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"Hurt"
by Claude Hall
Chapter 18
"Not just yet," said Braun, walking out of the far
doorway's dense darkness into a small pool of
moonlight falling through the window. "We weren't
quite aware that the senator and his wife were coming
down. An assumption, merely. But that's actually a
pleasant surprise, their arrival. You see, we're
expecting a lot of guests. And, because we didn't
immediately realize the truth about this lady with
you, we now need, you might say, a larger entrée. A
natural mistake. Correction, an unnatural mistake."
The thing standing before us was Braun. There was no
question about that. But it did not look entirely
like Braun. Caustic differences raged around the
eyes; the eyes--much redder now--seemed to be fed by
blazing coals. The attitude of a benevolent uncle,
albeit a malevolent relative, had been replaced and
this creature that stood before us, looking down at
us, seemed even more fiendish, if that was possible.
It gestured broadly with hands that you thought any
minute could turn into dark wings.
"I rather suspected that the possible appearance of
the senator would slow something like you down
considerably."
Braun laughed, but the laughter sounded like shrill,
sharp spats. "Senator Bangor O'Connor! Haw! I'm not
worried about the senator at all. Not at all. It's
his wife that causes me some concern. Not much. Not
much, I assure you. However, we've decided to wait
for them."
His hands swept through the air in front of him as if
he needed to keep his balance.
"Perhaps flight might be more appropriate," said J.D.
I thought that, in spite of everything, J.D. was
trying to make a pun. But, of course, Braun evidently
had no real sense of humor. He certainly didn't
laugh.
"Flee? Just when we're finally ready to take over!"
"The senator's wife, if not the senator himself, may
object strenuously to your plans."
"What makes you think we're really concerned about
even the senator's wife?" Braun asked. "We have found
witches, like vampyres, to be absolutely no trouble.
Neither, if you'll excuse the pun, are very high in
the pecking order."
I could tell that J.D. was upset. He tried to
maintain his usual composure. But his head tilted
first one way and than another as if he longed to be
free of his bonds. I knew that the splinters must be
extremely painful every time he moved.
"So, the dervish are responsible for killing
vampyres," he finally said.
"Killing is not quite the right word, as you well
know. Let's just say that we have been rather
successful, here and there, at solving a unique
overpopulation problem. A problem. Haw! We have
long felt there were too many...shall we say,
demons...in this world." Braun shrugged. "One is
entirely enough."
"Demons? Carrion eaters, you mean. Your foul--make
that fowl--kind has always been associated with the
dead. You mentioned a pecking order. Ravens are only
slightly above the order of ghouls. Perhaps."
"Insults? We have been around much longer than things
such as you!"
"That's entirely debatable," J.D. said in a broken
voice accented by a frown. "Beowulf claimed the
Saxons fought wars merely to feed the ravens. History
has not treated you well, nor, come to think of it,
very much at all."
"We have always fought our own wars!" said Braun
strongly.
"Not true," insisted J.D. "One of the poems of the
Caedmonian cycle states that:
"Helmeted men went from the holy burgh,
"At the first redding of dawn, to fight:
"Loud stormed the din of shields,
"For that rejoiced the lank wolf in the wood,
"And the black raven, slaughter-greedy bird."
"A lousy, filthy mess of words!" screamed Braun. "I
do not need crass poetry flung at me."
"You deny then that the raven has always been
associated with the eating of the dead? And
pestilence? Disease? Rotting flesh? Marlowe himself
wrote:
"Thus, like the sad-presaging raven, that tolls
"The sick man's passport in her hollow beak,
"And in the shadow of the silent night
"Doth shake contagion from her sable wings."
"You'll see our power! You'll see," Braun said,
attempting to calm himself down through he had
difficulty in keeping his hands at his sides. "We no
longer stand idly by, waiting for the refuse of things
like you. We now plan and organize our own events."
"Proof!" demanded J.D.
"Well, while accidents will happen, that little thing
with the senator's daughter that you and your young
friend here messed up completely. And, if I may brag,
that little fracas with the kids the other night. Of
course, you messed that up, too!"
"Ah, yes. I suspected, of course, something was
entire out of kilter about that little shindig," said
J.D.
"You actually tried to start a war among kids and the
police, then?" I asked.
"Naturally."
"Begging your pardon," I said. "That doesn't seem
very wise to me. What if they found out?"
"They? There is no they."
"Was last time I noticed," I said. "I'm talking about
the normies. The people who occupy the daylight hours
of the world."
"You've made a horrible mistake," said Braun. His
eyes began to flash red, becoming brighter and
brighter. "Normies are merely normies. We are now
they. And soon we intend to announce that little fact
to the entire world. Starting small at first. Just
here in Las Vegas. Then, perhaps in Tucson before
moving on to San Diego. City by city until we claim
the world!"
"A lofty ambition," said J.D.
Braun bowed, but it was a jerky thing without much
class. Actually, he darted his head forward instead
of bowing from the waist. And he did this absolutely
without flourish.
"Until we meet again, which will not be very long, I'm
sure." He whirled and disappeared into the darkness.
"How did he know about the senator?" I asked. "I
didn't tell anyone but you and Amanda here about the
senator and his wife."
J.D. sighed. "Look around you, puppy! Can't you see
them? That was what you smelled!"
For the first time, I noticed the ravens. They were
everywhere, almost invisible because of their
coal-black feathers against the hard dark. They were
perched on the hospital beds, on the tables alongside
the beds, on the scattered chairs. Still, there were
not enough places to perch and many were squatted on
the hospital floor. Every raven seemed to be watching
us intently and, it seemed to me, with some
anticipation.
"So, it wasn't my imagination!"
"Whether it was or wasn't doesn't matter," said J.D.
with a tartness in his voice. "What matters is only
you should have some imagination about our particular
situation at the moment. Imagination might create
wonders. Real wonders."
The thin curtains on the window at our left were
suddenly brushed aside, causing me to jump in spite of
my ropes, and several huge feathered demons flew past
and into the darkness behind Braun. A few found a
place in the back of the room where, already, there
must have been a thousand ravens.
"More of that man's friends, I suppose," said Amanda.
"If he has any friends."
"I realize this is not exactly the time nor the place
to point this out, J.D., but you made a pun a moment
ago," I said.
