Channel Grazing

Back in 1992 I worked for a small 2,500 watt AM radio station hid near Bremen, Georgia. We played Southern Gospel music and brokered preacher shows from daylight to dark. Our studio location was situated on the same property as our tower facility on about two acres of pasture land. In fact, we had fenced in a cow or two grazing out back near the antenna. I even had one or two bovine interactions when no humans we available to chat. Cows are not very social. I often wondered the purpose of these animals on our land and have learned recently that often these little stations, similar to mine, posted grazing animals in order to keep the grass mowed thanks to a special agreement with local farmers. The following is a story I discovered while reading a radio forum posted by an owner of such a station. I don’t know the source, but the scenario seems plausible. One word of caution to animal lovers: the story is a bit graphic.

“In the late 80's I owned WDGR Dahlonega, GA.  The station's studios, transmitter and tower were all located together, with the tower being in the middle of the 5 acre property.  The station was (where else?) - Radio Road, and the land behind the station was fenced.  Trying to keep the field bush hogged was a job, and after dodging snakes for a summer I decided on a solution that would pay me.  A local farmer needed some grazing land for some cows, and we struck a deal where I'd keep his cows inside the fence where they could effectively keep my tower field mowed.  After getting paid for keeping the cows fenced and fed for 7 months, I was quite pleased.

One afternoon I heard a loud pop from inside the station and we immediately went off the air.  I headed out the back door where I saw a small fire in the middle of the field.  As I went down the steps with an extinguisher I noticed the rail was dotted with red paint, something else to fix.  I noticed all the cows were bunched tightly together way down at the bottom of the field, and at the same time I saw to my horror, a cow leg and hind quarter lying next to my car.  Further down inside the fence I saw another.  A fire, cow parts - I couldn't put all this together, and as I looked at the back door I saw that the entire back of the station was dotted NOT with red paint, but blood.  An extremely unlucky cow had bitten into the transmission line buried close to the transmitter building and 10,000 watts had literally blown it up.  It was a pretty horrible sight, and also pretty hard to explain to everyone calling wanting to know when we'd return to the air.  ‘We'll be back on the air soon - a cow blew up and took us off the air.’

I went back to bush hogging the field - the money I'd made from fencing the cows went to repairing the transmission line.  Wild days, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.  I'm sure the cow would though.”

Jay Andrews
VP & General Manager
Jacobs Media Corporation

Stay tuned

©2010 Neal Rhoden, Gospel Aircheck. All rights reserved

Echoes of Mercy

“Blessed Assurance, Jesus is mine!

O what a fore-taste of Glory Devine!

Heir of Salvation

Purchase of God,

Born of His Spirit

Washed in His Blood.”

That song by Fanny Crosby was composed in 1873 which is, along with It is Well With My Soul a close second, my favorite hymn. It is based on Hebrews 10:22, “Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our bodies washed with pure water.”

In 1873, blind hymn composer Fanny Crosby, was visiting her friend Phoebe Knapp. Mrs. Knapp was having a large pipe organ installed in her home. Thrilled with a melody she had written, Mrs. Knapp asked her friend’s opinion of the tune played on the piano for Crosby. (The pipe organ’s installation was incomplete.) Said Knapp, “What do you think the tune says?” Crosby replied, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.” The rest is history.

I first truly noticed this gem in 1986 while attending the funeral services of my favorite great-uncle Wilbur Gene known as “Billy” to all of us. Blessed Assurance resounded from the Hammond organ via two large Leslie speaker cabinets in the immense, reverberant hall. Had I not been trying to keep my composure that day I would have immediately fell to my knees in reverent awe of God’s inspiration. Out of the tragedy of a life cut shot was the realization that Uncle Bill had met Jesus personally having just accepted Christ prior to his fatal heart attack. My dad had led Billy to his knees in prayer at our apartment home one evening. Only now in retrospect do I begin to feel the gravity of that moment.

Those Echoes of Mercy still resound within me. It is a tune on a loop in my head and often I find myself humming it. Thanks to you, Mrs. Crosby.

Stay tuned

©2010 Neal Rhoden and Gospel Aircheck

 

 

St.Paddy's Day

Oh, how I enjoyed growing up in Savannah, GA; especially this time of year. The climate was mild as Spring entered. And, everyone was Irish (at least for a day.) Are you wearing your green?

