Long Story About a Quick Ending

I've been blessed with a long, if not lucrative career in broadcasting.

 

But in exchange for not making large sums of wealth for my work, no matter the call letters I worked under, I've always been given great friends to go through the experience with. For whatever reason, these people magically seemed to have always just shown up to come along beside me right when I needed them most. Amazing. I've also had the pleasure, or fascination, of working with some of the most colorful, and occasionally sleazy characters, my business seems to attract.

 

For sure, my time in radio has mostly been fun and seldom, if ever, dull.

However, whether just getting started or still laboring in the trenches, long time grizzled radio vets are always around to remind you of the same thing: Well if you don't get fired at least three times in this business, then you're not really trying." Or some such blather. If that’s true, though, I guess I've really been trying because I've been cashiered four times now. But whether I knew it was coming or not, each parting of the ways was painful, and each time I knew I'd probably never land another gig. And I was always wrong. However, because it’s an experience you've never been through before, you never forget the sting of that first time; that very first time you're asked to leave, to "turn in your key"; to take your check and just go away.

My first termination came at KZUN AM & FM-- "Cousin Country", as they called themselves-- in Opportunity, Washington. Opportunity is the sprawling Spokane suburb located east of town that extends almost to the Idaho State line. It was a terrific opportunity for me, too- pun intended- because I was hired to do morning drive, the time slot any jock worth his salt wants to have. 

To be completely honest, though, it wasn't exactly a dream job.

The air shift was from 6-9 a. m. Monday through Friday on KZUN-AM, a weak-ass little signal that wasn't much stronger than a kids' walkie-talkie. I didn't get to play much music, because for most of the show I had to read a lot of news and sports and run taped features. It wasn’t really a d.j. show and I didn't like it much, but at least I was on the air during peak listening hours. To get my actual "jock fix", I had to wait till Saturday night, when I got 6 hours on KZUN-FM, the big booming 100,000 watt signal that covered most of the Pacific Northwest.

The AM simulcast with the FM from 9a to 3p. At 3:00, the AM was on its own again, offering similar programming to what I did in the mornings; news, features, a little music, a lot of taped programming. The KZUN-AM afternoon show was only until the station signed off the air at sundown; which was anytime from 4:45 pm in the winter, to 8:45 in the height of summer. Some old dude did the afternoon segment.

Hardly anyone listened in the afternoons, but KZUN-AM did all right in the mornings when I was on. So that part was cool. But I hated having to wake up at a quarter to five every day to, to get to work. I still enjoyed staying out late with my friends and often didn’t get to bed until after midnight; rendering me nearly brain dead when the alarm went off at a quarter to five.

 

So there were a few mornings when, admittedly, I wasn’t completely awake when the recorded Farm Report ended at 6:04 am and I had to open the mic read ten minutes of local and regional news, live. I just prayed there weren’t any long or hard to pronounce names or places until the coffee kicked in.

 

For all the hassle it took to get there on time, mostly awake, and be half way good on th4e air, I was also only considered a part time hourly employee. I only made 4 bucks an hour and KZUN only employed me for 30 hours a week. 21 of those hours were doing what I trained to do- be on the air; the other 9 hours were, my ‘office hours’.

 

In this role, I did things I never thought I'd be doing as a "professional broadcaster", like getting off the air 9:00 and being  immediately directed to the KZUN front parking lot to tend to a couple of ancient planter boxes which sat anchored near the sidewalk. Islands in a sea of cracking asphalt, my boss Jim Swartz, instructed me to water whatever plants were still living and pull weeds.

 

In my extra hours I became the designated station gardener/jack-of-all-trades. If the planter boxes were tidy, I got to vacuum Jim’s office, or do his filing, or take out the garbage, or all of the above. He even sent me out for sandwiches a couple times for a sales meeting. I also cleaned out the storm gutters on the rickety old roof, and was handed a paint brush one day to re-paint the decaying walls in the men's bathroom with.

 

There was even one week in the middle of June when I worked both ends of KZUN-AM’s broadcast day. The ancient afternoon dude was off for a week, and rather than pull in a weekender from the FM to fill in, they had me do it. So after my morning shift ended at 9:00, I had six hours to kill before coming back at 3:00 to do the old codger’s afternoon shift as well. It worked out okay because it was June rather that January so I worked until 8:45; Jim rounded it up to 9:00 on my time card, so I worked a full 8 hour day that week; although it was a l-o-n-g 8 hour day.

But the biggest and most time consuming of my off-air odd jobs was cleaning up, cataloging and re-organizing “The Graveyard” as KZUN's downstairs basement was known. It’s where all the old equipment, records and other miscellaneous items whose useful lives had ended, was kept. It was a dark, cold, musty room; a tomb really, draped with cobwebs and crawling with bugs. It was almost a full time job by itself and there was no guarantee once you went down there, if anyone would ever see you come back up. Before sending me down there the first time, Jim said, “Organize whatever you find and if you don't come back alive, don't worry. We have your next of kin on file.”

