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"Xtreme"
Chapter Thirteen of a novel
by Claude Hall
Chapter Thirteen of a novel by Claude Hall
The music business lives in the world and around the
world and is the world. Songwriters say their lyrics
reflect what is going on in the world. Critics of pop
culture are often astute; critics of pop music are not
necessarily so, but often include anyone who doesn't
like what they see happening in society and blame
music as the cause. Of course, there's a vast
difference between those who criticize and those who
are really critics. One of the best music critics
she'd ever met was a little guy in a porkpie straw hat
named Paul Williams who printed a typed magazine
called Crawdaddy and hung around Greenwich Village. He
was the first person to write about rock 'n' roll as a
serious artform.
Yet, music itself survives all attacks and becomes the
attack. There have been hit records produced in many
countries of the world, including English-sung records
in countries by people that don't speak English. Four
Jacks and a Jill had a million-selling record out of
South Africa. Some kids in Spain recorded a
million-selling song, "Black Is Black," in English
even though they didn't know the meaning of the words.
No one anywhere, anytime has understood the meaning
or even the words of "Louie, Louie" which was a big
hit out of northwest America by the Kingsmen. And few
people in the music business or in anything else can
explain why "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley and
the Comets keeps turning up a million-selling record
again and again sporadically over the years. These
are only a few of the abnormalities and the reason
songs with lines such as "tie me kangaroo down, sport"
and "Itsy bitsy polka dot bikini" or "splish splash I
was taking a bath" should become hits would drive any
true psychiatrist nuts if he tried to explain it.
Indeed, the music business is a funny business that
even those in the business find it difficult to
explain. Which is why many people in the music
business are funny.
Tom Turrichi, a professor, once hooked a focus group
up to a device like a lie detector and tested five
singles for Buddah Records. Turrichi accurately
predicted which two of the five records had a chance
to become a hit and he was right. The record company
headed by Neil Bogart never hired him again. They
didn't want to know things like this. It might
prevent them from promoting all five records.
This only makes a little sense--though not a great
deal--when you realize that some records become hits
that no one intended to become hits; literally, they
were accidents. This includes "Sunny" by Bobby Hebb.
The man listed as producer of the record was actually
out to lunch when Hebb cut the record to put on the B
side, i.e., the other side of the record.
Some thought that one day soon there would be no such
thing as the B side of a record. Already Earl "Mad
Man" Muntz was blazing a path with his 4-track music
cartridge system and cars were waiting in line in Los
Angeles to have a cartridge system installed. RCA
Records was pushing an 8-track cartridge system. In
some countries, such as Brazil, the cassette had
already replaced the album as the major way to buy
music. And some radio stations such as KMET in Los
Angeles and WNEW-FM in New York City, WMMS in
Cleveland, and WMMR in Philadelphia played only album
cuts and usually only cuts from albums featuring
progressive rock music.
Some hit records seem to be the work of magic and, if
not that, certainly the work of genius. Columbia
Records had released several records with Aretha
Franklin. Nothing happened. When the label dropped
the artist from their roster, record producer Jerry
Wexler of Atlantic Records immediately took her to a
small, hand-made recording studio owned by Rick Hall
in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Here, after an effort
spanning several days and nights, they came up with
the record "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face."
This record became a million-selling record and made
not only Aretha Franklin a name in the business, but
the executives at Columbia Records very happy. They'd
invested a lot of money in the artist; now all of
those songs they'd cut became worth something and,
suddenly, they appeared like very astute business men
instead of dumb bunnies.
Immediately, there were "Aretha Franklins" galore
scattered across the south. You noted these
artificials performing in dinky clubs in dinky towns.
But the real Aretha grew old and grew fat and became
eventually a legend.
Susan enjoyed this broad cultural sweep and saw
nothing wrong that when Elvis died dozens upon dozens
of other Elvises rose up to parody him from swinging
hips to snarling lips. At the same time Elvis was
being decried, he was being deified in academic
discussions on pop culture. One conference on pop
culture, attended mostly by Ph.D.s, had four panel
sessions dealing with Kenneth Burke and twelve panel
sessions dealing with Elvis and even two panel
sessions that discussed Superman. Quite a spectrum,
from Superman to Burke.
Sometimes when she ran in the morning, Reeboks
thumping as she spurted down the side streets of
Tarzana, past houses with lawns and houses with ivy
that required no lawnmower and past quaint little
houses that looked like gingerbread creations, she
listened to music on a small cassette unit on a belt,
tiny earphones over her head.
A loose dog chased her, barking, for a block, but he
couldn't drown out "What'd I Say" performed by the
Blues Breakers with John Mayall and Eric Clapton. The
old Ray Charles song. She'd produced this cassette
herself and next was June Carter Cash with "The Shadow
of a Lady" followed by "Gatsby's Restaurant," then
Kitty Wells with "Candy Kisses" followed by Diana
Trask singing "Empty Chairs." Music to run to. Music
to run from. From whatever was bothering you.
