It was now 1979. I was coming up on a year, living in my latest bachelor pad across the river in the Arlington section of town. The Blue Fountain complex was a two story, u-shaped building on University Boulevard. There were twenty six units in the building and I was in number twenty six on the second floor in the corner, overlooking the kidney shaped pool in the middle with palmetto palms to accent the arrangement. It was a peaceful sanctuary to me and I enjoyed being there with its royal blue shag carpeting and light blue velour modernistic couch and chairs. That floor covering was such a deep pile, that if you dropped something in it, you stood the chance of not finding it for days. My boudoir was a collection of sixty’s era modern style furniture. It was a one bedroom plan of ample square footage and I paid one hundred fifty five dollars a month for the privilege of laying my head there. This gem was on the side of the twenty four hour Hess Gas Station, directly across from the air hose. If I didn’t close my bedroom window, I could hear the air bell ringing at all hours. Cooking was a mystery to me, so the kitchen was always spotless. There was a pot for boiling water for Sanka instant coffee and a spoon handy on the counter. My dinnerware was usually Styrofoam to go boxes. I occasionally dusted the appliances.
Everyone living at BF knew each other and we socialized often. Richard Hemingway was one of my neighbors and an actual descendent of Ernest. Another resident, named Jack, an older guy in the complex, fiftyish in age, was the oddball neighbor that we really didn’t consider a part of the close knit club. He had some sort of attitude that didn’t correctly match that of the rest of us in the twenty and thirty-something aged group. Balding and hefty, he didn’t even look like anyone else. But, we all made an effort to be nice to him and include him in conversation at the pool and common areas. Jack had a habit of “getting into” everyone’s business and created conflict whenever he saw the opportunity. He seemed to have a jealousy of the young thing going on. One day he pushed Richard over the edge in some sort of controversy involving his girlfriend Shilo. Richard was calm and collected most of the time I knew him, but on this particular day, he reconsidered his usual manner and approached Jack’s apartment on the ground floor. Jack was in a gossip mode of conversation on the phone in his kitchen near the window. Richard strode up to the window and punched Jack right through the screen with a Joe Frazier roundhouse in the chops and knocked him on the floor! Jacksonville’s finest arrived and after some discussion, our hero, Richard was led away in cuffs for a little vacation downtown. Following some anonymous decoration and disrepair to Jack’s Mercury Marquis, this walking agitator left Blue Fountain on the first of the month. A spontaneous celebration broke out in the pool area broke out as soon as he pulled onto University Boulevard. Good riddance to a human equivalent of fingernails on a blackboard.
I was also coming up on a year of experiences at Rock 95 and growing into the role of a Rock Jock. Still rough around the edges, I learned constantly from the other guys who had been in the business a lot longer and much more accomplished on air than I was at that point. I was “The Kid” and they all seemed to take me under their collective wings of protection. Rich and I became friends and I listened carefully to what he was teaching me about how to be and what to do. It turned out to be quite a departure from that very first night, when he zoomed out the door as soon as I got there. Often, I would sit in on his show watching him with great interest, picking up new techniques in operating the equipment and his handling of the audience. As the sun set and the city lights on the tall buildings began to twinkle through the big wall of windows, he would dim the studio lights to give the room a nighttime ambiance. Rich was the Music Director and did the job with an unmatched passion. I remember his enthusiasm the day he added the Tubes song, “White Punks On Dope” to the playlist. As he played the song at “Level 11” on the studio monitors for the first time, the request lines jammed before the song was half over. He led his listeners on a nightly rock journey like the Pied Piper.
My other role model was Steve, the Afternoon Jock. With Steve, came a wealth of experience and the talent to virtually work any format of radio there was or could be. He was polished, confident and lit up the control room when it was time for his show. Steve was a giant on the station and was generous with his knowledge and all around fun to be around. I enjoyed his stories of different stations he worked at in other cities in his career. The welcome mat was always out at his studio door and I watched as he effortlessly segued from a conversation we would be having to a live on air spiel. Control board volumes, switches, turntables and records danced as if he had a magic wand to make it all work. My education under this radio genius included making my first commercial for the station, using techniques that would stay with me for a long time. He was as cool as a New York éclair and I gained the confidence I initially needed in the business from watching him and the positve reinforcement he gave me. He made being on the air, look like the easiet job in the world.