We were told that our Saint Patrick's Day Parade and celebration was second only to that of Chicago. The way I saw it ours was much bigger considering the comparable sizes of the cities. All three network TV stations had live coverage. I assume that it's still a big deal down in the Coastal Empire although I can't prove it. I haven't visited in over 16 years. Well, maybe next year. Happy Saint Paddy's day everyone! Erin Go Bragh.

Stay tuned

©2010 The Peanut Whistle. All rights reserved.

Listen to Daddy

    How often I have jumped to conclusions without having all the information. Today's post is an example of my not listening to that still small voice...

Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: So shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man. Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the LORD, and depart from evil.

Proverbs 3:3-7 KJV

  Many years ago I received some life changing advice from my then pastor; he said, "Live by these five words, what does the Bible say." He was referring to the best process of vetting the various guidance one receives in life. Sift the wheat from the chaff according to the Word, the one true authority. This pastor urged us to always check even him against this gold standard. He would also detail the hooey we've come to believe that is patently unbiblical. Since then I have been searching for a church that taught the truth in an unpretentious, very down to earth way. Following my time at this particular place, due to divorce from my first wife, I moved on to another affiliation and quickly grew tired of its church as usual mentality; thus my quest began for a congregation unbound by silly traditions.

  After ten years I have found such a church! You may have read a previous post in which I was somewhat indecisive, but my reservations were wrong. I was leaning on my own understanding of partial facts and I had relied on an incomplete picture of the situation; so, I whole heartedly apologize for any misunderstanding of what I have written. I have edited the earlier post to reflect changes. My only regret is that I didn't find this church a decade ago.

Stay tuned

©2010 The Peanut Whistle. All rights reserved.

Where O Where?

  Well, today's post is a celebration of a new chapter in our church lives. Angie and I have been actively searching for a better fit in where we worship.
  If you have stumbled upon this post I have a little educational message for you; in our southern US culture, the place where one regularly attends church is priority numero uno.  Finally we all are in complete agreement: the kids are happy, the church is extremely friendly and the congregation has a youthful vigor missing in our most current affiliation. 

Stay tuned

 ©2010 The Peanut Whistle. All rights reserved.

Heaven's Jam

Decisions, Decisions, Part Two

  For a brief time in late 1986 my dad and I shared similar paths. We were both dissatisfied with how work prospects had dried up in the small coastal town we lived in for 13 years. In early summer of the year he asked if I had ever considered moving away to a bigger city and presumably a better life. He felt limited by the market and I agreed. Most disk jockeys of my era shared the opinion that moving "upmarket" was always a good idea. It meant better exposure and more money. The novelty of my first radio home had worn off. I was ready for a bridge burning change irrespective of an actual moving day. At the time I called it burnout. I was lying to myself; radio was my life. But what was I to do? I had a certain numerical figure in mind my current situation fell far from the mark of meeting, so a new career seemed necessary.

  Savannah, Georgia was known as a medium sized radio town ranked at about number 149 while Atlanta was a major market constantly in the top 10 of all US cities. By December of '86 my family had settled into our new home just outside the Atlanta metro, Douglasville. I had got a job immediately as an office temp doing telemarketing. At least I was using my voice, just in a different direction. The money was much better, almost my goal amount.

  My previous employer had set up an interview at a 50,000 watt sister station in Atlanta that I felt was a false opportunity. About an hour commute was unappealing even for the dollar figure, nearly twice my old rate. I would have been upside down with the fuel cost alone!

  I forever viewed this as a good decision although it meant a gap between radio homes. How long a gap was uncertain. The good news was that by the end of February I was in broadcasting again, This time at a 1,000 watt AM daytimer located mere minutes from home with comfortable pay.

  The station was in a facility recently remodeled and filled with the latest pro equipment. Despite its transmitted power, it was the best sounding facility of all my radio homes. Three months into my stay there the owner made the astounding announcement the the station would be sold! What had I got myself into?

  I had gained favor with the GM, "Vic", who gave me a 10% raise after only 30 days. It was this manager whose resignation, I assume, was catalyst for the sale. The business was owned by a local church, he was the pastor. The back story I can only speculate. I believe that the radio station was Pastor Vic's baby and his leaving gave those less enthusiastic of his cause leeway to unburden the load that we undoubtedly were. Key people eventually resigned and I became Program Director By November of 1987, finally earning my magic number, to the penny.

  Ironically, my monetary victory was shallow. I was unhappy. The money did not satisfy my artistic leanings. The station was boring. Except me, we had little or no listeners as we sailed on adrift, waiting to be sold. That process would take another three years. I have to give the owners credit for their integrity. Pulling the plug on the whole operation and going dark would have been the best course but they nobly kept us paid never missing a beat once. Unprecedented creativity was about to be unleashed from me as I was to find out with the successor at radio home 3. That is another story.

