First Day Jitters, Part 1

Happy New Year! Whenever it's time to transition forward, from the last day of one year into the first day of another, my sometimes backward thinking mind gets the urge to momentarily muse on some other first days, too.  Like the first day of school. Or new relationship (which in most cases is nearly always much better than the last). Or the first day in a new house, or town. Or the first stressful, headache-inducing day at a new job, like my first day at KSPT-AM/KPND-FM in Sandpoint, Idaho.

First, a little background. I moved to Sandpoint during the last week of July in 1983, just days after leaving my last Spokane radio job at KKPL-FM (or, as it was better known, Apple FM). I did nights and weekends on the air as well as a little production. They say I was fired; I say I quit; fortunately I'd spent the prior few months making inroads with John Goes, the program director in Sandpoint, and as luck would have it I accepted a position there right about the time I dumped Apple- or they dumped me. Whatever the semantics, the timing was perfect. And after disposing of my house, which miraculously sold in two weeks, I left Spokane for new challenges in a new place; from the large metropolitan area of Spokane where I was well established with lots of friends, to the small burg of Sandpoint, Idaho where, except for John Goes, I didn't know a soul.

 

Nevertheless, on July 29, 1983, with butterflies in my stomach, I put Spokane in the rear view mirror and headed 55 miles northeast into the Idaho Panhandle to begin a life of new challenges, a new job and no friends. Okay, more to the point, it wasn't butterflies. I was pulse-racing scared-sick, frightened of leaving home and starting over in a strange place. But I had no choice. My house belonged to someone else now, and I'd gone through most of the Spokane area radio stations worth working at, including Apple FM. So there was no turning back. I had to go.

The KSPT/KPND set up was pretty unique. Both radio stations were owned and operated by Blue Sky Broadcasting and broadcast out of converted houses. The AM – KSPT- sat about north of town and all by itself on a large flat plot of land in the shadow of Schweitzer Ski resort. All that was out there was a fast food place (Dub's), the highway and lots of pasture land. At least it offered a nice view of Schweitzer Mountain from the broadcast studio. The KSPT ranch house was considerably larger than the KPND abode, which was really just a remodeled over-sized granny house on Marion Avenue, not that far from Sandpoint's main drag. Though it looked bigger from the street, the place was maybe 600 square feet tops

 

But the size of the building wasn’t so much the issue, as where it was. Located in town, KPND's studios were planted ten miles in the other direction from the KSPT facility, where most of the company's day to day business was conducted. Spots and copy for both stations had to be done at KSPT because, not only was there no production room in the KPND house, there wasn’t even an office; just an on air studio, a jocks lounge/work area-- including a sofa and Coke machine--and a bathroom.

 

There was no lobby or reception area, either. In fact, there was no receptionist, period. The person on the air was the only person on sight. He/she was supposed to keep the front door locked and everybody else out. There was even a sign on the front porch that referred all Blue Sky Broadcasting business to KSPT on State Route 2, or as it's known to the locals, the Bonner's Ferry Highway.

 

And with two divergent facilities, naturally, the radio station’s two formats were night and day different as well. KPND was laid back AOR, or Album Oriented Rock. KSPT was a full service, middle of the road (or musically bastardized) format. The mix was a blend of Top 40 country (like KGA), some light Adult Contemporary (like the stuff we played on Apple FM- Barry Manilow, the BeeGees, Neil Diamond, etc), and lots of news and talk. It was kind of all over the map. Put it this way: if the goal was to bake the perfect radio format cake from scratch, KSPTs recipe had at least one too many ingredients. But what did I know? I was merely the hireling.