Being on top of the Jacksonville Civic Auditorium offered features that made working there an adventure. Behind the studios, there was a master record library. On the floor, in the back, there was a trap door. A big sign in ominous lettering read "UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS ANYONE EVER TO OPEN THIS DOOR". So what do you think we did? Of course, opened the door which revealed a metal ladder that ended up back stage of the Auditorium. A couple of us "envelope pushers" gained access to some awesome major concerts backstage. It sure beat waiting in line or having to actually buy a ticket to the show. It was great! Just ladder in!
The other part of being on Rock 95 in that era that you should know is that Jacksonville was ground zero for Southern Rock. The Lynyrd Skynyrd Band were the undisputed kings of the genre and royalty in town. They were from Jacksonville and many claimed to be their friends and neighbors. I remember pondering at one point, how many next door neighbors can they possibly have had? Infamously, several band members, including leader Ronnie Van Zant were killed in a plane crash in Mississippi, heading to their next concert, the October before I joined the station. That was a sad day in The Bold New City. It was the day the music died in town. I recall seeing the breaking news on TV and flags being flown at half staff. The mourning continues to this day in circles of devoted fans. The “Freebird” anthem by Skynyrd was always played with reverence at Rock 95. The other main players who carried on were Thirty Eight Special, Molly Hatchet and Blackfoot. Even though they were famous for being from Macon, Georgia, The Allman Brothers Band was actually formed in Jacksonville in 1969. Our core audience of Southern Rock fans, in a town where it all began, were largely responsible for the success of the station. I even got to visit the Jug, where Ronnie Van Zant wrote the song “Gimme Three Steps”. Our listeners were devoted to their music and we were more than happy to give them an endless supply.
As fun and rewarding as radio broadcasting was, there is the ugly underbelly of political games, ingenuous behavior by management types and those who seek to advance their careers at the expense of others. There are only about 900 terrestial stations in America, so the competition can be fierce for relatively few jobs. With degregulation and consolitdation in the 80's and periodic poor economies, it's tougher to hold down a a radio job than ever before. Online sources for music and information have further fractionalized the media pie. Job performance and audience ratings compound the stability of this kind of career greatly. Throw in diverse egos and drama and you have situations that are affected much more than other livelihoods. In my twenty plus years in the business, I saw almost every type of volatility you can imagine at different stations. On one occasion, I witnessed a guy who had just been fired, nailing his pair of loafers to the manager’s door with a note that said “fill these shoes”. Another time, I talked a fellow jock with a long barrel .45 caliber revolver out of settling a difference with the manager who was a mere feet away in his office up the hallway. He was the same guy who was just learning to walk again when I met him, after falling off a two story balcony in his previous town. Another guy, who was covertly hired at one station, walked down the halway and told the guy on the air that he had about fifteen minutes to work there and that he was his replacement. Management hadn't fired him yet. At Rock 95, I was about to experience my first station upheaval. By the end of February, 1979, the wolf was at the door.
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Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Jacksonville, Part 2
Over the weekend, I told everyone I was going to be on Rock 95. I told people on the street I didn’t know. I told the telephone pole. I called my folks and talked their ears off for an hour. I was pumped, psyched a revved up for the opportunity. Sleep wasn’t plentiful that weekend. Images of what it would be like filled my mind constantly. The only question I had was “could the earth rotate a little faster?” I don’t think I had ever looked so forward to a Tuesday in my life!
The big day came and I walked into the control room at the station ready for a lesson in how Rock 95 worked. I greeted clean cut looking Rich and he energetically pointed around the studio and said “there are the records and there’s the control board…rock and roll! I have to go!” Go? I asked in amazement. He had one more thing to add as he was halfway out the door. It was something that I kept in mind for a long time. “I believe in bringing myself down to my audience’s level, don’t forget that.” As quick as I met him, he was out the door with a stunning blonde girl and I was left to figure it out. The format was written out on a card near the controls, so I was able to gather a clue of what to do. Listening to the station as much as I did, gave me an additional idea of what was going on. Rock 95 played ABC contemporary news at 7:55, then at 8:00pm sharp it was my debut. I carefully placed my first album on the turntable where it took me a few tries to get the needle on the record. My hand was shaking so badly, I had to use both hands to steady the tone arm. I hoped no one would be watching me through the sound proof glass windows. This is what I had wanted so badly for so long. To be on a big city radio station was the holy grail at the end of a long road for me.
