The Long & Winding Road

Radio is a love hate thing. I have hated it, as recently as a week ago, only to find myself like a street walker without a street. Im still trying to figure out what happened. I got the last Radio Report card in the mail and the station was number one in the market.  My morning show was number one. Hell, I had an 18.1 share, and the closest competition showed a 7.8. The sales figures showed a record month for the company. Why in the hell was I riding in s five-year-old Caddy down US Route 40? My mind drifted to late 1966. I was 22 when Uncle Sam allowed me to grow my hair back to it normal commie-pinko, bed-wetting length. I was finding that I had no idea to do with my life when I enrolled at Los Angeles Valley College. I also found that after the first semester, I still had no idea what direction my life would take. Uncle Sam made his decision perfectly clear.

They said that my G.I. benefits would be gone with the wind if I did not bring up my grade average. The beginning of the second semester, a period of philosophical self-retrospection, a good looking red-head came into my life. There she was, wandering like a dog looking for a fire hydrant. I followed and my hot pursuit led me into her classroom. The classroom was the broadcasting workshop. I have always been an easy take for a good looking woman, so I enrolled in a beginning broadcasting class. I was now in the glamorous world of radio. I should have enrolled in a computer programming class.

As I move into the more specialized classes, the requirements became more grueling. I was required to put in six hours a week as an intern at a local radio station. I remembered a newsman that once interviewed my father. His name was Dick Spangler. He was also the news director of KBLA radio. He was also kind enough to let me haunt his newsroom for the required six months.

Little did I know what important thing had to be learned in a radio news operation. I learned the finer point of erasing a cart. After mastering that, I was moved out of sight. I was now in charge of changing the ribbons on the UPI machine. Gosh, what excitement. I still have my first pair of purple stained Levis. I ware them occasionally to impress the younger broadcasting set.

It was some six months later that Dick Spangler let me attempt my first newscast. I remember that the sun was closer to coming up than going down. Placing my Clevites on my head, I waited for the news sounder. Forty-six minutes later I was off and running. I led with a story about one of the wonderful Southern California brush fires. They say on a clear day you can see the smoke in Arizona. I really had it going. I opened with an actuality. It was from the fire information officer. I pushed the button to start to cart, only to find that it was last weeks closing stock prices. By the time the jock hit the commercial, and I proceeded to get sick in the newsroom trash can, everything was back to normal. I think it was another six-months before Dick Spangler allowed me do anything unattended.

The 1960s in Boss Angeles

The middle 1960s in were probably the most exciting time in Los Angeles radio. At KBLA, I worked with a lot of great people. I worked with Humble Harvey Miller, Emperor Hudson, Dave Diamond, Bobby Dayton and Roger Christian. During this period of time, some other greats were making their marks in radio history. This was the birth of Boss Radio; the birth of KHJ Radio.  KBLA Radio spent hundreds of thousands of promotional dollars, only to find them buried in the Boss Radio graveyard.

After the game was all but over, the powers that you never see changed formats. It was during those last few weeks that the Burbank area saw all of the U-Haul trailers rented, going to parts unknown. It was during those weeks that I felt my first radio emotion.

Dave Diamond closed his last broadcast at midnight at midnight. KBLA had come to an end. Bill Ward, the new program director, announced the birth of KBBQ Radio. KBBQ was the first major Los Angeles based Country station.

My years in Los Angeles radio were uneventful. I spend a lot of time at Martonis. I met a lot of radio people. I also found that my ship was not going to come in. It was then I started looking in the Yellow Pages for the closest U-Haul outlet.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

In 1971, I had seen enough of this country to know that I had to seek new horizons. I send out 33 airchecks, all dubbed from tapes from six different Los Angeles radio stations. I send them to every station in the Hawaiian Islands. I knew the travel posters could not be wrong. I just hoped if I could get a gig across the sea, that I could contain myself. I did not wanted to be arrested for smoking all of those grass hula skirts.

In May, I received a call from the general manager of a small station on the island of Maui. I knew it was a small station with the salary they offered. But, who needs money in Hawaii?

