How do you find information about a gray-haired
homeless man who possessed only vague memories about
his past and hadn't the slightest idea how he'd ended
up drunk, suffering from cancer, laying in an alley in
El Paso covered with trash?

"I don't know where to even start," said Xtery.

"In the alley, of course," said Miles.

"I recommend we take time first," said Bdudd, "to let
him bath.  It would be the polite thing to do."

"We can't take time for foolish things like that,"
said the old vagrant.

"What she's saying, politely, of course, is that we
can't stand your smell," said Muduud.  "I hope you
aren't offended, but Verdidiuns are highly sensitive
to odors.  I don't know why.  I wasn't aware of such
things until I came to earth."

"Well, I guess that's different," agreed Miles.  "But
I took a bath once and I didn't smell any better."

But Bdudd and Muduud would hear none of that argument.

"This time, we suggest using soap," said Muduud. 
"Baths are better when you use soap.  At least that's
what we've discovered happens with Starr."

"You've watched me bath?" she said in an outraged
tone.

"Bdudd did," said Muduud.  "As for me, I found the
process rather boring."

"Well, I'm glad about that!" she said.  "But perhaps I
should be even more insulted."

She glared at Xtery as if it was his fault.  Which, he
realized, was probably the truth.

"I wasn't aware that they were that interested in
you," he explained.

"I wasn't," said Muduud.

"I was," said Bdudd.  "And I still am.  I wanted to
know what Xtery found attractive in you.  Because I've
studied his file and he has never been interested in
any other female.  Certainly no Tarrmellan woman.  I
wanted to know why.  It could be useful information."

Xtery shrugged his shoulders at the next glance from
Starr.  "I was aware that they were probably watching
me, but I wasn't aware of it to that extent."

"It was a full-time job," said Muduud.

"But the pay was very bad," added Bdudd, as if that
made amends for everything.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Xtery.  "I would be
resentful if you were getting rich because of me."

"Did you hear that?" Bdudd asked Muduud.  "Sarcasm!"

"Yes.  His first, I'm sure!" said Muduud.  "Honest
sarcasm."

"What so all-fire important about that?" asked Miles
as Bdudd found a pen and paper and began to make
notes.

"He has never done it before," said Bdudd.  "We think
it's because of the girl."

"Meaning me?"

Starr stood up and shifted restlessly about the room
as if they were all watching her and she wanted to
escape the onslaught of their eyes.

"Yes, you," Bdudd told Starr.  "He has changed a lot
since he met you.  We believe he may have gone
native."

"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" asked Miles.

"I don't know," said Xtery.  "I'm positive, however,
of two things.  First, Bdudd and Muduud may not know
it yet, but they're out of a job.  Xtarso Divhuud will
see to that because of everything that's happened. 
They will be blamed the same as me.  Second, I've
forgotten what the second thing was."

"See?" said Bdudd, as if that was positive proof for
her claim.  She fluttered her wings in excitement.

"It'll come back to me," said Xtery.

"Well?"

"In a moment!" he said.

"He never forgot anything before he met you," she told
Starr.  She was so intrigued with the idea that she
flew about the room before coming to rest on the arm
of the couch by Miles.  "You really must take a bath,"
she told Miles.  "I insist."

"If that's the way it has to be," said Miles, "point
me in the direction of the bathroom and I'll go do my
duty to human kind."

"And aliens," said Starr.

"Aliens, too."

Bdudd took Starr into the corner of the room for a
"woman-to-woman" talk.

"Should we have a man-to-man talk?" asked Muduud.

"No," said Xtery.

He was quite positive that the cute little Verdidiun
and Starr were talking about him.  Once, he saw Starr
throw a quick glance his direction, but she quickly
looked away.

"Aren't we going to doing anything?"

"No," Xtery said with emphasis.

"They are not talking about you," said Muduud.

"Who cares!"

"Bdudd is telling her about lizards," said Muduud.

"Oh, my god!" moaned Xtery.