Except for those who pulled duty at KPND-FM, Blue Sky Broadcasting's entire staff worked out of the KSPT-AM facility. And though the voices on KPND were certainly part of that staff, being assigned to the deserted FM outpost made us feel, at times, a little disembodied. Left out. I only had to do two months there before getting promoted to fill the morning slot at the energetic KSPT building. But before that, alone and with no human contact for 4 or more hours a day made time served in the FM house feel like being in solitary confinement. Nevertheless, that's where John wanted me and on Monday, the first day of August, year of our Lord 1983, I was as prepared as I was ever going to be to take over the 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. slot on KPND.

 

Prepared, yes. Calm and collected, not so much.

 

I didn’t have any breakfast that first morning because I was too nervous to eat. But I figured, once the first shift was out of the way I’d be ready to grab a bite when I got off at 2. Besides, I wasn’t a big eater and had skipped breakfast lots of times, so doing it that day, too, didn’t seem like a big deal. And I lived close enough to the FM house that I could use any mode of transportation to work off some of my nervousness. I could be lazy and drive- which I immediately rejected- or I could walk, run or ride a bike. I didn't have a bike or feel like running, but I did have roller skates. So I skated, arriving at the radio station shortly after 9 a.m.

 

First order of business was coffee. I found a clean mug and poured a cup but it was the dregs; bottom of the pot, burnt and oily. Yuk. I guess the morning guy wasn't too good about keeping the Joe fresh. But bad as it was, the liquid tar and cup gave me something to have in my hands to take my mind off what to do with them. I’d only been in town three days, hadn’t met many of my co-workers yet and was afraid of the always awkward first day introductions. Fortunately only Pat Nations, KPND’s morning host, and lax coffee maker, was on the premises when I rolled in. So I only had to meet one person.

 

Though Pat sounded serious and stoned- or seriously stoned- when behind the mic, he was quite lucid, well-spoken and gregarious and made me feel right at home. So that went well. But as I went about the task of prepping and pulling music for KPND shift number 1, a bundle of anxious energy had me running around at warp speed. I don’t know why I was so nervous though- it’s not like I hadn’t done this type of work before; it’s all I’d done for the past four years practically. Plus I’d just spent three of those years in a much bigger market, at an AM station about ten times the size of Sandpoint’s as well as a big FM, too. Still, I was the new kid at KPND, and- no surprise- felt just like the new kid on his first day at a new school.

 

Sadly, when I joined Pat in studio just before his shift was over, he told me there wasn’t any more coffee (which was why he hadn't made a new pot). But with boxes and boxes of the little Folgers bags both stations used brewed down at the AM house, after his production was done Pat promised to bring back a new box or two before going home for the day. ”Give me a couple hours”, he said as he cued up his last two records. Hey, no problem. I was new and didn’t want to make a big fuss. I'd live two hours without coffee. At least I wouldn’t have to make so many trips to the bathroom.

 

There wasn't much to do at the KPND house except work. There was a living room, if somebody actually lived there and, except for a lamp and a throw rug, the space was completely empty. Most of the "furnishings" were in the “broadcast wing”, the part of the house where the work was actually done. A short hallway bridged the gap from the living room to the studios. A Coke machine and Associated Press teletype machine stood guard outside the studios, in sort of a small ante room area. The Coke was for drinking, but the teletype was used basically for kindling.

 

We didn’t actually read news at KPND; the machine was there only as back-up in case the one down at KSPT malfunctioned. So all we ever had to do with the KPND machine was change the roll of paper every six hours and round-file the teletype tears sheets. But the trash only got emptied about once a week, so there were reams and reams of discarded news copy spilling out of the garbage can everywhere and piling up on the floor. It was an arsonists’ dream. Strike a match anywhere near this overstuffed little fire hazard and the place would go up like a kerosene soaked bonfire. Next to the teletype machine, another short hallway led to the bathroom. Before the toity, to the left, a side door exited out to a small patio and side yard.

