Talk Radio, You're on the Air
Monday, October 30, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
DEDICATION
This work is dedicated to the love of my life, my Bride Helen. Without her continuous support and encouragement I not only would not have written this book, I would have never succeeded in radio.
I contemplated writing a long thank you list as maybe I should. There have been dozens of wonderful people who have been there for me along the way.
However, the one person who was there through thick and thin, she tempered the highs and cushioned the lows, who always held my hand whenever I stumbled, who never wavered through it all and at the same time brought up five beautiful children, is Helen Harrington Lauzier. She is a Teacher, Mother, Wife and the inspiration to always do the right thing simply because it was the right thing to do.
I Love You, Helen
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter One I Didn’t Mean to do it!
~~Every great mistake has……
Chapter Two The Trinity
~~Dignity does not consist in…….
Chapter Three A Couple of Vices
~~Angels do find us……..
Chapter Four Soon there Will be None
~~The end excuses any evil……
Chapter Five Powerless
~~ There are nights when
Chapter Six A Silver Lining
~~That's why I don't talk……
Chapter Seven It can’t happen here.
~~The dead cannot cry out……
Chapter Eight Get your attaboys here.
~~Anyone who works is a fool.
Chapter Nine Seatbelts, The Big Dig, and Prisons.
~~Actions lie louder than words….
Chapter Ten Who is Peter Gilbert?
~~Murder is unique……..
Chapter Eleven Don’t Push Your Humor, Let it Come
~~ If you are not criticized.……
Chapter Twelve My Buddy
~~Nearly all men can stand adversity
Chapter Thirteen What do you mean my check is no good?
~~All things may corrupt
Chapter Fourteen Some are Simply Great.
~~Thomas Jefferson once said……
Chapter Fifteen Read My Lips
~~ Those are my principles…….
Chapter Sixteen Please don’t do it!
~~War is not nice…….
Chapter Seventeen The tri-cornered presidential race
~~Politics is not a bad profession…….
Chapter Eighteen Clinton, the bumpy early years
~~A slip of the foot……
Chapter Nineteen The Big Contract
~~In preparing for battle…….
Chapter Twenty Get ready for the 1996 election
~~The truth is more important
Chapter Twenty-one What, me lie?
~~We will be the most ethical…….
Chapter Twenty-two Floridah
~~It’s not the voting……
Chapter Twenty-three 9/11
~~To build may have to be
Chapter Twenty-four Sometimes there is Change
~~We make war
Chapter Twenty-five Remember your Enemy
~~Truth is truth…….
Chapter Twenty-six Change, Change and More Change
~~Whatever is begun…….
Chapter Twenty-seven Bad to the core
~~Support the rights of youth…….
Appendices Abortion, Gun Control, Church and State, Laws that are Good for Us, Taxes and Foreign Trade, Energy Independence, Terrorism and Preemptive War, Illegal Immigration, and School Vouchers.
Epilogue
It’s four AM, Wednesday, November 16, 2005 and I’m sitting at the word processor to begin what I hope will be a look back at twenty-five years in talk radio. I went to bed last night at eight and have not slept a wink thinking about this undertaking.
The trail in radio actually goes back to radio station WALE in Fall River, Massachusetts (the call letters are now on a station in Providence, Rhode Island). The talk action begins on January 19, 1980 at eight-thirty in the morning on WSAR, a Fall River station with studios in Somerset, Massachusetts.
My experiences at WALE in 1958-59 were eye opening. I was a junior at B.M.C. Durfee High School in Fall River. An average student, my primary interests were baseball and football. Oh yes, girls too. I had taken a job at WALE at the beginning of the summer. For all intents and purposes I was an intern at the station though my actual title was “gofor”, you know, go for this, go for that…. I was injured for my junior year in football so I continued at WALE after the summer ended.
During the time there I worked with a truly wonderful human being, Pat Donahue. I became his “helper” on his evening program. He played records, collected and wrote the news, did almost all commercials. He was the evening engineer too. You get the idea. In those days and with a 500 watt station you needed to be a jack of all trades.
It was my responsibility to visit the police station a few blocks from our cellar studios to get whatever was on the police blotter. (Really, the studios were in the cellar, complete with a pool room next door). On the blotter was always an assortment of notes; dog bites, kids making too much noise, an occasional fight or two, domestic disputes, and what not. I would then do the initial write up of the stories and Pat would edit on the fly as he read the news on the air.
Pat would take a nap in the evening, usually about fifteen minutes or so. I then got my opportunity to operate the turntables and actually play music on the air from those early records. All were quite well scratched.
One night Pat stepped out and was not back in time for the news so I took it upon myself to read the copy I had written for him on the on air. Boy was I afraid. Not just for doing the news on air for the first time, but for what the boss, J. Roger Sisson, would say. Roger was a good man who likely was not listening that night.
I also had the opportunity to work with James Christopher Barnhorst, aka Chris Barnes. Chris was the day news director and sports director, which meant he did all the news all day and was the voice of Durfee football and basketball. I got to help him as a spotter for Durfee football because I was a player and understood what was happening.
Chris was very good at his work, a true professional. Shortly after I left WALE for a job that paid more than 25 cents an hour, Chris left for Florida, not to be heard from by me again until around 1975. During a business trip I was in a hotel room somewhere in the South. There for the weekend, I decided to watch the Florida State University Seminole game against Florida on television. There he was, Chris the radio and TV voice of the Seminoles. (Yup, he did both at the same time.)
The thought flashed across my mind, I could be doing that had I stayed in radio.
I called the Steve Cass Show one morning on WSAR. After the call I was asked if I’d like to be Steve’s guest in the future. I said yes. The call was about the textile industry and whether it collapsed here in the North or the companies simply moved South.
A few days later I was scheduled to be his guest from 8:30 to 9 AM (his show ran from 8:30 to Noon). I wound up there for the full three and an half hours. On conclusion of the show I was asked by the program director whether I’d like to fill in for Steve from time to time.
I furrowed my brow and made it appear I was thinking through on his offer (my mind was made up the moment he asked).
Yes!
That was the beginning of twenty-five years of living a dream I thought would never materialize. Now, about a half million calls later, I feel it’s time to step back and review some pretty incredible things. They ranged from an interview with Bob Hope, in studio in Somerset, to my start at WRKO in 1983, the twelve great years in Providence, to today.
I wound up on radio full time and left a fairly successful career as a textile machinery salesman in 1980 because of a disaster which occurred to our family home.
On March 19, 1979, our home was broken into and it had a fire which gutted most of the interior. To this day we are not certain whether the fire was arson or some other cause. The thought someone would do something so hateful to us at the time was very hard to take. Helen was in her eighth month with our daughter Helene. We had three other children who ranged in age from two to seventeen.
It was the lowest point in our life together.
I tried to continue to work but the home front was so unsettled it was nearly impossible. I was vice-president of Norkon, Inc., a company based in New Hampshire. My employer was more than understanding. Company founder Paul Weise gave me all the time I needed to get our affairs straight.
Our homeowners insurance agent told me when we were through with all this we would have wished the home burnt to the foundation rather than go through the rebuilding process. He had seen it many times. He said in a total loss we settle right away and it’s over. This mess lasted for more than six months.
Have you ever tried to find temporary housing with three children and one on the way? After a couple of days we decided hotel living was not for us. As a result we wound up renting a fully furnished trailer and lived in our own back yard while our home was rebuilt. During this time our fourth daughter was born and she can call the trailer her first home.
While this was a low point in our lives it became a time when we learned to overcome adversity and became a very tightly knit family something that has never changed.
It also gave me an opportunity to know Helen and our family as at no other time.
As a salesman who spent most of his time on the road, away from home sometimes for weeks, I became very comfortable being a full time dad and husband.
The opportunity arose that I could stay home 24/7 and I jumped at it. Two problems were corrected at once. I finally became a “family man” and I got into the work where my heart had really been since 1958.
What follows is an amazing ride. I couldn’t have imagined where that first program sitting in for Steve Cass (who recently retired from radio from WPRO Radio in Providence) on WSAR on that frigid January 19th morning more than a quarter of a century ago was going to take me.
There have been some uproariously funny and sometimes very embarrassing moments. Have you ever pronounced a friend dead on radio when in fact she was not?
You get the idea.
I hope you enjoy the adventure as much as I am enjoying revisiting some of the highs and lows during this period of my life.
INTRODUCTION TWO
November 1, 2006, nearly one year after we started on this journey, the fact checking and editing continues. What began as a light and lively recounting of anecdotes I’ve experienced in radio has become that and more, much more.
The most amazing thing I’ve discovered along the way is how much has happened during these last twenty-seven years, to me and my family, but more so, what has gone on in the world during that time.
The book has been finished three different times. [October 21, 2009 and another chapter is being added and a complete editing has commenced. Hopefully this fourth phase will be finished by early 2010.]
Shortly after the holidays I had some twenty chapters in my “saved as” file. I finally printed the pages and sat back with a glass of port (tawny is best, less sweet) and read with amazement at what was on paper. Things and events and people I have been privileged to meet paraded across the pages. At the end of each chapter I recalled yet more than I had originally written. What was to be a restful few hours basking in the glow of having finished the manuscript turned into yet one more addition after another.
