit my day job running Park Outdoor.

"That's the radio story I promised you."

Ah, the old corporate up-and-out syndrome! Dick Carr, of course, was not the only victim. I will note one thing re: Kluge; some of the men pushed out walked with money. L. David Moorhead, promoted to regional vice president and then KSAN-FM sold out from under him, said he ended up with a million. Harvey Glascock had enough to buy a radio station in Florida where he played golf the rest of his life. I don't think Jack Thayer walked with much money, though. However, Kluge was perhaps better than some. Better than Lee Zhito and that's a fact. But, well, I said I wasn't going to tell that story.

Last thing about the Nairobi Trio. Burt Sherwood, bohica1@comcast.net, notes: "I know I am in good company. I write for the spoken, not the written word. All of us who did newscasting had to write that way. Do you think you can cure an old dog?"

Nothing wrong about the spoken word form of writing, Burt; it's a great form of writing and I applaud most sincerely those who do it well. I wrote and narrated, although that's not the correct word, a music show for a few months in the 60s for a new FM network that ABC tried. Fortunately, I've got the only copy of any of those shows left and, no, nobody is going to ever hear them. I'll say this, though: I was as good as the former producer of "The Lucky Strike Hit Parade" and one of the best damned engineers ABC had, a guy named Chandlewitz or something like that, could make me. I think it was aired on about 40 FM stations back when FM was struggling. But....

Claude Hall

e-mail  claude@claudehallonline.com