The newsman from the network in New York ended his newscast with “…I’m Joel Vaughn, for ABC Contemporary News.” Now, it was my turn. I reached way down and came up with my best announcer’s voice and proclaimed “ THIS is Rock 95, W-J-A-X, FM, Jacksonville” . I potted up (increased the volume) and hit the switch in one fluid motion for turntable number one on the left and was met with instant horror. Rich’s last song was a 45 RPM record on that turntable and I failed to notice that the speed selection was not correct when I placed a 33 and 1/3 RPM LP on the platter for play. I WAS PLAYING MY FIRST SONG ON THE WRONG SPEED! OH NO! My reaction was to grab the speed control lever and slam it down to the right speed. The record wowed from Mickey Mouse in distress to a more discernable Lynyrd Skynrd sound. I was horrified. My complexion felt like a sizzling red. The next thing I noticed was the request lines on the phone were lighting up like a Christmas tree. My career at Rock 95 might be over before it started. I squinted and pushed down the first line on the phone bank and a Tommy Chong sounding guy on the other end came on the speaker and marveled “wow…that was kind of cool, could you do that again?” At that moment, I settled down. Maybe this rock and roll thing wasn’t as serious as I had pumped myself up to believe. Maybe this is what Rich meant by “bringing yourself down to you audience’s level.” The WJAX-AM guy stuck his head in my studio next and quipped “looks like you got a baptism there Bud..” Yes I did.
In many ways, Rock 95 resembled the legendary Q-Sky in the movie “FM”. Management was the enemy, making us play US Army commercials and interfering with the integrity of what we, the Jocks felt was essential to the sound of a Rock station. Our social lives revolved around the station. People connected with the Rocker were constantly coming and going. We ALL went to personal appearances at clubs and concerts promoting Rock 95 together. Listeners sailed boats down the St. John’s River and held up bed sheets with requests for us to see from our vantage. For the 4th of July we played the ENTIRE Woodstock Concert Album, un-edited. I recall with a smile hearing the “Fish Cheer” at my apartment complex poolside in the courtyard. FCC? What FCC? That was mild, considering the night I played the Pope album by David Peel and The Lower East Side in its entirety. During that endearing broadcast, the afternoon guy called in and said "I can't believe what's coming out of my radio!" On another occasion, a guest in the studio accidently bumped into my turntable while I was playing “I Want You (She’s So Heavy) by the Beatles. I watched in what seemed like slow motion mortification as the needle on the record bounced up and then down three times on the vinyl before hitting the exact beginning of “Octopus’s Garden”. Instant Ringo. Wow. Too bad Tommy Chong wasn’t listening. He would have liked that one.
New Year’s Eve 1978 was my show. Everybody showed up and a party formed in the studio. One of the fellows brought in a couple of suitcases of liquor, comprising a mobile tavern, so there would be an open bar next to the records. Protocol? There wasn’t any protocol. Protocol was whatever was happening at the moment. There was Rock and Roll, and plenty of it. All the time. Big time acts came in for interviews. I remember being especially enamored by seeing Ann and Nancy Wilson from Heart. The guys from Uriah Heep were down to earth and cool. Henry Paul from the Outlaws put his arm around me and told me that he loved radio people. I actually met him again at a Country radio event almost exactly 20 years later and kidded him that it was 20 years between handshakes. Then there was the night that Patti Smith sat on Rich's lap for the interview. It was a heady time for 22 year old kid like me.
The big day came and I walked into the control room at the station ready for a lesson in how Rock 95 worked. I greeted clean cut looking Rich and he energetically pointed around the studio and said “there are the records and there’s the control board…rock and roll! I have to go!” Go? I asked in amazement. He had one more thing to add as he was halfway out the door. It was something that I kept in mind for a long time. “I believe in bringing myself down to my audience’s level, don’t forget that.” As quick as I met him, he was out the door with a stunning blonde girl and I was left to figure it out. The format was written out on a card near the controls, so I was able to gather a clue of what to do. Listening to the station as much as I did, gave me an additional idea of what was going on. Rock 95 played ABC contemporary news at 7:55, then at 8:00pm sharp it was my debut. I carefully placed my first album on the turntable where it took me a few tries to get the needle on the record. My hand was shaking so badly, I had to use both hands to steady the tone arm. I hoped no one would be watching me through the sound proof glass windows. This is what I had wanted so badly for so long. To be on a big city radio station was the holy grail at the end of a long road for me.