The following day I began writing more about the events already in the book and encountering memories and notes not yet recorded which required chapters of their own. Finally on Memorial Day of this year I reached what I thought was the “end of the trail”. Not so. While no chapters have been added, I have included an appendices where I boarded my soap box and expressed my opinion on some of the prescient Issues of the Day. This is not to say no opinion exists in the text of the book, rather this was my opportunity to express the arguments which have dictated my views and philosophy. No one needs to read them; they are merely my means of venting.
The fact checking continues even today. Events continue to unfold. The Big Dig scandal, War in Iraq, North Korea and Iran as nuclear powers, the border issues, etc. The list is endless. I’ve consulted with Captain Morgan and he suggested I treat what happens as new material; otherwise the book will never end. The compromise is to end it here and add supplements as I events unfold. [Wrong again.]
I’ve spoken to others who have written books and a couple of publishers. Those who have looked at a couple of chapters say the book has merit. But (darn it, the three letter word with a fist of iron) it’s too long. “We would need to reduce it in size, say by maybe 150, even 200 pages. To that proposition I can only say, oomgalagala!
I’m sure you know what oomgalagala is. Well you do, don’t you? No.
OK, here is the short version of the origins of that fine word created by Native Americans to describe their feelings about those who speak with “forked tongues”. A senior senator for the Bay State was in New Mexico speaking to the Heckowie Tribe about what he had done for them in the U.S. Senate.
At the conclusion of each statement the audience would chant en mass, “Oomgalagala”. By the end of the speech the senator was rather proud of himself. One oomgalagala after another was chanted by his audience.
As he was about to leave the reservation he spotted a prized bull in the pasture. The senator asked the Heckowie Chief if he could get a closer look at the bull. The Chief said, “By all means senator. But take care not to step in the oomgalagala.”
What do you do with a nearly 400 page book but can’t find a publisher who is willing to take it on?
That’s where a listener to our Saturday morning show emailed me with the recommendation I publish the book on the Internet. E-Publishing, Jim Ettwein said, is very effective, and would allow me to keep the cost of the book down to an amount that is not great. Jim had done it himself with a couple of technical books used in his trade.
If the E-Book is successful I could take the profit and self publish a hard cover and/or soft cover version. That is a strong possibility.
A listener, Scott from New Hampshire, recommended a talking book on CD and cassette. After all, this is about a radio experience. Most of my listeners listen. There is also a large portion of talk radio listeners who are vision impaired and a talking book would be their only way to read the book.
I’m sure WRKO would allow me to use a studio on weekends to accomplish that. I plan to do a test reading to determine the number of CDs would be necessary to accomplish such a talking book.
Fabled New York City talk host, Bob Gray, once reminded me a large number of our listeners are shut-ins and rely on talk radio to link them with the world.
They are the reason I traditionally do Thanksgiving and Christmas shows. We are a large part of their family and we should be there for them when they need us most.
I think the same applies to the book.
It is my intent to contact the Massachusetts or National Association of the Blind and offer a CD set to them with permission to duplicate the book for their members.
As soon as all the eyes are dotted and tees are crossed, the commas and periods are where they should be we’ll be on the way.
No matter what, it has been very exciting, both to live what I’ve been privileged to live and now to write (ok, ok, brag) about it.
Six nights a week, four hours per night, a Republican brought nighttime talk radio back in one of the strongest Democrat areas of the “Bluest” of states. Southeastern Massachusetts is populated with a disproportionate number of working class people whose families came there to work in the cotton mills. The real measure of a textile producing area is the number of cotton spindles. At one time there were more cotton spindles in Fall River alone than any other city in the world. When combined, Fall River and New Bedford (about fifteen miles to the east) had more spindles than any area of the world. New Bedford is also famous as the preeminent fishing port in the United States and once boasted being the heart of the whaling industry.
Taunton, with its past in silverware manufacturing (about fifteen miles to the north), along with Fall River and New Bedford, forms one of the most lopsided Democrat majorities anywhere.
How could a conservative Republican (as deceased friend and colleague David Brudnoy said I like to say small “c” conservative and small “l” libertarian) establish a strong following?
That was simple. Most of the Democrats there were and are Truman/JFK types philosophically. Ronald Reagan nearly became the first Republican to carry Fall River since Roosevelt, Teddy that is. They share strong conservative values of God, Family and Country. The work ethic is strong and handouts are not accepted easily.
Even today there is a strong sense of commitment to church, prayer in school, opposition to abortion, rights of gun owners, severe punishment of law breakers, personal charity, and pride in one’s ethnic background.
The ethnic mix is Portuguese émigrés mostly from the Azores in Fall River and Taunton and Cape Verde in New Bedford. French-Canadian, Irish, and Italian compose the balance of people with immigrant backgrounds in the area. In addition a strong Puerto Rican population exists in New Bedford. Couple that ethnic mix with a Yankee heritage which descends to before revolutionary times and you have a melting pot which accepted me on the basis of issues.
Today there is a wave of Cambodians making their home in Fall River.
It was in this atmosphere where a middle-aged conservative talk host could discuss issues which resonated with the listeners.
~~~~~~~
This book begins with an early morning call from a friend. Among the characters we meet along the way was a visit to the broadcast studio by one of the world’s all time funny men and how he happened to wind up there. We had a visit from an admiral who later became a vice presidential candidate who became the victim of scorn and ridicule by people who couldn’t carry his medals.
Then there was the murder of three prostitutes in Fall River. My interviews with some of the hookers and pimps in the area were frightening and sad. The trials surrounding the grizzliest murders since Lizzy Borden took an ax to her Mom and Dad’s heads nearly one hundred years earlier were overwhelming.
Then there was the night I got drunk on air. Wait until you hear about that and what the Massachusetts State Police did about it.
Many authors visited the tiny studios of WSAR located in Somerset, Massachusetts including an Australian who wrote one of the most telling books on the Holocaust. Another was one of the authors of a biography of a man who went on a mission to Switzerland during World War II with the sole purpose of killing Germany’s top scientist on the development of an atomic bomb if the Germans appeared to be close to completing the Atomic project.
Add to those guests a very conservative Democrat political anachronism who dated back to the days of James Michael Curley, the Mayor of Boston best known for machine politics and helping the poor. Throw in local politics and for more than three years Fall River was buzzing.
All that occurred before the hot stuff of Providence, Rhode Island and Boston, the political Mecca of the United States erupted.
~~~~~~~
My radio career was to come to an end on Friday, June 10, 1983 at midnight. A decision had been made by old Norman Night of Night Quality Broadcasting, then the owner of WSAR, that he could earn more money by converting the station to satellite music. June 11 was to be the initial date to go on stream with the satellite. This was brand new technology then. All programming could be operated by one man and at times there was no need to have anyone in the studio. The station was doing well at night but it was difficult to sell advertisement time to the remainder of the day parts. And without ads a station would simply go belly up so something drastic needed to be done.
During the first week of June no one on the broadcast side had any idea about what was to happen. We were informed by the general manager of the station’s plans to “go satellite” and we all received a pat on the head and “attaboys” instead of severance pay. I was asked to remain in the office when the others were leaving. Considering what we did for a living we were a speechless lot.
The general manager at WSAR was from Boston and was familiar with a program director at a powerful talk station, WRKO. He asked if I would want to work there and my heart nearly jumped from my chest. The events which unfolded during the next seventy-two hours were like a roller-coaster ride. Somehow, this event became what can only be called a miracle, a journey which has lasted nearly twenty-three years. During that time I spent more than a dozen years in Providence on WHJJ, a station which was as good as any talker anywhere.
There has not been a peaceful period since then. Battles with Red China (wait until you hear about that), the head of the state police, daily skirmishes with a fine man who could have been a great governor, stopping the building of a prison in a small town, taking part in the anti-mandatory seat belt ballot question, stopping a congressional pay raise, interviews with presidential candidates, conducting the “biggest” Zucchini contest ever, exposing a scandal of enormous proportions of a multi-murderer being treated like royalty, and a host of other wonderful and not so wonderful times on air. I even learned the difference between just plain manure and composted manure. No not my experience on a gardening show but a real manure problem in the City of Boston. No, no, no, this was not political.
Broadcasting from the deck of the aircraft carrier JFK and getting seasick in the process to having a tug of war with a ten year old brat over my microphone.
Over the years I collected all sorts of experiences and some unbelievable anecdotes that have passed my way.
Actually, I thought I had finished a couple of months ago but memories keep popping up in my head.
Stay tuned.
I Didn’t Mean to do it!
“Every great mistake has a halfway moment, a split second when it can be recalled and perhaps remedied.”--- Pearl Buck
This morning the phone rang before seven. “Who can that be?”, I thought. Our children and friends had been informed to not call me before at least eight since I was on air until midnight the night before. It had become part of our routine after only a few weeks.
I learned early on, some people can be very mean to others, especially those with whom they have a political disagreement. Add to that as a public person, I became fair game.
In those days prior to caller ID you had only limited choices to deal with crank callers. Don’t answer the phone, get an unlisted number, or put up with the nastiness.
My wife of many decades was a school teacher. Our children had many friends who called, we had ageing relatives who relied on us, so not answering was not an option. Since many of our friends were from outside the Fall River area we needed to keep our phone number listed. So we always answered the phone and hoped for the best.