Most of the time, she ran without music, listening
instead to the song of the streets as people began to
wake up and begin their day, doors slamming, children
yelling and parents yelling back to hurry or they
would miss the school bus, cars grinding into life,
But music is a curative, a downer, an upper. Without
music, there would be no song of the streets. Music
was the dimension beyond time and space that kept the
world going.
Somewhere during the process of crossing an
intersection, she became aware of a car that seemed to
be following her at a distance. It was almost two
blocks away and seemed in no hurry to catch up, no
hurry at all, as if the occupants really had no place
to go.
She turned the corner at the next street and ran
harder, Reeboks now beating a fast tattoo like a soft
drum.
When she reached the next corner, she turned again.
Somehow, the car followed, turning when she turned,
speeding up when she speeded up.
She dropped back to her usual pace and ran over to a
main street with more trees and continued running
another mile before doubling back toward her
apartment. She had no weapon, but obviously none was
needed at the moment. If they'd wanted to shoot her,
it wouldn't have been an entirely appropriate place.
Professionals always seek an edge, a sure thing.
Someone running down a street with people and dogs
doesn't provide exactly the proper motif for a good
killing.
Someone desperate would have taken a chance. These
people evidently weren't desperate. They didn't mind
waiting.
There were stories that John Wesley Hardin, probably
the greatest Texican who ever lived, could draw and
fire his pistol from a galloping horse and hit a
squirrel on a nearby tree limb. This, of course, was
legend. Just one of the countless myths that
permeated the very air you breathed in Texas. The
Alamo, instead of being heroic, she discovered when
she was in college, was also a myth. David Crockett
and Jim Travis and James Bowie weren't heroes, they
were renegades just a hairline from being outlaws.
They were all in Texas seeking gold, which turned out
to be a myth. One myth beget another, she guessed.
Perhaps that's another reason she loved the music
business. The music industry abounded in myths.
And, also, why she loved being a Texican.
The fall of John F. Kennedy in Dallas left a wound in
the psyche of all Texans. Everyone for months walked
around in a shroud of shame. How could anyone have
done this in Texas, of all places! The fact that
Harvey Oswald was not from Texas, but could be assumed
your basic Louisiana radical, did not relieve the
horrible feeling of guilt. Jack Ruby thought he could
solve the problem, he may have even considered himself
a real Texican. But, of course, he could not and did
not.
It was only after long, tedious months of overwhelming
guilt that the concept of being a Texican again
emerged, layer after layer of peeling, and she
regained most of the pride of being who she was and
what she was. A special person with a fair sense of
the difference between right and wrong, something her
father had taught her, a good idea of how she fit on
the Bell curve when it came to good horse sense, in
the top percentile, thank you, and a goodly amount of
drive and determination for success with quality
achievement.
As she passed a house with a couple of palms near the
sidewalk, she darted behind these out of sight and ran
to the back of the house. Here, she looped back for
three houses, and then ran back to the street and came
up alongside the dark car with its lone occupant.
She was counting on the fact that most people do not
lock their cars when they're driving. So, it was a
relatively simple matter to open the driver's door,
cut off the engine, grab him by the collar of his suit
jacket, and yank him from the car into the street.
Surprise was her best weapon. She hit him under the
chin with the heel of her hand, felt for a gun, found
it in a shoulder holster, took it and dropped it in
the pocket of her running shorts.
Her blow with her open hand had pounded his head
against the pavement of the street. Dazed, he blinked
his eyes to clear his head and tried to get to his
feet. As he was trying this maneuver, she stepped
hard on his hand, then jammed her foot into his ankle.
A little harder and she could have broken his foot.
She did not want to do that just yet, although it was
a tempting thought.
He felt back to the pavement with a dull-sounding
thump and remained there, spread eagle.
"Police!" he said weakly. "Police."
She couldn't hold back a laugh, even though she was
quite winded from running and, now, this.
"Oh, I thought you were a friend of mine named Dabney
Stone," she said. "Show me a badge. Carefully,
please."
Very slowly, he reached inside his suit jacket and
took forth a badge pinned to a leather holder.
"Why are you following me?"
"Protection," he said.
"Don't," she said.
"I've got orders, lady. I don't have a choice and you
don't have a choice."
She helped him to his feet and handed him his badge.
He appeared to be about 30 years old even though his
hair was already graying at the temples.
"My gun?" he asked.
She took the clip out of the gun and emptied the
bullets into her hand, put the clip back, and handed
him his gun.
"An old custom back where I come from."
"I need those bullets," he said.
"Claim you were robbed," she replied.
"I'll make up a story of some kind. No one would
believe I was beaten up by a lady jogger."
"Good idea," she said.
She left him standing by his car, looking sheepish and
still trying to clear the cobwebs from his head.
When she reached her apartment, she placed her gun
within easy reach as she showered. After she
finished, she noticed the same dark car parked down at
the end of the parking area. She realized, of course,
that they were probably not trailing her just for her
protection. More likely because of the death of the
Mojo Man. A murder like that does create some noise.
The presence of the police, regardless of the reason,
didn't soothe her worries. Didn't even diminish them.