He could have listened in on their conversation, of
course.  But it didn't seem the right thing to do at
the moment.  As he sat there, moment by moment, he was
almost on the verge of doing so.  Then he would change
his mind.  Then it was too late.  Because an
astonishing sight walked into the room--Miles Davis.

He was wearing a pair of casual gray slacks, a sports
shirt, and a dark gray jacket and he looked like a man
with a million dollars.  His new shoes shined with a
dark gleam and even his eyes sparkled with a new glow.

"You smell good!" said Bdudd said.

"Some fancy cologne," said Miles.  "Don't think they
had this kind of stuff back where I came from.  But,
of course, I don't really know that for sure."

"Shall we use the car?" asked Xtery.

"Naturally," said Miles.  "We don't want to appear
conspicuous...or whatever the term is."

"A beautiful blonde, two fairies, an old man, and a
lizard...how could we possibly appear out of the
ordinary?" remarked Xtery.  "Especially at 3 a.m. in
the morning."

"See?" Bdudd told Starr.  "Humor, too.  He has really
changed a lot."

"Most of it for the worse," said Muduud.  "I liked the
old Xtery Xudd best."

"Is that your name?" asked Miles.

"I prefer Smith, I think."

"Me, too," said Miles.  "I can't pronounce that other
name.  No way!"

"An adventure!" said Bdudd with glee as they left the
house and climbed into the Volkswagen Beetle.

"Good car," said Miles.

"Won't run," said Bdudd.  "He pushes it.  Sort of."

"Makes the adventure even more of an adventure," said
Miles.  "You want me to drive?"

"Of course not," said Xtery.  "My car.  I drive."

"Shucks," said Miles, obviously disappointed.  "They
don't make them like this anymore."

"Actually, that is quite true," Xtery said.  "On the
other hand, it's also quite true that they don't
unmake them like this anymore either."

"See?" Bdudd told Starr.  "Another joke.  Xtery is
almost funny."

"I don't see the humor in that one," Miles said.

"This car doesn't run," said Muduud.  "He stole it
from a junkyard and merely splashed some paint over it
to make it look good.  But it's missing a lot of
parts, including, I think, brakes."

"Brakes?" said Miles rather loudly.  "I'm not about to
get in that car.  No, siree."

"In!" ordered Xtery.  "Everybody in."

Miles reluctantly crawled into the backseat of the
small car, followed by Bdudd and Muduud.  Like the
Porsche sports car, the Volkswagen had been designed
by Dr. Porsche as an answer to Germany's personal
transportation problem.  Hitler promised one in every
garage.  He would have been surprised to learn that
his promise had literally come true not only in
Germany, but at one point in many other countries
around the world.  These days, you didn't see that
many Beetles in the United States, although the breed
was still quite popular in some Latin American
countries.

"How are you going to drive if there are no brakes or,
as Muduud says, other parts?"

"It's a mental trick," Xtery told Starr.  "On Tarrmell
even kids can do it."

"Every time we went anywhere in this car, it actually
couldn't run?" asked Starr.

"Without help," said Xtery.

"Teach me."

"Take too long," Xtery said.  "Anyway, I'm not sure
that it's the sort of trick you would be able to do. 
That is, you probably can do some tricks.  Just what
tricks, I don't know."

"Are you some kind of superior being?"

She stared at him rather closely, as if, for the first
time, really examining him.  He felt uncomfortable
under her gaze.

"No," he said.  "This trick might seem astonishing to
you, but on Tarrmell there are people who can do some
rather interesting things.  I mean, things...tricks
that I certainly find interesting.  But some people
can't do them.  It doesn't mean one is superior and
the other not...just that they know more than I do or
have had specialized training and practice.  I would
think that the same philosophy applies here.  Probably
has a lot to do with environment, culture, things like
that.  The way you were brought up as compared to how
I was brought up."

"Enough chatter," said Miles.  "Get this buggy gone."

"This is a lot of fun, I'm sure," said Bdudd, "but I
wished we'd just pop wherever we're going."