“Maurice, this is Sister Marie Celine,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Lady this is mean, go to hell!” was my retort as I slammed the receiver down.
My Dad was an undertaker and as I prepared for the show the night before, I did what everyone who grew up in the funeral business did. I read the obituaries religiously. That night was no different, except I read it during the news just before I went on air. It was then I noticed an obituary for a wonderful woman who had been principal at St. Mathieu’s Parochial School in the north end Fall River for all but one of my nine years there.
Sister Marie Celine was a real sweetheart. She was a native of the agricultural region of Quebec, Canada, way up north along the Saint Laurence River on the Gaspe Peninsula. Though that part of Canada is among its most beautiful it is a brutally cold area and survival is very difficult. Many of the Sisters of Saint Joseph who were of French Canadian ancestry came from Quebec, especially far to the north.
Sister Marie Celine once compared her moving to New England to me moving to Florida. It’s much warmer and more hospitable here. This fine lady was fluent in both French and English. Add to that a wonderful violinist. And she could hit a baseball with the best of them.
She was both loved and feared by her students as she was a no nonsense type who would not flinch at using her little strap on either the back side or hands of the recalcitrant.
Sister had all but given up on me. She loved my spirit but thought from time to time it needed to be reigned in. Many a good sister had tried, all failed. I was incorrigible.
My most memorable Mass service was on Thanksgiving Day 1958 just hours before our annual Durfee High/New Bedford High tussle. The Whalers were a powerful team led by a man who would later become a federal judge and take part in the trial of a man (Buddy Cianci) you’ll hear about later in the book.
During the special request portion of the Mass (it was in Latin then) Father Levesque requested special Blessings for our Durfee High team and Sister followed up with a loud "Bravo" which all could hear.
All these wonderful memories came flashing across my mind only moments before broadcast time.
Then a mild depression set in. No, make it a deep depression.
I had learned from a friend Sister had retired and was living at the convent at Blessed Sacrament in the South End of Fall River. I had mentioned it to Helen and she thought visiting Sister would be a very nice thing to do. If I’ve learned nothing else in life it’s that when your wife says something is a very nice thing to do, you do it.
Yes dear!
Well, we never did visit one of the most wonderful people in my life and now she was dead.
The guilt I felt as my program began that night was not unlike the guilt Jewish mothers are famous for putting on their husbands and children.
There is nothing else in the world like a guilt trip.
As I turned on my microphone my eyes swelled with tears. I could barely see the switch and Vu meter. Words were difficult to come by as I choked back crying. It was no use. I was a wreck.
Please keep in mind Sister Marie Celine had been a teacher and principal for over fifty years and had hundreds, no make that thousands, of students over that time. When I mentioned the Fall River Herald News obituary the phone lines lit up like never before. One after another a former student of Sister Marie Celine called. I received a couple of calls from Florida from retired folks who were called about the passing of Sister by their children. The show became one huge tear fest.
One after the other the callers gave testimony to the greatness of this simple woman of the cloth. All admired her. A couple of retired priests who had known her over the years chimed in.
Hell, I was ready to recommend her to the Pope for canonization (sainthood in the Roman Church). Dozens of witnesses told of the wonderful things the lady in black robes had done. I remember one caller who couldn’t finish her first sentence because of her emotions.
So when an "impostor" called the next morning I could only believe it was nothing more than a cruel hoax and I would have none of it.
Within seconds of my slamming the receiver down the phone rang again. And again the voice said she was Sister Marie Celine. And again I became infuriated.
On the third call I was down right blasphemous. “Listen you blankety blank, get off the bleeping phone”! Slam!
Finally on the fourth call the voice on the other end of the line told me in French “disparaissent l'agenouillement devant le Sacré Coeur et demandent la rémission de Dieu employer une telle langue” (“go kneel in front of the Sacred Heart and ask God’s forgiveness for using such language.”)
I broke into a cold sweat and my mouth went dry. There was only one person in this whole wide world who would know the words Sister Marie Celine would speak to me when I managed to completely exasperate her. Silence on both ends.
Finally the voice on the other end began to laugh. She was no doubt aware of my discomfort.
The Fall River Herald News made a mistake. The Sister who had died was Marie Cecil and whoever wrote the obituary confused the two names. A correction was made the next day but that couldn’t straighten out what had been said.
Finally Sister Marie Celine spoke and explained what had happened. She had tried to call the program but couldn’t get through because the lines were “wall to wall” until midnight.
Her next comment was, “Did you really mean all the nice things you said last night?”
After a deep breath I could only stammer out, “yes”.
My ears were burning by then. You know, how the blood rushes to your ears when you’re in a tough spot. I was both happy that Sister Marie Celine was still among us and at the same time sad because I had known Sister Marie Cecil for a couple of years as well. She too was a lovely lady.
A few years earlier many of the retired Sisters of Saint Joseph opened a child care center in the Blessed Sacrament Convent in the south end of Fall River. They took in only toddlers who were toilet trained. One was our fourth daughter Helene. Sister Marie Celine helped out in the endeavor. It was their way of raising money to maintain the convent and help in the upkeep of some of the elderly sisters who had no resources of their own. Shortly afterward one of the sisters who had been trained in the Montessori method of learning began teaching children as young as two or three how to read and handle some pretty fancy math. Parents were both astonished and impressed.
A number of the Sisters returned to school that summer to become certified in the Montessori method of teaching.
By the time our son Arthur reached pre-school age St. Joseph’s Montessori School was in operation. Later, when the convent closed and the remaining sisters were assigned to their Mother House in Holyoke, Massachusetts, a couple of lay teachers took over the running the school.
The Montessori School of the Angels was born then and graduated its first class consisting of three students five years ago (2001). Sister Marie Celine unfortunately could not be there because she died a few years earlier, well into her eighties.
Little did I know this event with Sister Marie Celine would only be the first of many events in talk radio which would become engraved in my mind.
You see talk radio has an effect on people and events. While this one is a little different from the others, there are dozens of examples of the power shift to talk radio.
Fabled talk host, Jerry Williams, once described talk radio as a new form of a Town Meeting. Every town in New England at one time had them. Very few towns still do but the whole country now has them because talk radio reaches the grass roots of America.
Consider the impact of Fox Network News. It bills itself as a 24/7 news network. That’s not correct. It is a radio talk show network. It does no more news than a talk radio station. The only thing it does little of is take phone calls. The rest of the format is almost identical which probably explains at least part of its success.
“Hi, you’re next on the air. What’s on your mind?”
“Dignity does not consist in possessing honors, but in deserving them.”---Aristotle
Talk hosts are unique in that there is no rule book where we must follow certain tried and proven methods of broadcasting. Stations have policies but the hosts have a great deal of latitude.
In music radio timing is everything and in most stations a music director creates a play list. The list will reflect the target audience’s music interest.
The target audience is the group or groupings of listeners the station is attempting to attract.
For example a station which is targeting teens will most often have young sounding disk jockies. There are two basic groups for this type of music:
- Teens in the 12 to 17 age group; essentially the “teeny boppers”.
- 18 to 24 is also an important demographic since it takes in post high school and recent college graduates.
The jocks are given a list of “Top-40” songs to play. I recall the story of one such jock who failed to play the #1 song during his on air shift. When the music director asked why he hadn’t played the #1 song the jock responded saying since he heard it so often he was bored with it. He was fired on the spot.
Why was he fired?
Simple. He was not there to entertain himself. His job was to entertain the teeny boppers.
His next song, “Hit the Road Jack.”
In talk radio we write the songs as we go along. Our demographic is really 35 to 64. However the advertisers target 25 to 54.
Ratings books are broken down the following ways:
- The above mentioned 12 to 17 and 18 to 24 “demos”.
- 25 to 34.
- 25 to 44.
- 25 to 54.
- 35 to 54
- 35 to 64
- 12+ (usually favors older listeners). This demographic can run to any age. It measures the number of all the listeners of radio stations.
Typically, talk radio and news radio owns the 12+ demographic. Because the 65 and older audience has few choices in music on the air their interest is overwhelmingly in talk and news. I would venture a guess that more than half the audience of WRKO and WBZ is over 65.
Unfortunately, advertisers have never learned how to market to that age group. They do purchase goods and services but we’re hung up on the television view the money resides in the younger demos. The 65+ group usually has expendable income and spends sometimes lavishes things on younger family members and friends.
I digress. Perception is reality in advertising. After all, our business is not music, talk and news. It is advertising. The rest is merely the medium the advertising is carried out.
Mel Miller, who was himself a product of rock & roll radio having been the creator of Melvin X. Melvin (he was actually the first MXM), directed Woo Woo Ginsburg and many others to stardom on the original WMEX in Boston became a master of formatting a talk station.
After his days at WMEX he was hired as program director for Boston’s Newsradio590 WEEI, by Dan Griffin. Griffin had been program director at WBZ during Mel‘s time at WMEX. He brought Mel there to “liven” up the news. Under their guidance WEEI was always near the top in the Boston ratings.
Mr. Miller later became the first program director of WRKO as a talk station. Mr. Griffin would soon follow as general manager. Again, under their leadership the station zoomed to the top. They were both about the best in the business at their respective positions.
I had the good fortune of being hired by Mel in Boston. More on that in a later chapter.
I learned three things (well, actually more than three) from Mel when he hired me:
- Always be myself, don’t try to fool anyone because it will boomerang at some point.
