Excerpt #30 from the long-awaited book that Chuck Blore has almost finished writing ...

www.chuckblore.com

OKAY, OKAY, I WROTE THE BOOK

As I look back now, one of the things I enjoyed most about the radio industry, was, the record industry. Matter of fact, the first national recognition of any kind that I got, had to do with the record biz.

Mitch Miller was the reigning genius of music. He was head of A & R (Artist and Repertoire) at Columbia Records. That meant he chose which artist did what song with what producer. Many times, he himself was the producer. He introduced to the world, Rosemary Clooney singing C’mon-a-my-house, The Four Lads and, No Not Much, and Mitch’s personal favorite, a guy named Guy Mitchell, Singin’ The Blues. Also, the big cry baby, Johnny Ray with three Number Ones in a row, Cry, Broken Hearted and Just Walkin’ In The Rain. The Number One thing all of these Number One songs had in common? Mitch Miller. He was so influential in the music business, he made the cover of Time Magazine.

Mitch was invited to be the keynote speaker at a huge Radio Convention ... (I can’t remember which.) The fledgling Color Radio PD, me, was speaking at the same convention on a less than headliner panel with the less than stimulating subject of, Why Forty Records?

At the giant convention opening night dinner, I somehow managed to be seated directly across from the renowned Mr. Miller, hit maker. We had a nice talk about ... him. And, how much I enjoyed playing all of his records.

The next day he spoke about ... him. He talked about how, without his music, and the music of other record business geniuses, the radio industry would have died years ago, when all the really talented broadcasters moved to TV. Without the music business, radio would be nothing but farm reports and pig prices. It may not have been that peremptory, but whatever, it really pissed me off.

I threw out my Why Top Forty? notes, and used my time on that little panel to blast Mitch Miller and his disregard for the people who contributed so much to his success. I remember saying something like, without those of us who play his records, no one would ever have heard of Rosemary Clooney and The Four Lads, and, for that matter, Mitch Miller.

At that time, there were only two really significant music publications. Both were gigantic. Billboard Magazine, and Cash Box. In ‘The Convention Issue’ of Cash Box there were two full page stories facing each other. The page on the left was headlined, Mitch Miller’s Keynote Address. On the right page, in headlines every bit as big as Mitch Miller’s, it said, Chuck Blore’s Response. I ranted and raved. Ranted about the sack Mitch Miller was hiding his head in. Raved about what the radio and record industries had accomplished by working hand in hand with each other to bring new music and new talent to America. Suddenly, Wow! I was a hero, the unofficial spokesperson for “Modern Radio.” And did I love it? Did I ever!

Another area of the business I liked a lot was that which married the radio and record industries together ... record promotion. There were some creepy people in the promo business, no doubt about that, but for the most part, they were good, honest, hard-working people. For many, it was a career, for others just a foot in the door to fame and fortune, entering the music business one day and ruling it the next.

Snuffy Garret was a skinny little kid doing promotion work for Liberty Records. Snuffy and I had a lot of fun doing incredibly stupid things. As ridiculous as it sounds, whenever we saw each other, whatever we might have been in the middle of, we would immediately stand face to face, plant our feet squarely on the ground and, standing at arms length, hands shoulder high, we would try to slap each others hands hard enough to knock the other guy off balance. This continued, even after Snuffy became one of the nations hottest record producers. His very first record, Dreamin’ by Johnny Burnett, was Top Ten, followed by Devil or Angel by Bobbie Vee, his first Number One. Gene McDaniel’s A Hundred Pounds Of Clay, became Number Three, and hung around for fifteen weeks. Then came Jackie DeShannon and a whole strings of hits. But still, I remember going to a Bobby Vee session and as soon as I entered the control room, Snuffy stopped what he was doing just long enough for one round of this nonsense. I’m certain if we were to meet today, without saying a word, we’d try to knock each other off our feet.

Both Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss were involved in record promotion in the early days of Color Radio. I remember Jerry and I used to close the door to my office, tell everyone we were having an important meeting and couldn’t be disturbed, then we’d play chess for an hour.

In addition to record promotion, Herb and Jerry were involved in record production in those same early days. Problem was, almost no one ever heard of the records, or record, they produced. It was called, ‘Tell It To The Birds’, the vocalist was Dore Alpert (Herb, using his son’s name). Herb and Jerry were so well liked at KFWB, that, even though the record had no national distribution, it was being played almost as though it was the next big hit.