"Naw," said Miles.  "I've always fancied myself in a
limo driven by a chauffeur.  And I've now got one heck
of a chauffeur.  Best a guy could have.  Let's drive
over to El Paso and take a look see at whatever we can
see to see."

Xtery slid the gate aside and drove the little blue
Beetle out of the patio.  At this time of the morning,
there was no traffic on the road into Juarez and they
reached the bridge quickly, Bdudd chattering away
while sitting on Starr's shoulder.

"Better go invisible," Xtery told Bdudd and Muduud.

"We are," said Bdudd.

"That's funny," said Starr.  "I can still see you,
Bdudd."

"That is, indeed, funny," said Xtery.

"I can't see them," said Miles.  "Wondered where they
went."

"Can you see Muduud?" Xtery asked, just to make sure.

"Yes," Starr said.

The implications of Starr being able to see the pair
of Verdidiuns even when they were invisible to the
rest of the world, including Miles, was interesting to
Xtery.  Sometimes when they were invisible, Xtery saw
them.  Other times not.  He thought it had something
to do with their wishes, not his own.  Anyway,
sometimes he sensed their presence although they were
invisible.  He had never told them that he had this
ability.  For a long time, he'd suspected that they
were watching him and taking notes.  So, he thought it
was okay for him to observe them and take mental notes
as well.

And he now added Starr to his list of people to study.
 Before, he hadn't infringed upon her personal rights.
 She was, after all, his wife.  But now, out of fear
and because he wasn't sure whether she still loved him
or not, he observed every motion that she made, every
word that she spoke.  An ordinary person might have
thought she was now a member of the team, if you could
call this ridiculous entourage a team.  Xtery did not.
 A few shorts hours ago, she'd been either throwing
something at him, throwing something at the wall, or
throwing a tantrum.  Now, she seemed to be enjoying
the adventure of the occasion.  Naturally, he was
suspicious!

Perhaps she was planning something.  Perhaps all earth
women were devious in nature.  Always planning
something.  Conniving!

The alleyway in Juarez where he'd made contact with
the vagrant/alien Miles Davis proved to be a
disappointment.

The graffiti was still there.

"This was not done by a Bill Pearson," Miles said as
he studied some of the graffiti up close.

"Who is Bill Pearson?" Bdudd asked.

"A professional cartoonist, I heard about.  Quite good
at drawing nubile maids being chased by BEMs.  Fellars
like that Xtarso Divhuud character."

"I think I must protest on behalf of Xtarso Divhuud. 
He would never chase nubile maids," said Xtery.

"Come now!" demanded Miles.  "How do you really know? 
Because I sort of got the feeling that you didn't know
this Xtarso Divhuud very well...nor did you want to."

"Okay, okay," said Xtery.  "Maybe you're right about
that.  And, anyway, the idea is fairly amusing."

"The lettering is quite amateurish, in a way," said
Starr.  "Maybe on purpose.  Maybe not.  But I suspect
they were in a hurry when they wrote this.  The word
LIZZARD is even misspelled."

"Looks okay to me," said Miles.  "Of course, I'm only
from Alabama."

"Misspelled," agreed Bdudd.

"You sure?" he asked in a sharper tone of voice.

"It's misspelled," said Xtery, before an argument
could develop because Bdudd seemed about to get huffy.
 Her wings fluttered rapidly, her hands rested on her
hips.

"Trash," said Muduud.  He was visible now.  He circled
over the cans and the old newspapers, the cardboard
boxes, the empty bottles.

"Don't blame me," said Miles.  "I'm only responsible
for putting me there, not putting all of that stuff
there."

"Do you remember how you got here?" asked Xtery.

Miles shook his head.  "Nope.  I was drunk."

Starr walked over and picked up a newspaper and
stepped over to the glow thrown by a streetlight at
the entrance to the alley.

"Pretty clean trash," she said.

"Trash is trash," said Muduud.

"Did you place that psychological attachment syndrome
on me...you know, the snake on a pig's back thing?"