She felt better--more safe--in her MG racing up the
narrow mountain road, along Mulholland Drive with its
phenomenal views now of the San Fernando Valley, now
the Santa Monica Basin, then the vast pictorial that
is Los Angeles proper, a clutter of distant buildings
huddled together, a wide sweep of greenery. The
snub-nosed .22 special was just under her purse in the
front seat.
Tammy coughed and pointed at Zeus' office just as soon
as Susan entered the lobby.
"I've got to pee first," Susan said.
Tammy smiled. "He won't like that."
"Not so. He will be quite thankful, I'm very
positive, that I had some consideration for his
carpet."
Actually, it wasn't nature that called as much as her
need to get to the telephone in her office and call
Nails.
"Nails, would it be possible to dig up anything on
this Lee Brown you met the other day?"
"It was yesterday, honey child. Whatever for?" asked
Nails. "People like that are absolute unimportant.
Believe me. From long experience I can recognize
unimportant people."
She told Nails about the police following her. "And
my phone may be bugged. And, anyway, I need all of
the garbage I can get on these creeps here."
"I'll dig around," Nails said.
"And I'd like to know who it is that's bugging my
phone," Susan said quite loudly.
"You don't have to yell," Nails said. "Especially
about the creeps."
"I just want to make sure that everybody heard me,"
Susan said and hung up.
She glanced at the messages. Maybe two dozen phone
calls were represented by the stack. Two were from
Bill Ferguson. No phone number mentioned. But, of
course, she knew his unlisted number now, didn't she.
One of the phone calls was from Bob Belser's
secretary, saying that Bob would be more than pleased
to grant an interview and that Susan should telephone
for an appointment sometime during the next month.
She hadn't asked for an interview, but this was just
like one of the Twins--no story, no appointment.
She took a telephone message slip and roughly printed
the name Dabney Stone on it, wrinkled the small square
of paper, unfolded it and tried to smooth it out.
En route to Zeus' office for her command performance,
she quickly poked it into his message box behind
Tammy's desk. Later in the day before she left, she
would put one just like it into the message box of Lee
Brown. Serve him right. Dabney Stone would take care
of him proper!
Zeus had a secretary again. They never lasted long.
A scream or two and they were gone. This new
secretary was actually a temporary until he could
replace the secretary that had left a couple of days
ago because of one scream too many or because of the
smoke from his foul pipe. Early in her Songdust
career, she'd had the idea of buying him some less
poisonous pipe tobacco. Someone had pointed out that
the pipe, for Zeus McRae, had several uses, none of
which included a half-decent smell in his office.
The secretary, trying to type a memo, waved her past
her desk toward the door to Zeus' office. The door
was slightly ajar, as if Zeus was expecting her. And
it looked definitely that way once she pushed the door
open and went inside.
His toady, armed with a pen and legal pad, was there.
Lee Brown stood at his side like the statue of some
pharaoh's disciple, ready to give his all, including
his life, if necessary. Yesterday, Susan thought
Lee's face resembled that of some guppy fish. Today,
however, she didn't think it was even that
interesting. There was a rumor that Lee had recently
dumped his wife after they'd adopted four children and
married a heavy-chested clerk he'd met in a flower
shop. Not too long ago, Casey Kasem had done much the
same thing. He'd dropped his wife, a very bright
redhead, and married a blonde actress in spite of his
children with the redhead. She'd often wondered why
and finally decided it was one of the bad aspects of
marriage. The man was usually trying to work his way
up in the world either in his career or his personal
image and felt that a new woman was just the ticket.
Her theory seemed to make sense. But she didn't like
her theory. In her opinion, marriage had to be a
serious business. First, careful selection with
enormous research on the intended. Second, a
thoughtful process. Third, a definite commitment on
the part of both persons involved. No commitment?
Stay away from me!
She certainly had no respect for a pipsqueak who'd
adopt four kids and then dump his ex-wife with them.
Raising kids was not a job for a single parent. Most
of the time anyway. And the single parent had to be
something of a superperson, man or woman.
Zeus was on the phone. As usual. Sometimes in these
impromptu gatherings she had the strange notion that
he was faking a phone call in order to look busy or
important. She believed that there was no one on the
other end of the line.
She stood there, waiting. Zeus did not motion for her
to sit down. She thought about sitting in the single
chair across from his desk, but the chair was very
uncomfortable; she'd discovered this on previous
visits and always stood at sessions such as this one.
Zeus nodded his head, puffed on his pipe, nodded
again.
"I'll take care of it," he said. Then, "Right away."
He hung up the phone reverently with great care,
aiming it into the cradle, lowering it gently into
place.
"Lee here tells me that you have a problem with
assignments," Zeus finally said, staring at Susan,
pipe in hand. She felt like she was being attacked by
that pipe and wondered if it could be considered a
deadly weapon should she have to defend herself.
"What assignments?" Susan asked. "Could I have a list
of these assignments that I've refused?"
"I'm speaking of an extensive interview with George
Green."
"Green? Yes, I've heard that name somewhere.