Wink Martindale was at that time, head of Promotion for Dot Records. Herb got a meeting with Wink to pitch his ‘Tell It To The Birds’ master to Dot for National Distribution. Wink had heard it on KFWB and decided it might have a “chance”. He paid Herb the huge sum of $750.00 for the master. Dot released it nationally and that’s the last anyone ever heard of ‘Tell It To The Birds’. But, that $750.00 helped Herb and Jerry record The Tijuana Brass doing The Lonely Bull. Herb and Jerry, sitting night after night on the floor in Jerry’s apartment, wrapping and sending out promo copies to radio stations all over the country and the rest ... is some pretty cool history.

Another promotion man I liked a lot was Eddy Shaw, promotion man for Frank Sinatra. One of the most memorable moments in my radio career was when Eddy said to me, “Frank would like you to come to his session tonight. He wants to meet you.”

Frank Sinatra wanted to meet me? Well, I’d have to check my schedule but I could probably squeeze that in.

That night I felt like I was in some other wondrous world. I walked into the studio as Nelson Riddle was rehearsing the huge orchestra at full volume. You could actually feel the music going through your body. Then, over it all, the tapping of a baton on Nelson Riddle’s music stand, which meant, every body stop. Then, Nelson speaking in some sort of musical code to the third picolo in the reed section, and one additional note to the viola, and then ...”From the top!”
And once again the room, and my body, was full of music.

About twenty minutes into the session, Frank himself, walked in and stood listening to the orchestra for a second. Eddy grabbed me by the arm and we approached. He looked at Eddy, then at me and said, “You must be Chuck.” I was more thrilled than I would have thought possible. I nodded my head knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to hear anything I’d say
over the sound of the music. A second later, I recall thinking, ‘How the heck did I hear him so clearly?’ Obviously, it was because I wanted to ... real bad.

The music ended, Frank spoke to a few people in the booth, then walked over to me and said, “So how’s the radio business?”

“Fabulous.” I noticed I was speaking very loudly.

“Can we talk later?” asked the King.

“Sure,” I brought my voice down to a level, at which I thought I would sound cool, “I can hang around.”

I wouldn’t have left for anything.

After the session, we sat in the control room, while the tapes were being re-wound, filed and whatever else, and we talked. As people walked in and out, Frank would introduce me as though I was his very best friend. He’d kind of punch me in the gut, or the shoulder saying to whoever it was, “You guys know Chuck, Dontcha?” We talked for about twenty minutes, the gist of which was kinda like this:

FRANK: You’re the one responsible for the way the station sounds.

CHUCK: I’m in charge of the programming, yes.

FRANK: I’m talking about all the stuff between the songs. That’s all your work?

CHUCK: Most of it, yes. I write it and produce it.

FRANK: And your audience is ...

CHUCK: Pretty much everybody.

FRANK: You think that kind of radio would work anywhere else?

CHUCK: There might be local adjustments, but basically, yeah.

FRANK: Nice talking to you, Chuckers.

CHUCK: Yeah. Thanks. You too.

That was it. And for the next three months, I was invited to every Sinatra session. Including the night Juliet Prouse waltzed into the studio, while he was singing. She was wearing long, black lace stockings. She glided over to Frank and lifted one of her long lacy legs up, and rested it on his shoulder. The fact that anyone could actually do that was amazing.. Even more unbelievable was that Frank didn’t miss a beat. He finished the song and then they both had a great laugh.

Then, I got a call from Hank Sanacola, Sinatra’s manager. He asked if I would come to his office. I did, and he said, “Frank and Danny Kaye have bought some radio stations in The Pacific Northwest and Frank wants you to run them. He says he’ll pay you whatever you think is fair and throw in a piece of the action.”

I was absolutely blown away. I have no idea what my actual response was but I know it was not immediately forthcoming. When I did find my voice, it said something clever I’m sure. Something like ... “Uhhh, lemme think about it. Did you say, Danny Kaye?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmph.”

Next day, Eddy Shaw said, “So, Hank asked me to ask you... what do you say?”

“Eddy,” I said, “I think I’d rather be in the spotlight in Hollywood, than in the rain in Seattle.”

I had the feeling I had seen my last Sinatra recording session.

And I was right. I don’t mean about the decision I’d made. In retrospect I think that was pretty dumb. I mean about having seen my last session.

I was right about that.

(...to be continued)