Stay tuned

A Real Class Act

A super group took the stage exactly two years to the day prior to my entry into the world. Jake Hess and the Imperials, a hand picked gathering of superstars of the gospel music industry. A band of ringers that included: Jake Hess on lead, Gary McSpadden on Baritone, Sherrill Nielsen tenor, and the incomparable Armond Morales with his trademark silky bass. The night was January 16th, 1964 in Hadleyville, Alabama, Jake’s home town. Gospel music was never again the same. This group was different, they sounded modern. A little too different at first for some. Jake is quoted  as saying, “I don’t think we’re going to do it.” Armond lent some encouraging words, “Don’t limit God.” In a March, 1989 article from CCM magazine celebrating the groups’ 25th anniversary, the late Jake Hess concludes, “…If it hadn’t been for those three little words I don’t think there would be an Imperials today.”

Although singers came and went the Imperials sound remained consistently great. They backed Elvis Presley on stage and record, accompanied Jimmy Dean and many other stars of the music industry. The group has numerous Grammy and Dove awards; and in 1998 they were inducted into the Gospel Music Association Hall of Fame. They’re the New York Yankees of Gospel.

Founding member Armond Morales suffered through a battle with cancer a while back and relinquished the Imperials’ name to son Jason and a new generation of singers. Now the original group is known as the Classic Imperials. Following a miraculous recovery, Armond continues the heritage began in ‘64 along with Dave Will, Rick Evans and Paul Smith.

In 1983 I made my first Lp purchase for my new stereo. The record was Stand by Power by the Imperials featuring then new lead singer Paul Smith. The album produced many hits including: Lord of the Harvest, Because of Who You Are and Stand by the Power. I have been a fan ever since.

Of course I knew of the group through my dad’s record collection. He had a scratchy mono Lp copy of the first record, Introducing Jake Hess and the Imperials. As a teen I was thrilled to spin their new record  that was in itself another triumph in redefining the Christian music art form. Somehow they managed to outdo themselves with every new album just as No Shortage, One More Song for You and Priority had done.

Recently, I had the opportunity to chat with lead singer Rick Evans. We had a delightful conversation via Facebook about the forthcoming new album. I asked Rick how the new project was going, he said, “[It’s] a long process, but we are getting closer each day.” I replied that I could identify seeing that the creative process can be time consuming, my radio days and nights were often spent in countless hours on one 30 second spot. “We are lucky to be have a record company that is willing to take the time to make this right,” Evans continued. I asked if he could give me any glimpse into the songs included on the project. Rick replied, “Very different. We used some of the best writers in Nashville. They came up with a work of art. The record will actually be a journey of a person’s life. It is a cool concept and will be wonderful introduction back into the music marketplace.” Kind of like Styx and some of the other “concept” bands of the ‘70’s I jokingly referred. Not missing a beat the Classic Imperials new lead singer responded, “No actually you are on the right track. It is more like the Beatles and the Lonely Hearts [Club] Band thing. It will be GREAT!”

“It was twenty years ago today,
Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play
They've been going in and out of style
But they're guaranteed to raise a smile.
So may I introduce to you
The act you've known for all these years,
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

Funny how the Classic Imperials and the Beatles started about the same time. The good news is we still have the Beatles of gospel here and now. Thanks to Rick and all the Classic Imperials for not only entertaining us, but more importantly ministering in ways those other guys never attempted.

Stay tuned.

Let's Roll!

At the close of the Disco era was a fad known as Roller Disco. The popular dances and music moved into the roller skating rinks for those skilled enough.

I was not one of them. I had two left feet but learned to circle around the floor until I fell and hurt my backside on an eighth grade field trip and experienced pain for most of my high school years thus ending my skating “career.” I was too chicken to ever try again until tempted thirty years later when I had my own children. I'm still as clumsy as ever, but as far as my kids know, I can skate even though I am actually wearing shoes. That will be our little secret, dear reader. Shhh!

Disco is dead, but not forgotten. The genre evolved into “Dance” music. It is still played sometimes in its original form at the rinks around here, especially on special skate nights for old folks like me. Well, I'm not a fan of the music but it was designed to dance and later roll to; not many other forms of music are as compatible.