"I did not," said J.D.
"Well, it seemed like a pun to me."
"Little you know about humor," he replied. "You want
to hear something really funny? Here we are, a
vampyre and a werewolf, albeit one of us still wet
behind the ears, and we're being browbeat by a
cottonpicking bird! Now that is humorous."
"Not so funny, I'm afraid," said Amanda, "aIthough I
was rather impressed by the poetry." She turned to
me. "You have a very fascinating friend here."
"Yes, I do know a few lines of poetry," admitted J.D.
He nodded my direction. "Unfortunately, I have
neither the rhyme nor the raison d'être to escape
these bonds. I'm afraid that it's all up to our
friend here and, if not him, perhaps his girlfriend.
Assuming, of course, she survives to reach us."
"Me?"
I was intrigued...no, astonished is the right
word...at the idea. Doris was correct. For many
months I'd been, well, depending on the lanky,
cantankerous Texan and that wasn't quite the right
word either. He wasn't exactly a father figure. Not
that. Although I didn't actually know what that meant
because I'd never had a father. But certainly he
would qualify for an older brother...maybe a favorite
uncle. Come to think of it, maybe even a father of a
sort.
I found the idea intriguing that he now seemed to be
depending on me more than I was depending on him.
"Everything is going to be up to you and perhaps the
senator and his wife when they arrive, if they arrive
in time," said J.D. "If they manage to wade through
all of these foul things that abound in this bird's
nest. And, of course, the girl."
I was almost afraid to ask: "And what about you?"
"I'm afraid that I'm going to die."
His answer threw my guts into a tight knot.
"Now who's being silly? You know that vampyres...."
"I know all about vampyres," J.D. interrupted.
"Everything, in fact, that there is to know. As well
I should, since I'm probably the last. Our Mr. Braun
and his flock have been slowly tracking down vampyres
over the past two or three years. There is not even
one vampyre left in Translyvania, did you know that!
You might say that I have a lot at stake at the
moment."
"I knew it!" I said gleefully. "That was definitely a
pun! Because of Amanda, probably. Meeting her has
somehow changed you."
"Me? Change? That's a ridiculous statement. If I've
changed--and I deny it intensely--then it's because of
the direct confrontation with my own mortality. That
would change anyone. Except me, of course."
"Don't believe him, Amanda."
"Hush," Amanda said in my direction. She then turned
toward J.D. "What do you suggest we do, Mr. Candor?"
"I can't answer that," said J.D. "I'm afraid that we
have a plethora of birds roosting around us. And we
must reasonably assume that these particular birds are
anything but bird-brained. Fortunately, they don't
know everything yet and perhaps that's one of the
reasons they haven't slaughtered us already."
"Another pun!" I said. "Although, come to think of
it, it wasn't very good. That bit about them being
bird-brained."
"One of these days you're going to see the light when
it comes to humor," J.D. snarled. He glared at me.
"That's not a pun," I said. "In fact, it's sort of a
cliché statement."
"He's trying to tell you something, son," Amanda said.
"Oh!"
I tried to figure out what J.D. was trying to tell me.
"Doesn't matter," said the familiar figure of Braun as
he came out of the darkness. "I was hoping one of you
would tell us more about the girl, but I can see that
my time was wasted. What stupid chit chat! I don't
think you know anymore about her than we do. We'll
just have to deal with whatever she is when that time
comes."
"What girl?" I asked.
"The girl," said J.D. "The one we've been talking
about."
"Doris O'Connor, of course," said Gertrude, changing
from a rather gaudy raven into a woman as she strolled
out of the dark. She walked over and placed a hand in
a familiar fashion on Braun's shoulder. He didn't
seem to mind it being there. However, I felt quite
uncomfortable. I had never thought about them being
lovers. She leaned closer to Braun and whispered
something in his left ear that caused him to bristle.
"How ridiculous," he said. "Dead people don't have
children!"
I tried to ignore Braun and Gertrude, though it was
very difficult to do.
"Do you believe that Doris and her parents are walking
into a trap?" I asked J.D.
"Of course, they are!" answered Braun before J.D.
could respond.
"Believe?" snarled J.D. at me. "There's no doubt
about it! And unless you wake up and see the light,
they're going to be killed along with your other
friends, meaning me."
By now, I realized what he wanted me to do. But I
didn't know how to do it...didn't even think it could
be done! That experience as a youth had not been a
fluke or a mistake. Suffering from a fever, I'd
glanced up and felt an immediate bonding with the moon
that just happened to be full that night. Over the
years this bonding with the moon had been repeated
countless time. Each time, I'd felt its strange
psychological control over every cell in my
body...over my thoughts. But I'd never understood
why. Logically, I realized that the moon emitted no
unusual rays and its light wasn't all that difference
from the light of a yellow light bulb on a farmhouse
back porch. Yet, I always tingled from a physical
reation everytime I saw a full moon. Why, I wondered?
Because I never drew strength from a half moon.
Surely, a quarter moon should provide some level of
reaction. But nothing ever happened until a full moon
hung up there in a cloudless sky...or, at least, on a
night when there was only a few clouds and most of
these thin and scattered.
Therefore, it occurred to me that a great deal of my
reaction had to be purely wish fulfillment! There was
no other rational explanation. I wanted something to
happen...and it did!
What would happen this very second if I wanted to turn
into a werewolf? And wanted it with great passion! I
almost busted a gut trying. I strained. Then
realized that I was holding my breath and nothing was
happening anyway.
My immediate problem was that, in spite of the
bantering with J.D., which was just a sign of
nervousness anyway, I was afraid. And I've always
found it difficult to think straight when riddled with
fear. My mind keeps leaping from one thought to
another like a movie projector that has gone nuts and
is flipping the frames by too fast.
So, I tried to calm myself down by thinking of nice
things such as the picture framed on the wall of the
living room at my apartment. It was just a cheap
print of a small lake surrounded by pines, with
mountains in the background. But I've always liked
that scene. Beautiful! What if it was night? And
out in the middle of that lake, perhaps a reflection,
was a pinpoint of light, the moon, a full moon,
beginning to rise. I waited for it to grow larger.
And it didn't, so I willed it to grow to the size of
an apple. And it did!
