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"Murder
at the Busted Bird Cafe"
by Claude Hall
Chapter 21
It's nice to be rich. Anytime you want something
to
eat, regardless of the hour, you just ask. It's
brought to you in the game room, if you wish, along
with a glass of milk. This definitely beats trotting
down to the local Taco Bell.
The home of William and Ethel Travoti doesn't exactly
qualify as a mansion. It's more of a small castle
like those you find in the quiet British countryside
many miles outside London. The game room even has an
"afternoon tea" atmosphere. A television set was
framed by books on a shelf across the room, but I
gathered it was very seldom turned on. In this room,
you didn't care what was happening in the rest of the
world. Mahogany-paneled walls and ceiling held the
outside world at bay.
Unfortunately, even though I enjoyed my ham on rye,
the world--and especially a very beautiful woman in a
blonde wig--kept invading my thoughts. I thought I
had everything more or less figured out, but it was
impossible to believe someone that pretty could harbor
that kind of animosity. No, it wasn't mere
animosity...it was vicious hate. Probably animalistic
in nature. The tigress doesn't care who it has for
dinner. However, her stunning beauty still kept
getting in the way of my reasoning.
Jo's father didn't help much. He looked into the room
now and then to see if we were finished eating.
Almost with the last bite, he entered the room like a
man leading a very careful patrol through a mine
field. He glanced first at me, then at Jo. Then he
walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and, almost
without even looking at the contents, closed the
drawer again.
"Take the gun and put it in your pocket," I said.
"Is
it loaded?"
"Yes. I bought some bullets."
The speaker announced someone at the front gate.
Travoti immediately opened the drawer and took out the
revolver. He thumbed off the safety.
"Relax," I said. "Our friends tonight won't
bothered
to announce themselves. In fact, they may not even
show up tonight."
The butler came to the door. "It's a detective
Sawyer," he said.
"Let him in," I told the butler.
We listened as a car came up the drive and pulled into
the parking area alongside the house.
"This is my battle," said Travoti. "You kids should
get out of here. Take Ethel. I will send the staff
away for the evening."
"Send the staff and Jo and her mother," I said. "I
might as well hang around."
"I'm not going anywhere except to bed," said Jo.
"It's not your problem," Travoti told me.
"It became my problem a long time ago," I said.
"Who may not show up tonight?" Jo asked. She hadn't
quite finished her sandwich because she was on her
second glass of milk.
"Tricia Rizzo, alias Tricia whatever."
"Ah," said Travoti. He let out an audible sigh and
stood there behind his desk, the Colt .45 hanging at
his side. "Who is this Tricia Rizzo?"
"Alias Tricia Giancana," said Sawyer. He'd evidently
been standing in the doorway of the game room for a
moment.
Travoti frowned.
"His daughter?"
"In all probability," I said, "whatever her name
really is. Sawyer's just guessing."
"So is Buddy," said Sawyer. "But I've faxed a
message
to New York asking them to check it out. We'll know
for sure in a few hours."
"You trailing me?" I asked Sawyer.
"Naturally," he said. "I used to have hobbies.
Now
I've just got Buddy Coffee."
"You may not like what's going to happen," I said.
"Comes with the job, I'm afraid," said Sawyer.
He walked over and sat down in one of the over-stuffed
leather chairs.
"Would you like something to eat?" asked Travoti.
"Coffee."
Travoti left the room.
"What are your plans?" Sawyer asked.
"Just to wait."
"I'm not in favor of just sitting here," he said.
"I don't remember asking you to join this party."
"It's not your party, it's my party," Sawyer said.
"That's what the police do. Let us handle this,
Buddy."
"Shall we go through that tango about rules and
regulations again?"
"I guess not," said Sawyer.
A waiter, followed closely by Travoti, came into the
room with a tray. He sat the tray on a small table
and began serving us coffee.
"Darby, you and the rest of the staff should take the
rest of the evening off," said Travoti. "Spend the
night at the beach house, if you'd like."