For those of us schooled in the Pentecostal and Southern Baptist conventions dancing was taboo in any form so the youth of my day needed a substitute. The ultra conservative of our sects would argue that even innocuous substitutes for the raunchy dancing and skating was just as bad and viewed as a gateway to Hell. Shoot, in modern churches dance teams are very common; my, how times have changed. I recently attended a church youth presentation of a mainline denomination that featured fast paced dancing to secular popular music accompaniment with no pretense of using a Christian substitute. Funny how even the churches are becoming more politically correct, omitting Christ. Those kids knew nothing of the restrictions I grew up with so I took no offense, especially considering the current character of Christian music.

Winning the “lost” teens of my day involved using our gospel music set to a modern beat. As I have noted in a previous post; I briefly moonlighted as DJ on Christian skate nights. The pairing of Southern Gospel and skates has always been surreal to me. I never thought the genre was compatible. So in 1984 I jumped at the opportunity to spin rock derived Contemporary Christian music (CCM) for the attending youth groups each week at the Savannah Skate Inn on Saturdays . The tunes were fast paced and skate-able. Not so in today's more bland homogeneous CCM. Christian skate night simply would not work for the present generation.

It was hard enough selling the idea of rolling to gospel music in my day when CCM was better. The unchurched laughed; we were preaching to the choir of those who attended (maybe a few invited their “unsaved” friends.) The ultra conservative simply weren't allowed or came without the knowledge of their pastor. It was a wholesome activity, I figured, so why did it fail? It might just boil down to a fickle public that summer. Who knows or cares?

Stay Tuned

© 2009 The Peanut Whistle. All rights reserved.

The Birthday Truck

Lame is the term I have borrowed from a younger generation to describe some of the ineffective, cloying attempts I have made at entertaining my radio audiences. Today I recall one of the primary examples. 

In September of 1990 I was paired with a co-host against my will, mainly. I had worked solo almost exclusively up until that point. I felt it was a bad idea from the inception that I share my show with a newbie with a natural gift of gab named Angie Mabry.

Her easy acclimation to radio made the forced pairing much more tolerable. We seemed to mix well on the air and off. Our station owner/general manager introduced our duo on the daily half hour Swap Shop program with the intention of expanding her role as eventual morning show co-host.

We went to work in numerous procrastinating planning sessions trying to conceptualize what the new morning show would sound like. Our boss grew weary of our preliminaries and finally compelled us to begin the 6 am to 9:30 am program at the beginning of November. What we settled on was an emphasis on fluff talk and downplayed our music format which we perceived appeasing the “blue hairs”, our undesired elderly demographic. Most of our style was modeled after the secular morning zoo shows of the day but stopped short and we were limited by our aging southern audience and their obsolete traditions. As far as I have known no attempt had ever been made on a southern gospel station for such a show so our new enterprise was in uncharted waters amidst the brokered religious programs keeping us afloat.

One of the most memorable episodes of Mabry and O’Neal show was the Birthday Truck. My on-air partner feigned anxiety over her November 13th birthday as the event neared. Her day was hyped over a week or so around the office and on the air. By the 14th the semi bringing a mountain of gifts was a day late and Mabry was “worried.” The birthday bit climaxed with a visit from the red-neck truck driver (voiced by me) who had troubles finding the station and struck her parked Honda Prelude while pulling into our tiny parking lot. The skit was more lame than anything on Saturday Night Live, pretty bad.

We had some chemistry. We were both in our mid twenties sharing similar views. I skewed a little more conservative. Our ad libs were much more entertaining than the prepared text we thought was funny. Interactions with our sports & news director, Fred Brewer fared much better. He had a dry poignant humor that would have been a better match for a morning show. Our boss saw things differently favoring a male female duo. Had the show been played straight with unforced comedy lacking in phony laughter we might have had a hit. We simply tried too hard.

  The best conversations were the real ones involving our friendly UGA and Georgia Tech football rivalry. I was the long time Dawgs fan while she preferred the Yellow Jackets. To her credit Tech had the superior squad and was national champs that year. For some inexplicable reason sports coverage on a southern gospel station was considered taboo by listeners so the best element of our show seemed too secular. The outspoken Southern Baptist and Pentecostal based audience was resistant. We were viewed as sell outs. Our 2,500 watt AM signal disappeared into the haze that was too far on the fringe of the Atlanta environs to be competitive in the major market so our locals won in the end.

I don’t recall the show lasting much past the new year. The partnership ended on a sour note, I don’t remember the precise circumstances but our radio savvy sales manager “Just” Janet Barcus  played Mabry’s understudy and eventual replacement as the curtain fell on my third radio home in February of ‘91. Click on the Mp3 below for the Birthday Truck aircheck...