- Always speak in terms easily understood by the largest amount of listeners possible.
- Never use five syllables when two will do.
The most important thing from a listening standpoint is “WHO CARES?” Remember who is listening and why.
What does the “Who Cares” mean?
I can still hear his words today, a quarter century later. “Moe, any time you bring up a topic or discuss anything ask yourself, Who Cares? If you have difficulty answering that, move on to another topic. You must be interesting and compelling. Is the topic you’re bringing up going to be discussed at the water cooler, coffee shop, dinner table?
If you answer no, dump the topic.
The most important topics are those which affect the lives of our listeners. What moves them? What’s important to a Mom of three living in the city or suburb? What captures the interest the salesman who listens in between customer visits? The teacher on the way home needs to be stimulated. So to does the truck driver who spends hours listening on the road needs something to interest him.
- Issues which affect people’s money are always of interest. Taxes, price gauging, insurance and health costs, etc. Prop 2-½ was huge.
- Personal safety. That is pretty much self-explanatory.
Education. Need I say any more? - Generally anything that affects a person’s liberty. Seat belts, anti-smoking laws.
- Any matters dealing with war and our military.
- You get the idea. What is it that captures our mutual interest?
There are always the general interest programs. Some of the liveliest have had to do with favorite sodas (sarsaparilla and Moxie are up there with Simpson Springs Ginger Ale), toys of childhood (electric trains, six-guns, and Cabbage Patch Kids), yard sales, and cultural items such as public profanity, lack of politeness in public, talking in movies (that’s been surpassed by cell phones in restaurants), etc.
He had me make a list of things which mattered to me personally. I had never thought in those terms so it was interesting what I thought was important. Safety of my family is ranked high in importance. So is providing for the family. Ditto with health and living expenses. The list was longer but you get the idea. There are many things in which we all are in agreement are important.
The inner city lower middle income man and the forty-something in the burbs have many similar concerns. So now when the question of who cares is asked, I can answer it fairly well. It is something I practice to this day. I visit chat rooms, forums and any other place on the Internet, the ball park or anywhere chatter is going on. Before the talk begins, the listening has been done.
~~~~~~~
I have been blessed with many outstanding guests. This was true especially in the few years I spent at WSAR In Fall River, Massachusetts.
What do Bob Hope, Albert (Dapper) O’Neil, and Admiral James Stockdale have in common?They were all guests in studio.
I was very lucky.
~~~~~~~
Bob Hope performed at the famed Warwick Musical Theater in Warwick, Rhode Island in 1955, the year Buster Bonoff opened his “circus tent” theater. Low overhead, plenty of seats for the patrons and a laid back atmosphere made the theater a great place to perform. The theater lasted until 1999 when Vince Gill sang the last song from the revolving stage in the “Tent”.
Bob Hope made his last visit to the “Tent” in the early 1980s. He had performed there numerous times and always had a warm spot in his heart for the theater.
The publicist for the “Tent” arranged for Hope to be a guest at our station via phone from his hotel room in Providence, Rhode Island. He was slated to land at Green airport but because of weather he landed at Logan Airport in Boston. His chauffeur called to say he would not be able to do the interview since he was driving to his hotel in Providence and would arrive late in the evening. Mr. Hope would be tired after such a long day.
I was a little disappointed until I came up with a clever idea. I asked the driver what route he intended to travel and he mentioned I-95. I suggested it would not be any longer to go via Massachusetts route 24 to I-195 in Fall River and then to drive on to Providence. Along the way they could make a short visit to WSAR. It was not a large building and they could park right at the door. We were only a few hundred yards from the exit/entrance ramp to the highway. (I lied when I told the driver the distance was about the same --- but I think he knew that.)
The chauffeur made the request to Mr. Hope and he agreed to it. His publicist was to meet him at the Warwick airport so Mr. Hope was traveling alone.
Now the fun was to get Bob Hope into the studio. Not an easy trick. You see, when I was on air at night I was completely alone. There was no one else in the building. Even the janitor finished his work before I went on air. I asked the chauffeur to simply ring the bell at the entrance.
I loaded six sixty second spots in our machine for playing commercials. The instant I heard the bell ring I cut off the caller I had on the air and hit the button to begin the commercials. I arrived at the front door at the same instant the comedian of comedians was exiting the limo.
Bob Hope was then nearly eighty years old and had just traveled from his California home. He said he was tired. Frankly he looked it. I actually began to feel guilty for putting him through more than he had originally bargained for.
What surprised me most was the gentle manner he had. He immediately recognized I was tense and ill at ease. Not to worry, he said. He asked if I had butterflies in my stomach and I said yes. He then gave me advice on how to handle that.
“You can’t get rid of them. They won’t leave. Just try to get them to fly in formation. They won’t bother you as much that way,” he said.
Bob Hope was right. I was able to relax and focus on the questions I had for him. As I recall I focused on what he was most famous for, entertaining our troops and golfing with presidents.
Who was the most attractive of the young ladies on his tour? No hesitation. Joey Heatherton. Who was the best golfer? Ike was, hands down. But Gerry Ford could hit the ball a mile. Only problem President Ford had was he it a mile on the greens as well.
What was Bing Crosby like?
He was a great guy and friend, just what you’d expect from the man famous for White Christmas.
Would he have done anything differently?
No, I wouldn’t do a thing differently.
To the question of whether he was ever frightened while performing in war zones, he answered never.
“I had the greatest bunch of fighting men there to protect me,” he said referring to the military men he was performing for.
Fifteen minutes went by in what seemed like seconds.
Talking to Bob Hope was as comfortable as sitting down with your grandfather. He was everything I’d hoped he’d be. Just fifteen minutes and I felt as though I’d known him a lifetime.
~~~~~~~
I found the same traits in another man who was much a different personally than I had not anticipated. Boston City Councilor Albert Lewis (Dapper) O’Neil was a throwback to an earlier time in Boston politics. He was bright and disarmingly charming. He was also a tough pol in the Boston tradition. His mentor was James Michael Curley.
The reason he was a guest on a Fall River radio station was his endorsement of Ronald Reagan for president. The “Dap” had been appointed chairman of Massachusetts Democrats for Reagan. Both men had a common trait. They were each underestimated by their opponents. The political landscape was littered with the bodies of such people.
They also had many other traits in common.
While Ronald Reagan was a professional actor, Dapper was a wonderful entertainer in his own right. Both could charm a hambone from a hungry dog or sell air conditioning to an Eskimo in an igloo.
After the show we stopped by a late night spot near WSAR which had a piano bar, Magoni's Restaurant. The player there was Al Rainone, a local Democrat activist who heard I had “Mr. O’Neil” on the air that night. He expressed surprise someone like “Tip” would endorse the Republican for president.
Al hadn’t listened very closely because he confused Dapper for the Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, who hailed from Cambridge, just across the river from Boston. Tip was a very liberal politician and was in all likelihood the opposite of Dapper on almost all issues.
Rainone warmed up to O’Neil very rapidly and Dapper agreed to sing a number of songs, mesmerizing those present with his beautiful Irish tenor voice. Dapper worked the crowd shaking every hand there that night.
His personal charm was most evident when “Margaret”, a dyed in the wool liberal Democrat who called the show regularly tried to attack O’Neil for being a turncoat for supporting a Republican. She had been the bane of my existence in my early days as a talk host. The call lasted about four or five minutes, which is long for a talk show call.
Margaret could be a real thorn in my side and tried to be the same with Dapper. The call ended with Margaret not only placated by Dapper, she invited him to dinner at her home “any time”. She all but said “I love you”.
Dapper was a real charmer who did many shows with me and enjoyed doing them each time he visited. He was in great demand by those who loved him as well as those who detested him. It was impossible for anyone not to have a strong feeling for Dapper, good or bad.
I loved “The Dap”.
~~~~~~~
One of the most decorated officers in the history of the United States Navy was Vice Admiral James B. Stockdale. He was also the highest ranking officer held prisoner during the Vietnam War. He was awarded The Medal of Honor and four Silver Stars.
James Stockdale is in the same place of honor reserved for Admirals David Farragut, William Halsey Junior, John Paul Jones, Chester Nimitz, Matthew Perry, Hyman Rickover and Richard Evelyn Byrd.
I recall with disgust the way Admiral Stockdale was treated by the media during his run for Vice President with Ross Perot in 1992. During the Vice Presidential debate Admiral Stockdale had difficulty hearing. That was a result of injuries he suffered when he was beaten senseless repeatedly at the Hoa Lo Prison (better remembered as Hanoi Hilton). The man’s hearing became a problem and in certain circumstances he had great difficulty hearing clearly. He was a fish out of water being on a platform where one needs to be on guard for any misstatement and action. A place you are judged more on your ability to be an actor than a genuine person of character. He was ridiculed by people not worthy of breathing his air. He was quite possibly the finest choice anyone could make for a candidate for any office at any time.
Admiral Stockdale passed away in July of 2005 leaving us a memory of a proud and distinguished man who stood tall among men. He died of complications from Alzheimer’s. His death came a mere thirteen months after the passing of President Ronald Reagan who died as a result of the same illness. Another similarity was the humanity and humility of very honorable men whose love of America was unparalleled.