However, there was no resulting tingle of hairs on my
arms nor on the back of my neck. I tried to think of
the apple growing larger...the size of a balloon...and
I couldn't make it get any bigger!
For the longest time, I thought I'd failed.
Then I heard Amanda say,
"Oh, my god!"
Even J.D., probably suffering from pain, may have
muttered something under his breath because I thought
I heard a noise, then,
"What in the...!"
But I couldn't be sure he'd said anything at all.
I tried my ropes. For some reason, they'd fallen
away. Which was odd, because I hadn't felt any sudden
surge of strength in my muscles. Yet, when I glanced
at my arms, they were covered with hair that showed
through a ripped shirt sleeve.
First, I looked for Braun. But he and Gertrude had
disappeared. I hadn't seen them go. They'd just
vanished!
When I leaped to untie J.D., the ravens perched about
the room suddenly became aware that something had gone
wrong. Four or five ravens emitted horrible
screeching noises and flew at me, trying to peck out
my eyes. I batted at them with the palm of my right
hand and knocked three of them into ragged puffs of
feathers. The rest of the ravens swirled about the
room in tornadic fury. The noise from the beat of
feathers and screeching sounded like a thousand
banshees in a meat grinder. It was both terrifying
and deafening!
One glance at J.D. showed that he couldn't handle much
more of the noise. He was down on his knees, hands
cupped over his ears.
I flung the tattered remains of my shirt at him and he
wrapped it around his head like a scarf.
The dark birds flew around and around, faster and
faster. The screeching grew in intensity, now
sounding more and more like the shrill wind of a
fierce storm.
Suddenly, another raven darted at me. But I was able
to hit it with a right cross--hoping that it was Braun
in his other form--as I knelt to release Amanda. Her
face was laced with fright. Not at me. Because of
the ravens.
"Just a moment more," I said.
"Please don't howl at me," she said.
"Sorry."
For some reason, however, the noise of the ravens
didn't seem to be bothering her as much as J.D. I
figured that maybe it was because she was quite old
and older people can't hear all that well.
A second later and she was free. I helped her to her
feet. Some of the birds darted at her, but missed.
They quickly gave up the attack on Amanda and
concentrated mostly on J.D.
All this time, the storm of ravens whirled around and
around the room and the noise was deafening! But J.D.
had managed to climb to his feet and, instead of
changing into a bat and diving out the window almost
at his elbow, he picked up a chair and began swinging
at the ravens. Amanda, too, picked up whatever item
was at hand and threw it at the swirling mass of
birds. The birds merely dodged most of these
things--a lamp, a telephone. She hit home with a bed
pan, but I could easily see that we were not going to
be able to do much damage in this fashion. Because,
although I'd hit a few of the birds with my fist and
they immediately fell in a pile of feathers, the
ravens, after a moment, shook themselves, sprang up
and flew off and rejoined the circling storm about us.
"We can't hurt them!" J.D. yelled at me.
"Follow me!" I shouted back and began to make my way
toward the darkened doorway. After just a few steps
of fighting my way through the moving wall of ravens,
however, I realized this was perhaps a mistake. I
literally couldn't advance through the melee without
getting hit--and pecked--by one raven after another!
And there seemed to be hundreds of them!
Instead, I ran to the wall of the room and finally
found that for which I was searching--a floor lamp.
Three huge ravens were perched on the lamp as if to
defend it with their lives. And this, they did! But,
of course, it didn't matter because they merely shook
themselves off the floor and immedately flew into the
storm of the other ravens.
I turned the switch on the lamp, but it didn't let out
the expected flood of light. I checked; there was
still a light bulb in the socket. Then I noticed that
the plug had been pulled from the wall. Several
ravens attacked as I knelt to reinsert the plug. My
one hope--at least it was the only thing that I could
think of at the moment--was that the ravens didn't
particularly care for any form of light. J.D. could
usually take the rays of a subdued lamp, at least for
a while, as long as he was dressed in his heavy black
suit and wore sunshades.
We got lucky! The ravens didn't like light! The
swirling storm of birds, still twisting in a frightful
vortex, moved toward the open window and spilled like
a dark flood into the outer night, most screaming at
us as they left...and, quickly, the room was empty!
Their leaving was quickly accompanied by the roar of
what sounded to me like a giant canon from somewhere
outside. And this was followed by the most horrible
screeching noises you've every imagined! The canon
roared again. And a moment later there was another
explosive roar from somewhere outside the hospital
building.
J.D. looked at me for an explanation. Unfortunately,
I had none. I shrugged.
"Would you turn that cottonpickin' lamp off!" he
demanded.
"Hey, you're the one who has some form of radar. The
rest of us need to see where we're going!"
"At least point it some other direction."
He took Amanda by the arm and we cautiously approached
the dark doorway
Although a great number of the ravens had fled out the
window into the night, an even larger number had
flapped through the room and disappeared into this
doorway. I, for one, didn't feel like venturing
inside. But then I got an idea. I told J.D. and
Amanda to wait a moment and ran back and found another
lamp.
I bought the lamp and plugged it in a receptacle near
the doorway and set the lamp to shine inside. The
light shone upon an empty elevator lobby.
With a greater display of bravado than I actually
felt, I ran over and punched an elevator button. When
the elevator car appeared--and I gratefully discovered
than it, too, was vacant--I motioned J.D. and Gertrude
to follow me and leaped inside and pushed the button
for the first floor of the hospital--the main lobby.
"Safe!" I yelled out.
But as the doors of the elevator slowly closed, I
wasn't quite so sure. When the elevator refused to
move, I was positive of it!
(to be continued)
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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Commentary
by
Claude Hall
February 15, 2004
(continued from last week)
Harry Reichenbach
According to book publisher/humorist Bennett Cerf,
"One of the first press agents who turned publicity
into a million-dollar business was the late Harry
Reichenbach. This master of the art of exploitation
has been called 'the greatest single force in American
advertising and publicity since Barnum'. One of his
earliest exploits was to salvage a little restaurant
that had everything but customers. He put a simple
bowl of water in the window with a sign reading, 'The
only living Brazilian invisible fish'. Increasing
crowds gathered to observe this phenomenon. Some
swore they could see the invisible fish make the water
move. Reichenbach promptly hid a little electric fan
in the corner to blow ripples on the water. 'There it
goes', the crowd would cry, and then, for no apparent
reason, would go inside to eat dinner. Business
boomed for weeks. Reichenbach claimed later that the
proprietor simply couldn't stand prosperity; he tried
to serve the invisible fish as a course." (Cerf,
149-154)
If you've ever seen a print of "September Morn," you
owe it to Reichenbach. Just FYI, my grandmother had a
copy when she lived on the farm in Post Oak Grove,
Texas, circa 1940.