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The station now has a 50,000 watt construction permit that is wasted on the same old format with a playlist of obscure southern gospel tailored to those born sometime during the Civil War. Their signal reaches further now though. I don’t believe the current owners wish to program for the major market they now cover. What a shame.

Stay tuned.

Technorati Tags: Georgia Tech,UGA,Bulldogs,football,Angie Mabry,Jim O'Neal,WDCY,southern culture,radio history,radio culture,morning zoo,DJ,Janet Barcus,southern gospel,1990,1991,News talk,Fred Brewer

Welcome to the Future

It’s funny how the idea for this post came to me right before I hear a new Country song with the exact same concept and title by Brad Paisley that has been percolating in my own brain for the past several weeks. I have had 43 wonderful years on this planet and I see the time we live in right now, technologically, is the best in history. Personally, I have carried the past around like a golden god not realizing that now is the best time to be alive. Forget recessions and floods, today is where I need to be not trapped in some nostalgia hell like an 80 year old. Yes there were good times and I will continue to recall them in posts.

We are living in a world that the Jetsons would envy. Our society has advanced in the last 25 years at a pace more rapid than the quarter century that preceded it. Compare and contrast 1960 through 1985 politically, socially, technologically, and artistically. Changes and advancements were made just not as rapidly. The focus of this blog is art and tech so I won’t stray too far. In 1985 I was still using the same stereo Lp for music that my dad used in 1960. In ‘85 the compact disc was new having been introduced to the marketplace Christmas of 1982. It was the age of Reganomics an the birth of Mtv.  I was a teenager full of wonder but never dreamed of how the future would unfold.

This present generation has all but abandoned the CD and other physical music media for downloads from Internet sources both legal and otherwise. Not to mention what all we can do with our cellular phones. This was a device that resembled a brick a generation ago. We are using our tiny cell phones now for everything; Web surfing, video, music, texting, games, the list is endless. We do everything with these devices except make a phone call, it seems.

The downside of living today is that I believe we have lost some of our humanity. We have substituted Email and social websites for actual human contact. In the process we are much more rude less evolved and dumbed downed in the absence of more “primitive” communication. Don’t get me started on the atrocious grammar and spelling I see on the Internet. When was the last time you wrote an actual letter with a pen and paper? Thought so. Well, we’re here, Welcome to the Future.

Stay tuned.

Technorati Tags: Brad Paisley,Country music,society,music albums,Lp,records,technology,opinion

Swap Shop

One of the joys of small and medium market radio is the contact by phone with my listeners both on the air and off. This was no more apparent that at radio home number four, WBKI, in tiny Bremen, Georgia. We had a live call in show called Swap Shop. It was tremendous fun. Callers would phone in their radio classified ads. Anything from bedding and blankets to cars, trucks and farm animals. Along the way I made some telephone friends who felt they knew me personally. I suppose I did a fairly good job of listening to them and recapping what was listed after the conversation ended.

This was all of course absolutely live, without profanity delay, to the air. I was always fearful of losing our FCC license over some nut dropping a cuss word or two. It never happened though. Whew. There is nothing like doing seat of your pants radio. Introducing records is ok, but nothing beat witnessing the unexpected, unscripted, spontaneous and organic process that was Swap Shop. I had a few regulars; Ole Waco Nut for one who lived in nearby, you guessed it, Waco, Georgia, that is. I think he made his living selling items on our show.

Then there was town gossip, Virginia, who who had all the latest news from the whacky goings on in the little town along with her plugs for fresh eggs and chickens from her farm. She visited in person on my last day at the station to wish me farewell. We had an entire hour wall to wall with callers. Quite surprising, with a 2,500 watt signal, the hour never lagged.

I had attempted at number two radio home, WSPZ, something called On Air Market a quarter hour show that seemed like an eternity. I came in around 3:45 pm for the show where no live callers were featured due to our owners’ paranoia. The savory seasoning of live conversation was missing, thus the show, like the station in general, was extremely bland. I had a producer screening and taking dictation of caller submissions who would chime in when needed, like Roz on the TV show Frazier.

Market Calls on 900 AM in Savannah was similar. As a fledgling broadcaster I feared accepting the challenge of live call-in until 1986 when I had three years DJ experience under my belt at my first radio home. Previously, I had refused hosting the show. The one time I finally did it my delivery was so impersonal and unmemorable that I overcompensated and overshadowed the callers not allowing personality to shine through. I got almost every recapped phone number wrong. Thank God it was only 30 minutes. Actually, 20 minutes of show and 10 minutes of pervasive music to fill the voids. Seven years later It prepared me for Swap Shop on WBKI in what not to do.

