Revised! KHJ: Inside Boss Radio for $79 (plus $10 S&H) with FREE "Tina Delgado Is Alive!" button with each copy of this once-secret "Drake" Format textbook devised by Jacobs for KHJ.  (click here to send an e-mail to Ron Jacobs and he'll send you info by reply e-mail) ron@ronjacobsonline.com  KHJ RADIO BOSS ANGELES, 1965 Commemorative 40th Anniversary Streetscape SOLD OUT! Thanks to all of you for remembering. e-mail Ron ron@ronjacobsonline.com

Previous Articles Remembering Stan Wilson (May 2005) I was born and raised in Honolulu. Turned out that I had three heroes named Stan. First was the St. Louis Cardinals’ future Hall Of Famer Stan Musial. In the 1950s baseball games broadcast on radio here were “recreated.” In third grade I heard the 1946 World Series live, via crackling shortwave. The Cards beat the Boston Red Sox in the seventh game. But I never got to see Stan play.  In high school I was a radio reporter for teenage shows on KGMB and KIKI. “John & Marsha” by Stan Freberg was the funniest, and most licentious, hit record of 1954. (click here to continue reading)  British Boss Jock Tommy Vance (1941 - 2005) (May 2005) Tommy Vance did a fine job of adapting to both an unfamiliar environment and a new profession. Vance revealed when and why he decided to be a Top 40 deejay in the chapter he contributed to my book KHJ: Inside Boss Radio. It was the early-1960s. Vance first heard American rock 'n roll radio while washing dishes aboard a UK-registered “rust bucket,” a freighter docked in New York City ... (click here to continue reading) The Great Elvis Hoax (Published in HONOLULU Magazine, 1989) Las Vegas, March 1989. Tom Diskin sat down beside me and reminisced about Elvis Presley's first sensational visit to Hawaii in 1957 ."Do you know how we came to play Honolulu in the first place?" he asked I had never thought about why. It was such a transcendent big deal that it just happened, on the earth-shaking scale of the volcano erupting on the Big Island. (click here to continue reading) Aloha, Marv Howard June 30, 2004 To: Bill Mouzis From: Ron Jacobs Dear Bill, Well, another Boss brother, Marv Howard, has gone on up beyond the highest frequencies. He's definitely, as they say, "In a better place." I met Marv in San Bernardino, in the early KMEN days. Bill Watson was the first California air personality-programmer to sign up with our unknown Hawaii group. In 1962 we acquired KITO, our first mainland station. (click here to continue reading) All Night On The Ala Wai March 22, 2005 During one summer on a kids’ expedition I toured the grand studios of Hawaii’s oldest station, KGU. The walls of this NBC affiliate were covered with lauhala matting. The dried, woven grass was attractive in a Polynesian way and served an acoustic purpose.  KGMB's modern facilities, appropriately shipshape for a CBS outlet, and the small but tidy KIKI broadcast booths were familiar to me from my experience doing teenage shows. But I wasn't ready for how bedraggled KHON had become by 1955. (click here to continue reading) Ron Jacobs remembers the late Robert W. Morgan May 24, 2002 Near the end, RWM was frustrated by not being able to communicate via computer or with his voice. He got his biggest kicks listening to that "Mega" station, which is apparently roughing up KRTH-FM. And good luck to THEM, now without Morgan and Steele, their former is station exposed as a combination juke box/slot machine, running re-cycled KHJ stuff.  (click here to continue reading) The Poi Boys had a symbiotic relationship February 8, 2004 Every few years, I'd ask Dave Donnelly if he knew how many words he'd written for his Star-Bulletin column since starting it in 1968. Well, over the years the two of us would either delve into, or argue about, virtually any kind of statistic. But Donnelly never wanted to pursue the answer to that one. I figured it must be some sort of superstition about numbers and streaks like ballplayers have, and always dropped the subject. (click here to continue reading) MEMO To: Randy Michaels From: Ron Jacobs July 22, 2002 I’m not one to kick a person when he’s down, but since you proved to me during our exchange of phone calls in May 2001, you are definitely not a person —and on behalf of everyone in radio without the ability or vocabulary to do so—here’s a Proclamation just for you, turkey.  (click here to continue reading) May 2005 (click here to continue reading)