And the Tarzan movie series might have died with the
first sequel except for a Reichenbach promotion stunt.
Jim Moran
"Possibly the greatest publicity stuntster of all time
burst on the scene in the late thirties. Jim Moran's
career was to span four decades, from 1937 to his
retirement in 1985, and over its course he worked in
all industries and every medium," said Candice
Jacobson Fuhrman in her book about publicity stunts.
"His stunts put him constantly in the news and he
slipped onto television like he was born to it,
maturing with it and becoming a master of the
commercial plug. But Moran's first great idea for a
publicity stunt was one that he didn't actually
execute. In the early thirties, Moran co-owned an
aviation company, and thought he would attract
attention to it by flying over the White House and
parachuting live bunny rabbits onto the lawn during
the annual Easter Egg Hunt. Fortunately, cooler heads
prevailed.
"But Moran continued looking for ways to make his
ideas airborne. Years later he was arrested in Central
Park just as he was attempting to lift off a trio of
midgets on kites. Each kite was printed with
advertisements extolling Moran's client's products.
Although the police stopped the stunt on the grounds
that it was too dangerous, the coverage of the aborted
plan was sufficient to warrant Moran's by-then
exorbitant fee.
"Moran's first publicity stunt to break big was his
sale of a refrigerator to an Eskimo in Alaska. Moran
donned his winter coat and headed for the Yukon.
Eventually he was able to find a buyer in an Eskimo
named Charlie and with great ceremony presented the
icebox. The announcement of the sale amused the world.
Not one to waste an opportunity, Moran proceeded
triumphantly to Hollywood with several snow-blind
fleas that he sold to Paramount and with 100 pounds of
glacier ice that he sold to various merchants to use
in displays."
For "The Mouse That Roared," according to Fuhrman,
Moran outfitted himself in a military uniform and
posed as the Ambassador of Grand Fenwick, the mythical
duchy from the film. Moran opened an official embassy
for Grand Fenwick in Washington, DC, and had himself
chauffeured to diplomatic parties in a Mercedes-Benz
with a sterling silver mouse as a hood ornament. He
spent two weeks in Washington and culminated the
charade by throwing a full-dress ball for more than
500 people for whom he screened the forthcoming film."
(Fuhrman)
Ivy Lee
Perhaps the best example of Ivy Ledbetter Lee's
promotional stunt capability would be his handling of
the so-called "Ludlow Massacre." Not only was he
forced to develop his own publications--specifically,
a series of bulletins--in order to get his client's
side of the story to the public, but he conducted
personal research and advised the Rockefellers
throughout the incident. Whether he sent young
Rockefeller to the site to charm the wives of the
miners is not known, but it was a masterful public
relations stroke.
The "Ludlow Massacre" began with a strike Sept. 23,
1913, when about 9,000 coal miners in the southern
Colorado coal fields packed up their families and
belongings, left company camps and moved into
neighboring tent colonies set up by the United Mine
Workers of America. Lee was hired by John D.
Rockefeller Jr. to do public relations regarding the
event.
Knowing that his "announcements" would not be printed
in the local newspapers (they were all on the side of
the miners), Lee planned the same kind of campaign he
had waged for the railroads-material sent out to the
opinion leaders of the country.
In a letter to Rockefeller on June 5, 1914, he
suggested a series of bulletins entitled "The Struggle
in Colorado for Industrial Freedom." (Meanwhile, the
United Mine Workers of America brought out a pamphlet
of their own entitled "The Ludlow Massacre".)
The bulletins consisted primarily of press notices and
articles on aspects of the Colorado situation that put
the operators in a favorable light. The information
was supplied by a committee of mine operators
including, besides Welborn, John C. Osgood and D. W.
Brown, presidents of two other mining companies. Lee's
work was primarily that of an editor. He chose the
material, in some cases wrote introductory or
transitional paragraphs, set the style for the
bulletins and saw them through the printing stages.
(Hiebert, 100-101)
Several months after the investigation of the Colorado
strike, Ivy Lee suggested to John D. Rockefeller Jr.
that he go to Colorado to see for himself at firsthand
the conditions of the mine employees as Lee had done.
The unprecedented trip proved to be a landmark in
public relations. For two weeks, Rockefeller visited
mining camps, talked with the miners, went to their
homes, met their wives and children, and even attended
their social functions. At one social affair, after
giving a short talk, he suggested that the floor be
cleared for a dance, and he ended the evening only
after dancing with almost every miner's wife present.
It was an extraordinary performance for the shy and
serious-minded Rockefeller.
"You ought to have seen the newspaper men run for the
phones when the dance began," an aide later said. But
that incident, and the publicity that was given to it
throughout the state, was more effective in fostering
goodwill than a dozen speeches or conferences.
(Hiebert, 107-108)
Edward L. Bernays
Edward L. Bernays proved himself a master of the
promotion stunt when he planned and conducted the 50th
birthday of the lightbulb. Thomas A. Edison was
invited, as well as dignitaries from all over the
world, including the president of the United States.
The entire purpose was to sell more lightbulbs. ("The
Image Makers," produced and directed by David Grubin)
Just FYI, my wife Barbara, whose audacity knows no
peer, once phoned Bernays and talked with him a while.
Bernays always felt somewhat guilty because it was his
Easter Parade stunt in Manhattan that helped open the
door for women to publicly smoke, thus also opened the
door for women to develop lung cancer.
Todd Storz
Todd Storz and Gordon McLendon are known as the
fathers of Top 40 radio. Bernice Judas, according to
McLendon in a private taped interview circa 1980,
actually launched probably the first all-music and
news station--WNEW in New York City.
But it was Storz and McLendon who were the first to
"format" radio and combine hit records with promotion.
Literally, they saved radio in the 1950s from a death
by the advent of television and paved the way for
radio as we knew it, circa 1945-90. For this, they
were honored several years ago with the National
Association of Broadcasters' highest honor, the Hall
of Fame Award.