"I've already taken the liberty of sending the maids
to a hotel. Mrs. Travoti declined to go," said Darby.
He continued pouring coffee. "I'm an old hand at
clay pigeons. My rifle may come in handy."
"These will not be clay pigeons," said Sawyer.
"I'm aware of that," said Darby. "Would you like
some
cream, sir?"
"Tricia, of course, will not be alone," Sawyer said.
"Davidson is out of the hospital. Jones will be
here."
"I'm very disappointed about Davidson," I said. "I
advised him to head for Las Vegas. He should have
taken my advice."
"Men like that, they can't go to Las Vegas," said
Travoti. "They get paid for a job, they do the job.
I used to be that way."
Quietly, he explained to Jo about his past, ending
with, "I don't believe I killed Giancana. I didn't
aim to kill anyone. Just wound them so the three of
us--me, you, and your mother--could get away."
"You mean I'm Mafia?"
"No," said Travoti. "A long time ago, you had a
relative who once belonged to a minor family. He
quit. But that was a long, long time ago. You are
not anything that you don't wish to be. You are
merely the daughter of a California real estate man.
That is all."
"And a rock'n'roll star," said Sawyer.
"And a radio groupie," I said. I wondered, but just
briefly, why it was important for me to get that in.
Sawyer and I walked outside to repark the pickup and
his car. We put his car in the five-car garage at the
side of the house. I drove my pickup rear bumper up
against the garage door. One side was only an inch or
two from the wall of the house. I locked the door.
"Now we have a field of view," I said. "An old
Musashi axiom."
The front lawn sloped down hill half the length of a
football field to a high brick wall. A couple of palm
trees bent into the sky about halfway. A hedge ran
alongside the wall most of its length. The night had
turned very cool. When a breeze comes in from the
ocean at night, the weather sometimes grows damp and
you need a coat.
"Too bad this Musashi guy is not around to help."
"These punks? He wouldn't bother with them. Even
during the days when he was alive, he was so great in
combat that he laid aside his swords and fought
enemies with just a stick."
"A stick against a sword?"
"That's true."
"No, it isn't! That has to be a lie. No one with
just a stick could fight a man with a sword. And you
and I, friend, cannot fight assault rifles with
ancient shotgun and a couple of pistols."
"You forgot my Krazy Glue," I said.
"Don't be absurd!"
"Everyone said the same thing when Musashi came at
them with his stick. Some died laughing, I assume.
Others just probably died, period."
"One does not fight bandits with a tube of Krazy Glue.
Nor a stick."
"To be quite honest, Jesus, I'm not going to use Krazy
Glue."
"Good. I'm glad we've at least got that settled."
"I don't know what I'm going to use yet. At the
moment, however, a stick does look awfully good."
"Let me call in S.W.A.T."
"I don't want to kill them."
"Haven't you seen the movies? They come over the
wall, we yell freeze, then we haul them off to jail."
"For trespassing? Big deal! Anyway, they won't come
over that wall. They'd be seen on the street. That
would be like ringing the doorbell."
We walked back into the house and found Darby sitting
at a kitchen table checking a single shot Remington
shotgun
"Looks like a good shotgun," I said.
"Had this thing since I was a boy," said Darby with an
affectionate grin.
"Practiced much lately?"
"I'm afraid not, sir. A butler doesn't make the kind
of money it takes to belong to one of the gun clubs
around here. I did some target shooting three or four
years ago on vacation down in Arizona."
"Sounds good to me, Darby. There's a window in the
living room that opens. You and Jesus sit up a
cabinet or something as a barrier, along with a good
comfortable chair and a Thermos of coffee. That will
be your post."
"The front, sir?" He sounded a little nervous.
"Don't worry, Darby. They won't be coming from that
direction. We need you there just in case."
While they were taking care of that, I cut on the
lights out back, stepped out the kitchen door, and
walked around a swimming pool that is virtually
mandatory in Beverly Hills.