Stay tuned.

The Truth with My Hand Up

My hand to God this is the truth. If it had not happened in church to someone I know and trust. Yada, yada… In my last post I spoke of some gospel lyrics near and dear to my heart; this next song is especially touching to a car guy such as myself (the actual words from my cousin Ray):

Actually it’s...Jesus, he will be my snow tires, in the winter he’s my anti-freeze, when I need him, he is my oil filter, and he's my windshield when there is a breeze!!! C'mon, sing it this time if ‘ya know it!!.. (true song....written by a well-intentioned, but hardly mentally gifted girl from my childhood)

At least it rhymes. Thanks Ray! She took a metaphor and ran with it. Now on to something completely different.

I first met gospel comedian Wendy Bagwell in 1983 at a big gospel music show in Savannah, Georgia. He was over six feet tall with curly dark hair. The only man I have ever met named Wendy. Like Johnny Cash and his Boy Named Sue I believe Bagwell would have had a great story to tell with the origin of his name. This was about the time he first told his Three German Police Dogs story about the disruption that ensues when a yellow cat is introduced to three seeing eye dogs belonging to a group of famous blind singers at the Ebenezer Freewill Baptist Church all day singing and dinner on the ground homecoming. “Those blind folks didn’t know what was going on,” he said, “They just thought they done took that job too cheap.” His theory was that the blind group, unaware of the ruckus, assumed the crowd had broke out in an old fashioned shouting revival.

It turns out that Mr. Bagwell was quite the shrewd businessman as well. He owned Bagwell Sales in metro Atlanta, Georgia. My parents, who were both blind, did business with his furniture store several times over the years. My mom, who is not the least bit shy, confronted Wendy about his comments in the famous bit. “I’m blind, but I know what’s going on,” she commented to him. “I know you do,” Wendy replied with a broad smile and a wink in his voice. “This is the truth what I’m telling you with my hand up,” he would often say before one of his stories which were probably slightly exaggerated. Stretchers, if you will, were his calling card. He was a master showman of the Gospel world. Wendell “Wendy”Lee Bagwell died in 1996 and now has a stretch of US 278 in Georgia, our home state, named after him. Rest in peace.

Stay tuned.

nealrhoden@thepeanutwhistle.com

Skate, Skate, Skate

In  May of 1984 I was wrapping up my senior year of high school having the time of my life working in radio. Spinning the gospel music in the afternoon following school gave me an easy way to earn money part time while studying for finals during songs and preaching shows. We played Lp’s and 45’s directly to air not from carts like the bigger stations did so I actually spun vinyl as the disco DJ’s did and still do.

This experience with tight cues on our Technics SP-15 turntables was a joy. Immediate starts from a dead stop were possible with those units. When I wanted even closer starts or begin within a selection I would revert to a method called a slip cue. You would allow the platter to run underneath the record while holding the vinyl manually then releasing the record when needed. Pow! you were rockin’. High torque and perfect precision from the direct drive motors provided years of trouble free service. All but one of my non Internet radio homes used this particular model. In ‘84 a couple of them would set you back the price of a good used car, worth every penny.

Anyway, my station was hosting a Christian Skating party on Monday nights and was using our morning man Dennis Allen and others as guest DJ’s. I had no concept of their compensation but I was soon to find out some very good news. Our sponsor, Savannah Skate Inn, not actually a hotel, rather a roller rink wanted an additional skate party on Saturday nights aimed at a slightly younger clientele. The rink’s manager, Tommy Edwards, apparently wanted yours truly to host. He worked out my compensation. I was to be paid three times my hourly rate at the radio station. Wow!

Six days following my high school graduation Contemporary Christian Music rocked the Skate Inn. Church youth leaders brought in bus loads for our premiere. Admission was only $3.00, a dollar less with a coupon and free skates rental. A quarter of each admission was put into jackpot that was awarded to the largest group represented. What a win win scenario!

I was a bit nervous at first facing a live audience but soon overcame the butterflies when I realized the interactions directly with patrons presenting song requests and their putting together a face with a voice. One mother had assumed my age was 35. “Thanks ma’am, I’m only 18,” was my grateful reply. I was perched in the booth among my peers spinning my own Christian Rock ‘n Roll records, playing the Hokey Pokey, couples skates, etc.

