TURNING ON RADIO
Martin Higgins
I was given my start in Radio in 1974 because I was the manager of an ice-skating rink in Big Bear Lake, California, a resort town high in the San Bernardino Mountains above Los Angeles. I rented out the skates, maintained the huge compressors that froze the ice floor, flipped burgers at the snack bar, and was the disk jockey/announcer for the skating music. I’d trade skating time for help from teenagers, so I managed to run the place without hiring any employees. The owner paid me almost as much as he would have paid four stiffs.
But the rink was cold and damp, the skaters were rude and rowdy, and, aside from being the Zamboni operator – a surefire way to impress cute skater babes – I was bored and ready for a change.
One evening, the owner of KBBL-AM - a tiny daytime-only radio station in that Winter/Summer resort town - heard me announcing, "The next song will be Couples Only. Couples Only! All Speed and Hockey skaters, please leave the ice. Hot cocoa and giant chocolate chip cookie at the snack bar – just $2." I started the music and walked over to the snack bar, where this huge guy introduced himself.
His name was Bill Beanblossom, and he said I had a “heck of a voice.” He offered me a dollar more an hour than I was making to do all the jobs at the rink to come and work at KBBL. He said I’d be the only voice heard on the station other than commercials and that I could easily master the Disk Jockey thing in a few months and move to a big Rock station in L.A. Actually, I’d be the tape-delayed announcer, the in-house commercial production director and music program director at his semi-automated station. I was getting nearly as much as he would have paid three people to do those jobs.
He said, "Your voice and taste in skating music guarantee a very bright future for you in Radio.” I didn’t tell him that working in the sub-32 degree rink helped deepen my pipes with continual chest colds, and the music was a big cardboard box of scratchy LP’s the owner bought at yard sales.
I just nodded, feeling the warm breeze of opportunity blowing in from the open door of The Big Time.
Six months later, after getting screwed by Beanblossom and getting absolutely no interest in my demo tape from L.A. stations, I moved to a Northern California cowtown station (KBLF-AM, Red Bluff, CA) where the Program Director promised me a part-time weekend shift and a chance to go fulltime in a few months.
Part of my OJT was being coached on how to develop "my pipes." Ron West, a bombastic baritone disk jockey who the other jocks called “a puker” because he announced everything – the time, the weather, the Elks Club Pancake Breakfast – as if he was introducing Elvis in Las Vegas. He sucked, but he sounded more professional while sucking than the rest of us. He never spoke to other people; he announced at them.
Ron unscrewed the lid of an empty Best Foods mayonnaise jar and handed it to me. “Hold this in front of your mouth,” he announced, “at a slight angle, with the opening just an inch or so from your lips.”
Then he prompted me to repeat all manner of stock DJ phrases and comments until I could hear the resonance of my voice bouncing back into my ear instead of through my jaw. “You’re listening to Tehama Counties ONLY Rocker – KBLF-AM – 14-90 on your dial!” I lowered my voice a bit. “Today is an Agricultural Burn day in Tehama, Glenn, and Butte counties!” I added a touch of Western twang. “The Red Bluff Bull and Gelding Sale comes to the Fairgrounds this weekend!”
For the first time in my life, I heard what I sounded like to others. And as a result, was able to adjust my delivery better than I could without the echo jar. It worked like a charm. Within a week or so, I sounded almost as phony and bombastic as Ron West. Ron started regarding me as potential competition and made odd comments to further show off his pipes, like, “Remember, a Best Foods Mayonnaise jar. Not Miracle Whip or Dukes – south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
What I saw at KBLF that made me decide Radio would not be my final choice of career was when a fellow jock and good friend, Dennis Kennedy, got fired - in the middle of his midday show – for using the bathroom at the wrong time.
Dennis introduced Don McLean's "American Pie" because, at 8 minutes and 38 seconds, it was long enough to allow him to take a much-needed bathroom break without rushing. He often choreographed more severe bathroom needs to Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant, a hippy “talking Blues” that timed out at a mind-numbing 18+ minutes. Note: If you hear Alice’s Restaurant or American Pie and it’s not Thanksgiving afternoon, the DJ is probably having serious gastric distress.
The General Manager, Mike O'Shea, was in the hallway talking to a part-time DJ, Dave Kelin, about his show. O’Shea, sensing a nature call, excused himself and headed toward the tiny, one-toilet restroom at the end of the hall. Just then, Dennis rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. O’Shea stopped dead in his tracks, then noticed that American Pie was playing on the station’s on-air monitor. He realized he had a solid 8-minute wait before he could use the bathroom, and he started turning bright red with anger.
O’Shea turned back to Kelin, pointed to the broadcast studio, and said, “Dave? Take over for Dennis.”
Kelin said, "Right now?"
O'Shea barks out, "Yes... and from now on."
When Kennedy came out of the toilet, O'Shea called him into his office. Kennedy said, “Okay, but first I gotta’ come out of this song.”
"No, you don't," said O'Shea.
Kennedy lumbered into O’Shea’s office and plopped down in a chair just as he heard Kelin back-announce the song over the monitor, "That's Don McLean singing American Pie on KBLF - and you're listening to the Dave Kelin Show."
O’Shea never said another word. He sat at his desk, figured out Kennedy's wages to date, cut him a check, and pointed to the door.
Kennedy walked into the Production room and tapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll be at the bar,” he said, and walked out the front door. I’d bet an unusually large percentage of kiss-off checks are cashed at bars.