For a fancy home, the swimming pool wasn't all that
fancy. I expected a kidney-shaped pool. It was a
rectangle. On the other side of the swimming pool was
a tennis court, but it didn't even have a net strung
up so evidently no one in the Travoti family played
tennis. Three oak trees provided shelter from the sun
during the day for a small, roofless gazebo off the
side.
There are no alleys in this part of Beverly Hills; the
land is too expensive. Beyond the wall was the
backyard of another home. The wall was to provide
privacy, not protection.
There were three entrances to the house from off the
pool area--the kitchen, what was obviously the master
bedroom on the side, and directly across the pool
sliding glass doors opened onto the living room. From
here, I could see Sawyer and Darby moving an easy
chair over toward the front window.
I walked over to the living room and told them that
the cabinet should go on this side of Darby's chair.
The wall of the house would protect him from the other
direction. And cut off all of the lights.
Sawyer quickly got the idea. A couple of minutes
later, he joined me in the backyard. We drifted out
of the glow of an orange floodlight that shone from
the back of the garage.
"You think they'll be coming through the gate over
there?"
"Or the wall beyond that shed by the tennis court.
It's fairly low. I just checked the gate. It's
locked. But if Jones has any skill at all, it will
slow him down at least thirty seconds."
"We'll need help," Sawyer said. His voice was low and
almost every syllable carried a question.
"More people would just get in the way and a lot more
people would get killed than are going to get killed.
Anyway, you and I both know that the only two defenses
against an Uzi or AK 47 is to run like hell or hide
inside a Sherman tank. I don't think too many people
can outrun a bullet and I don't have a Sherman tank
handy at the moment."
"I still say we should call for help."
"You don't have to stay, you know."
"Yes, I do. I couldn't run out on you. I'm not the
type."
"I know that," I said. "I also realize, Jesus, that
you've probably never fired a gun at a human being."
"You're wrong. A zip gun when I was a kid.
Fortunately, I missed."
"A zip gun? You're older than I thought, Hey You.
Kids these days use the real thing."
"That's what worries me," he said.
"Look, one of us is going to have to stay with
Travoti. And his wife and Jo. I took a vote and you
were elected."
"He has a gun."
"A pistol he hasn't fired in more than a dozen and a
half years. Probably has rust in the barrel. I would
feel a lot safer if you were up there sitting in front
of the door. Put all three of them in a bedroom or
something. Leave the light on, but keep everyone out
of sight and out of the path of a possible bullet."
Sawyer was quiet for a moment. He was obviously
trying to think of a way out of our current
predicament. He failed.
"No wonder Dr. Dorren says you're crazy!" said Jesus.
He let out a long breath between his teeth.
"Don't worry, Jesus. The odds are in my favor. These
guys probably never heard of Musashi."
"Guarantee it," he said.
(To be continued)
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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Commentary
by
Claude Hall
September
29, 2003
I will not change. And force will not likely change
me. The traits and traditions with which I grew up in
the fabled Hill Country of Central Texas are carved in
the concrete of my father and my father's fathers.
George W. Bush Jr. may be from Texas, but he is not a
Texican. I think this because he has neither a noble
mind nor a noble character. Noble characters do not
invade homes nor souls of others on such feeble
excuses as he did with Iraq. And the war is not over
there, no matter what he said. I fear that he has
called out the hounds of hell. A lawyer friend once
posed the question about what I would have done had
Hitler invaded the United States. I would have fought
the Nazi with any weapon I could find, down to and
including stones, for all of my life. And my children
would follow with a handful of stones when I fell and
do the same. Forever. Yes, we have the manpower and
the technology to kill them all. But murder is a poor
methodology of dealing with those who do not like you.
The only solution I can see is to dump George W. Bush
Jr. fast! Get him gone and back on the farm picking
cotton where he belongs. Get someone is there who
begs forgiveness for the horrible crimes we have
committed against that nation. This might avoid the
complete terror that I visualize for the future. The
stones. I hate to play the Nostradamus of our time,
but I did not use the term "hounds of hell" lightly.