About 1981 I read an article in National Review Magazine about the admiral and realized he was back in Newport, Rhode Island at the Naval War College. After obtaining the phone number for the War College I called and was passed on to Admiral Stockdale’s office. A man’s voice answered. I identified myself as a radio talk host at WSAR in Fall River, Massachusetts and would appreciate the opportunity to interview Admiral Stockdale. The voice on the other end inquired what I’d like to discuss and I responded the Admiral’s thoughts on family values and the love and admiration he had for his father, his experiences as a POW and the Admiral’s view of the military today.
The National Review article, as I recall, spoke glowingly about Mr. Stockdale’s academic achievements and how many recommended that he become a college professor. However his call to the Colors and his love for flight compelled him to further his Naval career, a choice, the article said, he never regretted.
Finally the voice on the other end of the line said, “Yes, I’d like to do such an interview, thank you for offering.”
I was breathless. Here I was pontificating to a man for whom I had nothing but admiration. I suggested I could go to Newport to conduct the interview to be played back on my evening radio show.
Silence.
The Admiral then spoke and asked if I would object to his coming to the studio to do the show live. He almost seemed to be disappointed I had not invited him to be on the air live.
That matter was cleared up and the following week Admiral Stockdale was a guest at Number One Home Street in Somerset, Massachusetts, the studios of WSAR.
I was struck by the gentle nature of this fighting man. His love for philosophy was exceeded only by his love for family and country. Admiral Stockdale was easy to talk to.
I knew that moment what it was like to be in the presence of Greatness. One of the few times I had ever had such a feeling was with Ronald Reagan about fifteen years earlier and President Dwight Eisenhower when I was a child.
Time has faded my memory of most of our discussion (yes, discussion, not questions and answers). What I am left with is how Admiral Stockdale held no animus for the Vietnam War protesters. His view was, after all was said and done, what he and many others fought for was the preservation of our liberties, therefore we should not object when someone uses (or even abuses) one of those liberties.
Was he hurt by the protests and political speeches while he was captive? He said yes. Deeply.
The enemy hardly allowed a day to pass without tormenting him and the other prisoners by telling them they wasted their efforts because no one cared about them.
Admiral Stockdale told us about his treatment at the hands of his captors. The torture he experienced was incredible.
While flying a mission over North Vietnam in September of 1965, James Stockdale’s A-4 combat jet was shot down and he parachuted into a small village where he was severely beaten and handed over to North Vietnamese regulars. His entire captivity was at “Hanoi Hilton”.
Seven years in Hoa Lo Prison. Of that, half was in solitary confinement.
He spent most of his first months locked into a small stall in leg irons. Daily beatings were routine.
One time he was told he was to be paraded in public. Rather than allow his captors to take advantage of him for propaganda purposes he slit his skull with a razor. They laughed and said they would put a hat on him and parade him anyway.
His captors underestimated his sense of purpose. He was not going to be used for propaganda. He smashed his face with a stool until it was beyond recognition. They were never going to use James Stockdale for propaganda.
Some of the Admiral’s fellow prisoners were dieing under the mistreatment and torture of their captors. When he heard that he slit his wrists and told them he would rather die than submit.
His actions were in large part why the North Vietnamese stopped their gratuitous torture of prisoners and led to his being awarded the Medal of Honor years later.
Mrs. Sybil Stockdale took a cue from her courageous husband. She organized The League of American Families of POW's and MIA's.
In 1968 she and the families put pressure on the President and Congress to publicly accept as truth the mistreatment of American POWs.
Admiral Stockdale told our audience that when he was released from the Hanoi Hilton in 1973 he was in terrible shape. Both his shoulders had been wrenched from their sockets, his leg had been shattered by angry villagers. The severity of his torture led to a broken back, but through all that he had refused to capitulate.
After he received the Medal of Honor in 1976, Admiral Stockdale filed charges against two other officers. He felt they had given aid and comfort to the enemy. The Navy Department took no action and merely retired these men.
When he returned to active duty he was hardly able to walk or stand. Out of respect for this man of great courage the Navy kept him on the active list and promoted him regularly until he retired as a Vice Admiral in 1979.
Listening to him tell his story reminded me of the days listening to my Grandpa relate his life’s experiences. Honest and truthful. No hyperbole.
The outpouring of love and admiration expressed to him by our listeners reduced him to tears. He was especially touched by two calls, one from a WWII veteran who was a POW in the Pacific and the other a Korean War POW. He was also touched by comments of a woman whose brother was still MIA in Vietnam.
I still hear from and meet listeners who recall Admiral Stockdale’s visit. In ninety short minutes he seared into my consciousness the meaning of General Douglas MacArthur’s sense of Duty, Honor, Country: Admiral Stockdale exemplified it.
The Admiral spoke often of his love and respect for his dad. I later gleaned from some of his writings how strong his relationship with his dad was and how important it was to live up to his father’s expectations.
His greatest ordeal during captivity was his knowledge the Gulf of Tonkin incident, the basis for the start of the Vietnam War was nothing more than a hoax. He was there and was a witness to the event. He alluded to it on the show but I wasn’t sharp enough to catch the full importance and meaning of what he related until 1992 when he said the following:
"[I] had the best seat in the house to watch that event, and our destroyers were just shooting at phantom targets—there were no PT boats there.... There was nothing there but black water and American fire power." From Media Beat (7/27/94) 30-year Anniversary: Tonkin Gulf Lie Launched Vietnam War By Norman Soloman and Jeff Cohen.
On August 4, 1964 squadron commander Stockdale was one of the U.S. Navy pilots flying overhead during the second alleged attack of the Gulf of Tonkin Incident. Unlike the first attack, this one is believed to have been a false alarm.
The basis for Admiral Stockdale’s dilemma and his terrible ordeal was because he said his superiors had ordered him to keep quiet about the incident. After he was captured, the truth about the Gulf of Tonkin incident burdened him a lot. He was concerned that his captors would eventually force him to reveal what he knew. It was the most terrible secret of the Vietnam War.
Rest in Peace, Admiral James Stockdale.
CHAPTER THREE
A Couple of Vices
“Angels do find us in our hour of need.”
---Amy Huffman
For many years I had one very bad habit and flirted with another. One was smoking and the other drinking and driving.
Most of us who smoke and drink do so at great risk. I asked my physician once whether a little smoking was OK. He answered that a little smoking was preferable to heavy smoking. However, though excessive smoking was worse than light smoking, no amount of smoking was safe.
I pressed him on the subject because I had been wrestling with smoking for a long time. I started when I was a young boy who tried to act tough in the presence of older fellows by doing what they did. Smoke.
By the time I was twenty I was fully hooked on tobacco. I partook of all the burning leaves I could handle.
The first time I quit smoking was at Helen’s request. I was driving home from Canada and listening to the only Boston station I could pull in along the way, WBZ. They were the Celtics flagship station at the time and Johnny Most, a five pack man (meaning the number of packs each day) was on air leading their “Big Coffin.”
One station personality after another pledged to quit. Politicians and other well known Bostonians did the same. The Lung Association provided guests with expertise in quitting smoking. The whole world was quitting. Finally, somewhere south of Burlington, Vermont, I opened the car window and tossed out the three or four packs of Camels I had. Next out was a very expensive lighter. That was it, I quit.
Forever!
Forever lasted about a year because the following January I was in a hotel in Cowansville, Quebec. When I awoke in the morning I learned we had a huge snow storm during the night. Huge even by their standards in the snow belt. I was marooned in the hotel.
I strolled down to the restaurant and had a great country breakfast. A few other salesmen were also stuck there and we took up to talking shop and just about anything else which came to mind.
The morning hours rolled into the afternoon. The tavern opened and we drifted to the bar. After a couple of Molson Ales one of my new found friends offered me a cigarette. At first I refused. Another Molson and another offer of a cigarette. This time I thought I’d see what a smoke tasted like after a whole year.
Yuck. Garbage.
Afternoon turned into night and we had dinner with a promise from hotel management the snow would be cleared enough to allow us to leave in the morning.
After dinner we had a few more Molson’s. And I had a few more cigarettes. Talk about stupid.
When I got up in the morning the first thing I sought out was a cigarette. Even before breakfast I had visited the cigarette machine. I was once again hopelessly hooked on smoking. Even after a whole year, the last six months of which I had no interest in even trying one, I was once again addicted.
Wow! What a hold nicotine had on me.
I tried to quit again and managed six months once and three or four months a few more times. Yet I still went back to my dirty habit.
Norman Knight, owner of Knight Quality Broadcasting, was among the early anti-smoking zealots. Smoking was not permitted in any of his stations. However Bob Nimms, his general manager at WSAR, among other things, was a heavy smoker. A lifelong radio man, Nimms had smoked since he came off the farm in central Massachusetts when he was a teen. We talked about smoking a lot. Most everyone Bob hired smoked.
We had a process of fumigating the station whenever old man Knight planned to visit. The building always smelled as though it was submerged in a bottle of Air Wick by the time he arrived.
Finally, in the winter of 1982, our daughter Carol-Anne, with Helen’s connivance, coaxed one of her younger sisters, Sarah, into pulling a very unfair stunt on me.
While I was reading the newspaper before supper, cigarette butt hanging from my lip, Sarah stood in the doorway holding a pack of my cigarettes in her hand. “Dad, who do you like more, me or these?”