Bill Stewart, who spent most of his radio career as
national program director either with Storz or
McLendon, has to be given considerable credit for the
success of their radio stations. However, most people
in radio consider Storz and McLendon geniuses.
Storz more than likely invented one of radio's
traditional promotions--"Cash Call." However, it was
his treasure hunt for KOWH in Omaha, NE, that is
considered here. This promotion featured $105,000 in
buried treasure. Word of the treasure hunt spread as
far as Canada and countless hundreds of people planned
their vacations in order to be in Omaha for the event.
Gordon McLendon
Gordon McLendon, known as "The Old Scotsman" during
the days when his recreated broadcasts of baseball
games were carried on more than 400 radio stations
coast-to-coast and even beat out the real thing in
ratings, created radio history with KLIF in Dallas.
It was here that he created and conducted the
"Millionaire" promotion--a man appears on a street
corner and starts handing out money because he's rich
and wants to share his wealth with the world. At
just the proper moment for the greatest publicity, the
"millionaire" announced he was the new disc jockey at
KLIF and would be on the air in the morning. Starting
in the middle 1950s with rock'n'roll music, KLIF
became known around the world in radio as "Kliff."
However, for this paper, we've considered McLendon's
produced "Fantasy Concert."
This was a "live" broadcast of a 24-hour concert
featuring every major rock musician in the world,
according to personal conversation with McLendon circa
1980. Even Elvis was there.
The announcer hosting the event mentioned that the
concert was being held in a field "just down a dirt
road a few miles south of town" and occasionally did
live interviews with some of the acts shortly before
they went on stage.
In cities were it was broadcast--because McLendon
syndicated the rights to several radio
stations--countless listeners hopped in their cars and
spent hours driving hither and yond trying to locate
the concert. In one Louisiana town, radio listeners
found it difficult to believe the thunderstorm that
had hit at the concert; there wasn't a cloud in the
sky!
The entire "concert," of course, had been produced in
a record studio using taped interviews and albums of
live broadcasts or songs with dubbed in soundeffects.
Bill Stewart
Although he stayed mostly in the shadows of Storz and
McLendon, Bill Stewart was without question a
phenomenal promotion man.
A college professor in Boston, Stewart ran away to
join real radio in the early 1950s after listening for
several days to Bill Randle, then a disc jockey at
WERE in Cleveland.
After a stint with Gordon McLendon's KLBS in Houston,
he went to KLIF in Dallas as program director about
1955. It was about this time that Stewart performed
the legendary "balloon drop" promotion that blocked
traffic in downtown Dallas for about eight hours;
balloons were pushed out of a top-floor hotel room.
If you found a balloon with a one on it, you could
bring it to KLIF and receive a dollar bill. If you
found a balloon with 100 on it, you could receive
$100. People jumped out of their stopped cars and
chased balloons, causing the biggest traffic jam ever
in Dallas.
But it is Stewart's "Shtiggy Boom" promotion that is
considered here.
McLendon sent Stewart down to New Orleans to shape up
radio station WNOE, then owned by McLendon's
father-in-law, Governor James A. Noe.
"It was about 20th in the market and it went to about
No. 2 in two weeks. That was the time that I
personally, along with a couple of other disk jockeys,
played the same record for four straight days," said
Stewart.
The record was "Shtiggy Boom." The song had been
written by Al Jarvis, a popular Los Angeles disc
jockey.
"This song was recorded by three people who happened
to be janitors in the Capitol Building at the time.
Literally, they were janitors. They brought them in
from the hallway and they sang the thing, "Shtiggy
Boom," and it was lamentable. But because we played
this thing over and over for four days, it was a
phenomenal promotion and made the front pages of the
newspapers. That was about the last thing of that type
that the newspapers carried in print and television
gave exposure to."
Each time one of the disc jockeys at WNOE played
"Shtiggy Boom," they would announce a different
record.
"And all three of us stayed up all four of the days."
Stewart said that people came to the station with all
kinds of petitions and everything else, "asking us to
please stop playing" the record.
And then, as the final thing, we flew Al Jarvis in
from California and he asked us to stop playing the
record.
The promotion made the front pages of newspapers such
as the New York Daily News, the Chicago Tribune and
even editions overseas of the Stars & Stripes as well
as Associated Press.
WNOE went to No. 2 in the market. This led to Stewart
being hired in early 1956 by Todd Storz, who owned the
No. 1 station in the market, WTIX, as well as KOWH in
Omaha, NE. It was at KOWH, already a music and news
station, that Stewart and Storz installed the first
closed playlist, record rotation patterns, and dynamic
promotions. Thus, Top 40 radio was born (the term
"Top 40" refers to the number of records that as disc
jockey might play during a regular three-hour radio
show).
Chuck Blore
Chuck Blore today is one of the nation's leading
producers of radio and television commercials,
operating out of Los Angeles. However, he will
always be known for two radio promotions that,
literally, created radio history. One of these was
the "Formula 63" promotion that he planned and
executed in Minneapolis.
In Minneapolis, few people ever tuned in as low as 63
on the dial. But Chuck Blore, hired to work magic on
the failing KDWB thought that the power of advertising
could solve the problem. chuck persuaded the man who
had made Hadacol famous to create a series of
commercials advertising the new Formula 63 which was
guaranteed to relieve ennui. Drug stores throughout
Minneapolis were stocked with little packages of
Formula 63. It was free "for a short time only."
Through a major advertising firm, Blore bought
saturation time on almost all of the radio stations in
the market.
"And people went into drugstores by the thousands,"
Blore said, "because we'd bought guaranteed spots so
that on any given moment, regardless of which radio
station you turned on, all you'd hear would be this
'colonel' saying: 'I'm the fellow who brought you
Hadacol and I've got something good for you'."
When the listeners hit the drugstores, they were given
a packet that told them all they had to do was "tune
in to 63 on the dial" to solve all their problems.
Some of the competing radio stations were furious, but
by then KDWB was on its way to becoming the No. 1
radio station in town." (Hall & Hall, 138)
But Blore's "Amoeba" promotion was his best effort and
parallels, on a smaller scale, Orson Welles' "War of
the Worlds" legendary radio program.
