Don't Call Us, We'll Call You

My dream job coming out of college would’ve been to work at KJRB, probably the coolest Top 40 AM station in Spokane. It was a lofty goal, but I had a diploma and high hopes. So, with an admittedly skimpy resume - but awesome college radio air check tape in hand, in my humble opinion, I set off to be the next greatest thing to hit the Inland Empire's airwaves since Rob “Hot Dog“ Harter. (That’s an inside joke: as a d.j. Rob Harter was pretty forgettable. I’ve never forgotten his name, though).

But I remember how school-boy excited I felt the day I was actually inside KJRB

 

From the outside, the building, on East 57^th Avenue , was a dump. But once privileged to walk thought the front door it was like I’d just entered Oz’s Emerald City. I wasn’t just listening to my favorite radio station; I was actually within the place where it all happened. I’d broken the plane, crossed the unseen divide; I had my foot in the door.

 

And then I was in the office of the man who made it all happen, program director and midday jock, Jon Sherman. I’d listened to Jon almost every day for almost four years, but to be sitting in his small glass enclosed office and talking shop, having a personal one-on-one discussion about coming to work for him, was beyond inspiring. And when he took me around and showed me the behind-the-scenes intricacies of how this jewel of a radio station was run, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

 

I so wanted to work there, even if it was only doing the Sunday morning public affairs shift. Even if it was only writing news copy all night Even if it was only taking out the trash. Jon, just let me in! And Jon was very nice, very encouraging, spent over a half hour with me, took my air check tape, said he’d preview it, and that he’d keep in touch.

 

And like a dope, I believed him.

In those days I was still idealistic enough to take what people said to me at face value. But starting with Jon Sherman and working my way through all the other futile job interviews that summer, it didn’t take long to become jaded enough to realize that “I'll be in touch” was simply double-secret program director’s code for, "You’ll never hear from me again.”

It also didn't take long to understand, that without much practical experience, bagging a job at KJRB or anyplace else in the Spokane market was kind of a pipe dream. I wasn't that stupid. But, young and dumb enough, I pressed on anyway, all the way to the worst job hunting experience that summer: the day I called on KHQ.

At 590 on the dial, KHQ-AM was one of the oldest signals in the Northwest, and a legacy NBC affiliate. It was kind of the “establishment” station; the music was middle of the road, appealing to adults 35 and up. Not a listener, and not at all even close to my mid-30's, KHQ would not normally top the list of broadcast facilities I’d be seeking work in. And, in fact, it wasn't- it was my last.  But running out of local radio station doors to bang on, it’d suddenly moved to the apex of my search. By then, the honest-to-God’s truth was I'd have bussed the bathrooms there if they’d let me on the air.

 

The studios at KHQ were lavish and extravagant, the interior design reminiscent of a grand broadcast studio right out of the 1940's or 50's. The large, spacious lobby was adorned with photo portraits of all the air personalities, and.an elaborate staircase led to the radio studios and business offices on the building's upper level.

 

Off the lobby, two double doors led into the television wing of the operation. KHQ, Channel 6, was probably the most watched TV station at the time, and like the radio station was the NBC affiliate for Spokane. As I waited for my 2 pm appointment with Chuck Heaton, program director for both KHQ AM & FM, if he had nothing currently available on the radio, I wondered if perhaps there was something I could do for Channel 6 in the meantime, like maybe running one of the cameras. They certainly wouldn’t be putting me in front of one.

 

I was 15 minutes early and had plenty of time to ponder crazy stuff like that. It was crazy because I had only nominal radio experience, and not the slightest clue about how television worked besides turning it on and changing channels. What made me think a first class operation like KHQ would just turn over their expensive equipment to a dummy like me?

 

And looking around the ornate lobby waiting for 2:00 to arrive, I wondered if I might be in over my head; not to mention, a tad bit underdressed. Though I’d slapped on a tie, I wondered if I should’ve rented a suit, too; and maybe fattened up my resume. And like I always contemplated, whenever I was nervous to the point of wanting to run like hell, I wondered whether I should just get up and leave.

 

Before I could make an easy get-away, though, and right on the dot at 2:00 Mr. Heaton buzzed the receptionist for me to come up. She pointed to the staircase then told me to go through another set of double doors when I got to the top.