The Great Elvis Hoax by Ron Jacobs

Las Vegas, March 1989. Tom Diskin sat down beside me and reminisced about Elvis Presley's first sensational visit to Hawaii in 1957."Do you know how we came to play Honolulu in the first place?" he asked I had never thought about why. It was such a transcendent big deal that it just happened, on the earth-shaking scale of the volcano erupting on the Big Island

"Remember Lee Gordon, the promoter of the big cross-country tour?" asked Diskin. "It was supposed to finish up in Los Angeles with two shows at the Pan Pacific Auditorium. The Colonel wanted to play Hawaii, but Gordon didn't know if Elvis would draw a crowd there. But The Colonel knew. Of 400,000 Christmas cards Elvis received in 1956, 20,000 came from Hawaii. They rolled the dice to decide the matter. The Colonel won. "Ay-looow-hah!"

On that roll of the dice Tom Moffatt and I came to meet Elvis and The Colonel.

In '57 we were working at KHVH, Henry J. Kaiser's new radio station. Mr. Kaiser had taken his call letters from the initials of his Hawaiian Village Hotel—it was the newest, tallest building in Waikiki, and he wanted his radio station at the very top. We broadcast from studios perched above the 14th floor. The penthouse was actually right below us, directly underfoot.

Moffatt and I were Hawaii's first rock 'n' roll DJs. Moffatt came across as unc­tuous "Uncle Tom," clean-cut, straight arrow, the Pat Boone of the Pacific. I was cast as his evil antagonist; I had carefully studied professional villains while moon­lighting as a Roller Derby announcer. So convincingly loathsome was I on the air that security guards were stationed out­side the studio to fend off angry listeners intent on punching me out for my sins, such as viciously ridiculing Moffatt. or casting aspersions upon the immaculacy of Connie Francis.

Circus radio was what we were. In those days this was the stuff of great ratings. We were the biggest fish in Hawaii's little radio pond.

Flash! In late October 1957, we heard from the RCA record distributor that Elvis Presley was coming to Hawaii. Crazy, man. crazy—go ape!

Rock 'n roll was catching on—but this was ELVIS—The King! "Heartbreak Hotel," "Hound Dog," "Don't Be Cruel" "Love Me Tender"—last year's hits! In '57 he already smashed with "Too Much," "All Shook Up" and "Teddy Bear." We'd just started playing his latest, "Jailhouse Rock." Moffatt and I freaked out at the news—and the expression hadn't even been invented yet.

As Presley and his entourage steamed from San Francisco toward the Territory on the S.S. Matsonia, we learned some­thing even more incredible. The whole troupe—musicians, family, friends. Col. Tom Parker and all —would lodge at the Hawaiian Village. They had reserved the entire penthouse! Elvis, The King, would bunk directly below cur studios.

In a few days the Village penthouse would be transformed into holy ground, an anointed shrine to rock 'n roll, the navel of the pop music universe, or more accurately, the pelvis. Ail this right below our feet.

But fast because Elvis was going to be moving and grooving under the floor boards of KHVH did not mean the KKVH DJs would get to him. No, the Memphis Mafia was trained to see that he was not pestered by local small fry such as we.

My 21-year-old brain focused on just one thought. How could we get to Elvis?

Presley and his party of 10 would arrive Saturday morning, Nov. 9. On Sunday he would do two shows at Hono­lulu Stadium. Top ticket price: $3.50.

Driving in to KHVH Friday morning, desperation gave way to inspiration. We would never be able to get to Elvis—but we could create our own Elvis!