Jim often thought he was funny. I didn't. The man was a bore. But when you're the boss, and one of the station owner’s sons, I guess you can be a bore. Jim Swartz had that part down real good. A family run outfit, KZUN was crawling with Schwartz's. There was Jim's dad, crusty old Bob Swartz, who’d owned the place since Moses, and his other son Jeff,  KZUN's sales manager. Between Bob, Jim and Jeff, it seemed like there was a Swartz coming out of every corner of the building. Even one of the receptionists was a Swartz by marriage.

Anyway, the story of my dismissal began one Saturday night when I was doing my shift on the big FM. Usually all alone, it was a surprise and complete shock to look up and see Bob and Jim out in the lobby with their wives. They were dressed up, probably coming from some fancy function they’d been to. I felt a little self-conscious because I was attired in weekend slob-ware. But I hardly expected company, certainly not the big guys. However, one redeeming factor of working for the Swartz’s, and maybe the only one, they had no Saturday/Sunday dress code.

While the ladies were taking care of business in the restroom, both Mr. Swartz and Jeff ducked into the FM studio. Jeff said, “Hey you’re sounding great tonight. We’re really enjoying listening to you.”  And the old man added, “Yeah, Keep it up son. You’ve got a future.” I was flabbergasted. I’d seen Jeff around, but we’d only said hello in passing, and I wasn’t sure Mr. Swartz even knew who I was. The only times he might have seen me during the week- if at all- was taking out Jim’s trash or hauling crap out of the basement.  He probably wondered why the janitor was on the air.

Nevertheless, I appreciated the encouragement because maybe, just maybe, I was really doing good. They liked me. Yess!   I thanked them both and went back to giving them the best Saturday night show ever heard on KZUN-FM-- or tried to anyway. In our business, it isn’t every day that you’re given a vote of confidence, in person, by the people that hold your professional life in their hands.

Monday came and I was still feeling pretty good about myself and about being on the KZUN team. Injected with a healthy dose of confidence, everything about my career seemed to be looking up--until my boss, Jim Swartz went on vacation the next day. Coincidentally, the old man and Jeff left town too. Go figure.

 

And though I didn't know it then, but I'd be leaving soon as well.

 

Left behind and temporarily in charge, was the assistant program director, Pete Hicks. I knew who Pete was, but as the midday guy, like Old Man Swartz, he probably only knew me as Jim Swartz’s gopher. On Thursday, Pete put up the weekend schedule and I noticed he had me down for 2 shifts that weekend, Saturday and Sunday night 6 p.m. to midnight. I certainly didn't mind the extra time on the FM, though it'd be a quick turn-around from Sunday night at midnight to Monday morning at 6 and my shift on KZUN AM. But it was okay. I could handle it because, "I had a future." Mr. Swartz had told me so.

Funny thing though, Saturday afternoon when I showed up at 5:30 to prep for the 6-midnight shift, there was a new guy already pulling records; somebody I'd never seen before. I wondered what was up. Confused, I asked Charlie Dee, the guy getting off at 6. The guy I was supposed to be relieving. But poor, Charlie. I think he wanted to be anywhere else because it'd been left to him to awkwardly inform me that Pete had switched the weekend schedule. I wasn’t supposed to be there till midnight.

Hey, thanks for the heads up, Pete. 

 

I'd played golf in the early afternoon, but had been home all morning and since 3:00 and all of Friday night too. If there'd been a change in the schedule, there’d been ample time to warn me. But I guess if the phone doesn't ring, it must be Pete.

 

I was starting not to like Pete Hicks very much.

 

The immediate problem, though, was having to turn around, trudge back home and force myself to nap- when I wasn't tired- so I could come back to work in 5 and a half hours and work all night. Of course, I’d been up all night before, but that was by choice- usually playing cards or coming back from a long road trip. This was very different and difficult.

 

I’d been out in the sun, consumed a couple of beers. Not enough to make it a problem working till midnight. But I wasn’t prepared to be going to work at midnight. Not even close. Had I any inkling they’d changed my weekend hours, I would’ve already adjusted my day to compensate for working all night. I certainly wouldn’t have gone golfing or had a couple Budweiser’s. So this caught me with no warning.

 

Naturally, when I got back home I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t tired at 7, 8, 9 or even 10 pm, either. I didn’t start feeling sleepy until around 11, just about the time I had to grab my keys and force myself back out to the Spokane Valley. Yawn.

I got to the station about a quarter to midnight and unhappily went about pulling my records. But being in the studio with him, the new guy appeared uncomfortable. Good. That’s how I wanted him to feel. I was pissed at Pete, but he wasn’t around. So I decided to be mad at the new joker and take all my annoyance out on him, even though it was all non-verbal. I didn’t even catch his name, though he called himself “Jack Daniels” on the air.  Oh gee, how original.