"I don't remember that either.  Maybe it was an
instinctive sort of thing because I don't think I know
how to do something like that," Miles told Xtery.

"Well, you certainly know how to teleport," Xtery
pointed out.  "We've already proved that."

Miles turned and walked over to Starr.  "What do you
mean clean trash?"

"Look at this newspaper," she said, holding it so that
he could read the front page.

"Looks just like a newspaper to me," said Miles,
bending over the page.  "The Gazette."

"Not even wrinkled," she said.

"Well, that happens, I suppose, even with trash,"
Miles said.

"Published in Area 51," she added.

"Funny name for a town," he said.

"That's the place that doesn't exist," said Bdudd.

"Great place for a newspaper," Miles said.  "Everyone
not there could read it."

"But, of course, it actually does exist," Bdudd
continued, "except that the government doesn't want
you to know about it."

"Do they actually have a newspaper there?" Xtery asked
Bdudd.

"No," she said.

"So, the newspaper is a fake?" Miles asked.

"Guess so," said Bdudd.

"Do you know about Area 51?" Starr asked Xtery.

"If you want to know something about Area 51, ask
Bdudd," Xtery said.  "She's been there.  Against
orders, I might add."

"Me, too," said Muduud.  "But Bdudd knows more about
everything.  She always does.  And sometimes she
doesn't tell me everything."

"They weren't orders about not going," said Bdudd. 
"They were only suggestions."

"Strong suggestions," said Xtery.

"It's a bunch of buildings out in the middle of this
desert in the middle of Nevada by an old dry lake,"
she told Starr.  "Top secret."

"If it's so top secret, how did you find it?" Miles
asked.

"Everyone knows about it," said Bdudd.  "Many
important people who work there live in Las Vegas. 
They park their cars in a special place at McCarren
Airport and fly up to Area 51 on a plane with the
windows all covered up so they won't know where
they're going.  Muduud and I went along for the trip
one night just for fun.  But it wasn't much fun.  They
all got off the plane at Area 51 and worked on a weird
flying thing.  After a few hours, they got back on the
airplane and went back to Las Vegas."

"The weird flying thing... it wouldn't have been a
flying saucer, perhaps?" asked Starr.

"No, but there was something that might have been a
flying saucer in a huge man-made cave in the mountain.
 But no one bothered with it while we were there, they
were all working on this weird flying thing."

"What did it look like," asked Miles.

"Like a weird flying thing," Muduud said.

"Is that all you know?" he demanded with a touch of
sarcasm.

"It is enough," said Muduud, refusing to back away
from the steady glare that Miles gave him.

"Which building was the weird flying thing in, at
least?  Can you tell me that?"

"It wasn't actually in a building.  They were working
on it in a cavern far underground.  Underneath the
buildings.  The buildings were used for offices,
living quarters for the guards, some workshops.  But
mostly everything was deep underground."

"Frustrating," said Miles.

"Hardly," said Xtery.

"Aren't you interested in what's going on at this
place?" Miles asked.

"I'm more interested," said Xtery, "in why they want
us to think something's going on there.  The trail is
much too obvious.  A fake newspaper?"

"Then we aren't going up to Area 51 to check things
out?" asked Miles.  "Because I'd personally like to
know something about that kinda thing."

"I'd like to go," said Starr.

"Us, too!" chimed in Bdudd and Muduud.

Xtery sighed, was aware that he'd sighed and also
aware that he'd shrugged his shoulders, both
expressions quite uncharacteristic of the man that he
used to be.

"I think I've fallen into the middle of a circus," he
said.

"What's a circus?" asked Miles.

Xtery stared at him.  "You know all about cartoonists,
including someone such as Bill Pearson, but you don't
know anything about the circus."

"Hey!" said Miles.  "Remember that I'm from Alabama. 
You have to overlook a lot of things about my
upbringing."

"I suppose," said Xtery.  "But only for the present. 
Only for the present."