I blurted out the plan to Moffatt. "Elvis sails in tomorrow, limousines to the hotel, goes to his room and doesn't come out 'til showtime Sunday, right? After Elvis is in the hotel, we bring our 'Elvis' out on the lanai—who can tell an imposter from 14 stories below?—then we do a play-by-play on the radio of me taking The King on a tour of O'ahu."

"That's wild!" exclaimed Moffatt. "Do you think we'll get in trouble?"

''I dunno." I said, too manic to care.

Who to play The King? Moffatt was too well known from his TV dance shows and emcee work around town. My devilish red goatee disqualified me.

Donn Vernon Tyler. KHVH production manager, measured 6 feet 1/ 4 inch tall, weighed 166 pounds, had dark brown hair and was 18 years old. (Elvis was 6 feet, 180 pounds, hair dyed black and 23.)

It took about three seconds for Tyler to volunteer. He was not "a strapping boy with the soft profile of a melted Greek coin," as a local writer described Elvis. But Tyler was handsome enough, and with a good wig and make-up job. at 45 mph, who could tell? A fellow prankster, pink Ray Freed, was quickly cast as "'The Colonel." He would be issued a pillow. cigar, straw hat, and would carry "Pres­ley's" guitar. At 45 mph, who could tell?

Friday, Nov. 8. The Counterfeit Corps stayed up past midnight transforming Tyler into Elvis. A make-up artist from Honolulu Community Theatre fashioned a hairpiece with enough grease to lube a Harley-Davidson. There was no lack of adrenaline pumping as we awaited the new day. The world's firs! Elvis imper­sonator had been created.

Consider, if you will, Tyler, 18, and Moffatt and I, in our 20s, still not dry behind the earphones, about to attempt a rock 'n roll radio hoax of the first magnitude, involving The King, And not only The King, but The Kingmaker. The Colonel, who was older than the two of us combined. And smarter, cagier and all-around tougher than we would ever be. None of this sounds like a formula for bodily survival, let alone the basis for lifelong friendships, but that's how things turned out.

The Saturday morning sun sil­houetted the Ko'olau range as the S.S. Matsonia cruised a few-miles offshore. The first fan arrived dockside at 6:30 a.m. Four hours later, when the great white ship berthed, several thousand "orderly but screaming" fans were waiting inside Pier 10 for Elvis. Of course, none got near him.

Bob Krauss, writing in The Honolulu Advertiser, chronicled the scene: "As if they had practiced the maneuver many times before. Presley's party formed a V in front of the singing idol and ran at a trot down the crew's gangplank. A scream went up that sounded like a hurricane at it? height. Elvis hopped into a waiting limousine and sped away."

Uncle Tom breathlessly described it all on KHVH. The Presley caravan reached the Hawaiian Village quickly. Hundreds of followers milled about the hotel. The vehicles, of course, went directly to the delivery entrance and service elevator. (Remember. Elvis and Co. invented the high-speed rock 'n roll entrance and exit.) While Moffatt spun "Slue Suede Shoes." Elvis unpacked his three suitcase in room 14-A, unseen by a single fan.

Ten feet above him. Donn Tyler made a final check of his ducktail '"haircut." Looking down 15 floors, he saw a sea of squirming, squealing adolescents looking back up. as if to the angels. Or at least to Sputnik II.

Our scam squad huddled with Moffatt in the studio for a final briefing. There was no mobile radio in my Ford Skyliner so we'd communicate by pay phone. The trio headed for the freight elevator: Tyler greased and grinding. Freed paunchy and puffing, me leading the way.

Moffatt broadcast that 1 was going to "lake Elvis Presley and The Colonel on their first tour of the island." The route was secret. "But we'll keep you posted, exclusively right here on KHVH 1040! Remember. Elvis is out there on the road now. and he's "Trying' to Get to You!'"