An honor student had been shot by a doped-up kid in
the 1960s. His friends and schoolmates went to radio
station KFWB, then the leading Top 40 radio station of
Los Angeles, and asked for help. They wanted to visit
the state capitol in Sacramento to plea for tighter
anti-drug abuse legislation. Blore, then program
director of KFWB, went on the air several times with
public service announcements, hoping to raise funds so
the kids could charter a bus. He ended up with
only$300 in donations. Blore got angry and created
the greatest radio event ever.
During the playing of a hit record, a KFWB news
reporter interrupted for a special bulletin. An
amoeba was reported to have been seen on a residential
street. Nothing more was known at this time. Further
information would be forthcoming. KFWB reporters were
rushing to the scene and would report live.
A few moments later, another bulletin hit the air. The
situation was much more serious than anticipated.
There were reports from the police that some homes
might have to be evacuated. Police cars were speeding
to the scene. another bulletin at the end of Fats
Domino's "Blueberry Hill" reported the progress of the
amoeba down the street and into another area. The army
was being alerted. More news would be given in the
newscast at the top of the hour.
Occasionally, KFWB would run a disclaimer. But
college students caught on to the gag and began
phoning in reports.
"The army with tanks and bazookas was being brought in
to confront the amoeba."
Cluck Blore received the attention he wanted for his
anti-drug abuse campaign. There was only one minor
problem. Everyone knows what an amoeba is, right?
Wrong. Ordinary people became frightened--much the
same as during the "War of the Worlds" broadcast.
Phone calls from frantic people literally blew out the
switchboards at police and fire stations. Other radio
and television stations were swamped with phone calls;
since they had no idea of what was going on, telephone
operators added to the confusion.
Newspapers the next day covered the "hoax" in detail.
But by then Blore had gone on the air live: "This
radio station recently featured a public service
announcement telling you that a killer was loose in
the streets. Drugs. Very few of you paid any
attention. But we ran a broadcast about an
amoeba--the same virtually invisible cell that can be
found by the millions in an ordinary glass of
water--and you go berserk."
The station ended up getting more than enough money to
charter several buses and several hundred high school
students from Los Angeles visited the governor. (Hall
& Hall, 130)
L. David Moorhead
L. David Moorhead, known on the air in cities such as
Denver, Los Angeles, Milwaukee, and Tucson as Guy
Williams, was quite adept at taking a promotion and
revitalizing it or altering it so that, in effect, it
became an entirely new promotion. For example,
McLendon's "Millionaire" promotion became "Jack the
Tipper" and involved a man who hired a taxicab driver
to chauffeur him around his "old home neighborhood"
where he would stop and walk up to a rather
shabby-appearing house and give money to the occupant
or stop and hand out money to children in a
playground. The taxicab driver, of course, was sworn
to secrecy and, of course, spread the news all over
town. "Jack" finally agrees to be interviewed at a
news conference and during the interview announces
that he's the new morning personality on a local radio
station, probably KTKT. The strangest promotion with
which Moorhead was involved concerned having a disc
jockey "sit" on the egg of an emu until it hatched.
While, of course, doing his radio show live.
But Moorhead's rattlesnake promotion was undoubtedly
one of the weirdest performed by a Top 40 radio
station.
Watchee Konochee once roamed the south from Glassboro,
KY, to Tucson, AZ, offering radio stations the
opportunity to bury him alive in a coffin with several
rattlesnakes. L. David Moorhead, then known as Guy
Williams, knew Watchee Konochee well.
"He was immune to rattlesnake poison," said Moorhead
in "This Business of Radio Programming" by Claude and
Barbara Hall.
"I used him at five different radio stations. Watchee
used 28 rattlers, two boa constrictors, and a python.
I don't remember what his real name was." (Hall &
Hall, 136)
This was more than likely the same person used by
Steve Bellinger, owner of WDZ in Decatur, IL, about
that time, though Bellinger doesn't remember his real
name.
Bellinger convinced a local shopping center to let the
radio station cut a six-foot-deep hole in the parking
lot.
"We took a man from Kentucky called Ahab the Arab and
put him in the hole on a Serta mattress for 10 days.
To make it more interesting, we covered him with
rattlesnakes and offered a $10,000 reward to anyone
who caught Ahab out of the hole. We did remote
broadcasts and drew a sensational crowd."
"One of the highlights for me, though," recalled
Bellinger, "was when a big boa constrictor got loose
in one of the stores. The crowd immediately
scattered." Bellinger said he went into the store to
retrieve the snake, brought it up from behind the
counter, turned around, and faced down three police
officers, all with their guns drawn." (Shovan, 26)
Moorhead said that the reason he used Watchee Konochee
a lot "was that I always worked for losers."
Losers were radio stations at the bottom of the
ratings battle. Entrepreneurial radio men would buy
one of these radio stations, hire a hotshot program
director such as Guy Williams, George Wilson, Chuck
Blore, etc., to turn the station around with a Top 40
format. Once the ratings improved, advertising sales
followed.
But Moorhead didn't wait for higher ratings, as a
rule; the radio station would usually charge 25 cents
a person for people to see Watchee in his coffin.
These promotions were unplanned; thus, things often
went wrong.
"In Tucson for KTKT, we were trying to break a record,
because he'd been there before the past winter. I
don't remember what year it was, but Kennedy became
president about that time.
"Unfortunately, this time it was summer and, to say
the least, the snakes were uncomfortable."
Moorhead and the KTKT staff took the snakes to an
outdoor museum near the city to "let the snakes clean
themselves out. Can you imagine what that coffin
would have been like with all that snake crap?"
But the truck that they rented had been sitting in the
sun. The truck bed was about 125 degrees hot. "When
we tossed those rattlesnakes on that hot metal pickup
floor, they started striking, killing each other."
KTKT had to, literally, dig up some more rattlesnakes.
Then other problems developed. "Watchee was bitten six
times by those wild rattlesnakes before we could even
get him into the hole," Moorhead said. "The poison
didn't bother him, but one of the rattlers had
cankermouth. Watchee had a hell of an infection
problem for a while.
"But the snakes did their job," Moorhead said. "We
soon sat there in the market with an 64% average
share."