The NRA thinks it's okay to own an Uzi, but that's
because a whole bunch of them haven't been shot with
an Uzi. Yet.
What really bothers me is that few in media have
pointed this out. Yesterday, Sept. 26, 2003, as I
write this, an American soldier was killed and two
others wounded. CNN mentioned this as if they were
killed by the enemy. Our army was meant to defend us,
not attack citizens of other countries willy nilly.
The citizens of Iraq are not our enemies no matter
what the giants of money and media tell you. We are
their enemies; we have assumed the role of the Nazi.
I visualize no reason why they should not continue to
fight, down to and including stones. Madame Albright,
former secretary of state, mentioned "post war" in
regards to Iraq on MSNBC Sept. 25, 2003. This is a
war that may never end; it will change; it will often
be corrupt.
I guarantee you that any God I know did not give Bush
nor those comprising the government of the United
States the right to invade any foreign country and
then accuse the members of that government of
committing war crimes. Iraq constituted no threat to
me nor mine in any way, shape or form. On top of
this, CNN and Fox and a lot of the other media
megamonopolies are not only fostering a positive image
of an idiot and his pissant war, but advocating his
idiocracies. These media shovel mongers don't seem to
realize that this is the worse president we've had
since Jimmy Carter. Carter, a peanut farmer who would
have done the world a great favor by sticking to his
peanuts.
And we, perhaps, may always receive only a distorted
view of this cottonpicker; i.e., would be told only
what the media wishes us to believe.
The ACLU is suing the U.S. Secret Service, claiming
that supporters of Bush are allowed to attend his
public events and protesters are not. Hey, CNN! I
suddenly believe you! Just this once. But how come I
spotted this on a quick screen crawl and it wasn't
really given major attention?
CNN claims to be the "most trusted" name in news.
A
lie. About 9 a.m. Sept. 25, 2003, one of the channels
was promoting expresso at Dunkin' Donuts (trust a
donut?), the other an interview Sports Illustrated had
with George W. Bush Jr. and, yes, he does watch
baseball and football while writing his speeches,
which show it. Big deal! First, who really gives a
damned about the coffee at Dunkin' Donuts? This is
news? It's essentially a free ad. CNN promotes,
movies, books, CDs, donuts and George W. Bush. To
hell with the news. Second, everybody watches
football. I get really pissed off at the obvious
efforts of CNN and especially Fox to make George W.
Bush Jr. look good...make him appear to be one of us.
The propagandists of Hitler used the same
technique--showed that evil monster playing with his
dog. The truth is that Bush sent the army into Iraq
to kill women and children who really would prefer to
live their own life and not some life imagined by
Bush. Second, he now wants to spend more money
rebuilding what the army destroyed than the American
public can afford. What craziness! The Bush spent
billions tearing Iraq up and now want $87 billion to
rebuild it. A great deal of which, incidentally, will
go into Cheney's pockets because of his "arrangement"
with Haliburton. Yet, our own roads are
deteriorating, gasoline keeps going up in price,
prescriptions are beyond affordability, rights
guaranteed by the Constitution are being slowly taken
away from us, the rich are getting richer and the poor
getting poorer, and a hell of a lot of Americans can't
even find a decent job and Bush wants to rebuilt Iraq!
What about the United States? Are you aware of how
many people in the United States, including families,
are homeless? How many old people can't afford to eat
decent food? How many people can't afford medical
treatment? It is absolutely terrifying.
Have you ever noticed that the people with flags on
their cars usually haven't been in combat and probably
have no real comprehension of what that flag means?