My arrival on Maui was like arriving at the Rams training camp. The walking toward me was six-foot-four and weighed a whopping 265. This was the guy that signed the paychecks. Maul was good. I was there about two years. I did mornings and we were doing sold out business. It was also my first venture into being a personality, as all of my previous experience had been doing news and traffic in Los Angeles. I was still saying what a great gig when the GM escorted me to the back door. What was it all about? The big guy was kind enough to give me two weeks severance. That amounted to $283.23/

There were only two stations on Maui. I worked at one and the other did not have any openings. The airfare to Honolulu was $35.

Hawaii - 50 Alive

Honolulu sure is a big place. Paradise was the size of Pittsburgh, sitting on a piece of rock; a piece of rock that has as much corruption as any square foot in New York City. Theres not one group of gangsters, theres four; the Hawaiian syndicate, the Chinese syndicate, and the Samoan syndicate.

I decided to work at Honolulus biggest station. I walked into KGMB like I owned it. The receptionist stopped me cold. Needless to say, I never got to see the PD.

The second station I tried was KORL. This was the talk outlet for the market. It was a well-formatted talk station. They were controversial, and just about all the talk jocks were young. I arrived at the station and got escorted into the General Managers office by what appeared to be somebodys little brother. The kid sat down behind the big Koa desk. It was Tad James, general manager. He asked who I voted for in the last election. I said Richard Nixon. His face turned sour and the questions got more direct. He asked what I though about the war. I told him. When he got down to my views on sex, I started to leave. He started to leave. He said that they had to get rid of their afternoon guy. As a matter of fact, they had just reached the decision earlier in the afternoon.

Tad James said I could have the gig. I would have one week to set Honolulu on its ocole. If I generated enough controversy in that week, I could have the gig for one rating book. That was good enough for me.

The guy I was replacing was a real dude. He was the talk of the town. He had invited some waiters to his show. They worked in the nude. They even served the salad without the benefit of towels. The talk guy got into a conversation about nudity. He said he thought there was a place for nudity in Hawaii. Then it happened. One of the waiters took off his clothes on the air. The other waiter took off his clothes. They asked the talk jock to show how much he believed in what he had just said. They asked the talk jock to get naked. As some one-hundred thousand listeners were glued to their radios, all hell broke loose. About a thousand of the more active listeners tried to invade KORL. The talk of the town was fired.

Looking for Sin in Paradise

I was very concerned about keeping this gig. I knew that I had one hell of an act to follow. It was sort of like following a naked lady on the Johnny Carson show. I pulled out all the stops. I then remembered an area of the city I had experienced while on R&R from Viet Nam. Hotel Street, here I come. Hotel Street is not unlike Hollywood Boulevard. There is every kind of person you could possible be looking for. The only thing that the street did not have was a church.

In seven blocks you can find live sex acts on stage, and enough working ladies to keep the third army happy for a month. Hotel Street also has the worlds largest population of drag queens. You know, the one that are not, want to be, but cant without a trip to Sweden.

I took about six long hard hours of work to set up my first week of programming. Monday was a lady of the night. Tuesday featured a tattoo artist. Wednesday was a show-stopper. It was a man and wife team; a couple who, three times nightly, kept in good shape on stage. Thursday was a Dr. Rene Richards protégé. She used to be a he. Fridays show was an undercover Honolulu policeman.

The lady of the night was hired by us on a full time basis. She was called the Honolulu Hooker. The tattoo artist was addicted to heroin. He later appeared with him, talking about that, only to be arrested while leaving the station. The live sex couple got divorced, but remained as a team, three times a night at Club Huba Huba. The Thursday joined the Womens Army Corps and the Honolulu policeman was brought up on charges of corruption.

Hawaii is place that is so laid back it will make your skin crawl. I saw more radio people getting old, in a shorter period of time, than anywhere else in the world. I remember a conversation with a guy named Bill Edwards. Bill was about 50 at that time. He was the news director and morning news guy for Aku, the highest paid radio personality in the USA, at least at that time. Bill said that Hawaii was a place for radio announcers to come and retire.

Organized crime was on everyones mind in the early seventies. Jimmy Hoffa had just been let out of pardoned by Richard Nixon, and crime in paradise was at an all-time high. I had Jimmy Hoffa on the air for three hours. As far as I know, I was the last media type to have an exclusive interview with him.  I also featured a bona fide syndicate man. He appeared for a week. We changed his name and had three body guards in the station with him at all times. We had flown him in from the mainland and the station doors were locked at all times. This is a guy that I had know from the time I was 16 and used to park his Mercedes 600 Limo in Hollywood as he would go up to see his girl friend at the time. He showed up again in 1968 at California State University at Northridge, having just gotten out of Folsom prison robbing a couple in Beverly Hills and making the mistake of tying up the couple and moving them to another room. The result was a kidnapping charge. He was the real deal.