One faux pas has haunted me to this day. During one contest, all girl skate, I proclaimed to a skater taking her for a boy, “That’s all girls!”. “I am a girl,” was her curt reply. Egg all over my face, I proceeded with the segment gesturing an apology to the young lady.

Savannah Skate Inn had a nice equipment setup: Two direct drive turntables; not the reference standard Technics SL-1200 found in discos and rinks worldwide; although not suitable for a broadcast environment, a compact disco mixer, a cool Teac C-2 rack mount cassette deck (the $1,000 consumer version of the professional Tascam 122B), cheap microphone, massive amplification and huge pro theater style loudspeaker cabinets. Music to hear and feel.

Two months passed with various success and little controversy until one day at my main radio job I received a phone call from the manager of cross town rival Skatetime USA requesting I move the Christian Youth Skate and my record collection to his facility. I had seen crowds dwindling at the Skate Inn and saw the handwriting on the wall. Manager Tommy had already cut 30 minutes from the 3 1/2 hour party and would have continued sans salary so I was ready for the new gig. I preceded thinking I would get sales commission for the new Skatetime USA account but was shocked to find out that although I did all the leg work with contracts and producing commercials it became a “house account” because the client had initially called the station so no commission was issued. Bull malarkey. I missed out on the commission but it was now too late to un-burn a bridge with Tommy who understandably felt betrayed by me and my commercial spots for the new Youth Skate now directly competing on Mondays. The next assignment was a newer facility who the manager touted as sounding better, louder and gave more liberty in music selection. In my youthful exuberance I cannibalized a loyal account to make a buck. What a backfire!

The sound booth at Skatetime USA was a little bit different from Skate Inn. They had the superior Technics SL-1200 turntables, industry standard to this day for club DJ's who still use vinyl. Instant starts just like the more costly SP-15's. I was reacquainted with these decks at radio home number four, WBKI, the only time I've seen these semi-pro machines used in a broadcast environment. Generally, rink equipment is primitive and clunky compared to fully professional gear. I often fantasized a rink with superior broadcast equipment.  A live remote from the party would have been a super idea allowing dual payment. Although the station would have weaseled out of paying me somehow just as they had with the deserved commission. 

Two distinct details I remember clearly from Skatetime USA was once the manager had me play “Good ‘Ole Boys” from the then current Dukes of Hazzard TV series. One could feel this mostly Christian crowd groan in disapproval. There had been a famous song I often played by the Southern Gospel group Dixie Melody Boys which was a reply to the popular Waylon Jennings ditty, the Gospel gospel version answered;

“Good ole boys won’t make it into heaven; Good ole boys won’t wear a crown; Good ole boys won’t live forever where the saints of God are found…”

Next, a live local band joined the party one Monday night. Suddenly I became emcee and apparent fan of the unknown act shouting like a boxing ring announcer, “Ladies and gentlemen…Second Wind!” The band then exploded with a few original numbers. It was a pleasant surprise that evening for sure.

By the third Monday in August of ‘84 the party was discontinued by the manager who had been so instrumental in pulling me away from the Savannah Skate Inn just a month prior. He paid me in advance and told me the bad news. I actually took it in stride probably because I had brought a new friend along and didn’t want her to see me in an unpleasant light. It seems likely that we left the party early that night because it was not yet dark outside. Afterwards, on into early '85, I made one or two unpaid appearances at Tommy’s place. I don’t recall patching things up with him or if it had ever been an issue between us. He had only communicated through my station manager. Time has erased the details. Ironically, Tommy never restricted my creative freedom or had other entertainment take the spotlight.

Three years later in 1987 I found myself at Paulding County Skate Center playing upbeat Christian records for listeners of WSPZ, my second radio home. This experience was quite vanilla compared to my previous. I don’t remember any money being offered and possibly shared hosting duties with the stations other personalities. My production values had blossomed so the commercials are the part best remembered. I began them with line, “Skate, Skate, Skate..” My voice was split via multiple tape tracks, filtered and made lower. I then borrowed my top 40 DJ voice for the copy with a funky bass beat playing underneath. For many years to follow my work buddy Corky Cheek, whom I’d also work with at WDCY and WBKI, would greet me by intoning Skate…Skate…Skate. Press play to sample the original commercials.

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We’re Douglas Country!

Radio home number three has been very hard to write about because it ended in a bitter divorce. Just like the child, little J-O-E, in the famous Tammy Wynette song I needed shelter from the awful truth. I realize now, 18 years later, having survived a bad first marriage in real life a decade ago this radio separation thing was a walk in the park. Both marriages lasted only 10 months.