For years, the fish symbol on cars has not represented
Christianity, but hypocrisy. Now, the American flag
has been disgraced. You don't attack a person because
he has a gun...only if he attempts to use it unfairly
against you or someone else. You don't invade a
country merely because it has weapons of mass
destruction, but only if it attempts to use such. I
personally feel the people who praise and support "our
men and women overseas" aren't willing to go overseas
and into combat themselves? That most people who
think invading Iraq was "to free those people over
there" have no idea of what it's like to really kill a
human being, to dip your hands in the guts spewing
from his belly, and death is not really freedom?
There is no such thing, incidentally, as collateral
damage. The appropriate word is "everybody."
Smart
bombs are not really smart, you know.
I don't like what's going on in our nation. Forget
the rest of the world. I'm talking about right here
at home. In my town and on my street. Because if you
can forget what the fish really means and the flag
really means--and violate their unique concepts--then
your basic premise for existence is convoluted. And
my Nostradamus-inspired view is that things are going
to get worse here and, in fact, horrible. More
shootings. Bombs in the dark of night. Sabotage in
the air, on the rails, on the freeways. We have,
quote, a "homeland security" when, in reality, there
is no solution but the pizza. But we aren't using
pizzas, we are using guns and restricting freedom and
rights. All of these factors contribute only to
chaos. Desperate people without hope.
* * *
Kent Burkhart, RADIOKENT@aol.com,
was kind enough to
e-mail that David Croninger and wife Kathleen were in
the El Paso, TX area. Thus David Green was able to
get an address on a Croninger in Richardson, TX, and
send him a note via snail mail so we may eventually
make contact. I find it fascinating about the number
of radio people who gravitated to the Internet.
Just heard that Rod Roddy, who in recent years has
been doing a lot of voice work in Los Angeles, had a
cancer the size of a grapefruit taken out of his gut.
I did not pray much when I was young. These days, I
sincerely believe in the power of positive prayer.
I'm sure that Rod would appreciate your prayers along
with mine.
About a recent old article that I featured in the
column about George Bush Sr., my son John Alexander
Hall, Johnalexhall@hotmail.com,
the Los Angeles
lawyer, commented: "Strange how much your piece on the
website was even more relevant today than twenty years
ago. There is a lot of anger out there towards this
president. The smallcase for 'president' is due to
him being a small-minded man. His so-called
popularity following 9/11 was not due to his actions
as much as it was due to patriotism. Now, his poll
results have shrunk down drastically. Shrub is
vulnerable in 2004. It will be up to the Demos to
select a candidate that can take advantage of Shrub's
weaknesses."
Pat Walsh, rwalsh2@comcast.net,
who says he's "old and
easily forgotten, but still in Little Rock," wrote:
"Enjoy reading your column and the responses you get.
Those responses and your stuff leads me to many memory
lane sites. As a result of these voyages I got to
thinking that possibly you might know of a resting
place for some of the material I must dispose of
because I have gotten too old and beat up to continue
living at my house, thus it becomes apartment time
after 45 years in two houses. During my years with LIN
Broadcasting managing KAAY in Little Rock
(1965-1976), I was a subscriber to the Nation Wide
Pulse Reports. These annual reports gave either the
front page or the second page (depending on the year)
for every market that Pulse had surveyed in the
previous year. Thus I have an industry overview of
most of the country in 12-plus, men, women, teens and
households (remember that quaint term) for the years
1965 through 1974. Do you or any of your readers have
any suggestions as to a possible resting place for
what I in my warped way think is an interesting look
back at an industry as it made major changes. Any
suggestions would be much appreciated."
I wrote Pat that there must be somewhere that would
value his collection and suggested he try Dr.
Roosevelt Wright Jr. at Syracuse University,
rrwright@syr.edu. I
know Rick wanted to establish a
center for broadcasting materials. Then came this
note from Pat: "I look forward to someone wanting to
provide this data a home. If one were to put this
stuff together with the tracking Jim Duncan did, they
could have some very interesting studies on station
rises and falls as well as the growth of a portion of
the spectrum and the changes in market sizes. It has
always interested me that we have continued to ignore
the changes brought about in a market as the
geographical definition grew to cover more territory
than the night time signal of a market's AMs were able
to reach and of course this had such a tremendous
effect on several months of morning drive time as
well. Many is the program director or manager that had
to take the blame for a market outgrowing his
station's signal. Another thing that these old surveys
are good for is proving or rebutting various claims as
to 'we/they had a 99 share in afternoon drive' or 'we
absolutely clobbered all the combination combined at
night'. Heck, I even saw where we had a 56 share at
night in one book and I had completely forgotten about
it."