Damned unfair, that was. And very effective.
My thoughts darted to, “I’ve got to quit these things and I’ve got to do this permanently this time.”
But how?
That night on air, sometimes toward the middle of the program I began to cough as only a smoker can. This time, however, I had all I can do to speak.
I tried to quit the next morning but was back to it by noon.
Shattered by the failure yet once again I remembered the Coffin a dozen years earlier.
By then it was early February. I began to think what would be a good date to quit. Finally I struck on an idea. Helen and I celebrate our birthdays in March. That did it. Quitting would be a birthday gift to both of us. I asked her about it and she thought it was a good idea since it would serve two purposes. No need to spend money on what is usually a needless gift. Add to that the ongoing savings of cigarette costs.
Suddenly, I felt as though I was zeroing in on a method of quitting which would work for the long term. I mentioned it to our WSAR audience and the feedback was outstanding. Go for it was the sentiment.
I arbitrarily selected March 1, 1982 as the magic date. I asked listeners who felt as I did to send in post cards to pledge along with me to dump the habit forever.
We received hundreds of post card pledges and almost an equal amount of mail wishing us success. Boy was I ever committed now.
The last program before the smoke out I suggested to our listeners who were planning to do it with me to wait until 8:30 for the final puffs after which we would all poke out our last butt. I told the audience I intended to have a can full of water to submerge my last pack of butts in a symbolic gesture. Ditto for my lighter.
When I arrived at the station I wasn’t sure how well I’d stand up to this sort of thing. Fall River is a small city and I was fairly well known. There was no way I could ever go back to smoking without being viewed as a phony or worse. It had to work this time.
My personal plan of action was to smoke my brains out for an hour or so before I went on the air. I sat on the back steps of the station, an area adjacent to the studio at about 6:30. I began what I hoped would be my final smoking binge.
Forever!
I smoked one cigarette after another. At about 7:30 I began to have this all-over numb feeling. Even my vision was blurred and I was developing a headache. Suddenly I had to throw up. Sorry about the crude description but it came on me in a rush. I threw my cigarettes as far as I could. I actually hated them by then. From that moment the very thought of lighting up again made me feel ill. Very ill. It still does.
My plan to have my last cigarette with my listeners went out the window (or, in this case, the back door of the radio station). I simply couldn’t light up again. Merely writing about it brings back that queasy feeling.
I lied to the audience. I told them I was smoking during the last half hour right along with those who had pledged to quit with me.
At 8:30 I went through the on air motions of putting out my last cigarette. I even plunged my hand in the water to simulate drowning my cigarettes and then submerged my lighter.
I took call after call encouraging all of who were doing this with me to stick with their decision. Some callers were quitting too and we commiserated. A general surgeon named Sheehan called in to remind all of us who had quit and gone back to smoking to not look at our experience as a failure. Each time we quit and returned to smoking was a learning experience about how to eventually do it permanently. Good words from a person who understood the dangers of smoking.
Those of us who quit and started again in the past could usually identify what it was that brought us back to smoking. How do we avoid such things?
One caller, a fellow named Fred from Barrington, Rhode Island called to say he had been at St. Anne’s Shrine in Fall River where conservative Republicans were lighting vigil candles and praying for my success in quitting permanently. He said liberal Democrats followed them around blowing out the candles.
Nearly twenty-five years later I still encounter people who ask if I’m still off cigarettes. Some even pat the cigarette pocket on my shirt to check up on me.
I have been smoke free since then and no longer have urges to go back.
I became sold on the power of radio that night.
~~~~~~~
It was during the Christmas season in 1980 that a rash of drunk driving accidents occurred killing a large number of people in the greater Boston area. Headlines screamed out the outrage of people everywhere. It was the year Mothers Against Drunk Driving became a force in Massachusetts as it had been already in many other states. Governor Ed King created a task force to recommend ways we could get a handle on the scourge.
I was friendly with a Massachusetts State Trooper, Bob McCarthy from Westport, Massachusetts, who had seen too many dead and dismembered people as a result of drunk driving accidents.
Most of us seldom gave a second thought to the problem. Alcohol related incidents were covered over and drunk drivers often got gentle treatment from police and judges alike. It was a dirty little secret.
Was I guilty of driving impaired? Sure I was. For those old enough to remember the attitude toward drinking and much of the foolishness associated with drunk driving, it was not uncommon for someone to complain of a hangover and joke about it. Many of us laughed at the line “I got so drunk I can’t even remember how I drove home.” Stupid. Really stupid.
A lot has changed because of that Christmas’ carnage and death associated with driving under the influence. In most of the accidents it was drivers who had previous serious accidents and many who had multiple stops for DUI in the past.
I brought Trooper McCarthy on the program to describe what he had seen on Massachusetts roads in his fifteen years or so patrolling our highways.
He and a number of his colleagues were convinced (and have since been vindicated) we could gain the cooperation of the previously drinking drivers who were not problem drinkers. We needed to demonstrate in many ways how dangerous it was. Just how easily could we become impaired?
A few weeks later Trooper Bob called me and asked if I’d like to get drunk? I couldn’t believe my ears. That wasn’t the Bob McCarthy I knew and loved.
He told me he had worked traffic on Cape Cod that weekend. A driver approached him on where he could catch the ferry to get off Martha’s Vineyard. The man was so drunk he didn’t know he was on the mainland. Bob asked if he had been drinking and was informed “only a couple at lunch”. Bob thought to himself “only a couple of quarts of whiskey.”
Trooper Bob called for backup and took the keys away from the man. At the station he “blew” a 0.27 on the Breathalyzer. The man should have blacked out with that blood alcohol level.
The Trooper informed me he had been in touch with Captain Port at the Concord barracks of the State Police. The thought of the words Port, Concord (as in kosher wine) and the breathalyzer in the same sentence struck a funny nerve in me.
“Whatcha got in mind, Bob?”
“Captain Port and I will take you out to supper before your show and control the amount of beer you consume. With your boss’s permission we’ll take you to work and give you a limited amount of beer and later in the show we’ll give you a blood/alcohol test. OK with you?”
I agreed and our program director Ken McLain agreed to it as well. We set it up for the next day.
Before I began I asked why they chose beer since no one gets drunk on beer alone?
Bob didn’t answer. He only laughed. I guess the laughter was his answer.
At six promptly, Captain Port and Trooper McCarthy picked me up at home and took me to a small restaurant where I had a good meal and a couple of Buds to wash it down. I had one more beer before going on air and sipped beer regularly from then on as we often do in a bar or at a party.
I was administered the breathalyzer at about 10:30. I had nothing to drink since the ten news. I blew a 0.11 BAC (blood alcohol content). That was only slightly above the legal limit which has since been lowered to 0.08. It was not a terribly high figure but when I listened to a tape of the show the next morning. Starting before nine my speech was somewhat slurred. By nine-thirty or so I was having difficulty in the timing in controlling the operations board. In small stations on air people operate their own equipment and load up the machines that play the commercials you hear. I was starting commercials too soon, I failed to start them on time a few times. These were operations which were normally “automatic.” Instead they were strained.
Captain Port, who was a specialist on the machine and had been a trooper for decades, said my reaction to a limited amount of beer was enough to impair my ability to broadcast. The same would be true with my handling a car.
I’m sure I had driven in that condition because I didn’t feel impaired. The tape of the program proved that even a moderate amount of drinking was enough to cause a problem. The more we drink, the more dangerous it is.
I don’t know if the experiment changed anyone else’s mind. Maybe, just maybe, someone, some night, somewhere, might think twice about driving while under the influence, even if not stumbling drunk.
Maybe, there is one more person still alive because he didn’t drink and get behind the wheel.
~~~~~~~
A few weeks later I interviewed a longtime district court judge, Hugh Morton, to at the WSAR studio. He was a man whom my Dad and I had known for years.
Judge Morton was a patrician Yankee of the old school. A gentleman at all times.
He had just retired from the court and he joined us to discuss how the court operates. When the subject of DUI and the court’s general reluctance to put the squeeze on offenders, particularly repeat offenders, things got interesting.
I was rather surprised with his candor. He said he and most judges had historically taken the attitude “there but for the Grace of God go I.”
Frankly, it made sense. It is true the courts most often reflect the attitudes of the public in general. DUI was no different. That is until that awful rash of drunk killings that Christmas weekend in 1980.
After Judge Morton’s visit I paid attention to how the courts and the public reacted to DUI. In most cases the trend was to deal with it far more seriously.
I drive to work at WRKO on Saturdays leaving Fall River for Boston (about an hour’s drive) any time between two-thirty to three in the morning. In the early to mid eighties I saw many drivers who were obviously having difficulty behind the wheel. Starting in the late eighties and running well into the nineties I noted less and less frequency of drivers out of control. Today, I find very few in my travels to Boston.
There is still far too much drinking and driving, especially among young drivers. We have conducted many shows on teen driving habits and thousands on suggestions on dealing with youthful driving while impaired by alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, and a host of other drugs. On the campuses of many of our colleges, drinking is so commonplace it frightens parents. Include Helen and me in that group.
Our children range in age from late teens to early forties. We have not observed the drinking problem getting any better. Ask anyone who lives near a campus, large or small. The problem may be getting worse.
I think I’ll do a talk show on that next week.