The newsman from the network in New York ended his newscast with “…I’m Joel Vaughn, for ABC Contemporary News.” Now, it was my turn. I reached way down and came up with my best announcer’s voice and proclaimed “ THIS is Rock 95, W-J-A-X, FM, Jacksonville” . I potted up (increased the volume) and hit the switch in one fluid motion for turntable number one on the left and was met with instant horror. Rich’s last song was a 45 RPM record on that turntable and I failed to notice that the speed selection was not correct when I placed a 33 and 1/3 RPM LP on the platter for play. I WAS PLAYING MY FIRST SONG ON THE WRONG SPEED! OH NO! My reaction was to grab the speed control lever and slam it down to the right speed. The record wowed from Mickey Mouse in distress to a more discernable Lynyrd Skynrd sound. I was horrified. My complexion felt like a sizzling red. The next thing I noticed was the request lines on the phone were lighting up like a Christmas tree. My career at Rock 95 might be over before it started. I squinted and pushed down the first line on the phone bank and a Tommy Chong sounding guy on the other end came on the speaker and marveled “wow…that was kind of cool, could you do that again?” At that moment, I settled down. Maybe this rock and roll thing wasn’t as serious as I had pumped myself up to believe. Maybe this is what Rich meant by “bringing yourself down to you audience’s level.” The WJAX-AM guy stuck his head in my studio next and quipped “looks like you got a baptism there Bud..” Yes I did.
In many ways, Rock 95 resembled the legendary Q-Sky in the movie “FM”. Management was the enemy, making us play US Army commercials and interfering with the integrity of what we, the Jocks felt was essential to the sound of a Rock station. Our social lives revolved around the station. People connected with the Rocker were constantly coming and going. We ALL went to personal appearances at clubs and concerts promoting Rock 95 together. Listeners sailed boats down the St. John’s River and held up bed sheets with requests for us to see from our vantage. For the 4th of July we played the ENTIRE Woodstock Concert Album, un-edited. I recall with a smile hearing the “Fish Cheer” at my apartment complex poolside in the courtyard. FCC? What FCC? That was mild, considering the night I played the Pope album by David Peel and The Lower East Side in its entirety. During that endearing broadcast, the afternoon guy called in and said "I can't believe what's coming out of my radio!" On another occasion, a guest in the studio accidently bumped into my turntable while I was playing “I Want You (She’s So Heavy) by the Beatles. I watched in what seemed like slow motion mortification as the needle on the record bounced up and then down three times on the vinyl before hitting the exact beginning of “Octopus’s Garden”. Instant Ringo. Wow. Too bad Tommy Chong wasn’t listening. He would have liked that one.
New Year’s Eve 1978 was my show. Everybody showed up and a party formed in the studio. One of the fellows brought in a couple of suitcases of liquor, comprising a mobile tavern, so there would be an open bar next to the records. Protocol? There wasn’t any protocol. Protocol was whatever was happening at the moment. There was Rock and Roll, and plenty of it. All the time. Big time acts came in for interviews. I remember being especially enamored by seeing Ann and Nancy Wilson from Heart. The guys from Uriah Heep were down to earth and cool. Henry Paul from the Outlaws put his arm around me and told me that he loved radio people. I actually met him again at a Country radio event almost exactly 20 years later and kidded him that it was 20 years between handshakes. Then there was the night that Patti Smith sat on Rich's lap for the interview. It was a heady time for 22 year old kid like me.
Jacksonville, Part 1
Every time I cross into North Florida, as I did about a week ago, I’m reminded of the place where I came of age while living out an important time of my life. Jacksonville. “The Bold New City of The South” was the slogan. Today, I’m proud of what Jacksonville has become. It’s a thriving business center with miles of beaches and a new slogan, “The First Coast.” They have the NFL Jaguars who play in what was once exclusively the Gator Bowl. Duval County is Jacksonville, thus making it the largest city in America in terms of square mile land area. The St. John’s River, which cuts directly through Jacksonville, is the only major river in America to flow from south to north. The only other two, I can think of, in the world are the Amazon and the Nile. Correct me if you find another. New communities with cutting edge retail now fill in once barren stretches of highways. The beach area is now a complete makeover from what I knew. In my day there, you could drive on it like Daytona. Police gave out speeding tickets on the beach! The neighborhood I lived in isn’t exactly a chamber of commerce destination anymore, but nice parts of town outnumber the bad. Indeed, there were low points and adversity within in the 5 years I resided in the metro area, but as with the grandest healer of all, time itself, they are now obscured by my fondness for an era filled with great hope and accomplishment.