Bruce Miller Earle, ingbme@hotmail.com,
forwarded me
an article written by John Hawkins, and I wrote John:
" I don't know if you actually wrote the article that
Bruce Miller Earle forwarded to me, but, if so, I read
it with great interest and enjoyed not only your
comments, but your perceptions. I've always thought
that one of the problems with oldies is that they
change. Also, some pds were off quite a bit in
determining the burnout factor of a given record. I
do not wish to hear 'Lying Eyes' again...at least not
for a few years. It was played too many times on too
many radio stations. Too, an 'oldie' depends on the
particular market. When Kahn Hamon took over a Top 40
radio station in San Antonio, he lamented his weak
female numbers 18-34. I asked how much Elvis he was
playing. He said one every two-to-six hours. I
suggested two an hour. He did and the numbers went up
dramatically. Elvis probably still hasn't died in
most Texas towns. Anyway, you were good."
I received this back from jlh_radio@advisor.com:
"Assuming you're THE Claude Hall, I'm enjoying your
website, as I once devoured every word in Vox Jox. You
and I spoke a few times back when I was an active PD.
I'm intrigued that you've researched Metromedia. I was
PD and operations manager of Metromedia's KNEW San
Francisco from 1971 to 1974. (I essentially replaced
Bill Stewart, but I never met him.) The KNEW GM was
Ken Gaines, who later joined other ex-Metromedia folks
in a new radio chain (evolved into Infinity, I think)
where Ken ran the Oklahoma City station. As a
20-something it was very special to work closely for
several months with MM president George Duncan on a
plan to build new studios for KNEW (and potentially to
house sister station KSAN, if the anarchists would
cooperate). The goal was to save money by getting out
of a burdensome office lease. Metromedia had built
perhaps the largest radio station facility on the
planet (given that the days of live orchestras and
audiences were long gone). We had special hallways
that snaked around so the public could tour a chunk of
John Kluge's art collection in 'Gallery 91'. The new
studios never got built; instead Metromedia remodeled
the existing studio space by cutting out 2/3 of it. My
KNEW format was 'greatest hits' (about 80% oldies and
20% compatible currents), later branded California
Gold to match our #1 talk show California Girls. We
had a terrific air team including Ron Lyons and Ron
Reynolds (both formerly of Top 40 legend KEWB and now
at KCBS San Francisco), Bill Collins (from WHK,
Cleveland, I think), 'tall' Tom Campbell (KYA, KLOK,
AFRTS, etc.), Bob Raleigh (won a personality of the
year award), Hal Pickens (KFWB, KHJ) and others.
Because KNEW was formerly KEWB (until Metromedia's ego
caused them to buy the calls KNEW to match WNEW--as if
anyone in San Francisco cared), and KEWB still had a
strong image with listeners, I reinstated some of the
old schtick ('Channel 91--that's eaaasy to
remember'--humble acknowledgement to Chuck Blore) and
even cut new jingles using the old KEWB/KFWB/KDWB
melody by Sande and Green (we had to pay them). Maybe
we were too successful at invoking memories, because
we had to convince Arbitron that 'KEWB' diary entries
really belonged to KNEW. I programmed and/or worked at
various radio and TV stations around San Francisco,
did some 'strike duty' at Metromedia stations KMET and
KLAC, Los Angeles, consulted here and there, and ended
my radio career as co-owner and GM of KKFX 'The Fox'
in Seattle. Since then my airtime has been limited to
being a guest on various stations and radio/TV shows
(coolest was being a guest expert for several episodes
of 'The Next Wave with Leonard Nimoy' on CNBC). I now
own Advisor Media in San Diego (www.Advisor.com),
which publishes news and 'how-to' expert advice on all
kinds of topics (and always seeking more ideas) via
print magazines, e-newsletters, a ton of websites, and
a variety of major conferences and traveling
seminars."