My 1957 Ford Skyliner retractable hardtop sat fueled, polished and poised in the parking lot. A handful of fans spotted us climb into it. We heard our first screams of the day. Tyler must have looked authentic. Besides, the kids had heard about it on their portable radios— so it had to be true.

Another typical November day in paradise, 76 degrees, mild trade winds, radiant blue skies. On the air, Moffatt hyped like mad. "Elvis is out there somewhere on O'ahu. and you'll hear about it only on KHVH, He might pull into your driveway and ask 'Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?'"

We stopped at a pay phone to notify the station we'd make a trial run at the UH girls' dorm. I triggered the mechanism which lifted up the car's hard top and hid it in the trunk.

We turned onto Dole Street. "Watch for Elvis and The Colonel in the two-tone Ford Skyliner. They've been spotted near the UH!" Moffatt cried. Pulling into the dorm's circular driveway, we spotted a few girls in the halls. I briefed Tyler and Freed. At the first sign of hysteria, we would be out of there. In that case, Tyler said he'd only sign one autograph.

Moffatt played "I Got a Woman," I cranked up the car radio, and the three-story building drained from the top. filling the lobby. One or two girls took tentative steps toward the car. Cigar in hand, Freed beckoned to them. Tyler practiced his lip curl. I kept one foot on the accelerator. The first "Elvis" scream pierced the air.

A horde of frenzied females rushed at us. Freed calmly stood up in the back seat, held up both arms and, in his deepest voice, drawled, "Ladies, we're on a very tight schedule, but we'd like to leave you all with a keepsake." He pointed to a tall blonde.

"Come here, my dear." She staggered up to "Elvis" and handed him a scrap of paper. It was swiftly signed and passed back to her. As she wailed like an air raid siren, I stomped on the gas and took off.

We were stunned. It worked. It worked! Tyler was laughing wildly.

"What's so funny?"

"Wait 'til she reads the autograph," he said. "It's signed 'Donn V Tyler.'"

On the air, Moffatt talked to a breath­less UH coed about the "Elvis" visit moments ago. "I was 10 feet away. Oh God, he's even cuter in person!"

We drove through the Pali Tunnel, which had just opened six months before. In Kailua we heard Moffatt say, "Atten­tion, Windward Side, Elvis is visiting your neighborhood. And, you can see him tomorrow, live, at Honolulu Stadium, where he's gonna 'Shake, Rattle and Roll.'"

I was curious to hear if any other stations were carrying the "hot story." That would be the ultimate, to get our little hoax on another station. Scanning the dial, I came across a high school football pre-game show. Kickoff m 45 minutes, on KGU. Fireworks exploded in my head—we'd hit the jackpot!

Before coming to KHVH, I'd been field producer (i.e., gofer) of KGU's football broadcasts for two seasons. I headed down South King Street toward Honolulu Stadium, wondering how far we could take this thing.

On KHVH, Moffatt played Elvis's "Old Shep." On KGU, sportscaster Gene Good reviewed the records of the com­batants, Punahou and McKinley.

"The Tigers are winless, but a victory over the Buffanblu would make them real spoilers." I knew precisely where Good was sitting, which switch turned on his mike, how many 7-Ups he'd drink during the game. It was 1:55 p.m. Kickoff at 2:30. I felt like a bank president about to rob his own vault.

The crucial moment would be bluffing our way past the old man at the vehicle entrance, who would be waiting to let the ambulance in. I was almost to Isenberg Street, site of the critical chain link fence and scene of the crime.

KHVH: "Here's The King—rockin' Honolulu Stadium tomorrow, general admission $1.50—with 'Ready Teddy!'"

KGU: "Tell me, Corky, do you think Coach Monahan has the Puns up for the game?"

I pulled up to the Portuguese gentle­man manning his post. "Howzit, look in the back seat. See who that is? You don't recognize Elvis Presley and Col. Parker?" The man's eyes widened. "That's right. Mumble mumble—supposed to let us in at 2 o'clock—mumble mumble—and we're running late. Mumble mumble— set it up with RCA records." He swung the gate open. We were in!