Basketball player, I think," Susan said, trying to
keep her eyes wide and unassuming. She especially
didn't want them to get the idea that she was making
fun of them.
"He is a personal friend of mine," Lee said.
Susan wagged her head. "You know the policy, Lee.
We're not supposed to do interviews with personal
friends. Sets a bad tone for the magazine."
"When did we adopt that policy?" Lee asked, slightly
concerned.
"Some while ago. I think I still have the memo,"
Susan said.
"I most certainly would like to see that memo," Lee
said.
"I don't recall any such policy myself," Zeus said.
"Well, it's a good policy anyway, don't you think?"
remarked Susan. "Because it depicts a certainly
amount of bias and if you have bias in the stories,
readers and advertisers might assume the magazine also
has bias in its charts. We wouldn't want that to
happen, would we?"
Lee started to speak, "I don't see what...."
But Zeus quickly interrupted him.
"Regardless, I've been given to understand that you
refused to write a story yesterday."
"Not so," said Susan. "I had a very important dinner
with someone regarding the investigation."
That caught Zeus off guard. He stuck his pipe back in
his mouth and smoke began to billow around his head.
She wondered how he did that. All that smoke! She
sensed that he was quite disturbed.
"What investigation?" Zeus asked as soon as he
regained his composure.
"Well, the murder, of course."
"Of course," Zeus said.
"That is not an excuse!" said Lee.
"Tell it to the cops," Susan said. "You wouldn't want
to spend a few months in jail for contempt of court,
would you?"
"It wouldn't be me in jail," Lee said.
"Of course, it would be," said Susan with a wry little
smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "After I told
them you refused to let me give them information about
the murder in my office. They might even get the idea
that you know something about the killer."
"I do not!" said Lee.
"Enough!" said Zeus. "Enough for now. But I want you
to know, dear lady, that refusing to do a story on
this newspaper is tantamount to turning in your
resignation. Do you understand me?"
"Naturally," said Susan. "I wouldn't want it any
other way. I'm sure that Dabney Stone wouldn't want
it any other way either. There's a rumor going the
rounds today that he's attempting to buy something out
here in Los Angeles. I don't know exactly what.
Something in media, though. Maybe a trade magazine, I
heard someone say."
"Stone?" said Zeus, looking out the window as if, for
a moment, caught in thought. "Where have I heard that
name before?"
"I'll check around," Susan said.
"What about my story?" Lee demanded.
"Hey," said Susan. "Set it up. I'll be glad to do
it."
(continued next week)
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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May 31, 2004
Commentary
by
Claude Hall
Gary Allyn,
gallyn@adelphia.net; Jonathan Fricke,
studio2812@msn.com;
Carson Schreiber,
carsonschreiber@socal.rr.com; and Steve Warren,
cny29700@centurytel.net,
sent me a copy of an article
titled "Radio As Art" by Dr. George Pollard,
gpollard@ccs.carleton.ca, associate professor of Arts
and Social Sciences at Carleton University, Ottawa,
Canada. It was originally printed on Don Barrett's
website, LARadio.com. Gary Allyn said, "Claude...read
this great article from today's LARadio.com. It
aligns with your prior comments, and is well
presented, I think."
So I read the article and I recommend you read it.
Perhaps those of you who haven't read the item could
beg Don Barrett, db@thevine.net,
to email you a copy.
Or ask Dr. Pollard for a copy.
One statement by Dr. Pollard: "Radio has an
eighty-three year history, and there have been two
extended eras of excellence--one as a national medium,
the other as a local medium. Expectations of a third
wave of excellence were not out of line. To listen and
find a wasteland, across the dial, surprised me.
Studio musicians often walk through the charts they're
playing and go home. The tracks they lay down are
technically good--perfect, usually--but passionless.
Such was the sound of radio, perfunctory, but far from
perfect. The radio I heard lacked energy, passion and
commitment. Save for a very few, there wasn't much
emotion."
I wrote Dr. Pollard that I thought the article was
excellent and received this back: "Kind words from
one of my heros. Can't believe it. You obviously don't
recall me and the fairly frequent contact we had when
you were with Billboard. The book you did with your
wife, Barbara, always made me believe in the
inexhaustible possibilities of radio. Allow me to say
thanks to you. Am I impressed or what."
At the end of his article, Dr. Pollard recommends
these websites:
www. zimbardo.com
www.dicksummer.com
www.mattoid.com
J. Robert Wood,
jrwood@allstream.net: "Thanks very
much for the kind words in your recent column; I am
flattered to be mentioned in the same breath as the
programming greats you mentioned. Of course, don't
forget Julian Breen, George Johns, or the great Jim
Hilliard--all of whom enjoyed major successes because
of their passion and commitment to creative,
personality radio. Remember WFIL? That was Jim
Hilliard's work. Below is an old quote about radio by
Hunter S. Thompson. Whether or not your readers have
seen it before, I'm sure most will agree there is a
ring of truth to it."
"The radio business is a cruel and shallow money
trench, A long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps
run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a
negative side." --Hunter S. Thompson
Jonathan Fricke,
studio2812@msn.com, writes that he
and his wife have bought a duplex in Nashville.
