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)