Third time around was another unique situation. This new owner held a General Radiotelephone Operator License (GROL). I was impressed with his credentials and his engineering background in both radio and TV. The honeymoon soon ended when I discovered his hardnosed, dictatorial approach to managing our staff. This radio home was now owned by one individual owner operator not a corporation or church organization like my previous employers. Imagine Fidel Castro rolled up into Adolf Hitler. So as not to defame the dead, I’ll call him Bill.

The church that had owned WSPZ had become desperate to unload this albatross hung around their neck. So desperate, in fact, that Bill wound up paying less than a tenth of the original asking price of the station less the studio building, which he’d lease from April until we moved the following summer of 1990.

Bill, 58 years old, entered with flattery, focusing his attentions on my office of program director. He seemed to value my role and appointed me architect of the new image. What an ego expedition this turned out to be for me. I came up with the new call letters WDCY-AM, representing We’re Douglas County. We realized the focus of the former owners was too broad. They had assumed our 2,500 watt signal would penetrate the Atlanta environs and marketed us as such. We decided to do a heavy local push by adding a news director and field reporters, making our presence known in the business community, covering nearby high school sports events and doing live remotes ad nauseam. Bill had some great ideas; made some tough adjustments to staff and bruised many egos along the way, but I must say that it was never boring. Bill and I were just too different. He never had a proper understanding of our Southern Gospel music format often referring to it as Barber Shop Quartet. I was an impetuous 24 year old bent on winning control over the old man’s station. Boy, was I wrong!

I believe a pivotal moment for Bill was a Gospel concert he had masterminded, not meeting his expectations, although I saw it as a success during the culmination of Southern Gospel Music Month in September of ‘90. I pled the cause of Gospel music, but he seemed soured by the experience and preferred to go to what he called Country and Western. Who called Country that anymore? Secretly, I knew a secular format would not work for me and would probably quit should we change. Anyway, for the first time ever I was forced to take an on-air partner and produce a morning show modeled after the morning zoo fluff shows popular those days. The Mabry & O’Neal Morning Show was born around November with promotions director slash occasional news reporter, Angie Mabry. We both worked hard at it but the show was incompatible with our audience. We seldom ever referred to the Gospel music or religion at all.

By February of 1991 Bill had trimmed the now bloated air staff taking on some air time himself. This change put me on-air 6 days a week thereby stealing vital time away from the office and production room tasks necessary for perfecting our sound. The balancing act proved humanly impossible and I resigned during the inevitable and ultimately ill fated format change to country and a new slogan, We’re Douglas Country.

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King of all Peanut Whistles

Talk about a peanut whistle. I worked a year at this particular 2,500 watt gem. We had local news, Southern Gospel music, a Swap Shop and daily obituaries. The news wasn't from a teletype or our own reporters. No, we read it directly from the newspaper. Verbatim. A few years before the dot com boom one of my fellow staff members commented on the state of our programming. The idea of a good ole country station was a relic of a bygone era. The world was now more accessible thanks to new technologies. I don't agree with him totally because stations such as this have their own unique charm. My friend Jim did get it right on one point though, we are a more enlightened society thanks to outlets such as CNN and other TV cable networks readily available then. It was 1992 and the World Wide Web and Fox News were a few years off. The context of his remarks was framed by people who he had observed overstating their "country" heritage by feigning ignorance, although being just as enlightened as city folks.

I was a bit of a snob then and saw this station a road block in my career.  The WBKI culture was an adjustment and was a step down from a purely business perspective. I later adopted their style and grew to appreciate their way of doing things. A few of the more countrified elements were weeded out and we became more "sophisticated." The home spun morning DJ resigned shortly after some heated debate with me. I viewed him as a local yokel. He was blissfully ignorant but the people loved him. The station fell into decline and eventually folded. My guess is that we didn't give the listeners what they wanted or maybe poor management was to blame. Who knows? Our GM saw the futility of the situation early on and probably mentally quit long before our demise. To borrow from the famous TV show WKRP in Cincinnati this guy was "town to town, up and down the dial". Success eluded David. We had worked together before. I witnessed his slow decline at my previous radio gig and now doubt my own wisdom in hitching to his star. However, I learned a lot from him and consider him a mentor. He allowed circumstances to limit him. I missed the control I had as a program director at my two previous jobs and felt the air chair was a handicap. For the first time in 6 years I was "just" a dee jay.

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