 

The doors at the top had little round windows at eye level to peek through, and when I got to the landing, I got on my tip toes and looked in. I saw the back of somebody’s head talking to another person down the corridor and I and quickly stepped back. That was close.  I composed myself, took a deep breath and pushed through the doors. As I sort of suspected, I’d glimpsed the back of Mr. Heaton’s head, there waiting to greet me. Fortunately he hadn’t seen me peeking in like a little kid- not that that’d necessarily be a deal breaker. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of first impression I wanted to make.

 

Chuck Heaton was a pleasant man, about 50 I guess; trim, relaxed and well-coiffed. Even so, it was a 95 degree day and his tie was loosed at the collar and he’d long since removed his suit jacket. My tie was not loosed and the rest of me was nervously perspiring as if awaiting execution, which had become standard operating procedure whenever I was on a job interview. It hadn’t helped that he’d almost started me at the doorway.

 

After the introductory pleasantries, Mr. Heaton congratulated me on my recent graduation and mentioned a daughter at WSU (Washington State University) who was graduating the following year. He then turned the conversation back on me, asking about my goals, dreams and ambitions. Without hesitation I told him I wanted to be a radio personality, that it's all I ever really wanted to do and would do anything to achieve it. 

 

“Why?”

 

Why?  Umm, why do you think? Because I want to be on the radio, you moron.

 

Of course I didn't answer that way. But wanting to say something meaningful, thoughtful, and wise beyond my years, I made something up. I told him I wanted to disseminate information to the public as best I could, and play the music the radio station thought best served its listeners. Sir.

 

Of course it was just a line of b.s. Nobody gets into radio for that. You get into radio because it’s fun. In the beginning it is anyway. So I answered the way I thought he wanted me to answer; which was certainly better than the first thing that popped into my head: Because it looks like an easy way to make a living and impress girls.

 

Chuck briefly chewed on my ostentatious response, rubbing his chin. He’s not buying it. I need to try again. Then he told me to follow him. First he led me down the hall to the radio studios and introduced me to Dave Rodgers, the afternoon guy.  I’d heard Dave the few times I'd accidentally tuned KHQ in.  He was good, fun to listen to and by his voice, I imagined him being a tall, athletic guy. Well, he was tall. But when he turned around, and stood to greet me, I met a chain smoking man wearing a too tight button-down shirt straining to cover a gorged belly. He likely hadn't seen his toes in ten years, or been in a gym even longer. That's Dave Rogers? 

 

Geez Louise! If that's what happens to you after a few years in radio, maybe I don't want to do it after all.

But once past the shock of matching the face to the voice, I studied him at work; cueing up 45's , answering phones, pulling copy and stacking his spots. All the activity made his face turn red. He started breathing hard and I thought he might be croaking; then he cleared his throat, sounding like a garbage disposal. It was disturbing. But it’s what he did every time before opening the mic.  

 

And sure enough, when he was “on”, he was on- the same smooth, happy talking voice boomed out of him, clear and clean and just like I'd heard on the radio. The transformation was amazing.

Then he closed the mic and started hacking again. I wondered if KHQ kept paramedics standing by when 'ol Dave Rogers was on the air. It looked and sounded like he was destined for an early grave.

The next stop was a glass encased room behind and adjacent to the KHQ-AM studio. This was the room where KHQ-FM (or Rock-98 as it was known) resided. Rock-98 was a totally automated operation and seemed more like an afterthought than a radio station. At least it played stuff people my age listened to. But it was just a wall of computers with 12 inch reels that played the music, and two big revolving carousel machines where the jingles and commercials resided. The machine found and cued them up when they were ready to be aired. Human beings need not apply here.

I didn’t quite understand the technology yet, but Mr. Heaton said every song, jingle and commercial had a “cue tone” so the machine knew when one element was over and in what order to start next. The ‘station’ was programmed a week at a time.

”So even if we wanted to play a request”, he explained “we couldn’t. But the kids that listen to this crap don’t know that. They call in at all hours, an answering machine takes their calls and nobody knows the difference. Rock 98 generates a ton of money with almost no overhead. It’s the wave of the future.”  He said it with a slight air of over-confidence, like a guy who'd figured out the magic formula for making big profits without having to pay people, while lining his own pockets at the same time. I hated the entire concept.

After Rock 98, I was given a quick look at the radio news operation. The space was the size of a large dining room, with five teletype machines running, a couple guys sitting at typewriters banging out copy, and a tiny, tiny news studio booth. The workspace was so noisy I wondered how any of the news crew concentrated. The place was a cacophony of ‘mixed’ signals. Dave Rogers and KHQ-AM was playing over one speaker; Rock 98 was coming out of another, and the NBC Radio Network from New York was blaring away in another. I thought the network only was there for the five minute newscast at the top of the hour. But apparently they fed programming content and spots every couple minutes all day long. Plus if some big National story broke, the local affiliates would know when a bulletin was coming down the line.