Crime & The Real Deal

One Friday evening, I received a phone call. The phone call was from Jon Lincoln. He was an escaped murderer from Oahu Prison. He had served about seven years in the joint before his escape. He said that he had a story to tell. He said he though I was the person who could tell it. He wanted me to come to his hide-out and do an interview. Jon and I set up a meeting place. I knew that I had better keep the while thing quiet, so I told the general manager. I interviews Jon Lincoln for three hours then called the station.

The general manager said that he had been visited by the Honolulu police. I knew I couldnt go home that night. I called my agent, who was director of public relations for the Holiday Inns of Hawaii. He hid me out in a hotel line room for the night. At least I had clean sheets. Because of the importance of this story, I took over the morning show. I arrived at the station about 5am. I told Honolulu that I had spent three hours interviewing the escaped murderer Jon Lincoln for three hours yesterday night. I would air the interview at 7:30am. It the took the Honolulu Police Department about five minutes to arrive at KORL. Within 30 minutes, there were 30 of Honolulus finest at the station. I felt like an outlaw on Gunsmoke.

At 7:30am, I played the interview. At 9:05am, I received a phone call. It was Jon Lincoln.  He said that he was ready to go back to prison. He asked me to come and get him.

The police said that I was an accessory. If Jon Lincoln had broken the lay during his time outside of prison, I would also be held responsible. They said they would forgive me if I told them where he was. That was when I shut-up. I knew the first amendment, but had never thought that I would have to depend on it. I told them if I was tailed, there could very well be serious trouble. They said they would not follow. I believed that like I believed Richard Nixon when he told America he was not a crook/

I had to trust the police. I was all alone on the Nimitz Highway. I hoped that I could remember where Jons hideout was. Emotions were at an all time high when I arrived. Jon Lincolns family was all there. He was saying goodbyes and if he was going to change his mind, now would be the time. He didnt.

The prison was about thirty minutes from the hideout. I dont think five words were exchanged during the entire trip. The prison looked like an old Edward. G. Robinson movie set. I pulled into the driveway and every news man in the Honolulu area was on hand. All the television stations had camera crews, the newspapers were there with their photographers and you would have thought that the president had just arrived. The bars on the front entrance to the prison were 30 feet high. I head the sound of the big electric motor start and the gate started moving. Jon shook my hand and he was back inside. Jon was never released and died of a drug overdose in prison in the early 1980s.

Leaving Paradise for Another Radio Gig

KORL was finally sold. With the kind of controversy the jocks caused, the general manager, the sales manager and the stockholders all had ulcers and the decision was made. The rating book came out after the sale and it was the best book in the history of the radio station. I sure saw a lot of people I knew in the un-employment lines. You tell me what sense this business makes.

I was getting so burned out that I had to get away from paradise. I had to find a smoggy environment. I had to read a weather forecast that was not a carbon copy of something of three years ago. I had to find a radio people that were ready to take a market where the hair was short. I put everything I owned on Matson Lines, and took a plane back to California. God, what a transition I had to make. Things had changed. There were new radio stations, new radio people, and hopefully a new job.

By the way, I had picked up a wife while in Honolulu. She hated LA. I rented a U-Haul trailer.

Back on the Road again

I got the trailer packed, and off we went to Palm Springs. Palm Springs is a really nice area. I have always liked it there. I listened to radio and it sounded like Los Angeles in 1969. I found a radio station planning a format change in the near future. They were looking for a program director. My U-Haul had landed. I went down, lied like hell and was hired on a six months contract. From talk to rock, and radio is my middle name.

The biggest problem with the new station was record service. I once knew all the record people in the Los Angeles area, but it seems they all went the way of the U-Haul trailer. I had to establish a new line of BS. I finally got the station together, with a bunch of young broadcasting school graduates.

Since the budget would not allow a promotion director, I assumed the duties myself. The whole cash call thing happened. We gave away records, tickets and anything we could trade out. We had been thinking of getting an ARB Coincidental in the market and I needed one hell of a promotion.