By the time 1976 arrived, all I cared about was getting into radio. Jacksonville wasn't even close to being on my radar. I had always thought if I moved to Florida, it would be somewhere like St. Petersburg or Ft. Lauderdale. I had travelled with my buddy Glen to visit his cousin Michael several times at St. Pete Beach. Michael had bleached blonde 70's hair and a Alfred E. Newman (What Me Worry?) attitude which appealed me, considering I was living in a more serious Northeast setting. Emjay was his 6 year old daughter and her mother’s whereabouts were a mystery to all. His home was a modest ranch with a converted garage room we called the "Moon Room" because he installed a foot of foam rubber underneath the carpeting to give it a real springy feeling underfoot with every step. You would bounce on it like the astronauts on the moon. It was also a great place to sleep. All you had to do was grab a pillow and fall down. Falling down was a favorite pastime in the 70's. That decade was an example of life in free form. We wore clown clothes and long hair. I owned a pair of orange and blue suede platform shoes, if that gives you any clue. I was smart enough to not to include an ascot.
Following a year of meaningful (read: sarcastic) liberal arts education at Somerset County College and my fourth working at the A&P grocery store, it was time to put the dream in gear. Hanging around my hometown radio station, AM-1170, WBRW wasn’t getting me a job there. A failed attempt at starting a radio station at the local college soured my desire for sticking around. I called my old high school guidance counselor, Mrs. Cartwright to see if she had any ideas regarding my quest for a path into radio. She invited me back to the high school and several meetings later, suggested that I apply to Jones College in Jacksonville, Florida. The only focus I had in high school was radio, and that didn’t provide a grade average allowing me to choose Princeton or some other prestigious university with a posh campus radio station. Florida seemed like a good destination to me, but Jacksonville was like a foreign country. I recalled passing through on I-95, but that's about it.
After investigating the school, I learned that they offered a dedicated Broadcast and Business Program. There was an AM and a FM station on campus as well as a TV studio. The admissions counselor, Dave Zorn, inflated my hopes by telling me that a lot of Jones graduates went on to radio jobs in the Jacksonville market. That's all I had to hear. I was going. Later, I would learn that comedian and personality Joe Piscopo was a Jones Alumni. It was now March, 1977 and nearly two years after high school graduation, I finally mined the gold nugget that I considered my entry into the Promised Land called radio broadcasting.
It still felt like winter in New Jersey and the departure date of March 26th wouldn't arrive soon enough. But when it did, I had my gold 1969 Pontiac Catalina packed with all my worldly belongings for the move to Florida and a chance to live out the dream. In retrospect, this car was my first "Fat Cat" considering her 455 cubic inch V-8. It was actually a police interceptor motor that was modified to 462 cubic inches of displacement. She was a beast. I suspect that thing could do one hundred fifty. The speedometer only went up to one twenty. When I stepped on the accelerator, the speedo went one way and the gas gauge went the other way. Now, with $600 in my pocket, I set out for the Sunshine State.
As I travelled over the Delaware Memorial Bridge and out of New Jersey, the Theme from Rocky blasted appropriately from my Pioneer Supertuner in Goldie on WIFI 92 from Philadelphia (that was a radio station in Philly, not wireless internet in the 70's!). I had felt like destiny had caught up to me. I knew every radio station on the route and exactly where to tune to the next one when one faded out.
Following a one night stop for rest in Dunn, North Carolina at the Wind Mill Motel, I arrived at Jones and stood before the 12 story monolith of a building on the banks of the St. John's River in admiration. It almost didn't seem real, it was a long wait to get to this point. I entered the big white edifice and advanced to the second floor Jones Administration offices where a hip seeming 30 something woman with reddish blonde hair assigned me to room 5N at the end of the 5th floor with my new roommate Dave from South Jersey. She seemed so proud that she was able to match up two guys from New Jersey. The dorm rooms were actually one bedroom apartments with a nice balcony view. Dave was a big gregarious dark haired guy with a booming voice and a hearty handshake. We hit it off immediately and I felt comfortable in my new surroundings right away. He assured me that great things were to come. Dave left quickly for an evening out and it was time for me to settle in for a quiet Sunday night in a bathrobe and a reclining chair to rest up from the long trip and get ready for my new career.
I heard a noise and the sliding glass door opening on the balcony. As I got out of the chair to investigate, a girl emerges from the curtains in a quite abrupt manner with a rapid fire “Hi, I’m Sheila. I heard you were coming tonight and I wanted to come down and say hi!” She had nice big smile with perfect teeth and straight classic, shoulder chesnut length hair. I was confused now, somewhat startled and asked if she had been on the balcony all this time, because they were separate to each apartment. I hadn’t seen anyone else come or go. “Her reply was no, silly, I live on the 7th floor and just climbed down on the outside concrete trellis of the building. It’s fun!” Yeah, and death is fun too if you fall off. I asked if she lived directly upstairs and her answer was no, it was actually up and over about 6 apartments. The thought of climbing out of a 7 story balcony on the outside of a 12 story building gives me the willies to this very day. As this point I figured that living in Jacksonville would be anything but dull. And it wasn’t. I bid Sheila a "nice to meet you" as she hoisted herself off the balcony and back up the trellis into the night.