Daughter Heather will live in one side. Son Jonathan
is doing extremely well in Houston working with a
company called Connect Learning teaching computer
software...the only certified teacher in Texas! He
also consults. Some of his clients include the City of
Houston and Anadarko. Jonathan senior once programmed
KFOX, Los Angeles, but I have a photo in my files that
goes back to Lubbock of Jonathan with Willie Nelson
and, I think, Don Bowman.
Another statement from Dr. George Pollard's article:
"Maybe it's time to dust off some oldsters. Old jocks
never die, their volume just needs boosting. A
generation ago, lot of quality radio artists left for
greener pastures. Many are itching to return. Dan
Nevereth returned, successfully, and rumour is Bill
Gable will be back, shortly. Once you've mainlined
radio as art, you're forever hooked. My sense is the
jocks I heard would accept a job in retail, if it
paid better." Later: " Once upon a time, there was a
young jock, Jerry Blavat, working WCAM, a
thousand-watt station in Camden, New Jersey. He
billed himself as the "Geater with the Heater." (Don't
ask.) WCAM reputedly paid Jerry thirty dollars a
week, but he made $135,000 a year. He knew how to
parley his station job into hard currency."
Jerry Blavat, just FYI, had a record hop business that
was literally insane; he would do as many as four
record hops a night! Crazy. But a lot of the
Philadelphia jocks were big in hops, including Joe
Niagara, Hy Lit. Don't know if Georgie Woods and the
others did hops, but I would think so. Phily was a
record hop town!
You've got to read the Pollard article. Great
memories!
The following is not so much a protest as a
compliment, in my opinion. I've never written an
article that I didn't leave out someone or many
someones. Just for the record, even the printed Vox
Jox column that I wrote for about 14 years in
Billboard was always just about half of what I
actually wrote. A guy would call up and I'd tell him
that, unfortunately, he'd made overset. More than
once, I was asked to send a copy of overset and bill
him. On the other hand, I think that Burt Sherwood
has a right to have his comments. So, everyone, this
is not an argument; it's an observation and credit
really belongs to Don Barrett at LARadio.com for the
original publication of the Pollard article. I just
got copied. Hope Barrett, who got copied, too,
doesn't accuse me of stealing his thunder. But if
we--all of us--don't continue to spread the word about
radio, then and later, no one will ever know. The
roots of radio are deep, the branches of radio are
extensive. In my opinion, all radio men and women
were, at least to some extent, heroes. Some more so
than others. But definitely heroes.
Burt Sherwood,
bohica1@comcast.net, writing to Carson
Schreiber: "Hi..have known about you for a lot of
years...Bill Hennes sent the article to me...a lot of
the best of radio you left out...Herb Oscar Anderson,
the greatest morning ever heard in rock radio in New
York, took two stations to number one...ours WMCA,
then on to WABC...and left a legacy for Harry Harrison
(who used to be my relief man) to carry on...one
glaring error in your article...Jack Thayer was NEVER
the manager of WNBC...he was President of NBC radio,
and my boss when I ran his Chicago outlets...the
article was great...Bill Gable is good...Hennes is the
best music man I ever worked with (he could smell a
hit before it hit the turntable...and we made a lot of
money for a lot of people doing just that)...and no, I
am not looking for any publicity...this is a personal
note to you...you left a lot out...I was a bit put out
by your leaving WMCA out of your article, let alone
WINS...WMCA was number one in the late 50s and 60s
with numbers that stagger the imagination, we paved
the way for WABC...and what about creativity and the
name Alan Freed, etc...hope to meet you one day."
Carson (a fan of radio) Schreiber,
carsonschreiber@socal.rr.com: "Hi, Burt. Thanks for
your email. It was great to hear from you. Also, I
have read and heard about you for years. My only
intent for this email is to seek information and not
to offend anyone. I have a great passion for the
history of radio. I did not write the article, 'Radio
as Art', which was on Don Barrett's LARadio.com
website, I only passed it on to a bunch of friends.
Professor Pollard wrote the article and his email is
listed below and I have copied him on this email. I
do not know Professor Pollard, but I thought his
article was fabulous, that's why I passed it on. I
know that you have a correction and maybe you thought
that he left out some very important and legendary
names, and I agree, but it's difficult to write an
article and include everything without losing the
overall message. WMCA was a great station. Alan
Freed was the legend that started it all. My first job
in radio was in 1965 at KRLA. I was in the promotion
dept. Mel Hall was the PD who hired me. The air
talent was Emperor Hudson, Charlie O'Donnell, Casey
Kasem, Dave Hull, Bob Eubanks, Dick Biondi, Bill
Slater and relief was Gary Mack and Johnny Hayes.