"See!  Different man entirely," Bdudd told Starr.  "He
never used to repeat himself."

"Everybody back in the Volkswagen," Xtery said.

"It's too far to drive," said Bdudd.

"I know," said Xtery.

(continued next week)

Funny that it should matter after all of these
years...a record by an artist respected only by a few
people at the time (though she has, indeed, become a
legend since then), respected and treasured namely by
a record producer named Jerry Wexler of Atlantic
Records...a lady just then dumped by Columbia Records
after, as I recall, six albums that didn't do all that
well because of a lack of a hit single to propel LP
sales.  Aretha Franklin.  We're talking about the 60s.
 Back when music was really important and great music
worth a story in Billboard magazine.  Worth a story
somewhat because it was an unusual event, but mostly
because Paul Ackerman was Jerry Wexler's mentor and
Paul was interested in the deep south because he loved
the blues more than most people did then or do now.
Hard blues.  Gutty blues.  Paul had a master's degree
from Columbia University, I believe, and he knew
Chaucer and could quote Chaucer, but he also knew what
a Yancy bass line was and also could quote Hank
Williams.  He was, all said, a very unusual person,
this mentor of Jerry Wexler who was, and I consider
myself blessed, also my own mentor during those early
Billboard years.

Paul Ackerman, a most gentle soul in what was
sometimes a very tough business, would take me to
lunch on occasion.  Not with just anyone.  We got
invited out a lot and didn't go a lot.  But when he
thought it might help me learn more about the music
business Paul would do lunch.  And he took me to lunch
with him and Jerry Wexler that day.  It was a good
lunch.  Not so much the food; I don't even remember
what we ate.  But the conversation was golden.  And
Jerry was excited because he'd just produced a record
in Alabama by Aretha Franklin that he knew--absolutely
knew--was going to be a hit.  Jerry didn't really want
to talk about Muscle Shoals because he was leery the
place would become overcrowded once other record
producers found out about it.  Bu Jerry, like many in
the music business including Sam Phillips (Elvis,
Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis) seldom refused Paul
anything and more than one recording artist owes a
great deal of their career to the fact that Paul
suggested them.  Just FYI, Paul never participated in
these successes in any way, shape or form.  I doubt if
some of them, such as Charlie Rich, even knew Paul's
name.

So, I wrote the story for Billboard, circa 1964, and
the headline was "There's Gold in Them There Piney
Woods."

Hal Smith sent a link to a website in Alabama for
Muscle Shoals Recording Studio.  Had a computer glich
and lost the address, but I think you can locate it.

I checked it out.  No mention of Rick Hall, the man
who built--so far as I know--the first recording
studio down in the piney woods of Alabama.

I said a week or so ago that Rick was no relation, but
the Halls were here early in Pennsylvania and then
drifted south into Virginia and then Alabama and
Missouri before they were Alabama and Missouri. So,
the probability is fairly strong that all of those
Missouri and Alabama Halls are distant relatives.  My
branch meandered up and down the Mississippi and then
over into Texas four or five generations ago.  I saw a
photo of John Abner Hall once.  The log and rock cabin
he built is now a pile of rocks in the Whitehall
community nine miles north of Gatesville, Texas.  You
wouldn't have enjoyed meeting him in a dark alley.
But you had to be a rough sort to live in that area
back then.  If you think Davey Crockett and Jim Bowie
and those people were really heros, you haven't really
studied Texas history.  The real Texican was quite
unique.

Anyway, I wonder what happened to Rick Hall.  He told
me once that he used to write songs and drive up to
Nashville, sleep the night in his car, wash up and
shave in a gasoline station bathroom, and go see Chet
Atkins.  Chet in those days would slip him a few
dollars and place the song on the B side of something
he was producing.  I would imagine that Chet did that
sort of thing for a lot of people.  I always heard
good things about Chet.

Anyway, it was Rick Hall who built the first recording
studio in Muscle Shoals, to the best of my knowedge.
The studio on the website has to be later.  That's
just my guess, of course.