I quickly made many friends at Jones that spring with fellow students from all over the country. Some, I'm still in contact with today. Everyone seems agree that those were great days at Jones. We were young and fearless...and determined to do something with our lives. And so, I began my radio career on the small AM campus station, 740 WJCR, beginning to learn the things that a DJ needs to know and say.
Professor Kent Murray beat my New Jersey accent out of me and taught me how to announce in a Midwest tone. Kent had perfectly chisled features including light brown TV hair and he exuded the confidence of a national news anchor. Mild mannored Professor Pete Trenkler showed me how to edit recording tape with a razor blade and the art of cueing a 45 rpm record on a big Garrard platter. Pete's easy going style was legendary at Jones and years of classes learned volumes from a humble guy who always had time to listen and encourage. We studied about Lee DeForest, the father of the vacuum tube and Edward Armstrong, the grand master of FM. The beginning of KDKA, the first licensed station in America was included in the history lesson. My very first song on the air at WJCR was Foreigner’s “Feels Like The First Time.” All the pieces fit. That summer I learned lots of things quickly, like the breaking news of Elvis Presley’s death after being handed AP news wire copy by one of the news guys while doing my afternoon show on JCR. Reading the news, I felt like a real broadcaster with something important to say.
I also learned to break concrete with a sledgehammer on a construction site in 97 degree heat as a part time summer job. I made my share of 20 year old mistakes that first year, but the rewards were much greater and the dream a little closer.
1978 developed into another big spring. Next up on the Jones curriculum, it was the campus FM station, WFAM, which had become renowned for its Jazz music programming. As part of the total broadcasting learning experience, I was now a news anchor doing twice hourly newscasts in the afternoon at Woofam, as we called it. I even covered a murder shooting at my own apartment complex where I had just moved. I remember asking a police officer if the man lying on the ground was dead. His respose was "does he look like he's moving?" The sight of a dead guy laying on the ground in a Florida afternoon summertime downpour was quite sobering to me. That's news. That's what they told me. Just report it. Accurately.
One afternoon, on a busy day as I found myself in a sea of news copy, getting ready for another newscast when there was a call for me. It was Butch Piker on the phone wanting to know if I wanted to come down and talk to him about a DJ job he was offering on Rock 95 WJAX, the number one Rock station in town. I was stunned. I stammered through the rest of the phone call and accepted his invitation to meet him the next day.
The Rock 95 studios were on the top floor of the old Civic Auditorium in Downtown Jacksonville. As I pulled into the u-shaped driveway where Butch told me to park, I hoped I could find a men’s room conveniently located inside, before I trekked to the top floor. Filled with anxiety, I pulled the big glass door open and entered.
As I walked down the hallway to the studios, one side was a floor to ceiling continuous wall of glass with an impressive view of the St. John’s River and Downtown below. This place was awesome. Major concert artists performed downstairs at the Auditorium. It was also, thee place to be in town.
Butch was on the air when I arrived and he invited me to take a seat in the control room and interviewed me while he did his morning show. From the u-shaped control area, you could see the downtown skyline. One wall was a dream collection of rock albums where Butch would pull the correct title out without much of a search. Butch gave me a warm welcome and motioned me to take a seat while he interviewed me while record albums played on Garrard turntables. He was full bearded and seemed extremely relaxed in an evioronment that was continually busy. I kind of recall answering yes to everything he asked me and was awarded an overnight show on the most happening Rock station in town. In his down to earth folksy manner, Butch instructed me to return on Tuesday evening, when Rich the evening guy would “show me the ropes” and have me actually do a couple of hours of his show from 8 to 10 to get acclimated with the control room and records.
Tuesday night would be icing on the cake of an astonishing first year in Jacksonville. Rock 95 would be quite an eye opening experience for me with diverse personalities and a clash between a music director and a program director. It was my first taste of radio politics. This is where I would begin my career in radio and just about finish out the Seventies. Those were amazing days at Rock 95.
