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[Home] [Anniversary] |
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The date: Wednesday, May 9, 1990. The place: J.W. Marriott Hotel in Century City, California. The opening night of the Radio and Records annual trade magazine convention features a $93-per-person admission price to a reunion party. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event. The Johnny Mann Singers are performing the “93 KHJ” jingle live as Robert W. Morgan reaches the podium. A sense of anticipation and excitement flows through the audience. You are in the presence of Bill Drake, Gene Chenault, The Real Don Steele, Robert W. Morgan, and many other members of the radio and record industry in Los Angeles. Hal Blaine has a full drum set occupying a prominent position to the left of the podium. Johnny Mann, himself, leads his original Singers poised in readiness to the right of the podium. Few people have ever heard a live performance of a KHJ jingle before. So when Blaine, Mann, and the Singers jump into their work, you are helpless with awe. The voice of Dick Clark booms down upon the crowd (on audio tape) and announces why this anniversary is being celebrated at all: No radio station before or since has had such a national impact, says the disembodied voice. Casey Kasem appears in person, however, representing the historical Los Angeles radio opposition between KRLA and KHJ. He seizes the opportunity at the microphone to deliver a unique tribute by voicing the “93 KHJ” station identification—a phrase you never thought you’d hear him say at any microphone.
(Photograph from May 9, 1990: Left to right, Casey Kasem, Gene Chenault, Bill Drake) Most of the talking is done by the others. You watch the original Boss Jocks, Robert W. Morgan, Gary Mack, The Real Don Steele, Dave Diamond, Sam Riddle, Johnny Williams, and Frank Terry each take turns at the microphone. Once-secret anecdotes--and outright lies--about sex, booze, drugs, and rock and roll punctuate the memories. If you listen to these guys, there’s no way to learn what really happened 25 years ago. The Real Don Steele observes, “Twenty-five years later and we still can’t tell the truth!” The rarity of their appearance together here in Century City tonight is really all that matters. Rarest and most special of all at this anniversary party is the appearance by a man named Clancy Imuslind. He does not look boss. He looks dignified, charismatic and spiritual. It was Clancy Imuslind who coined the Boss Radio phrase as promotion director at KHJ radio in 1965, but here and now, Clancy Imuslind seems out of place, as if he belongs elsewhere—somewhere more important perhaps. He jokes about how, despite all the charitable work he has done, “and the one thing I’m remembered most for is Boss Radio.” Rare Recordings: May 9, 1990 Several of the original people involved at KHJ in 1965 made remarks at this event. Here are some recordings so you can hear how they sounded that evening: ROBERT W. MORGAN (1:46) MP3, 833 KB The “free and easy” party atmosphere and the rounds of laughter conceal two unmistakable truths, however: The first is that the entire, original Boss Radio team is not really reunited here tonight. Robert W. Morgan makes a vague reference to the absence of original Boss Jock, Roger Christian, but never really explains why Roger Christian did not attend. And that points us to the second truth: To live the life of a Boss Jock was neither “free,” nor necessarily “easy.” Watch the celebrants at the 25th anniversary joking about drugs and alcohol, and you will see this truth worn on many faces. Just over a year later, Roger Christian dies. And then lung cancer cuts short the lives of both The Real Don Steele and Robert W. Morgan less than ten years following the 25th anniversary of Boss Radio. Thus ends an era. |
You listen to Bill Drake thanking everybody for their hard work in making Boss Radio KHJ as successful as it was, and watch in anticipation as Drake introduces his partner, Gene Chenault, who chooses to remain ever silent in the audience. The ones who say the least are clearly the most powerful ones in this room tonight.