OTHER MATTERS
Jackie Wilson, KeokiWC@aol.com:  "After reading your
column of Feb. 21 and your mention of Jimmy Heap, I
wanted to tell you I went to Taylor High School with
him.  He and my first husband were in the class of
1940 and I was two years behind.  all during high
school, his nickname was 'Possum' and he hated to be
called that after he became 'famous'.  We used to go
to Deseau Hall every Saturday night and dance every
dance.  One of his Melody Makers was Billy Glendining
and he and I were in the same class up to the ninth
grade in Hutto, then I moved to the big city of Taylor
in 1939.  You said Jimmy's music was 'awful' and
that's true, but it was the best we had at the time.
I was also very familiar with the Hilltop in Austin.
Enclosed is a CD I made for you and I'm sure you will
get your fill of Texas music, but it's fun to listen
to sometimes."

Lord!  Deseau Hall.  Hilltop!  Few would remember many
of those places, a la Cherry Springs.  But these were
the places in which Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash cut
their musical teeth.  Webb Pierce and others, too.
Too many to mention.  We had a lot of good music in
that area and, yes, Jimmy Heap wasn't the best of
them.  General feeling was that you had to get two or
three bottles of beer under your belt before you could
stand to listen to him and thus I surmise that he sold
a heck of a lot of Lone Star Beer throughout most of
Texas from around Corpus Christi up to Lubbock.
Jackie included a Heap tune on the mix of stuff she
sent me on CD.  The years hadn't made him any better.
My years, not his.  But lord, what memories!  Years,
incidentally, before Willie Nelson got chased out of
Nashville and ended up in the Austin area.  No
Armadillo Headquarters in those days.  Just FYI, Elvis
was considered a longhair back then and I heard
comments now and then about somebody thinking about
cutting it for him.  Why do you think Elvis later took
up karate?  And, no, there wasn't any Memphis Mafia
around either back then.  The hangers-on came after he
went to RCA and started making big money.  In Lubbock
one night, some guys took an exception (Texans were
noted for their "exceptions" back then) and chairs
started flying out of windows of some dance hall
during an Elvis performance.  Stuff you don't read
about in the books that have been written about him.
But the books were generally about his after-Sun days.
 The earlier days were like the Hilltop.

A couple of days ago there was an article on the
Internet about transferring cassettes and albums to
CD.  I'm a bit nervous about trying it.  My cassettes
go back at least 30 years.  A friend is now
transferring some interviews that I did years ago to
CD.  Ron Jacobs, Bill Drake, etc.  I'd rather trust
him than me.  But I'm tempted to try to change over a
few albums.  And cassettes.  Like a talk by Ray
Bradbury one night in Santa Barbara, an interview with
M.G. Kelly.  I'll keep you posted.  Some of these
albums are interesting, to wit:  The International
Submarine Band with what was probably the first
country-rock, an album of rock-style bluegrass
produced by Jac Holzman on Elektra Records, an
American Indian group called, I believe, XIT, doing
rock.  Yes, some of these albums are fairly esoteric,
but there's some great stuff here.  Phil Everly doing
"God Bless Older Ladies" and "It Pleases Me to Please
You," along with "Snowflake Bombardier" on RCA
Records.  And I've got a couple of albums by Lee
Clayton that are super sensational.  Don't think these
albums sold much.  They should have, though.

It really hurts to look through some of these old
albums.  Almost afraid to touch them.  You'll never
get these on CD in any store.  Guarantee you!  But if
I can just get them transferred over....

Frank Jolley, frankjolley@libertypictures.com, wrote:
"The Campaign is on. I will be nominated for a seat on
the Producers Guild Board of Directors, at the
Producer Level.  There are several levels of
membership including the    Producers Council
consisting of Producer, Executive Producer,
Supervising Producer, Line Producer, Co-Producer and
the AP  (Associate Producers Council) consisting of
Assoc Producer, Segment/Field Producer, Production
Manager, Feature Production Supervisor, Post
Production Manager, Production and Post Production
CoOrdinater and the NEW Media Council which consists
of Producer and Executive Producer."