(to be continued)
By the time 1976 arrived, all I cared about was getting into radio. Jacksonville wasn't even close to being on my radar. I had always thought if I moved to Florida, it would be somewhere like St. Petersburg or Ft. Lauderdale. I had travelled with my buddy Glen to visit his cousin Michael several times at St. Pete Beach. Michael had bleached blonde 70's hair and a Alfred E. Newman (What Me Worry?) attitude which appealed me, considering I was living in a more serious Northeast setting. Emjay was his 6 year old daughter and her mother’s whereabouts were a mystery to all. His home was a modest ranch with a converted garage room we called the "Moon Room" because he installed a foot of foam rubber underneath the carpeting to give it a real springy feeling underfoot with every step. You would bounce on it like the astronauts on the moon. It was also a great place to sleep. All you had to do was grab a pillow and fall down. Falling down was a favorite pastime in the 70's. That decade was an example of life in free form. We wore clown clothes and long hair. I owned a pair of orange and blue suede platform shoes, if that gives you any clue. I was smart enough to not to include an ascot.
Following a year of meaningful (read: sarcastic) liberal arts education at Somerset County College and my fourth working at the A&P grocery store, it was time to put the dream in gear. Hanging around my hometown radio station, AM-1170, WBRW wasn’t getting me a job there. A failed attempt at starting a radio station at the local college soured my desire for sticking around. I called my old high school guidance counselor, Mrs. Cartwright to see if she had any ideas regarding my quest for a path into radio. She invited me back to the high school and several meetings later, suggested that I apply to Jones College in Jacksonville, Florida. The only focus I had in high school was radio, and that didn’t provide a grade average allowing me to choose Princeton or some other prestigious university with a posh campus radio station. Florida seemed like a good destination to me, but Jacksonville was like a foreign country. I recalled passing through on I-95, but that's about it.
After investigating the school, I learned that they offered a dedicated Broadcast and Business Program. There was an AM and a FM station on campus as well as a TV studio. The admissions counselor, Dave Zorn, inflated my hopes by telling me that a lot of Jones graduates went on to radio jobs in the Jacksonville market. That's all I had to hear. I was going. Later, I would learn that comedian and personality Joe Piscopo was a Jones Alumni. It was now March, 1977 and nearly two years after high school graduation, I finally mined the gold nugget that I considered my entry into the Promised Land called radio broadcasting.
It still felt like winter in New Jersey and the departure date of March 26th wouldn't arrive soon enough. But when it did, I had my gold 1969 Pontiac Catalina packed with all my worldly belongings for the move to Florida and a chance to live out the dream. In retrospect, this car was my first "Fat Cat" considering her 455 cubic inch V-8. It was actually a police interceptor motor that was modified to 462 cubic inches of displacement. She was a beast. I suspect that thing could do one hundred fifty. The speedometer only went up to one twenty. When I stepped on the accelerator, the speedo went one way and the gas gauge went the other way. Now, with $600 in my pocket, I set out for the Sunshine State.
As I travelled over the Delaware Memorial Bridge and out of New Jersey, the Theme from Rocky blasted appropriately from my Pioneer Supertuner in Goldie on WIFI 92 from Philadelphia (that was a radio station in Philly, not wireless internet in the 70's!). I had felt like destiny had caught up to me. I knew every radio station on the route and exactly where to tune to the next one when one faded out.
Following a one night stop for rest in Dunn, North Carolina at the Wind Mill Motel, I arrived at Jones and stood before the 12 story monolith of a building on the banks of the St. John's River in admiration. It almost didn't seem real, it was a long wait to get to this point. I entered the big white edifice and advanced to the second floor Jones Administration offices where a hip seeming 30 something woman with reddish blonde hair assigned me to room 5N at the end of the 5th floor with my new roommate Dave from South Jersey. She seemed so proud that she was able to match up two guys from New Jersey. The dorm rooms were actually one bedroom apartments with a nice balcony view. Dave was a big gregarious dark haired guy with a booming voice and a hearty handshake. We hit it off immediately and I felt comfortable in my new surroundings right away. He assured me that great things were to come. Dave left quickly for an evening out and it was time for me to settle in for a quiet Sunday night in a bathrobe and a reclining chair to rest up from the long trip and get ready for my new career.