KRLA's numbers were great. The 1965 Jan-Feb Pulse
showed us with a 27 share, Dave Hull in afternoon
drive had a 35. Along came Bill Drake and KHJ, but
they never reached our numbers. I don't have the
Pulse or Hooper surveys, but I have been told that
Gene Weed and B. Mitchell Reed (also was at WMCA) had
all-time high ratings on KFWB. How about the
beginning of Top 40 with Todd Storz and Bill Stewart
and then the McLendon stations? There is so much
great radio history. Claude Hall brings up a good
point (his email is listed below), articles will last
for a long time on the internet. They will become
history. The real events, if not documented properly
will be forgotten. In October 2003, I was a guest
lecturer for Professor Robert Gustafson's 'History of
Broadcasting' course at Cal State Northridge. I did
research on the Internet and I found discrepancies. I
belong to SPERDVAC, Society to Preserve and Encourage
Radio Drama Variety And Comedy. This organization is
for old-time radio and ends at the start of local
radio with air talent in and around the mid fifties. I
know that there are many various websites that have
radio station history, airchecks and jingles, several
radio hall of fames, NAB, etc. However, I don't know
of an organization that correctly documents format
radio from the fifties to the present other than going
to the library and reading old trade magazines. I
would like to know if any one place exits for this
information. I have loved radio since I can first
remember, 4 or 5 years old. I remember listening to
Dick Whitinghill on KMPC, Dick Haynes on KLAC and the
KLAC Big Five. Listening to Bob Kelly's sports play
by play of LA Rams games and LA Angels PCL baseball
games. KFWB Color Radio, the KRLA 11 Ten Men, etc.
Vin Scully's play by play of the Dodgers. Thanks for
your interest and I also hope to meet you someday."
I suppose that I helped set off some of the above
discussion when I emailed Dr. Pollard and copied Gary
Allyn and Carson Schreiber as well as Don Barrett. I
guess that what all of this really indicates is that
radio is still a hell of a lot of fun!
There's a list of radio memories floating about on the
Internet. Don Keith,
don_keith@bellsouth.net,
originated it and I checked out his website and there
were all of these books mentioned. Just for the heck
of it, I sent him the following note: "Don, Saw the
radio memories thing. It's being circulated and
coming at me from many directions. You're evidently a
hustler as well as a writer. I'm still writing. Used
to get published. Now, I'm running stuff on my
website
www.claudehallonline.com. How do you get a
publisher? Hell, I can't even get an agent!"
Don Keith,
n4kc@bellsouth.net: "Good to hear from you.
Yeah, that's all part of the promotional game...plus
I enjoyed putting that list together. Getting an agent
is almost as hard as getting published, but a good
one is worth whatever commission he demands.
Unfortunately, mine is cutting back and only working
with a few of us. I dread the day he decides to give
it all up and go fishing. Only advice I can give is
the obvious...keep pluggin'! You can find lists of
agents in several writers' publications and look for
someone who handles material similar to what you
write. Of course, you can keep approacing publishers,
too. They sometimes (but not very often) take
unagented material. However, if you have a compelling
book proposal, and with your background, you might be
able to connect if you can get it to the right person.
I did a radio novel, WIZARD OF THE WIND, with St.
Martins Press, one of the majors. Of my twelve books,
it's the only one not still in print. Maybe with the
state of the industry today nobody wants to read about
radio...not even the guys working in the biz. Oh,
well. I did 32 years on air, in management and
ownership, and with Tapscan and Arbitron. I still miss
it every single day. Especially being on the air.
Feel free to pass the list along to anyone you think
might enjoy it. I lived through each of those
decades. And good luck with the writing. Let me know
how you do. I've bookmarked your site and will visit
often. (PS: I did a signing at the Borders across
from the Galleria in Henderson a couple of months ago.
Wish I had known you were out there. I'd have bought
you lunch!)"
Don Keith's website is
www.donkeith.com.
Jim Rose,
rosekkkj@earthlink.net: "To answer your
question, CHARLIE WALKER was a DJ at KMAC AM in San Antonio!
Great guy! CHARLIE used to come visit a
couple of my KBUC remote broadcasts in the 60s! You
mentioned, undeniably, one of the greatest songwriters
ever, next to WILLIE, my late friend LEON PAYNE! LEON
used to call every once in awhile when I was on the
air at KBUC. We'd just talk about every-day things. I
was still very young, only about 24 years old in 1969!
If I could talk with LEON PAYNE today, all we would
discuss is where he came up with the tremendous ideas
for writing his wonderful songs! Years ago, heard one
of those N.O.W. women putting down LEON's 'I Love You
Because' as not showing respect for women! She had no
earthly idea what she was talking about! Those of us
who knew LEON knew he was blind. He was merely
thanking his wife for the wonderful life she had given
him! LEON PAYNE was a tender-hearted man with a huge
GOD given song writing talent! LEON died in 1969. Got
out of Radio in 1982, thought would never happen. Went
to work for Shell Oil for 'security'. When the price
of oil hit $8 a bbl, on December 17, 1985, I left
Shell a happy man! Why did I ever get out of my true
love, Radio? Spent most of 1986 reveling in the fact
that I was set free! Did a little Saturday morning
show on KSBJ FM for awhile, but the 50-60 mile drive
was too much for me! Later, went back to KILT FM for
the second time, 1993-97. After awhile, KILT's
programming got the bright idea 'We can use this JIM
ROSE all day long!' That was their mentality. Many
times, I would get off the air on KILT FM and run
across the building to go on again on KILT AM! Adored
every single minute of it. Back on the air at such a
legendary Radio Station as KILT is indescribable! For
many weeks I was on KILT AM for 10 hours straight on
Sunday afternoons! Still did my KILT FM airwork, too!