Soon there Will be None
“The end excuses any evil.”--- Sophocles
When the bombs fell on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 I was still a gleam in my Dad’s eye. World War II was in its early stages when I was born in March of 1942. During the later stages of the war and shortly afterwards, words and phrases like Battle of the Bulge, Iwo Jima, Normandy, Nazis, Fascists, etc. were just that, words. Holocaust didn’t even register in my mind then.
Years later I learned my Godfather, Marcel (Jackie) Lauzier, had been wounded in the Battle of the Bulge and an aunt, Sister Rose, my Mom‘s sister, spent the War behind enemy lines at the Convent of the Little Sisters of the Poor in Lyon, France.
My uncle, the late Father Henry Canuel told me she and the other Nuns in her convent were part of the underground railroad moving Jews out of Lyon to avoid the efforts of the Nazis to round them up to kill them. It is only recently that I uncovered dozens of letters written by Sister Rose to relatives here prior to the war and shortly after the war. I am not yet finished reading them. It is a difficult task because the ink is fading and the paper has yellowed over the years. Most of the letters I have in my possession are to my Aunt Aldea and my Mom, Antoinette.
My second real exposure with the Holocaust was with Judge Milton Silva of the Fall River District Court. He was with the 120th Evacuation Hospital, the first medical unit to enter the just liberated Buchenwald Concentration camp. Each year Judge Quinn, of the Juvenile Court, sponsored a Holocaust Remembrance in the courtroom of the F.R. District Court which was attended by students of the various schools in the district. Judge Silva participated in this annual event.
Milton Silva is a rather interesting individual. When he returned from WWII he joined the family undertaking business. He went to law school and later was elected to the Massachusetts legislature and yet later appointed a Judge of Fall River District Court. He also served as Chairman of the F.R. Police Commission under two administrations. At the time the 120th entered Buchenwald Judge Silva was a Corporal. When I learned of the observance I invited him to be a guest on my show. He accepted. My thoughts on the Holocaust were changed forever.
During my years in the textile machinery business I had met many WWII veterans including German and Japanese vets. The first personal encounter I had with the Holocaust was in meeting a man named Hugo Kahnman in Queens, New York.
I had a psychologist friend who explained many survivors felt some form of guilt because they survived and others were systematically killed.
Judge Silva had known me since my youth. My dad was an undertaker too and we had met casually many times in the past. I knew him as a fun loving, congenial man. Yet when we discussed Buchenwald he became deadly serious. He still felt strong emotions more than thirty-five years later. The experience had become embedded in his soul.
He told our audience of the feeling and smell of death in the air from many miles away. The description of what happened at Buchenwald was spoken by local residents there only in hushed tones.
I read many books on the Holocaust, including some which described Adolph Eichman’s doings, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich and many others on the war in Europe and the Pacific.
Yet it was not until this interview with Judge Silva that I felt the full force of the Holocaust. He talked of the walking dead who greeted the Americans at the gate. The still warm crematoria, piles of bodies, the shallow graves, all these memories were vivid and still weighed heavily on him.
We now know the Nazis were desperately trying to kill the remaining prisoners in their concentration camps to destroy all the eye witnesses to their evil deeds.
It was disappointing to hear callers who doubted the validity of the Holocaust. Even with a witness from Buchenwald in the studio.
I began to read all I could about the Holocaust and had different guests from time to time. One such guest answered any thoughts I may have had to the degree of evil which existed during the war. I had learned about the rape of Nanking and the Batan death march and other atrocities performed by the Japanese and their cruelty to prisoners. Horror is the only appropriate word to describe learning what had been done.
I believed Mr. Kahnman. Ditto for Judge Silva and many other guests. I read much of what Eli Wiesel wrote. He dedicated his life to preserving the history and uncovering the murderers who escaped justice right after World War II.
However, one guest brought the evil into very clear focus. The emotions of the victims and desperation of the times became very real thanks to one other guest.
A book publicist contacted our WSAR program producer Charlie Verde promoting a book by an Australian on the Holocaust.
I thought, “What could a writer in Australia know about anything but the Pacific War?”
Thomas Keneally was one of Australia’s top authors. Formerly a school teacher he began writing professionally about 1960 and was prolific in turning our novel after novel. Now he had written of a flamboyant German industrialist who grew into a living legend to the Jews of Krakow, Poland. Only, this was not a novel.
Oskar Schindler was a womanizer, a heavy drinker and a bon vivant, but to them he was a savior.
Keneally’s book is the story of Oskar Schindler who risked his life to protect beleaguered Jews in Nazi-occupied Poland, a man who continually defied the SS, and who was transformed by the war into a man with a mission, a compassionate angel of mercy. The story Keneally told was spell binding.
It sold fairly well, but few knew about it until Steven Spielberg made a movie based on Kineally’s book, Schindler’s Ark.
Oskar Schindler uses Jews to start a factory in Poland during the war. He witnesses the horrors endured by the Jews, and starts to save them.
To this day, Schindler’s List gives insight to the horror of the Nazis like no other motion picture on the subject.
After I left WSAR I did numerous programs on the subject of the Holocaust but nothing came close to what an Australian author recounted.
One of the tragedies of our times is the Holocaust is running out of eye witnesses. In another generation they will all be gone.
While talk radio has done a reasonable job in keeping the memory alive, it is a disappointment to know it is not in its nature to preserve history, so what Keneally and later Spielberg did with Schindler’s List will help keep that history alive.
I did a show on our war with Japan about ten years ago. A student from one of Boston’s great colleges called. She stands out because a format of serious issues does not lend itself to keeping the attention of youthful listeners. This program occurred before the movie Pearl Harbor made a big splash a couple of years ago.
The young lady spoke with surprise that we had fought Japan. She wanted to know when? Then finished her call with the question, “Who won?”
I should have asked her what she knew about the Holocaust.
~~~~~~~
Radio legend Paul Harvey has a segment he refers to as, "The rest of the story.”
Well here's the rest of the story.
I spoke earlier in this chapter about Judge Milton Silva. I also mentioned Eli Wiesel, quite possibly the most effective voice on the issue of the Holocaust and the founder of Eli Wiesel Foundation for Humanity. Wiesel sums up the Holocaust and our personal responsibilities toward one another this way:
"...to remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all..." stands as a succinct summary of his views on life and serves as the driving force of his work. Wiesel is the author of 36 works dealing with Judaism, the Holocaust, and the moral responsibility of all people to fight hatred, racism and genocide.
When Milton Silva and the 120th entered Buchenwald, Eli Wiesel was one of its prisoners.
A few years ago Dr. Eli Wiesel was at U Mass Dartmouth as a commencement speaker. Judge Silva attended that talk and had been invited to the brunch and reception before the ceremony. During the brunch the Judge approached Dr. Wiesel and said, “Dr. Wiesel, you and I have something in common.” Dr. Wiesel responded by asking, “What’s that?” “I was with the 120th evacuation hospital”.
Judge Silva said, “I didn't have to say anything else because he knew, and he pulled me to him, and he put his arms around me, and he said 'Thank you'."
Here, Paul Harvey would say, "And now you know the rest of the story."
“Good Day!”
CHAPTER FIVEPowerless“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.”---George Carlin
Paralysis nearly set in when I checked the phone lines at about 8:40.
All the lines were dead.
The greatest fear any new talk host has is going on air and boring the audience to the point where no one calls. When I first started in the business I had recurring nightmares I went on air and no one called. What would I do? Would I simply pick up my things, return home, call the boss in the morning to explain “I quit” and never again want to go near a radio station.
Honest to God, I kid you not. I feared that happening.
Here's a little insight on the operation of WSAR when I was there.
My air shift at first was eight to eleven in the evening. I referred to it as prime time radio. That was not quite true. That was prime time alright. Prime time for television, not radio. It was the caboose of the radio train.
Most people had returned from work, read the newspaper, had dinner and watched TV. That’s pretty much the case today as well. Morning drive is where the most listeners were and are today. Afternoon drive came in a strong second and mid-day had a drop off from the morning and afternoon drive times.
Diaries are used for rating radio stations. 99% of them are from Arbitron Rating Service and are broken down into five basic parts for week days. Early morning is six to ten, mid-day is ten to three, and late afternoon three to seven. Night is seven to midnight and then overnight is midnight to six.
The diary is then broken down into weekdays and weekends following the same time breakdown.
Most stations today are interested first in AM Dive. Then PM Drive. Mid-Day follows that. Evening radio is far less expensive and of course has a much smaller potential audience. Overnight is an afterthought depending on the station’s format.
That’s the long winded way (talk hosts don’t ever conserve words) of saying the boss didn’t expect miracles and if you could survive without swearing (just saying the word sex on the air back in the early 80s put you on the spot) and keep things somewhat interesting you were golden. That’s pretty much true today with rare exceptions like David Brudnoy and Avi Nelson in the Boston market. They were the exception as was Gerry Williams in his early days when he did evening radio. His years at WRKO were afternoon drive.
For a rookie at WSAR in Fall River not much was expected. I just got very lucky.
When I first started I opened the show with an opening monologue which is similar to a prologue in a book. I’d lay out my plans for the night, what I hoped would catch the attention and interest of the largest number of listeners and hopefully callers. After all, we’re talking TALK radio, which implies two way talk. Caller and host. Nothing complicated about the objectives.
