Excerpt #28 from the long-awaited book that Chuck Blore has almost finished writing ...

www.chuckblore.com

OKAY, OKAY, I WROTE THE BOOK

Every day I worked at KFWB was dream-come-true-time. Although I’ve said many times, once I got to work and closed the door to my office, it was like being in any radio station anywhere. Writing memos to the jox ...

“Mitch ... Slow down, damn it! If you are talking so fast you can’t pronounce the ‘W’ in KFWB, you are obviously talking too damn fast.”

“Ballance ... I think you’re Conway ‘Titty’ joke last night was very funny. It was also precisely the kind of thing that the guy from the school board was bitching about. Please Bill, no more ‘Titty’ jokes.”

“Quillan, I don’t care how many pizzas your friend Francis Albert (Sinatra) sends you, or that it’s two in the morning and you know I’m not listening, you still have to stick to the damned the music policy.”

“Elliot. Great show yesterday. I loved it when Ol’ Tex fell into your swimming pool.”

Explaining yesterday’s goofs to Mr. Purcell ... “Robert, I have no idea how we left all of the commercials out of the 1:30 and the 3:30 headlines AND the 3:55 news. I’ll have a meeting with John Babcock (afternoon newsman) this afternoon and report back to you. Maybe he just wasn’t into the Sears White Sale. Sorry.”

Just like any radio station anywhere, until ... “Chuck,” the intercom was talking, “Paul Anka is here. He want’s to know if you have a second to see him.” Oh, man ... Put Your Head On My Shoulder, was setting records (no pun, please) being the longest lasting Number One song ever on The Fabulous Forty Survey, and this was about his tenth Number One song in a row. But, hmmmm ... Do I have a second to see him?

“Wow!” I told the intercom, “Yeah! God! Tell him to come on back!” Paul came on back and I couldn’t have been more thrilled ... until, the intercom interrupted my fawning to say, “Uh, You’re not gonna believe this, but the Everly Brothers would like to see you?”

“Would you like me to leave?” asked Paul.

“Heck no!” I assured him that my office was big enough to hold all that talent. The guys came back and ... now here’s where this story starts to get a little unbelievable ... Bobby Darin was with them.

Obviously this was not just like any radio station anywhere. KFWB was not like any radio station ... anywhere. There was I, less than an hour ago writing little memos, and now I’m having a great time hanging out with the biggest names in the music business. Or so I thought until I heard the intercom say, “Hi Chuck. This is Connie. Look I know it’s kind of crowded back there, but I was wondering if I could ... “

“Connie who?” I asked.
“It’s Connie Francis, you jerk.” Bobby Darin had recognized her voiced. “Hey Connie, Bobby Darin. Come on back.” And she did. The Everly Brothers offered to leave because my little office was about to burst but we were all having a fabulous time. I remember Bobby Darin saying, “Boy, if a bomb went off in this place, the music business would be dead”

I will never forget that day. But I remember even more, something that happened a couple of days later. Once again, I was at my desk doing ordinary Program Director kinds of things when the door opened and in walked Connie Francis. “Hi.” she said.

“Hey.” said I, probably with my mouth falling to my knees, “Wow. Hi. Come in.” She was in L.A. filming a movie called ‘Where The Boys Are’ and she explained, “I have four days off and I really don’t want to fly back and forth to New Jersey (her home), so I was wondering if I could hang out here for awhile.”

“Oh man, I would love it.” I could hear my voice squeaking. You can tell how cool I was. “Come on in. Can I get you something?”

“Yes,” she said, “I want my clown.”

I am what you would call a pretty good rank-amateur artist. I had painted a couple of clowns which were hanging on the walls of my office. Connie had admired them when she was here with the gang the other day. So, I promised I would paint one for her. “Oh, well, I haven’t actually started on it yet.” Then, I did something which surely would have gotten me the “Mr. Cool Of The Year” award. I knew her ‘fave’was, “The one with the cute red nose.” I took it off the wall, walked over to where she was sitting and then, with far more care than was really called for, I laid it gently on her lap. With that, I heard my Mr. Cool voice saying ... “With a great deal of pleasure.” Well, I think that scored some points. She stayed with me the rest of the day. I turned the station monitor off, probably for the first time ever, so she could sing to me the entire score from Where The Boys Are and, I think I fell in love.

Next day, I really had a lot of memos to write ... B. Mitch Reed was on from six to nine. Bill Ballance, from nine to midnight. On the air, it was more of those dream-come-true things; Mitch, wailing away, was one of the hottest jox I’d ever heard. Then at nine, Ballance took over and entertained L.A. with the funniest three hours in radio. One problem, they really didn’t like each other. Every night, right before nine, they had to squeeze past each other, Mitch coming out of the announce booth and Bill, going in, through a ridiculously small passageway. Ballance had been a martial arts (or whatever it was called then) instructor in the Marine Corps, and almost every night he purposely bumped Mitch a lot harder than was necessary. The night before this, Bill had actually kicked Mitch and I was writing one hellova pissed-off memo when I heard a gentle knocking on my office door. “Whatdoyouwant!” I barked.

The door opened just slightly and I could see Connie’s big brown eyes peaking in. “It’s me.” she said, “Is this a bad time?”

“Oh, I am so sorry. No. Yes. I mean come in. Please.”
She did, saying something like, “I thought you might want to hear an encore, and maybe make me your pick of the week.”

“Oh man. You are my pick! Of any week!” That was me, trying to be Mr. Cool again. I sounded like such an idiot, but Connie didn’t seem to mind. Matter of fact I definitely got the feeling that she kinda liked me.

My secretary had a flu bug or something that day and she wasn’t coming in, so I was answering my own phones. Every time we started to have an encore, the phone would ring. I was continuously apologizing.

“You know, “ she said, “I was a secretary before I started singing. How about me being your secretary today?”

I said, “No, that wouldn’t be right.”

“Come on,” she said, “It’ll be fun.” It took her about two seconds to talk me into it.

Well, she was right. It was fun. I even had time to sing her a song that I’d written. It was called Take It From Me. It was all about the dangers of unrequited love, and she loved it. (She later included it in an album called, Connie with 300 Strings.)

But the fun part ended when word got out that Connie Francis was answering the phone in my office. I think this caused more switchboard mayhem than the attack of the amoebas. Not only that, but suddenly the halls were filled with people, most of them music business wanna bes, all trying to force their way into my secretary’s office to see Connie Francis. There were so many people jamming the hallway the station couldn’t function. I forced my way through the crowd and shouted over them, “Hey Connie!” She looked up with the sweetest little ‘I’m sorry’ look on her face. I shouted, “Sorry babe, You’re fired!”

With the help of a couple of the station engineers, we were finally able to clear the halls.

“I’m fired, huh?” And I nodded, yeah. Then she asked, “Does this mean I have to give the clown back?”

I hope she still has it somewhere.

(...to be continued)