It was OK until about the 8th hour. You run out of
things to say and have played all the good songs. I
thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it, though! I was
seasoned, as they call it. Experience at my second
Radio Station, KTER, put me in gear. I ended up being
on the air from sign-on to sign-off everyday
Monday-Friday for several weeks! Now that was quite a
feat! You pulled and cued up all your records, read
all the commercials live, ripped'n'read all the
Newscasts! 10 hours straight at KILT AM with all
songs either on cart or c-d, all commercials on cart
and there was no News to read on Sunday afternoon was
really just a joy ride for me! Something happened one
day when I was on KILT FM that was ironic and
describes the power of Radio! TOM FONTAINE was on KILT AM at the
same time. TOM came running across the old
KILT building's second floor, slung the door wide open
yelling 'Answer your phone!' A woman had called TOM
over at KILT AM trying to reach me on KILT FM! The
KILT FM lines stayed lit up! Here's the clincher, she
was a girl I had dated in San Antonio over 20 years
earlier, she had never been married back then! Her
19-year-old daughter was listening to me as they were
driving around in their truck! Mother told her
daughter that she used to date that guy on the Radio
right there, JIM ROSE! Her daughter didn't believe
her! It was true! Something I had fun with was I would
cross-plug myself when on the air Saturday nights on
KILT FM by saying 'Tune in again tomorrow morning at 9
o'clock on KILT AM and I'll play your Oldie request!'
CLAUDE, my friend from KFJZ days, LARRY SHANNON, has been trying
to discourage me about my obsession to
jump right back into radio because Radio has changed
so much. Still gotta get back in! Received a really
surprizing email from BOBBY VEE, MONDAY! BOBBY told
me he enjoyed reading about my days at WFAA-820 in
Dallas in your column. What made this email from
BOBBY so surprizing is that I have just about every
one of his fabulous records in my huge collection! I
have many, many favorite singers, but to me, BOBBY is
right up there along side ELVIS, who is my favorite!
BOBBY said you were a neighbor of his in L-A! BOBBY
spoke very highly of you, CLAUDE! BOBBY said he is
doing a show in Las Vegas this weekend and is gonna
give you a call! So, be prepared! Heard from MICHAEL
JAMES LUCAS, who read what I said in your column the
other day! MIKE and I had great times at KXOL in the
70s! MIKE's been back in Austin for a number of years.
CLAUDE, please ask your many readers to say a little
prayer for my precious Kei-Kou. She's gotten to where
she won't eat a thing except daddy's Lime Sherbet and
drinks water. She's lost nearly 20 pounds. The Vet
took a blood sample, said that Kei-Kou's gotten old
and is selective in what she eats. Akita dogs are
stubborn, too! She's all I have in this world. Please
ask your many readers for prayer so she will start
eating again."
Jim, I can still sing (badly, I admit, but good enough
for taking a shower) some of the lyrics to "Lost
Highway." One of the best songs ever written and due
for a hit record again one of these days. By the way,
Jim, I mentioned your email to Bobby Vee and he said
he had a lot of good memories about that station.
Heard from Bobby Vee Saturday afternoon before his
show at the Cannery in Las Vegas. He said they
expected to have a packed audience. He did some
on-air stuff with Jim Zippo for KQOL 93.1, an oldies
station. Praised Jim. "He's a really nice guy." Jim
does the morning show on the station. His email is
JimZippo@KQOL.com.
Nice to know someone like Bobby. He's one of the
most-giving people you'll ever meet. Fans like him
because he will stay and talk with them before and
after a show and, god, some of them love him. For
example, Ed and Charla Stange,
kkrecord@aol.com, who
own the Krazy Kat record store in Albuquerque, NM. If
they'd known--it was a sudden booking--that Bobby was
going to be in town, they would have been there for
the show. Guarantee you!
Two of Bobby's five-man band are sons Tommy, bass, and
Jeff, drums. Son Robby, who used to be with the band,
is now out on his own and doing well. Bobby said he'd
booked Robby and his band a couple of shows. Isn't
that something? A father booking his son for a show?
I sort of wish I had the energy to go over to the
Cannery tonight to catch the Bobby Vee show; he's
always entertaining. But I'm earning a huge
reputation for staying home--and rightly so. All of
those rumors being spread by Bruce Miller Earle, Gary
Smithwick, and my wife and sons is absolutely correct.
Soon everyone will be referring to me as "that
curmudgeon" or Claude "Curmudgeon" Hall.