The Last Contest

The majority owner of the radio station like tax write-offs and used them enough to land himself in a federal correction facility. His company owned a private jet. I could use that jet, and we would have a super book. I set up a contest called the great Getaway. We offered an all expense pain week in San Diego for someone and six of their friends. All they had to do was send in a postcard. The mailman must have hated my guts. We received four thousand postcards in the first week.

The winner of this contest was to be announced on the morning guys show. When he placed the call to the winner, I knew we had problems.  A winner, but not with a bit of excitement being expressed. I am sure that the dude must have owned the local funeral parlor. The morning guy was no fool. He was the brother of the owner, by the way. He said that due to the thousands of entries we had received, he felt we should award the grand prize twice. Right on! This guy was right out of the school of Last Contests. He pulled another winner. This time he got the screams, the fainting, and all the show business money could buy.  He even gave the winners $500 in spending money. I knew that I had successfully gotten another years contract and some real good money.

I guess we have all heard of things going to hell in hand basket, well this turned out to be the case. The morning guy was no fool. The second winner happened to be the sales managers wife. What made thing turn a dark brown was the fact that the first winner had gone to high school with the sales managers wife. I rented another U-Haul trailer, and left for cold country.

Colder Days Ahead

I got a good job in Pennsylvania. It was an AM&FM outlet. They also owned another five stations in the Northeast area of the country, spanning from Pennsylvania to West Virginia and Virginia.  Here was a corporation that had every intention of expanding. They wanted to go with the maximum, allowing their president to retire in Florida at 45. He was already 39.

It was 1977 when I viewed my first Eastern radio station. I was amazed that it didnt look any different. I was hired as the National Program director and did the morning show. The FM was 37-thousand watts and covered four states. This was Altoona Pennsylvania, some 130 miles from Pittsburgh in the Laurel Mountains. The only part of the gig that went the right way was my address. I live at One, Apple View Lane, in Hollidaysburg. John Denver would have paid me for that address.  That job in central Pennsylvania lasted about six months. Oh God, not another programming change. The turkey we got this time around was a real big shot, lots of heavy dues and a well respected programming consultant. I rented another U-Haul.

West By-God Virginia

We arrived at our second East Coast station on Saturday. I asked the operations manager to show me the facility. He had excuses. I should have known to leave the trailer packed. In a very short time, working at a station put together with WWII surplus equipment, I rented the U-Hail again and off we went. This time it was to West Virginia, back with the same company I had left in Altoona, as the programming consultant had lied about his level of experience. I was taking over the West Virginia facility. Weirton West Virginia is about 30 miles from Pittsburgh, competed in its own market and also playing ratings games in the Pittsburgh metro area.

We arrived in West Virginia in one of the worst winters in the history of the East Coast. West Virginia can almost be heaven, if one is blind to the coal mines. It was in a city that supported the state with the majority of taxes through the steel industry. I did the morning show, had a great number-one book and was happy as a clam. We bought a house in Steubenville, Ohio, which was built in 1920, was three stories and had a fully finished basement. We looked out our window at the Ohio River. It seems that the 13 years of experience really had paid off. What a great station, what a great state, what a great house and what a wonderful wife.

I was usually done at the station by three in the afternoon, and home to my pretty wife. One Friday afternoon, I cam home, hit the kitchen for a beer and noticed something on the kitchen table. It was my wifes wedding ring and a letter. She wanted to find her own identity. She wanted to see if she could make it on her own. She was really saying she was sick of U-Haul trailers and the wonderful business of radio.

I though that things would go on. Hell, I had the top rated morning show in the market. I had a great jock staff, and things were looking up. I pulled out all the stops. I started thinking about the next ratings book; the stop set placement, the record rotation, and the promotions. I was listening to some great new music. I remember hearing The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers, hearing Can You Fool by Glen Campbell and moving Toto into hot rotations. The ship was getting ready to hit the fan.

I remember a breeze blowing through the radio station. I looked, and someone had left the back door open. It was time to call U-Haul.     

That was three weeks ago and I still havent unpacked a damned thing. I keep thinking about Jon Lincoln. He ran away from prison so he could tell his story. After that, he new it was time to go back he had to go back. I never understood why.

Buck Buchanan wrote this story for Clause Halls Radio Report Magazine in January of 1979. He was managing feature editor for the publication. Buchanan is still involved in the media in 2003, with many more chapters yet to be written about his illustrious career.