I dropped Frank a note and he came back with:  "Almost
deserves a Billboard headline, eh."

That computer glich also dumped a short note from
Bruce Kelly of XM to the effect that he thought the L.
David Moorhead item was on target.

Jim Rose, rosekkkj@earthlink.net: "Over 35 tears as a
Program Director, Music Director, News Director,
deejay, newscaster and chief bottle washer at most of
Texas' largest and smallest radio stations certainly
qualifies one for multitudes of unique stories and
events. Sometimes names of businesses, plus writers'
columns have a story or two to tell, too. Often
wondered where the title of your superb Vox Jox column
in Billboard had its origins. Interviewed several
famous and not so famous recording artists and movie
stars over the years. My second radio endeavor was at
KTER-1570 in Terrell, Texas, which as the crow flies,
is about 25 miles east of Dallas out Highway 80
(I-20). KTER was a 250-watt daytime operation with
mostly an MOR (Middle of the Road) music format. Boy,
that term sure sounds dated in 2005. My air
show was sign-on to 10 AM. BOB SHELTON, dished
out Country platters until 2 PM. Then. the Chief
Engineer, DARRYL PARKER, got us back in the middle of
the road from 2 PM til sign-off. BOB left the
building for good, then DARRYL departed. The nice guy
who owned and managed KTER was BILL PIRTLE. BILL added
each of those music shows to my itinerary. Became
sign-on to sign-off deejay Monday-Friday. Also,
Program, Music and News Director all tied into one.
Oh yeah. Chief Engineer, too. Almost all commercials
were read live from copy scribbled on file cards,
pieces of paper or ad-libbed from full page ads
in the Terrell Tribune newspaper. On a full day,
this mega giant periodical had as many as ten pages.
Saturdays, deejayed from sign-on to 6 PM. Several
local wannabe stars had their own little 60 minutes of
fame. I was their radio producer. Fancy title for
the guy in the control room who made the music spin
and kept the V-U meter out of the red. This
Terrell real estate agent had her little show where
she demanded lush PERCY FAITH strings as her
background wall. She sat behind the mic on a table in
the room directly in front of the deejay's
double-paned window. This petite lady had
her diminutive audience who really dug her property
descriptions with a tiny bit of gossip eased in. Bored
as can be with this nonsense. So just for the heck of
it, one Saturday, raised the background music volume a
tad. She wore no headphones, so never noticed the up
scaling of her soliloquy. The following Saturday, this
tiny woman with a soft speaking radio voice, stomped
into the control room and chewed me out for raising
her music pitch. This added some excitement to a dull
weekend morning.  Immediately following her show were
two foreign shows--both of Mexican origin. These radio
stars were not allowed to spin records. Once again,
JIM ROSE was the producer. Each had its own totally
different format.  One of the voices was a cool
sophisticated fella with a small goatee. RAYMUNDO was
very classy, likeable and friendly. His music montage
consisted of the upper brow Latin American MOR style.
This particular Saturday, he brought with him a chap
who looked like he was a clown. Had a huge Mexican hat
and extremely fancy indescribable duds with a vest and
many conchos from top to bottom. The host brought this
strange looking creature into the control room and
told me that he was The Man from Mexico. Said he was a
very famous recording star across the border. The guy
smiled, shook my hand, gave me a copy of his latest
hit, a 45 rpm record inside a deluxe jacket with his
picture on the front. He strutted around like a
peacock.  In decades of broadcasting all over Texas,
have asked everyone of Mexican culture who I ran
across, if they ever heard of The Man from Mexico. No
one knew who I was talking about. The other guy, plus
his wife and daughter, owned a Mexican record shop in
Kaufman, which was the county seat. Because of bad
checks, I also performed the duty of collector. They
were not to go on the air without first forking over
cash. The cute little teenager flashed her eyes and
swiveled as if to take my mind away from the bucks
which were due. Their noise came from rancheras. To
me, they all sounded exactly the same. Loud, fast
accordions, drums and guitars with a high-pitched
warbler making racket.  Those were what we used
to refer to as the seasoning process in radio.  A few
years later, fortune smiled down and I became Program
Director of KBUC FM-AM in San Antonio. Numerous big
stars whose names were on the tips of everyone's
tongues guested on my deejay show.  CHILL WILLS came
by for a visit. Had seen MR. WILLS in many movies as a
friendly happy-go-lucky chap. That particular day,
CHILL needed to chill out. Looked like he had
experienced a long hard night. There was no tape
delay. Had to keep the finger to the switch, because
WILLS tossed out nearly every cuss word in the book.
Finished that little conference in a flash. There were
folk like GLEN CAMPBELL, LOU RAWLS, SONNY
JAMES, LORETTA LYNN, CONWAY TWITTY, CHARLEY PRIDE and PAT BUTTRAM who made life worth living. JERRY LEE
LEWIS acted as if we were old buddies. One day, JERRY
rushed into the building. Slowed as he passed the
control room window to my left and waved. Motioned for
him to come on down. JERRY and I had an absolute blast
on the air. Probably the most memorable was when I
was broadcasting at the San Antonio Rodeo on the
Hemisfair grounds when GEORGE JONES and TAMMY WYNETTE
were the featured entertainers that night. Both came
by the remote trailer to chat. My commercial load was
jammed.  GEORGE walked right in and demanded to be
instantly placed on the air. Let JONES know that I
had a bunch of commercials to get out of the way.
Then, we would have plenty of time to have a nice
long chat. GEORGE did an immediate about-face, plopped
himself down in a chair toward the rear of the studio.
TAMMY continued to stand beside me, like the gracious
lady she was. When all the spots were out of the way,
told JONES that we now could have all the time we
wanted and we could begin at the end of this record.
GEORGE remained planted. Got nervous as the 45 rpm
tune began to wind down. Told JONES that in 30
seconds, we would start. Good ole GEORGE never uttered
a word, just sat there. The record ended,
began mentioning that I had GEORGE JONES and TAMMY
WYNETTE right here and we were gonna have a
little talk with ourselves. As fast as the speed of
sound, TAMMY grabbed GEORGE, yanked him over to where
I was perched behind the mic. We had ourselves a real
good conversation on the air. TAMMY was absolutely
wonderful. GEORGE became pretty good with a tiny bit
of WYNETTE gentle persuasion. Those were the days, my
friend."