I edged the Ford Skyliner along the mauka sidelines, radio tuned to KGU. Their broadcast booth hung above the stands at the 50-yard line on the makai side, the perfect spot to observe what happened next.

I pushed the magic chrome button. Motors whirred, worm gears turned, levers lifted. The trunk rose on its rear hinges. The top lifted and moved back. The first of 14,000 people shouted, "ELVIS! ELVIS! ELVIS!" Both teams' warm-ups came to a stop.

Gene Good, in the midst of discussing the undefeated Punahou team, froze in mid-sentence—gasped—whispered to someone—paused—then raved hysteri­cally. "Ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, Elvis Presley, The King of rock 'n' roll, has pulled into Honolulu Stadium right before our eyes! He's in some special kind of convertible. Take a look, Corky, is that his manager, Col. Tom Parker, in the back seat with him?" Good screamed, "They're passing the McKinley cheering section and circling the field!"

In my rear-view mirror I could see half the McKinley band chasing us. Freed yelled, "Get the hell out of here. We're gonna be torn apart and stomped to death!" It looked like "The Colonel" was yelling "Aloha" to the crowd. The Punahou band struck up "Hound Dog."

Players from both squads jogged along­side us shouting, "Hey, Elvis, stay for the game!" Tvler muttered and curled his lip.

Gene Good continued his play-by-play of it all, reminding listeners, "You're hearing it all exclusively here on KGU, 760 on the dial!"

So tidy two minutes ago, now the field was strewn with tubas, helmets, buckets, yard markers, buff-and-blue and black-and-yellow pompoms, footballs, bass drums, confetti and ushers wandering in circles. Tvler urged we leave now— before being surrounded, overwhelmed, ex­posed and left hanging from the goal posts.

I fishtailed back to the vehicle gate. After several eternities, the gatekeeper reappeared and. in super slo-mo, un­locked the exit. We burned rubber down Isenberg Street as the Ford top finished screwing itself into place.

Back on KHVH, unaware of the stadi­um spectacle, Uncle Tom hyped, "That's Elvis with "Jailhouse Rock." Don't for­get, the movie opens at the Waikiki Theater on Nov. 22." Over on KGU, Good announced the starting lineups. (Punahou won: 27-0.)

Now all we had to do was sneak "Elvis" back into the Hawaiian Village. The grounds were full of "bobby soxers." We followed Elvis's earlier route, hearing a few screams as the freight elevator doors shut.

"Don't Be Cruel"' blasted on the speaker as we walked in 'on Moffatt. "What happened? Where have you guys been?" he asked.

Three voices answered in unison, "You tell him." Then we collapsed on the floor, laughing so long and hard that Moffatt had to segue into "Tutti Frutti," fearful of opening the mike.

Tyler headed down the hallway. "Come watch this," he said. We walked out on the lanai and looked down at the pool 15 stories below. There was a quivering, pro­toplasmic mass of teenage girls, looking up, screaming "Elvis!" We didn't know it, but Elvis Aron Presley of Tupelo, Miss., had been stepping out on his balcony and floating scarves, records and shreds of Hawaiian Village linen down to the mob.

When Tyler appeared, the screams tripled in volume. He stood wiggling and waving, milking the moment. Then he reached up, lifted off the top of his head,

and tossed the greasy black wig to the faithful below. A thousand screams turned to dazed silence. Donn V. Tyler returned to the studios—and reality.

The door burst open. A newsman said, "You got a phone call."

"Oh, yeah, from who?" I asked, still feeling cocky.

"The man says he's Col. Parker, downstairs." Moffatt, Tyler, Freed and I looked like the blood had been sucked from our veins.

"Col. P-P-Parker?" I picked up the newsroom phone as sharp images from the French Revolution rushed by.

"H-hullo?" I croaked.