I had been on air maybe a month or two at the time. I came in and had a few pleasant words with Charley Verde who preceded me with the six to eight sports talk show. We were the Red Sox station in the area that year. That was both a blessing and curse for me. At the time I was still selling machinery and planned my trips around the Sox schedule. I usually had one or two nights on air during the week plus Sunday nights.
Charley left as soon as he got off the air. Our news person was seldom in the building since he/she had to cover school committee, city council, selectmen and other municipal happenings. The newsperson would return and record a minute or two of news and leave it with me. It would follow the CBS News at the top of the hour. The janitor on most nights was finished before eight. Basically I was alone until Mark Williams and his lovely wife Robin would come in for his midnight to 5:30 overnighter.
I was a-l-o-n-e. Eeeeeek.
I went on the air as always at 8:06 and 30 seconds, at the conclusion of the CBS Newscast. This night was no exception.
“Georgette, Carol-Anne, Sarah and Helene, give mom a hug, throw dad a kiss, we’ll see you at breakfast.”
That was the way I opened all my shows on WSAR. (I must admit I failed to say it on the night I buried Sister Marie Celine. Someone wrote to give me heck for failing to do it that night. Failure to send the kids to bed was as bad as I could be.)
I recall, I had an interesting show prepared for that night. This was pre-Internet. Show prep required reading the Fall River Herald News, Providence Journal, Boston Herald and Boston Globe each day without fail. I also read all the magazines I could steal from office waiting rooms everywhere. I also read all the news which came in on our Associated Press and United Press wires in the station. This night was no different.
I don’t recall what the opening monologue consisted of but it was probably informative and at least a little provocative, certainly enough to compel someone to pick up the phone and call. We had Fall River area lines along with a direct line from each Taunton, New Bedford and Providence, Rhode Island.
We took commercial breaks at 20, 35 and 50 minutes past the hour. I took the usual twenty break and didn’t have a caller waiting. (We used to put the calls on hold directly and screen them during the four to five minute commercial breaks and during the news.)
I went back on air and introduced another issue of the day to discuss. I hit it as hard as I could and became deliberately more provocative. The thirty-five break came and went and still no calls. That never happened to me before.
With perspiration flowing freely from my forehead I went back on air. I remember thoughts crossing my mind such as, “Boy am I glad I kept the day job”.
Finally during the fifty break a little whisper in my ear suggested “check the phones for dial tone”.
I did.
NONE! EEEEEEEEK!
Boy did I begin to breath deeply. Cotton mouth disease set in. My throat was parched and the butterflies were having their day. I also learned all about hyper ventilation.
I wanted to call the boss. But how. It was me and the silent phones. And my cigarettes (I hadn’t yet quit smoking). One after another.
Finally we reached the top of the hour. I could take a breather and see if I could find out what happened. Tick-tick-tick. The clock seemed to slow down.
Sheer panic nearly set in. Forget the nearly. What a way to start a radio career.
The clock showed the time was 8:59:52 so I did my top of the hour station legal identification (Federal Communications Commission regulations require call letters and city of license to be mentioned at the top of each hour).
“CBS News on Knight Quality Broadcasting, WSAR Fall River, at the tone it’s nine o’clock.”
Throw the CBS switch and get ready to head for the bathroom. What a feeling. Nothing. No sound. Check the clock. Yup! It’s nine straight up. What gives here?
Back on air and apologize for the delay in getting to the news. Still nothing.
I reached for some commercial tapes and loaded the machines with four or five minutes of playing time. When I ran across the building to the bathroom I saw lights flashing through the front door window. Yellow lights.
What’s that? Mother Nature had greater control of me at the moment. When I came out I saw it was the electric light company truck working on a pole. And there was the phone company. Just then I could hear the diesel engine running in the basement. It was providing us with electricity so we could stay on air at reduced power.
At least now I knew I had to go on air, say nothing about the difficulties and continue the show by telling stories of all types. Baptism under fire. Sort of like not possessing the ability to swim until you were finally in water which was over your head. You swam or drowned. I never enjoyed drowning.
In radio, as on the stage, you never let on you were having difficulties. Most often the audience never knows.
I ran to the newsroom to get some news copy but the machines were empty. Doggone it, the wire machines worked off the phone lines, the same lines as CBS News. These were pre-satellite days.
Boy, talk about being on your own.
All this insanity took place in about five minutes.
How does that old line go? You know, the one about a creek, lost paddle and a leaky canoe.
I went back on air and began what would turn out to be a three hour monologue.
Why three you say? Fair question.
At that point I was on the air until eleven each night. We had CBS Mystery Theater, one of the last made for radio drama productions. Great stuff. I’d listen to it with a glass of tawny port (regular port was too heavy) when I got home each evening. But because the phone lines were down I couldn’t record it for replay at eleven so the monologue continued until Mark and Robin Williams arrived.
At about eleven-forty five I saw the lights in the station flicker. I thought the diesel motor operating the emergency generator was failing. Maybe it was out of fuel. More panic.
What happened is the power came back on. The phones worked too. I saw the lights on the phone keys flicker as well.
A few minutes later I got my first phone call, I put it on hold and played my last commercials.
When I went back on air I took my one and only call of the night. I don’t remember the jerks name or where he was from. He called me every dirty name in the book. I had to dump some of his remarks when he swore (we were on a four second delay) and asked him to speak in more civil tones. Among other things he called me an egotistical jerk for not taking calls. He asked who I thought I was.
Finally I was able to get in a word edgewise and explained what happened.
His parting shot was, “Sure and you think we’re going to believe that?”
After all it was April 1st. You know, April Fools Day.
I didn’t even have a good prank planned.
The prank took place the following year, Wednesday, April 1st 1981.
~~~~~~~
Because of the difficulties I had on Tuesday April 1st 1980, I decided we needed a little fun on April Fools Day, Wednesday, April 1st 1981.
On Tuesday night, March 31, 1981 I told our audience we planned a big event at Kennedy Park in Fall River. We needed a park the size of Kennedy (Fall River’s largest park) to pull off a spectacular stunt.
We ordered 75,000 tons of whipped cream to be delivered in the middle of the large baseball diamond. With me at the controls of one of the planes and Mark Williams in the other we would hoist a 500 ton Maraschino Cherry in a sling attached between the two 747 Boeing aircraft.
We planned to come in at an altitude of 250 feet and drop the cherry squarely in the middle of the whipped cream. Man, that was to be the largest sundae in world history.
The program began at its usual time following CBS News. I opened with the sounds of jet engines straining on a takeoff. We climbed to an altitude of a few thousand feet. With Fall River and Kennedy Park in sight we brought the planes into an approach which would have us at the proper elevation when we got there.
Mark and I conversed on a crackling two way radio (I did both voices) and we released the cherry right smack dab in the middle of the target.
Galoosh. The cherry hit its mark.
All this took about fifteen minutes. I came on air and announced I would be back right after the break and take calls on one of the most amazing fetes ever performed in the long history of Fall River.
Poor Mark Williams had no idea what I was up to.
I came back on air after the usual 8:20 break all out of breath. I explained it was a difficult task to land a 747 in the parking lot of the radio station.
I proceeded to explain the intricacies of flying two 747s in tandem and carrying such a heavy and clumsy cherry between us and then dropping it right on target.
One more break, the 8:35 and it was to the calls.
Yes, you guessed it. The first caller was madder than a wet hen. She took a bus from her home on the other side of the city and went to the park expecting to see the spectacular event but there was no one there.
At first I thought she was kidding and simply trying to upstage me. After a few minutes I realized - she was serious.
Gerry Williams, famed WRKO and other places host had a phrase to describe way out callers, “They’re out there”. Well this one was way, way out there.
~~~~~~~
The maraschino cherry drop was not the last of the great April’s fools jokes on WSAR, though it was one of the best. We had two others which took place later. You can do anything, and I mean anything on radio. You couldn’t drop that cherry on TV.
~~~~~~~
The following year was my first adventure in agriculture.
One of my advertisers was a chourico (a Portuguese meat product) producer. So I thought a Chourico Tree would make a great gift. I mentioned the advertiser had some in stock at his salesroom. My friend Steve Cass had initiated the whole idea of Chourico Trees.
April 2 and customers we dropping in at the provision store to get their tree.
That wasn’t too bad. Only two customers actually took the bait on that spoof. The next one, however, got me in trouble with the boss.
I did a show on how many Naugas it took to produce enough naugahide to make just one seat in a General Motors car. Did you know it takes 371 of those little critters, Naugas, for that one seat? That's awful. Just think of all those poor little Naugas.
I established the Save Our Nauga Society of America (SONS Of America) and to send contributions care of WSAR.
Darned if we didn’t get a handful of contributions. Two or three checks came in over the next few days. That was OK because we could return those. We got a couple of cash contributions, one dollar and I think a finn. Those posed a problem since there was no return address on the envelopes or the accompanying notes.
Poor old Bob Nimms got his undies all twisted into a knot on this one. He screamed at me over the phone, “What do I do with this money?”
The Federal Communications Commission takes it very seriously when you raise money on air, especially cash.
As a precaution we notified the FCC but they never responded. We gave the money to a local charity as I recall.
Poor Bob passed away shortly afterward and I was out of WSAR before another April Fools day.
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