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Birth of Boss Radio On the occasion of the silver anniversary of Boss Radio, Ron Jacobs looked back at how it all began so many years before. He wrote about his memories to share with all of us: It couldn’t have happened if Glen Campbell’s manager’s wife’s father didn’t own a cabin at Lake Arrowhead in the early ‘60s. Eventually, those circumstances brought Bill Drake to Los Angeles as Program Consultant to RKO General’s floundering KHJ Radio. And yours truly as Program Director. Historically, the place to start would be “The Battle of Fresno” which began in 1962. The town’s #1 station, pulling 60% shares in the C.E. Hooper ratings, was KYNO, operated by Gene Chenault. It was the only Top 40 station in the market. (In those days “CHR” meant “Career Home Runs.") It All Started at a 5000-watt Radio Station in Fresno Our target was KYNO and we threw everything at them. Terry’s Drum-A-Thon was the biggest thing in San Joaquin Valley radio history. KYNO relied on money giveaways. We did our thing, “Circus Radio,” which had made K-POI in Honolulu and K/MEN in “San Berdoo” #1. Gene Chenault did not take this lying down. After a few short-term PDs, Chenault brought in a tall, soft-spoken Southerner working in Stockton. He was previously at KYA in San Francisco, until a new, diminutive owner arrived who couldn’t handle looking up at 6-foot-5-inch Bill Drake. We fired our guns, and KYNO kept a’comin,’ now with Drake in command. KMAKe began with me in morning drive (my only airshift in ten years in California), Frank Terry middays and an Army veteran from KMBY, Monterey in the afternoon. He was so good he was moved to mornings within months. His name was Robert W. Morgan. Drake had Gary Mack and Les Turpin with him, along with the late K.O. Bayley and others. And Gene Chenault’s checkbook. KMAKe started a contest with a $1500 cash jackpot. Before I parked in my garage KYNO was on the air with a $2000 prize. KMAKe hid a “Golden Key” worth $2500—KYNO scattered duplicate keys all over town. We tailed Drake in unmarked cars with radiotelephones, trying to catch him doing funny stuff at motels at 3:00 a.m. (Never did.) KMAKe launched a Bowl-A-Thon with 5-foot-6 inch Tom Maule, KYNO responded with their own, featuring the ominous 6-foot-3-inch Bayley. (KMAKe won that round with some schemes which would make “Tricky Dick” Nixon blush.) “The Battle of Fresno.” It lasted two years. And, of course, there were no “Programming Guidelines” on how to handle the assassination of a President. Generally bummed, and with no company support, I threw in the towel and headed home for Honolulu in early 1964. Pirate of the Pacific Rim I wasted a year in Hong Kong working on a “pirate” station which never signed on. This was followed by a month in the Halawa Jail for possession of three milligrams (3/1000th of a gram) of “marihuana.” 24 hours out of the cooler, back in L.A. in early 1965, Morgan told me that the Drake-Chenault consultancy, formed after KYNO’s victory, had taken KGB to #1 in San Diego, a Top 40 merry-go-round city. And soon they would take on KHJ, Los Angeles, going for all the marbles. Morgan had signed on as morning man, since polishing his act in Sacramento and San Francisco. He touted a Hollywood native, who called himself The Real Don Steele, to Drake, who hired him for afternoon drive. Morgan was at his manic best, screaming at me to “Call Drake! Call Drake! You gotta be the PD! Goddamnit, call Drake!” Now understand, 30 days in Halawa Jail wasn’t exactly a Super Bowl corporate bash. Low Esteem City. Besides, Drake and I had never even met. We eyeballed each other once at the 1962 Fresno County Fair. KMAKe displayed “Sunny Jim” Price living in, and broadcasting from, a car hanging 85 feet over the fair grounds. KYNO offered a primitive Darth Vader-look-alike called “The Money Monster” handing out cash. (Advanced students will spot the genesis of “The Big Kahuna” here.) “Call Drake!” kept ringing in my ears. I was broke, staying with my first wife and a Kowloon alley cat, out in San Bernardino with Bill Watson and his wife, Jodie, an angel. I called Drake. He didn’t hang up. Winky Poos and the Future of Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio Within 24 hours, I met Drake and Chenault for lunch at a La Cienega Boulevard restaurant. Our meeting ended and they told me to call Drake’s pad at 7:00 p.m. I couldn’t handle the suspense. I phoned Morgan. “This was your big idea, now what do we do?” Morgan came down from his Laurel Canyon cottage, picked me up in his rumpled VW bug and we drove around L.A. in the rain, for hours, listening to KFWB and KRLA. I repeated, “They won’t.” Morgan replied, “They will.” Robert W. dropped me at a tall Sunset Boulevard apartment building. Inside I was greeted by Ken DeVaney, who I once met when he