Excerpt #24 from the long-awaited book that Chuck Blore has almost finished writing ...

www.chuckblore.com

OKAY, OKAY, I WROTE THE BOOK

Every station is required to offer a certain percentage of their broadcast day to Public Service. The Color Radio PS was the first five minutes of each hour. This was a little bit of a cheat, or maybe even a big bit of a cheat, because what we actually did was mention at the top of the hour that the next five minutes was brought to you by The Community Chest. Then we’d play a record ... another Color Radio requirement was that the first record each hour was in the Top Ten ... we’d do the Community Chest spot, then another record. That was it. That was the five minutes of service to the community which we were obligated to present. Let’s just get it out of the way and get back to what we were really all about. Well, not really all about.

I think maybe three or four times in the five plus years that I was there we actually did perform a real service to the public. One changed state narcotics law. Another ended one of the longest lasting droughts in the history of South California.

The narcotics story began when four high school kids, all high on cocaine, broke into a dairy in Lakewood California. A young honor student working a night shift at the dairy confronted them and asked them to leave. They shot him. He died.

The story made the third page of the state news section of the afternoon paper and would have been quickly forgotten if it hadn’t been for the efforts of the group of Lakewood High students who were gathered in my office. “We came to you,” one of the students said, “because we know KFWB cares about the kids who listen to the station every day.”

“But I don’t know how we can help you.”

A young lady, I remember her name was Mercedes, was the spokesperson for the group.
“Do you know,” she asked, “there are no laws against people selling dope on a high school grounds.”

“Mercedes,” I said, “There are laws against selling dope to anyone, anywhere.”

The was a ‘You don’t understand what is going on.’ kind of moan from the group.
Mercedes understood and she was determined to make me see the reality of what the students were facing every day. “Yes. There are laws which nobody pays any attention to. There is no law which says specifically you can’t sell dope to high school kids on the school campus. And these bastards ...” She was choosing her language very carefully, “... these bastards are there, everyday. First, they give it to you free. Then, very soon, the ones that took the free sample are stealing to get money to pay for more. The kids that broke into the dairy were certainly not looking for milk. The guy that sold them the dope told them money was there that was not well guarded. That’s why they were there and that’s why our friend, an honor student for God’s sake, that’s why he is dead!”

“I am so sorry.” I said, “But, I really don’t know how we can help.”

The group all responded at once “You can tell people about it.”

Mercedes continued, “When people hear stories like this ... and this sort of thing is going on every day ... people are going to get mad and when they get mad enough ...”

“You’re right.” I said. I called Charlie Arlington, KFWB News Director and person in charge of getting things done, into my office and asked Mercedes to repeat her story.

Charlie was quiet for a long time. “We have to see The Governor. When this young lady tells him that story, you’ll see new laws on the books.” Then Charlie asked the students, “How large a group can you put together?”

Again they answered as one, “How many do you want?”

“This is going to cost some money.” Charlie was now talking to me, “If we can take a couple of hundred kids to Sacramento, the Governor will damn well see them. And when he hears the kids tell their story, you’ll damn well see some action.”

“You sure he’ll see them, Charles?” I asked.

“You get the money. I’ll get the Governor.”

I figured the money to take a couple of hundred kids to Sacramento; transportation, food, lodging and the rest of it was probably six or seven thousand dollars. The station could contribute that but I thought it would be great if we let our listeners be part of it. I asked Mercedes to record her story and five or six of the other kids volunteered to tell similar stories, all of which had the same theme; high school kids buying dope on the school grounds with terrible consequences.

‘The Student Crusade Against Narcotics’ went on the air the next day. The stories were unbelievably touching and appealing. We had more than enough money in less than three days. And a bonus ... The Greyhound Bus Company donated five buses to take the kids to The Capitol.

Charlie sent the spots we had done to the Governor. All of them included the fact that the money collected would send the kids to Sacramento in hopes of seeing him,. The Governor agreed. He would grant the kids fifteen minutes.

The fifteen minutes turned into ninety. One kid after the other pleaded with the Governor and each told new and more horrendous stories. Governor Brown (the first) canceled the rest of his day and lead damn near three hundred kids into the Senate. He asked the distinguished members to allow ‘these young citizens” to speak to them on a matter of “serious and immediate import.” The kids spoke, the Senators listened. Before that congressional session ended there were new laws on the books with severe and explicit long term consequences for anyone convicted of selling illegal substances within 1/4 mile of any California school ground. Very possibly the proudest moment in the history of Color Radio in L.A.

And then there was the drought. Almost 6 months without measurable rainfall. It had become so serious that each of our newscasts ended with the number of days the drought had gone on. Bruce Hayes, our morning jock, had an idea. “Let’s put on an authentic Indian Rain Dance. And we’ll keep playing it until the Rain Gods come to their senses.”

“Good idea.” And I asked, “Where do we get an authentic Indian Rain Dance.”

“We create one!” Bruce immediately started bouncing around my office doing what looked, to me, like a very authentic Indian Rain Dance.

“We need music!” I shouted.

“Tom Toms!” shouted Bruce.

I yelled for Bill Angel, our music director, “Bill, don’t we have some Conga Drums around here some place?”

“Yeah” Bill answered, “They’re hanging on the coat rack behind my desk. You see them every day.”

“There you are Bruce. Tom Toms.” I was really into this thing. “Bill, you play the Tom Toms and Bruce will do the dance.”

In a couple of minutes we were in the studio, Bill pounding out what sounded like a very Indian-ish rhythm and Bruce hopping around the room making a loud chanting noise, “OooOooWah. OooOooWah. HaYuh, hayuh. OooOooWah. HaYuh Wah!” Or something like that.

We put it on the air ... “Ladies and Gentlemen. Southern California has seen no rain for more than six months. Crops are drying up, lawns are turning brown, and swimming pools in Beverly Hills are at the lowest levels in years. Once again, KFWB, as a concerned citizen, will come to the rescue” INSERT: BRUCE AND TOM TOM. “We have acquired an Indian Rain Dance (I purposely left out the word, authentic) which we will play every hour until the Rain Gods see fit to end this nonsense.. “OooOooWah. HaYuh Wah!”

The next day was Saturday. I know that because I was going to play tennis. I know that because it was on the tennis court that I felt the first few drops of ... something. I really remember thinking, “OhMyGod! What have I done!” I was actually giving myself credit for making the rain. I didn’t bother to consider that it was Bruce Hayes’ idea.

Well it rained for damn near three weeks straight and the reactions were unbelievable. We got a car repair bill for $750.00, with a note that said, “ You sonsab_____s! Your damned Rain Dance got the streets so flooded I skidded into a pole and smashed the whole front of my car. Inclosed please find the bill. It’s your fault. You pay!” Another said, “Thanks a lot! You and your Rain Dance rained out my daughter’s birthday picnic. Shame on you!” We did get a thank you note from The California Orange Growers.

Ah, the power of radio.

(...to be continued)