 

And at the moment, he was the immediate problem personified-- the elephant in the living room, so to speak. My sub-conscious wanted to pop him. But that would be highly unprofessional and grounds for dismissal, so I went about my business and gave him the silent treatment. After he left- without a word- I worked through the night in a somnambulist state of being. The next night was a little better, though I still felt like I was working in a fog. I needed to be as alert as possible though, because I had three more hours on the AM starting at 6.

When Tom Newman relieved me at 5:00 I figured I’d use the hour to go curl up on the sofa in the lobby and catch a few z’s before my morning drive shift. Tom was about my only real friend at KZUN, always real nice, friendly and talkative, interested in what I was up to. He made great coffee too. He didn't ask why I'd just been on the FM all night, which he should have; instead he just handed me a cup of fresh brewed 'joe' and started talking about his weekend, preventing me from gracefully slipping out of the control room to take my quick catnap. But a few minutes into my coffee klatch with Tom, guess who else came walking in?

Why, it was none other than my new best pal, Pete Hicks.

 

Pete never darkened the doors till after 9 on most days. But there he was, in the flesh at 5:10 in the morning, attired in his boots, leather vest and goofy cowboy hat. With his small wiry frame, he looked like an undernourished John Wayne. Pete said he needed to see me before the 6 am shift. Inviting me to bring my coffee, he led me to his office and pointed to his sofa. “Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll be right back” he said before disappearing into the bathroom.

I thought he was going to apologize for hanging me out to dry about the weekend schedule. Or maybe the two FM shifts was going to be a permanent change. Fine, I could live with that as long as I knew what was coming. Or maybe they were going to promote me to full time. That'd be cool. But it never occurred to me that Pete was there to fire me, which he did upon immediately his return from the john.

 So much for that “vote of confidence” from the owner and sales manager, huh?

 

Pete and I talked for about 5 minutes. He said he was sorry, things just weren’t working out, they needed to make some changes, blah, blah, blah. I don’t recall even half of what he said because I was stunned, shocked. I’d never been fired from anything before. All I heard was, “We’re going to have to let you go.” After that, I checked out.

 

He cut me a check, already magically signed and pre-dated by the vacationing Bob Swartz, then asked for my office key. As he shook my hand and wished me well, he looked me in the eye and for the first time that morning was completely straight with me. He let honesty bubble to the surface.

"Look, this isn't my call. Its Bob's old lady. She thinks you sound, well, kind of young. She thought you were still in high school. That's all it took. Bob takes a lot of advice from his wife. I think you're fine, and if it was me, I'd keep ya on. But like I said, it’s not my call. And don't take it personal that Jim's not here to do it. He likes you, but whenever he has to let someone go, he leaves town and kinda leaves it to me. I'm really sorry."

So was I.

But at least I got the straight scoop. A lot of guys don’t ever get that. They’re just axed. Case closed.

On the way out, I poked my head in and said goodbye to Tom. He had a sad look, like he knew I’d just been offed. He probably did. He told me to hang in there, that something else would come along; saying all the other right things that, at the moment, I didn’t want to hear. I smiled weakly, thanked him, said good bye and let myself out the back door for the last time.

 

Outside I wanted to scream, punch something. I kept asking myself, why? Why me? Why now? I wanted to mourn. I was only 24 but had just suffered my first professional death.

 

      Here lies Rocket's short-lived career at KZUN Opportunity, Washington.

                                                   May 7, 1979- July 30, 1979 
                                   “We told him he had a future...But we lied”

 

Eleven weeks on the job and that was it. And being too green, naive or blind, I never saw it coming. I knew the radio biz had its ups and downs and people came and went all the time, and often not by their own choice. I knew that. I just never thought it would happen to me. 

However, for his honesty, though I wouldn’t have Pete Hicks over for a “Kum-bay-yah” night, I had a lot more respect for him, knowing the spot Jim Swartz had put him in. Some people may get a charge out of dumping people, but I got the impression Pete took no pleasure in it at all.

But the Swartz’? Besides a final paycheck and lesson in bullshit 101, all I got out of my association with that family was a loss of trust and a jaundiced view of management. Tell me one thing, then do the opposite; flatter me, then splatter me. That’s what I got out of working for the Swartz’s clan. And when Bob Swartz died in 1982 and the family had to sell the station because they were drowning in red ink, I had a hard time mustering up a ton of sympathy. What goes around...

Still, I've yet to forget departing KZUN that day, slinking out the back door like a whipped puppy before anyone else saw me. Fortunately at 5:35 on a Monday morning, hardly anybody would. I’m sure everybody already knew anyway. But besides Tom, I doubt any of them would really care too much, let alone, miss me.

However there was one person who probably glad to see me go. For sure he wouldn’t miss me very much, the guy who I ran into on my way out into unemployment land that morning; good ‘ol “Jack Daniels.” He was there at that early hour because he’d inherited my job and my identical hours. So "Jack" was probably thrilled to see me go.

He nodded as we passed each other in the parking lot, one going in, one going out. One starting, one leaving. Welcome to the cold, wonderful world of commercial radio.