www.chuckblore.com

Okay, Okay I Wrote the Book

The growth of The Crowell-Collier Broadcasting Company was for me, rewarding I guess, I had a bigger empire, but at the same time, it took a ton of the fun out of what I was doing.

We had purchased a radio station in Oakland California, right across the bay from San Francisco and immediately changed it’s call to KEWB. The biggest immediate challenge was how to ignore the stattions’ Oakland roots and make listeners believe we have our heart in San Francisco. The lead stories on the local news were always San Francisco stories. The current temp and weather information, which we gave constantly, was always for The City by the bay. Ignoring the fact that there were, indeed, two metropolitan areas by the bay. Only one, after all, was The City. I thought it was kind of a slap-in-the-face to the people of Oakland, but Mr. Purcell reminded me that the station rated Number One in San Francisco makes a couple of million dollars more per year than the Number One station in Oakland.

What was fun was hiring the on air people and once again I raided McLendon. Two of my favorite jox, which I did not hire for LA, were the first guys I called. Art Nelson and Ken Knox.

Next, I let the word get out that we were hiring for a San Francisco station (no mention of Oakland here either) which was going to be a mirror image of Color Radio in L.A. That resulted in a flood of tapes, each one proudly showing off a mundane, sound-alike, mediocrity. But, out of two hundred or so unremarkable applicants, there was one out-of-the-ordinary, singular talent. His name was Casey Kasem. I called Casey and asked him if he really had to “... talk that fast.” He said he could probably slow it down a little so I hired him, because this guy could communicate.

Michael Jackson, the radio pro, not the other one, was at that time, believe it or not, rockin’ and rollin’ at a station in San Francisco ... “KYA, The Boss Of The Bay.” I called Michael and told him that “The Boss Of The Bay” was about to be demoted. “How would you like to work for the new boss?”

Michael answered by saying, “Actually, I am leaving KYA because I can no longer cope with this abominable Top Forty playlist. It’s ridiculously confining.” Or, something close to that.

“Well,” said I, not knowing quite how to handle this ‘abominable Top Forty’ stuff. “We’ve pretty much taken the abominable out of our Top Forty and it’s uh ... ridiculously ... uh ... unconfining.” I thought I had pretty well addressed his concerns.

“Ridiculously ... unconfining?” He said, “What on Earth do you mean by that?” There was the distinct possibility that I hadn’t addressed all of his concerns.

Happily, I had been writing the ‘Personality Presentation’ section of the KEWB version of the Crowell-Collier Policy Book the night before. Part of it seemed very appropriate right about then, so I said, “ The thing that speaks loudest and most consistently about what we are, and what that represents, is through the overall performances of our on-air people. Fresh, imaginative, entertaining performances and ALL of it, every time, with a promise ... a promise of relevance and some kind of a positive payoff for the people listening.”

Michael looked at me for a long time and then said, “Really? And from the nonsense you’ve heard me do on KYA, you think I can be fresh and imaginative ... and relevant?”

“Yes.” I said, “I think a touch of an English accent is fresh, and when you consider what most Rock Jox sound like, it certainly is imaginative. Also, it might bring a little added class to the San Francisco version of Color Radio.” As it turned out, it brought a hellova lot more than that.

Michael did the all night shift. 2 to 3 am was where we fulfilled our pledge to the FCC, a pledge to broadcast an hour of conversation per day. It wasn’t long before that hour of conversation became Michael’s favorite thing to do. Every time I saw him he would ask if he could do two hours of ‘conversation’ rather then just the one. “No, Michael.” was my consistent reply, “We’re a music station.” Every time I would send a memo to the KEWB Deejays, one would be returned, on the back of which was written, “Chuck. May I please extent my ‘conversation time to two hours. It is positively the freshest, most imaginative and most relevant hour of my entire shift.”

“No, Michael. We’re a music station.” Until finally I said, “Okay. Two hours. But no more.”

Then, during one of my visits to San Francisco, Michael asked for a private meeting. We sat down and he handed me the current issue of Time Magazine. He pointed out a story headlined, ‘Radio’s All Night Psychiatrist.’ The story told how Michael had saved the life of a listener who had called to say goodbye. The listener told Michael that he was committing suicide. Michael kept him on the phone, even while calling the Suicide squad, a fact not known to the caller or to Michael’s audience, until the Squad broke into the caller’s home and saved him from himself. Time Magazine not only loved the story but they loved Michael and went on and on, saying such things as ... “ Michael Jackson is engrossing while unpredictably dispersing both comfort and wisdom to his callers and listeners. His deep, mature, soothing and mellifluous voice sounds like Laertes giving advice to Prime Minister Macmillan. Michael is fatherhood itself to women in trouble ...” Fatherhood? Michael was maybe 26 at the time.

Nonetheless, I had never seen, or even heard of, such wondrous words in such a prestigious magazine being lavished on a Rock and Roll deejay. I certainly didn’t want to waste all that publicity, so I said, “Okay Michael, you can talk all night for all I care.” And he did. And Talk Radio, or at least Michael Jackson’s version of it, was born.

The only person to ever say, “No” to an invitation to become a “Color Radio’ personality was Gary Owens. Gary was doing mornings in St. Louis where he was a dominant Number One. I was made aware of how really good he was when Ernie Farrell, one of the better record promotion people, handed me a tape saying, “You have to hear this guy.” My reaction to hearing Gary for the first time was, how do I say it? My reaction was ... insegrevious!

I called Gary and offered him the morning show on our station in San Francisco. “You mean Oakland, right?” said Gary. “I read that Crowell-Collier bought KLX, the Oakland Tribune station. And you’re changing the call letters to KEWB.”

This was the first, but certainly not the last time something Gary said had left me ... speechless, so he continued. “I think positioning yourself as a San Francisco station is a smart move. Also, the call letters, KEWB. National advertisers will recognize that as some sort of kin to KFWB, which will certainly be good for sales. I am very pleased that you’re calling me, Chuck, and I really do want to come to the West Coast. But the problem is, St Louis is the highest paying radio market in the country, and I don’t think you can afford me.”

I may not have still been speechless, but I can remember not being particularly articulate when I responded, “Hey! Crowell Collier ain’t no small outfit.” or something equally bright. “How much you makin'?” I said, continuing to demonstrate my remarkable grasp of the English language. He told me what he was being paid. He was right. I couldn’t afford him ... in any language.

“Maybe there could be some sort of bonus arrangement.” Gary suggested, “Based on performance.”

“I can’t do that, Gary. I’d have to do it for everyone.”

“Well, good luck with your new station. I know you’ll do very well.”

That was that, or so I thought until, a couple of days later, Mother Nature herself stepped in to give me a hand. The phone rang and, of course, I recognized the voice that was saying, “I am tired of tornadoes. On my way home today, I’m driving through all of this electricity. Tornadoes ripped the wires off their poles and they’re on the ground spitting huge blue and white sparks at me.” There was a tiny pause. Then, “How about just a tiny bonus?”

And the rest, as I keep saying, is history.