Later: "A couple more observations on oldies.
You're
absolutely right that an oldie--and the mood of an
oldies station--varies by market. When I was
programming in San Francisco in the 60s-70s, we played
lots of R&B because that was always part of the SF
sound. It cracks me up to listen to KRTH, Los
Angeles, today. The rotation seems to be Beatles,
Motown, Beatles, Motown, something, Beatles, Motown.
I live in San Diego, which has almost nothing good
happening thanks to Clear Channel. Their idea of
oldies (aside from playing only 57 records or
something) seems to be to have the air 'personalities'
totally disconnected from the music. No matter what
they they play, they just read liners in a loud voice.
Yelling at the listener gets tiresome really fast. I
used to urge my air team to focus on the music, to
transition in and out as if they just listened to the
entire record and got into the mood of it--the same
mood as the listeners--even when they were really
chatting on the phone or something."
Heard from Ken Reeth, né Ken Reeteh,
Barken7@hotmail.com,
at, lord, a distance of at least
two dozen years. "Last time I saw you was in San
Diego at KYXY, during the Clark Race/John Rook verbal
battle in Radio Report. I don't even want to know how
long ago. 'Gone and Also' is terrific, reflective and
sad enough to make me reconsider drinking again. I'm
looking forward to reading your novel and shall do so
next week. It's never too late, pal. My first novel,
'Dreamland', won the worldwide 2002 ebook novel of the
year award in the sci-fi horror category. No money,
but a good credit and lots of fun. Glad to see you
haven't yet made the 'Gone' list."
I noted somewhere on the Internet that WAYS,
Charlotte, NC, was being "recreated" and wrote Jack
Gale who was so gigantic there in years gone now. From
Jack Gale, jackgale@adelphia.net:
"Thanks so much for
thinking of me. I emailed you the article the other
day. I guess it didn't get through. Dave Lingafelt,
the owner, talked to me the other day. I'll probably
be doing some 'Memory Lane' type things for him, and
he's also talking about a reunion of the BIG WAYS
staff. Fortunately, many of us are still around. Long
John Silver, Jack Pride, Mike Greene, John Larsh,
J.J. Jeffrey, etc. I hope it works. Should be great
fun.The commercial voiceovers I do everyday are fine,
but the creative radio fire still burns in my veins,
just like it does in all of us old timers. I'll keep
you informed. Really enjoy your stuff on RDN."
Phenomenal names, above. I remember the day Larsh
called me under his pseudonym of Jack Armstrong
because a Denver radio station wanted a Jack
Armstrong-type disc jockey and he wondered if he
should apply. One of the unique--and great--things, I
always thought about radio, is the special friendships
that develop. Not just between one disc jockey or
program director and another disc jockey or program
director, but often between a disc jockey or program
director and a record star. Murray the K told me that
Bobby Darin wrote "Splish, Splash" in his apartment in
New York. I don't know if they were close friends or
not, but I surmise as much. I recently heard that
Scotty Brink had gone to Oklahoma City and dropped
Bobby Vee a note. But, of course, Bobby already knew
it. Scotty and Bobby have been buddies for more than
two dozen years. Bobby writes: "I spoke with Scotty.
He's producing the show at his new home in OK City,
OK, and sending it on to the station. Testimony to the
way radio (and the world) has changed." The
"station," of course, is one in Chicago and I've read
that Larry Lujack will also be doing a show on it.
Like Scotty and Larry, you can find Bobby just about
everywhere. He's doing three nights at a casino in
Laughlin, NV, this coming weekend and my wife Barbara
and I are driving down to catch it.
Claude Hall
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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