I heard a noise and the sliding glass door opening on the balcony. As I got out of the chair to investigate, a girl emerges from the curtains in a quite abrupt manner with a rapid fire “Hi, I’m Sheila. I heard you were coming tonight and I wanted to come down and say hi!” She had nice big smile with perfect teeth and straight classic, shoulder chesnut length hair. I was confused now, somewhat startled and asked if she had been on the balcony all this time, because they were separate to each apartment. I hadn’t seen anyone else come or go. “Her reply was no, silly, I live on the 7th floor and just climbed down on the outside concrete trellis of the building. It’s fun!” Yeah, and death is fun too if you fall off. I asked if she lived directly upstairs and her answer was no, it was actually up and over about 6 apartments. The thought of climbing out of a 7 story balcony on the outside of a 12 story building gives me the willies to this very day. As this point I figured that living in Jacksonville would be anything but dull. And it wasn’t. I bid Sheila a "nice to meet you" as she hoisted herself off the balcony and back up the trellis into the night.
I quickly made many friends at Jones that spring with fellow students from all over the country. Some, I'm still in contact with today. Everyone seems agree that those were great days at Jones. We were young and fearless...and determined to do something with our lives. And so, I began my radio career on the small AM campus station, 740 WJCR, beginning to learn the things that a DJ needs to know and say.
Professor Kent Murray beat my New Jersey accent out of me and taught me how to announce in a Midwest tone. Kent had perfectly chisled features including light brown TV hair and he exuded the confidence of a national news anchor. Mild mannored Professor Pete Trenkler showed me how to edit recording tape with a razor blade and the art of cueing a 45 rpm record on a big Garrard platter. Pete's easy going style was legendary at Jones and years of classes learned volumes from a humble guy who always had time to listen and encourage. We studied about Lee DeForest, the father of the vacuum tube and Edward Armstrong, the grand master of FM. The beginning of KDKA, the first licensed station in America was included in the history lesson. My very first song on the air at WJCR was Foreigner’s “Feels Like The First Time.” All the pieces fit. That summer I learned lots of things quickly, like the breaking news of Elvis Presley’s death after being handed AP news wire copy by one of the news guys while doing my afternoon show on JCR. Reading the news, I felt like a real broadcaster with something important to say.
I also learned to break concrete with a sledgehammer on a construction site in 97 degree heat as a part time summer job. I made my share of 20 year old mistakes that first year, but the rewards were much greater and the dream a little closer.
1978 developed into another big spring. Next up on the Jones curriculum, it was the campus FM station, WFAM, which had become renowned for its Jazz music programming. As part of the total broadcasting learning experience, I was now a news anchor doing twice hourly newscasts in the afternoon at Woofam, as we called it. I even covered a murder shooting at my own apartment complex where I had just moved. I remember asking a police officer if the man lying on the ground was dead. His respose was "does he look like he's moving?" The sight of a dead guy laying on the ground in a Florida afternoon summertime downpour was quite sobering to me. That's news. That's what they told me. Just report it. Accurately.
One afternoon, on a busy day as I found myself in a sea of news copy, getting ready for another newscast when there was a call for me. It was Butch Piker on the phone wanting to know if I wanted to come down and talk to him about a DJ job he was offering on Rock 95 WJAX, the number one Rock station in town. I was stunned. I stammered through the rest of the phone call and accepted his invitation to meet him the next day.
The Rock 95 studios were on the top floor of the old Civic Auditorium in Downtown Jacksonville. As I pulled into the u-shaped driveway where Butch told me to park, I hoped I could find a men’s room conveniently located inside, before I trekked to the top floor. Filled with anxiety, I pulled the big glass door open and entered.
As I walked down the hallway to the studios, one side was a floor to ceiling continuous wall of glass with an impressive view of the St. John’s River and Downtown below. This place was awesome. Major concert artists performed downstairs at the Auditorium. It was also, thee place to be in town.
Butch was on the air when I arrived and he invited me to take a seat in the control room and interviewed me while he did his morning show. From the u-shaped control area, you could see the downtown skyline. One wall was a dream collection of rock albums where Butch would pull the correct title out without much of a search. Butch gave me a warm welcome and motioned me to take a seat while he interviewed me while record albums played on Garrard turntables. He was full bearded and seemed extremely relaxed in an evioronment that was continually busy. I kind of recall answering yes to everything he asked me and was awarded an overnight show on the most happening Rock station in town. In his down to earth folksy manner, Butch instructed me to return on Tuesday evening, when Rich the evening guy would “show me the ropes” and have me actually do a couple of hours of his show from 8 to 10 to get acclimated with the control room and records.
Tuesday night would be icing on the cake of an astonishing first year in Jacksonville. Rock 95 would be quite an eye opening experience for me with diverse personalities and a clash between a music director and a program director. It was my first taste of radio politics. This is where I would begin my career in radio and just about finish out the Seventies. Those were amazing days at Rock 95.
(to be continued)
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