was a VP in the hot Crowell-Collier chain. He smiled big--and signaled thumbs up. Drake, Chenault and Turpin were there, along with DeVaney, drinking “Winky Poos.” Chenault announced I was the new PD of KHJ. We celebrated at the erstwhile Cock & Bull restaurant. Chenault toasted Bill Drake and Ron Jacobs as “The two best damn radio programmers in America.” I was employed. Hooray for Hollywood! Almost ten years later, Michael J. Brown, of Brown Broadcasting (KGB, KXOA, etc.) told me: The Rest of the Story. His dad, broadcast pioneer Willet H. Brown, had bought KGB in 1961. It was going nowhere. Mike Brown and his best buddy Roger Adams, Glen Campbell’s longtime manager, went skiing at Lake Arrowhead, above San Bernardino. Roger’s father-in-law had a cabin there. Mike, always scanning his car radio, became fascinated with K/MEN. So, when the Browns wanted to make a change at KGB, Mike mentioned the zany “Inland Empire” station to his father, who asked him to check it out. Mike Brown called the K/MEN office to contact whoever programmed the station. Sheila Brown, the secretary, was out to lunch. So was Bill Watson, the PD. The VP of Programming, yours truly, was in Fresno, fighting a ratings battle in mud and fog. So the K/MEN midday jock grabbed the ringing phone, in this blockhouse in a San Berdoo cow pasture, and blithely told Michael J. Brown that he, the jock, was the programming mastermind! The deejay, who shall remain nameless (and who used the same first and last name, with an initial in between), was invited to lunch with the Browns at the defunct Luau in Beverly Hills. It took them about the length of a Shirelles record to realize this as a scam. And they were back where they started: KGB seeks PD. Everyone in the business knew of Willet Brown. He co-founded the Mutual Broadcasting System; hung out with Howard Hughes; owned Hillcrest Motors, your Beverly Hills neighborhood Cadillac dealership; sailed a 93-foot yacht; kept his own Greyhound bus on standby and possessed the world’s largest collection of antique motorized popcorn machines. Gene Chenault, who began as a radio actor, had been trying to reach the senior Brown about a new consultancy spawned by KYNO’s success. Meanwhile, while the K/MEN jock turned out to be a flake, Willet Brown decided to find out why Chenault was calling. They met. And Gene Chenault got what he wanted, a client: KGB Radio. Drake, along with Turpin, Maule and others, had the Browns on top in San Diego in 90 days, squashing KCBQ and KDEO. Bill Drake was riding in a long, black Cadillac Fleetwood sedan. Thomas F O’Neil owned RKO General, Inc. Los Angeles radio was an embarrassment within the company’s broadcast division. WOR was a New York giant. WHBQ, Memphis, played Elvis Presley’s first record and was an established winner. The other stations were holding their own. In 1965, O’Neil conferred with his confidant and associate, Willet Brown. He quickly learned of the KGB success story and asked if Brown thought Drake-Chenault could tackle The Bigtime, L.A., with their rock ‘n roll format. Yes, said the savvy 60-year old. And the rest is history. Give Him A Shot Just one other episode. When Morgan and I were riding in the rain, my fate hanging in the balance, Drake, Chenault and DeVaney were hung up on just one point. They were convinced Jacobs could do the job, but what about this “narcotics thing.” The man’s a convicted felon, just out of the Hawaiian slammer—Reefer Madness! Drake looked at Chenault, Chenault at DeVaney (a lawyer), DeVaney said, “Call O’Neil.” Chenault telephoned headquarters. O’Neil said, “Let me think about it.” Thomas F O’Neil picked up his phone and called Beverly Hills. Hillcrest Motors had a separate building, fronting Wilshire Boulevard, called “The White House.” It was Willet H. Brown’s working office. (He also had the largest office in the KHJ building, the one with the shower, but he never came around.) The two tycoons shot the breeze, or whatever tycoons shoot, and finally, O’Neil asked Brown about, “This Jacobs kid. The marijuana business.” Willet H. Brown said, “The guy can program your radio station, that’s all that really matters. I say, give ‘em a shot.” Understand, I never knew many of these facts until 10 years later when Mike Brown told me about skiing in Arrowhead—the fake PD shtick—the phone call to his dad. Had any of that not happened, I would have never walked into KHJ in April of 1965, to join Betty Breneman, Clancy Imislund (the originator of the phrase “Boss Radio"), Eddie Dela Pina, Bill Mouzis, Art Kevin and others who were already there and believed in us: The cocky newcomers who told anyone who would listen, “We’re gonna be #1!” Five months later, we were. For WHB, in appreciation. May 9, 1990. Copyright © 1990, Ron Jacobs. All Rights Reserved. |
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