LIFE, as seen by a curmudgeon
The right, as well as the ability, to perceive and to
make decisions on these perceptions...this is the key
asset of a human being. When this right and this
ability--for they are two separate things--are taken
away, you, as a human being, become mere animal. No
more so than the cow grazing in the field. The right
to perceive and decide in America is supposedly
granted by the Constitution. Under the present
administration, this Constitution has been defiled in
countless ways, not the least of which has been the
abuses of prisoners and feeble rationalizations for
these horrid crimes (the work of inhumans and their
inhuman masters all of the way up to the Pentagon and
perhaps even the White House).
The ability to perceive is being robbed from us by
lies, the majority of which have never been proven. I
speak of "mass graves" never found, weapons of mass
destruction never found, the hiding of the real
numbers of people killed and mained not only among the
Iraqis, but among Americans. In his talk on Monday,
May 24, 2004, Bush spoke only of a beheading of an
American. This, in effect, was an attempt to diminish
your perception of the abuses of the Iraqi prisoners,
the Iraqi civilians. The artillery shell with sarin
and a couple of others with mustard gas are being
tossed out as "weapons of mass destruction." All old
soldiers laugh. And these three or four old shells
are an excuse to destroy a nation?
The Dixie Chicks started the fray against Bush with a
comment from a London stage. A lot more are joining
in these days. Willie Nelson, etc. The media
reported that author E.L. Doctorow, who penned
"Ragtime," was boo'd by a few students at his
commencement address at Hofstra University. They did
not mention the students who cheered his
anti-administration speech; what he mostly did was
point to the lies that Bush is telling the public.
Disney was so afraid of what Jeb Bush would do, they
refused to distribute Michael Moore's new movie even
though it won the highest award at the Cannes Film
Festival. A guy the media can't scare, believe me, is
Jimmy Breslin. In a Newsday column a week ago,
Breslin stated: "That George Bush made a speech to
his country the other night and did not utter a word
about the prison torture in Baghdad was an omission of
the greatest magnitude. Bush and the people who tell
him what to say, somebody named Karl Rove is the main
influence, didn't have the slightest conception of
what the 30 murders are. They think it's something
you can leave out of a major speech and nobody will
notice. And the people associate it immediately with
Nazis."
Just FYI, in my younger days when I worked at Fawcett,
Breslin used to borrow my typewriter to write sports
articles. God, but he was a great sports writer! One
he wrote about Bob Cousy was a masterpiece.
More and more Americans are perceiving the lies that
Bush's administration is trying to cram down our
throats. Lies about the economy. Bush says it's
surging when it's in the pits. Lies about the reason
gasoline prices are stealing you and me blind! Lies
about the dead and the wounded (Breslin pointed out
that "The one military center Bush avoids is Dover Air
Force in Dover, Del., where they bring in the dead
bodies from Iraq." Lies about education, lies and
deceptions about prescription drugs, lie upon lie upon
lie! We have a bunch of lying creeps in the White
House. No doubt about it.
Al Gore, cheated out of the presidency of the United
States, said this in a recent speech about Bush and
his cronies: "The same dark spirit of domination has
led them to--for the first time in American
history--imprison American citizens with no charges,
no right to see a lawyer, no right to notify their
family, no right to know of what they are accused, and
no right to gain access to any court to present an
appeal of any sort. The Bush Admistration has even
acquired the power to compel librarians to tell them
what any American is reading, and to compel them to
keep silent about the request--or else the librarians
themselves can also be imprisoned. They have launched
an unprecedented assault on civil liberties, on the
right of the courts to review their actions, on the
right of the Congress to have information to how they
are spending the public's money and the right of the
news media to have information about the policies they
are pursuing."
This is not a picture of Nazi Germany. Gore's speech
paints a picture of Nazi America.
Gore said in his speech that, "There was then, there
is now and there would have been regardless of what
Bush did, a threat of terrorism that we would have to
deal with. But instead of making it better, he has
made it infinitely worse. We are less safe because of
his policies. He has created more anger and righteous
indignation against us as Americans than any leader of
our country in the 228 years of our existence as a
nation -- because of his attitude of contempt for any
person, institution or nation who disagrees with him.
He has exposed Americans abroad and Americans in every
U.S. town and city to a greater danger of attack by
terrorists because of his arrogance, willfulness, and
bungling at stirring up hornet's nests that pose no
threat whatsoever to us. And by then insulting the
religion and culture and tradition of people in other
countries. And by pursuing policies that have resulted
in the deaths of thousands of innocent men, women and
children, all of it done in our name."
We, as a nation, must vote Bush gone and start
repairing our image and our souls.
I was just sitting on the patio with Barbara and I
remarked that I must be losing my touch because I
haven't been accused of treason in several weeks now.
Of course, another reason is that more and more people
are beginning to think like I do. The treasonmongers
are becoming ineffective, losing steam, no new
arguments. Even the word treason loses meaning when
it's yelled too often by the Bushites in an attempt to
cover up their horrid blunders and crimes against
humanity.
Come November, the reckoning and the awakening.
For those of you who did not hear the speech of Al
Gore last week, MoveOn is circulating copies. It is a
great speech that details what Bush has done and is
doing to you. I would be more than pleased to send
anyone who wishes a copy.
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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