Jacksonville, Part 3

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.