In the early days of Top 40 radio, major radio program
directors--and disc jockeys--often worked for losing
stations. The reason is that the so-called "Golden
Age of Radio" had met its demise at the hands of
television. But here and there, record shows were
still doing okay on radio. One of the first such
shows was launched on W... in Chicago (Hall & Hall,
.....) by a record company to promote its product.
Others who rose to fame included Jack the Bellboy"
McKenzie and Tom Clay in Detroit, Frank Ward in
Buffalo, Bill Randle on WERE in Cleveland, Al Jarvis
and Peter Potter in Los Angeles, Joe Smith and Arnie
"Woowoo" Ginsburg in Boston.
But then radio history was created at KOWH in Omaha,
NE, with the development of format radio by Todd Storz
and Bill Stewart, the first people to not only bring
consistency and rotation patterns to Top 40 radio, but
strong promotion stunts.
As the format concepts spread--as well they did with
every successful radio station--outlandish promotions
were among the bag of tricks of each and every program
director. Some kept files and repeated the promotions
in other markets as they, themselves, moved up and
down the hierarchy of markets, from small to medium to
large cities.
J. Paul Emerson, whose real name was Jim Coleman,
believed Pogo Pog was the king of radio stuntmen.
Pogo Pog earned his nom de aero by jumping on a pogo
stick for 35 miles to raise money for the March of
Dimes while working once at an Ogden, UT radio
station. He also once held the world radio record for
riding a Ferris wheel 17 days without getting off.
"Pogo worked at KIMN in Denver from 1955 until 1965,"
said Emerson. "He wore a fur hat, racoon-skin coat,
drove a three-wheeled auto, carried a pogo stick at a
cane and used the name Weird Beard. Anyway, during
the time at KIMN, Pogo once did his show from the
store-front window of Zales in downtown Denver. and,
get this, he did it while sitting in the middle of 150
snakes. Seventy-five were killer snakes. On the 13th
day, while on the air, his chair broke and he fell
into the snakes. A cottonmouth jumped out and bit him
on the arm three times. Pogo, whose real name was
Morgan White, was in the hospital for several weeks
after that stunt."
David Moorhead, who spent considerable time in Denver
(he worked during one period of his career at seven
different Denver radio stations under six different
names) remembers the incident differently: Watchee
Konochee climbed into the jewelry store window
surrounded by rattlesnakes. After several weeks of
publicity, the final day arrived. The station had
climbed to No. 1 in the market (probably a Mediastat
rating). The program director wanted fiercely to stay
No. 1 in the market. The promotion was almost over.
Watchee Konochee was being interviewed on radio about
the deadly snakes. Then, suddenly, the radio audience
and the people milling around the jewelry store
realized that something had gone wrong. A rattlesnake
was loose. A disc jockey appeared to be bitten. Two
men slashed at the DJ's wounded hand and tried to suck
out the poison to prevent it from spreading. An
ambulance was called. The DJ was given anti-venom and
rushed to the hospital. That "snakebite" proved
itself worth extra mileage; the disc jockey ended up
being interviewed by local newspapers and eventually
by most of the press in the West and Southwest.
Until 1977 when "This Business of Radio Programming"
was published, only two or three radio people,
according to Moorhead, knew the truth. Secretly, the
program director whacked the DJ with two nails on a
board. By the time his hand was cut to suck out the
"snake's" venom and he was rushed to the hospital, no
one knew the small difference. The big difference was
in the even-greater ratings for the radio station
during the next few months.
"Watchee was okay," said Moorhead. "A real pro."
(Hall & Hall, 136-138)
Jack McCoy
"The Last Contest" literally blew every other radio
station in the market off the air when it was
syndicated coast-to-coast in about 30 markets by its
creator Jack McCoy. The Arbitron Rating Bureau ended
up flagging each rating diary. The statement on each
diary was that the astronomical ratings of given
station did not depict the actual situation in that
particular market because the station had featured an
unusual promotion during the period of the ratings
survey.
McCoy--like Storz, McLendon, and the others--is a
genius. When he took over as program director of KCBQ
in San Diego in the 1970s, he moved a cot into his
office and seldom left the station until it became No.
1 in ratings. One of the major reasons it became No.
1, however, was not due to its extremely short
playlist of hit after hit records, but a promotion
McCoy launched called "The Last Contest." This
promotion featured a saturation slate of produced
spots announcing prizes ranging from four Maserratis
to a trip around the world for the winner and three of
his or her best friends. One of the competitors of
KCBQ immediately filed a complaint with ARB. However,
there was nothing that ARB could do except flag the
diary for that particular ratings period.
This was one of the few promotion campaigns that was
planned in detail and followed a set schedule. In
fact, most of the on-air promos (spots promoting the
promotion) had to be produced in a record studio. But
McCoy has always been reluctant to talk about the
promotion in detail. He sold the promotion and word
has it that he now lives on a yacht docked at San
Diego.
The Flaws
Few of the promotions above used all of the potential
channels of communication. P.T. Barnum might have
used television effectively, if it had been available
to him. But this is merely a matter of conjecture.
One could venture the same about Ivy Lee. Their genius
at promotion is not up for debate.
However, it is quite clear that most of the major
promotional campaigns of the past three or four
decades have lacked not only a model, but sufficient
use of all of the potential channels of communication.
For example, Stewart admitted in personal
conversation circa 1981 that "Shtiggy Boom" was
structured on an ad hoc basis. "We simply sat around
tossing out ideas about what we could do that would
top what we'd just done."
To a great extent, the promotions considered above
relied upon either word of mouth, limited advertising,
limited communication. Not even McCoy's extraordinary
"Last Contest" was promoted by personal letter, for
example, nor by posters, nor news releases, nor
magazine articles, etc.
To illustrate the additional exposure that can be
gained via creative promotional concepts, L. David
Moorhead when he was general manager of KMET-FM in Los
Angeles knew that his radio station had more listeners
than ratings revealed.
One day, it dawned on me what was happening. KMET-FM
was located close to KLOS-FM on the dial. Both radio
stations featured album rock music. However, KLOS-FM
announced their call letters more on the air than did
KMET-FM.
I suggested to Moorhead that he had to find some
manner of getting his call letters before the public.