Regarding Dene Hallam's Random Hall of Fame, I
recommend adding Walt Baby Love, once a good program
director and then, for countless years, r&b editor of
R&R Magazine and now a minister.   Just FYI, there are
no "nominations" to Dene's Hall...you just recommend.
Can't recommend yourself, I don't care who you are.
No politics.  No membership cards either, come to
think of it.  The main and virtually total idea is to
pay tribute to those who never received just tribute
and might never except for you and me.

Dene Hallam's Random Hall of Fame now includes:
Carl Schulz, record promotion; sponsor Dene Hallam,
DENEHALLAM@aol.com.
Joel Dorn, record producer; sponsor George Wilson,
KeokiWC@aol.com
Herb McCord, radio general manager; sponsor Bill
Gable, Billgablevox@aol.com
Rosalie Trombley, radio music director; sponsor Bill
Gable, Billgablevox@aol.com
Walt Love, magazine; sponsor Claude Hall
Ernie Farrell, record promotion; sponsor Claude Hall
Ron Jacobs, radio program director; sponsor Claude
Hall
Gary Stevens, radio broker; sponsor Claude Hall
Burt Sherwood, radio consultant; sponsor Claude Hall
Bob Pittman, entrepreneur; sponsor Claude Hall
Bruce Miller Earle, radio engineer; sponsor Claude
Hall
Lou Dorren, acoustic engineer; sponsor Claude Hall
Jim Gabbert, radio owner; sponsor Claude Hall