 

Then Mr. Heaton took me out of the noisy newsroom and down a back corridor into the TV studios where it was absolutely still. It was three hours till the 5:30 newscast and the set was completely deserted, the news stage, the anchors desk and Channel 6 “weather station.”  It all seemed so impressive on TV, but looked so humble and ordinary when standing in the midst of it. Up close and in person, it looked sort of second hand, too, like stuff you'd find at a yard sale. It was a little deflating, like seeing the real Dave Rogers and learning that Rock 98 was just a high-tech bucket of bolts.

After the studio tour and a Coke from the soda machine that he bought for me, Mr. Heaton took me back to his office and we talked a little more. The way the meeting had been going, I thought we’d been on the same wavelength, thought he liked me and we were hitting it off. I almost dared think I had a real shot at maybe coming away with something entry level. But then he gave me the straight scoop.

“Here's how it is. You’re well educated and seem to have a good head on your shoulders. But I’ve listened to your tape and you just sound too young and inexperienced for us. Our audience is mostly adults 35 and up. I’m sorry but I don’t think we can ever bring you on”

Ever? Ever? I wasn't going to be 23 forever.

”Well, what if I go out and work in a small market and get some more useful experience besides college radio? Could I come back in a year or two and discuss this again?”

It was a reasonable counter and figured it showed ambition, desire and drive. But blowing me off, Chuck Heaton didn't even blink. “No. You see, in a year or two, you’ll be a year or two older." Well, at least he could add. "And maybe I could bring you on then. But then there’s always going to be somebody younger and hungrier coming up behind you, wanting your job. And then I’d just end up having to let you go. And nobody wants that.” 

Huh?  Based on what? This was 1978. How did he know what might or might not happen in 1980? Where was his crystal ball?

 

When we’d first started talking, I thought Chuck Heaton was a pretty smart guy, but nothing he’d said in the last five minutes could be reinforced with any intuitive logic. It was nonsense. I didn’t get it. If I was ‘too young” to work at KHQ at 23, how could I possibly be considered “too old” to work there at 25? Where was the reasoning in that? They're admitted demographic started 10 years above that. I'd also just had a 45 minute look around and, except for the receptionist I hadn’t seen anyone working at KHQ under 40.

Nothing was adding up.

I guess it was a kind of corporate through-the-looking glass gobbledygook employed by people in power to avoid simply speaking directly. I’d soon enough discover this wouldn’t be the last time in my professional life that a manager, co-worker or potential employer would soft shoe around the truth. I'd also learn that some did it better than others. But it was an eye-opener to be on the receiving end of some executive slight-of-hand-deception for the very first time. It certainly punched a hole in my naive view of the world.

Ah, but even I had begun to detect the stench of bullshit.

Chuck Heaton was trying to hand me a 10 pound bag of manure, disguised as fact, that he wanted me to take into the backyard garden and plant flowers in it. At best, the crap he was spreading around was disingenuous conjecture based on incomplete assumptions. At worst, he was full of himself and liked to make stuff up to get rid of people. But to end things on a high note and “help" in my vocational search, Chuck offered this pearl of wisdom as he showed me to the door.

“Maybe you should consider selling shoes or another line of work. I honestly don’t think you’re going to make it in radio, son”

And you know that, how, you pompous condescending windbag? 

But he just smiled an insincere smile, shook my hand and that was it. Meeting adjourned. Chuck Heaton went back to work and I walked down the palatial staircase and out to my car. I yanked off my tie, got in and sat in the driver’s seat stunned, steamed and wondering what just happened.

 

The other people I’d interviewed with that summer had at least tried to spare my feelings. But Mr. Heaton had gone 10 miles out of his way to tell me I sucked, before I’d even been given the chance to suck. He also told me I was both too young and too old to work for him. What the hell was that, the new math? I went home mad and promised myself I'd never forget Chuck Heaton.

 

And I haven’t.  However, though he never hired me, I've always been sort of grateful to him for getting me started. He made me so mad I'd have done anything to prove the arrogant old SOB wrong. Six weeks later I landed my first on-air job at a KEZC-FM in Truckee, California. And more than 30 years later, I've enjoyed a wide and varied broadcasting career that's still going. And where's Chuck Heaton? 

 

He’s either dead or long retired. And still wrong.