Moorhead saturated the market with billboards
(Foster-Kaiser was then owned by John Kluge, who also
owned Metromedia Radio and thus KMET-FM). But
Moorhead didn't stop there. Several of the billboards
were upside down.
That might have attracted attention by itself.
Moorhead, however, then took a picture of a young
adult standing on his head on Sunset Strip looking at
an upside down billboard promoting KMET-FM. That
picture made the newspapers and gained considerable
extra attention to the station.
Not only did KMET-FM shoot up in the ratings, but when
Kluge got out of the radio business he was one of the
world's richest men.
What appears to be needed is, first, a model.
With a model to follow as a guideline (see
Commentary.2.2.2004), a promotional campaign such as
"Shtiggy Boom" could have achieved not only its quite
phenomenal attention, but had greater staying power.
In other words, WNOE might have been able to maintain
decent audience ratings over a long period of time.
Too, the station might have gained respect; Stewart
once mentioned in personal conversation that he was
talking with some business men in New Orleans and the
discussion was quiet friendly until they found out he
was with "that rock'n'roll station."
Third, greater advertising revenues might have
resulted.
It also appears that all of the promotional campaigns
mentioned above would have fared even better had
additional channels of communication been used.
I can also speak from personal experience. When I
conducted a nationwide promotional campaign for the
Tea Council of the United States to promote the
drinking of tea by youth around 1969-70, I was aware
of no potential model, but adopted a plan that "made
sense" to me at the time. The plan was "stepped" and
each step was progressive (that is, the intensity of
the promotion increased). However, I can see in
retrospect that promotion of the campaign outside of
the pages of Billboard might have garnered more than
the 118 radio stations that participated.
Even more important, if the public relations firm had
helped promote the event through mass media, the
campaign might have achieved greater impact with the
public.
What a pity that Jack McCoy didn't publicize "The Last
Contest" through pamphlets, local and regional
magazines, the trade press, and other communication
channels of the time. Today, of course, were he
conducting that sort of promotional campaign, he could
ostensibly use electronic mail, websites, etc.
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- 30 -
OTHER MATTERS
Kent Burkhart,
RADIOKENT@aol.com: "Claude. I remember
buying the snake promotion when I was GM of WQXI in
Atlanta. Mid 60-s, I think. And I believe the man in
the pit was named something like WAHCHIKANOKA. It
worked big time."
Joey Reynolds, G1boney@aol.com
"I miss being on the
air in the desert; it is another satellite goal; since
so many have been reached, I can wait. The lovely
Marlena Shaw is here performing and was on the show
Thursday. She spoke of UNLV so I suspect she and
Barbara have touched. What an outstanding singer.
The Zombies premiered at BB King on 42nd Street with
their first new disc in 38 years. Great guys who were
on the show on Wednesday and told of how they had
written only one song so they had to cover Beatle
records for the live gigs. It was sex week at Yale
(isn't every week?) and I hosted the panel on morality
in media. The film from Mel Gibson has Jews killing
Jesus so Rabbi Shmuley (author of kosher sex) and I
put the gloves on and blamed the Romans. I said no
one ever says anything 'cause the Italians can hurt
you! Happy Valentine day to all of you guys. I think
the reason for the hunger for nostalgia in our lives
is the lack of community...we all could use a big hug
about now on this planet. My foolishness is better
than your foolishness."
Jay Blackburn,
radiojdb@satx.rr.com: "I really don't
know if we were the 1st to do callout research, but I
think so. We were doing an AM/FM in Norfolk. The AM
was country and they were simulcasting the FM. The
pair appraised out at $750,000. The thinking was if we
sucessfully rocked the FM, the sale price would jump
to around $1.8million. Bruce hated doing country, but
he did it anyway. We were in the process of building
out the FM when BME casually dropped into my office
while I was laying out the FM formatics. Bruce
mentioned that Buzzy Bennett, who was putting 13Q
together, was doing a new research thing. He was
calling people on the phone and asking about music
preferences. I thought this was a hell of a deal, so I
had some phone lines installed, got some interns from
Old Dominion and some other schools and started in.
Come to find out BME had gotten some bad
information...from Mark Driscoll I think. Buzzy was
really just hanging around record stores asking people
what they liked. Callout worked and most everyone has
been doing it ever since."
Neil Young, Tucson,
nlryoung@hotmail.com, sent me the
other day a copy of the obit of Clark Race back in
July 1999. For me, Clark was Pittsburgh. Nice guy.
Heart attack. 66. Reading that obit brought back a
lot of memories. I was thinking what an interesting
book it would make--obits of great radio men and
women. Something that wasn't morbid, but a tribute.
I guess R&R could do something like this. Otherwise,
some very good people like Clark won't be remembered
at all in a few more years. Pity.
HELL OF A GOOF!
Now, G.W. Bush is weaseling...saying a mistake was
made about weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, but he
still thinks there was reason to go to war because of
"the evil ones" there. Does he think he's god, to
make a decision on who is evil and who is not? Does
he think it's perfectly okay to kill women and
children in this same ignorant pursuit? I point out
that we've yet to be told the number of innocent
civilians killed in Iraq because of Bush and Cheney's
eagerness to give Halliburton something to do.
Especially the women and children. If anyone is/was
evil there, I do not know. But I do know we have
someone evil in the United States and he's sitting in
the Oval Office of the White House. He started a war
that let loose the hounds of hell without real
justification. God hope that he doesn't sit in the
White House much longer. He has done enormous damage
to the world in his tenure as well as enormous damage
to the United States. He is, without question, this
nation's first mad dog president.
Now the shark-feeding frenzy begins as the media
wonders about Bush's National Guard situation. He was
asked on TV about it. He weaseled again, saying he
was honorably discharged instead of answering the
question. Tell the truth, Bush!
Things are different now. But in the days when he
went into the National Guard, most people went there
to escape real military service and the possibility of
getting sent to Vietnam. The National Guard wasn't
going to Vietnam. Regular soldiers were going over
there and a lot of them were getting killed. The
obvious truth is that Bush joined the National Guard
to avoid military service and spent several months
doing not a hell of a lot of anything, especially in
Alabama, and then weaseled a discharge to attend
Harvard. A real escape artist. Come on, Bush; the
truth!
The media will more than likely not let him rest about
this matter. Make that term above "cowardly weaseling
mad dog president."
Claude Hall
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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