"Yes, sir! This is The Colonel, in room 14-B. Are you one of those radio boys been drivin' roun' pretendin' to be Elvis?"

"Uh—yes, Col. Parker, sir," I replied.

"And whose idea was it?"

"Mine, sir, I'm the afternoon disc jockey. But I wasn't on the air, Colonel. That was Torn Moffatt who said all those things, not me. sir. Tom Moffatt said everything."

"Does Mr. Henry J. Kaiser know about all this?"

"N-no. sir. We just did it to welcome you and Elvis to Hawaii and—"

"You boys get on down here, room 14-B. Now. Tell them security guards you come to see The Colonel." Click.

Heart pounding, I took one last look at Diamond Head through the newsroom window and told Moffatt we had an appointment.

Like condemned men, Uncle Tom and 1 skulked down to the 14th floor. A mas­sive Hawaiian security guard sat draped over a folding chair. Next to him stood an obvious member of the Memphis Mafia.

"We're here to see The Colonel. We're the guys from upstairs? KHVH? The radio station?" We were visually frisked.

"OK," mumbled Bubba, "second door on the left."

The door said 14-B. I knocked. A gently, sandy-haired young man opened it. "Hi. I'm Tom Diskin," he said. Moffatt and I shook hands with him and stam­mered out our names.

"Mr, Diskin, is that them radio boys?" asked a voice from the lanai, a voice I would never forget.

"Yes, sir." We were led to The Colonel who sat on a pink lounge chair, phone by his side, listening to "Don't Be Cruel" on KHVH. He wore a straw hat and a string necktie.

Tom Diskin introduced us. "Colonel, this is Mr. Moffatt. Mr. Jacobs." I learned quickly that everyone was "Mister" or "Miz"' and all affirmative answers were "Yes, sir!" These were, after all, Southern gentlemen.

"You boys got a pretty fair sense of humor. Now, I heard your little stunt. And you know what?" Moffatt and I shook our heads. "It should sell some tickets."

It felt like someone had untied the blindfolds and sent the firing squad home.

And then suddenly the hackles of my neck bristled. There was a presence, a distinctly different feeling in the area. A wave of cologne wafted by. The Colonel said. "Elvis, say hello to Mr. Moffatt.'' They shook hands. Elvis said, "Pleased to meet you, sir. Sure is a pretty place you ail got here."

Then I was introduced. Unflinching eye contact, firm handshake, high voltage electricity. "Good to meet you, sir." softly said the owner of the voice singing "Blueberry Hill" on the radio. He called me "sir," I thought. He's two years older than me.

The Colonel cackled, "Elvis, these boys got us some good publicity today, gonna sell tickets. OK if they emcee the shows tomorrow?" I tried not to swoon. Elvis had seen enough people faint in his face.

"Sounds good to me. Nice meetin’ you fellows. See you all at the show."

I could see from The Colonel's cigar language that it was time to leave. The Colonel, who had never left his seat, said, ''Mr. Diskin will fill you in. Good to meet you boys. Keep spinnin' them records."

"Yes, Sir'!!" we said in unison. We floated back up to the radio station.

The concerts were a roaring success. The Territory of Hawaii had never seen such large crowds. A newspaper review said, "He scratched his ear—and squeals of joy echoed through the uninhibited audience that jam-packed the makai side of Honolulu Stadium. He shrugged a shoulder of his sparkling metallic-threaded jacket—and the girls literally bounced up and down in their seats. The King can do no wrong. And Elvis, make no mistake, IS the king."

He held a press conference fol­lowing the afternoon concert. Of all the questions and answers that day, one reply stuck in my mind. Presley was asked, "Has success affected your life?"

Elvis, speaking slowly, said. "Of course. I never realized anything like this was possible, that I'd ever be in Hawaii—or Las Vegas, or Hollywood. It's quite a change to jump into this stuff. If you're not careful, you'll crack up."