I thought, “That’s what using the bathroom at the wrong time can get you when you work in Radio.”
A week later I bought a video camera and started my next career: Producing Television.
Life turns on such moments...
© 2006
Martin Higgins
all rights reserved
But the rink was cold and damp, the skaters were rude and rowdy, and, aside from being the Zamboni operator – a surefire way to impress cute skater babes – I was bored and ready for a change.
One evening, the owner of KBBL-AM - a tiny daytime-only radio station in that Winter/Summer resort town - heard me announcing, "The next song will be Couples Only. Couples Only! All Speed and Hockey skaters, please leave the ice. Hot cocoa and giant chocolate chip cookie at the snack bar – just $2." I started the music and walked over to the snack bar, where this huge guy introduced himself.
His name was Bill Beanblossom, and he said I had a “heck of a voice.” He offered me a dollar more an hour than I was making to do all the jobs at the rink to come and work at KBBL. He said I’d be the only voice heard on the station other than commercials and that I could easily master the Disk Jockey thing in a few months and move to a big Rock station in L.A. Actually, I’d be the tape-delayed announcer, the in-house commercial production director and music program director at his semi-automated station. I was getting nearly as much as he would have paid three people to do those jobs.
He said, "Your voice and taste in skating music guarantee a very bright future for you in Radio.” I didn’t tell him that working in the sub-32 degree rink helped deepen my pipes with continual chest colds, and the music was a big cardboard box of scratchy LP’s the owner bought at yard sales.
I just nodded, feeling the warm breeze of opportunity blowing in from the open door of The Big Time.
Six months later, after getting screwed by Beanblossom and getting absolutely no interest in my demo tape from L.A. stations, I moved to a Northern California cowtown station (KBLF-AM, Red Bluff, CA) where the Program Director promised me a part-time weekend shift and a chance to go fulltime in a few months.
Part of my OJT was being coached on how to develop "my pipes." Ron West, a bombastic baritone disk jockey who the other jocks called “a puker” because he announced everything – the time, the weather, the Elks Club Pancake Breakfast – as if he was introducing Elvis in Las Vegas. He sucked, but he sounded more professional while sucking than the rest of us. He never spoke to other people; he announced at them.
Ron unscrewed the lid of an empty Best Foods mayonnaise jar and handed it to me. “Hold this in front of your mouth,” he announced, “at a slight angle, with the opening just an inch or so from your lips.”
Then he prompted me to repeat all manner of stock DJ phrases and comments until I could hear the resonance of my voice bouncing back into my ear instead of through my jaw. “You’re listening to Tehama Counties ONLY Rocker – KBLF-AM – 14-90 on your dial!” I lowered my voice a bit. “Today is an Agricultural Burn day in Tehama, Glenn, and Butte counties!” I added a touch of Western twang. “The Red Bluff Bull and Gelding Sale comes to the Fairgrounds this weekend!”
For the first time in my life, I heard what I sounded like to others. And as a result, was able to adjust my delivery better than I could without the echo jar. It worked like a charm. Within a week or so, I sounded almost as phony and bombastic as Ron West. Ron started regarding me as potential competition and made odd comments to further show off his pipes, like, “Remember, a Best Foods Mayonnaise jar. Not Miracle Whip or Dukes – south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
What I saw at KBLF that made me decide Radio would not be my final choice of career was when a fellow jock and good friend, Dennis Kennedy, got fired - in the middle of his midday show – for using the bathroom at the wrong time.
Dennis introduced Don McLean's "American Pie" because, at 8 minutes and 38 seconds, it was long enough to allow him to take a much-needed bathroom break without rushing. He often choreographed more severe bathroom needs to Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant, a hippy “talking Blues” that timed out at a mind-numbing 18+ minutes. Note: If you hear Alice’s Restaurant or American Pie and it’s not Thanksgiving afternoon, the DJ is probably having serious gastric distress.
The General Manager, Mike O'Shea, was in the hallway talking to a part-time DJ, Dave Kelin, about his show. O’Shea, sensing a nature call, excused himself and headed toward the tiny, one-toilet restroom at the end of the hall. Just then, Dennis rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. O’Shea stopped dead in his tracks, then noticed that American Pie was playing on the station’s on-air monitor. He realized he had a solid 8-minute wait before he could use the bathroom, and he started turning bright red with anger.
O’Shea turned back to Kelin, pointed to the broadcast studio, and said, “Dave? Take over for Dennis.”
Kelin said, "Right now?"
O'Shea barks out, "Yes... and from now on."
When Kennedy came out of the toilet, O'Shea called him into his office. Kennedy said, “Okay, but first I gotta’ come out of this song.”
"No, you don't," said O'Shea.
Kennedy lumbered into O’Shea’s office and plopped down in a chair just as he heard Kelin back-announce the song over the monitor, "That's Don McLean singing American Pie on KBLF - and you're listening to the Dave Kelin Show."
O’Shea never said another word. He sat at his desk, figured out Kennedy's wages to date, cut him a check, and pointed to the door.
Kennedy walked into the Production room and tapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll be at the bar,” he said, and walked out the front door. I’d bet an unusually large percentage of kiss-off checks are cashed at bars.
I thought, “That’s what using the bathroom at the wrong time can get you when you work in Radio.”
A week later I bought a video camera and started my next career: Producing Television.
Life turns on such moments...
© 2006
Martin Higgins
all rights reserved