 

Behind the ante room, Coke machine and teletype machine, two bedrooms had been combined and converted into the on-air studio. It was probably the largest room in the/building but, very dark and very enclosed, once inside it felt like being sealed up in a cave. There were no windows, except a tiny one, head high on the vault like door. So daylight never made its way into the studio. The only light came from less-than-adequate ceiling track lighting. And though the house had no centralized AC unit, the “bunker”- as Pat Nations had called it- always seemed about 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the house, even with all the built-in electronics.

 

The console was built into the bunker’s rear wall, so the d.j. sat with his back to the door. Cart racks and cart machines were to his right, turntables to the left. A blue neon, circa 1950's Pepsi Cola clock hung above the console, directly in front of the mic. Staring you straight in the face, you never had to guess what time of day it was. Naturally, all four walls were plastered floor to ceiling with posters and album covers. And with minimal lighting, even in the middle of the day the room had a “secret hideaway” ambiance going for it, which gave off the vibe of an underground, or campus radio station. It also could've, and probably had at some point, been used as a great make-out place.  On the other hand, spend too much time in 'the bunker' without a break and it felt like you'd taken up residence in a bomb shelter.

 

The studio had four turntables. Three were used for the albums, the last one for the 45's. The engineer had rigged the rpm speeds to remain permanently at 33 and a third on the designated album turntables, and 45 on the one for the 45's. So, at KPND at least, there was no way to ever accidentally start a record at the wrong speed. This was good because I had a problem being chained to the on-air studio for any length of time; I needed to move about and roam. Unfortunately, during moments of ’stretching my legs’ (or mindlessly wandering the halls), I’d forget how much time I had before needing to start the next record. This invariably set off a chain reaction of radio silence, a frantic sprint back to the studio and then- more often than not- the sound of music playing at the wrong speed.

 

Such bad form, it’s amazing I could keep a job. However, scanning the dial sometimes, I wasn’t the only one, and at KGA and Apple all the music was on cart so I never had to worry about cueing records- only paying attention to time. And I mostly always did then, too. Even so, I thought it was pretty innovative having the turntable settings locked in place. It was one less thing for an occasionally preoccupied or unfocused jock to have to worry about.

 

Pat started his last record at five minutes till ten and I was ready to go. My first couple of hours of music pulled- all on albums and determined by a very complex and specific index-card rotation (no, you couldn't just play anything you wanted) and had peed out my first nervous cup of coffee. It was show time. The first set of songs I played after the 10am legal ID were, “Come Sail Away” by Styx, then  Jackson Browne, “Lawyers in Love", that was followed by “Mexicali Blues” by Bob Weir,  Asia’s “Only Time Will Tell" came next, then  “No Woman, No Cry” by Bob Marley and "Someday, Someway” from Marshall Crenshaw rounded it out. Okay, so it wasn't exactly in-your face-cutting edge and we didn't exactly 'rock; but the mix wasn’t all that bad and the shift was off to a good start.

 

There were only about three places in an hour for the jock to talk, so it wasn't until about 10:20 before I even cracked the mic. But by the end of the first break, I was feeling comfortable, in a groove and beginning to enjoy myself. In fact, things were cruising along so well it wasn't until about two hours later before I noticed Pat Nations hadn’t come back yet with coffee. And I really had started to notice because I hadn’t eaten, there wasn’t any food in the building and a hunger, slash, caffeine headache was starting to come on. However, it wasn't yet horrible and figured I could tough it out another hour and a half. 2:00 wasn’t that far away.

 

I was getting a little antsy though, and momentarily left the studio to open the door to the back yard and get some air flow circulating through. Though the 'bunker" was cool, the afternoon had become hot and sticky and the house seemed to be absorbing most of it. Nearing 90 degrees on the patio thermometer, some puffy thunderclouds were building to the east too, and the heat wasn’t helping my headache. I went back inside and continued my shift, though without as much enthusiasm as when I’d started and made it to a quarter to two without feeling much worse. But I was starting to get concerned; not just because I wasn't feeling well but nobody had come in yet to start pulling music. I'd arrived way early because it was my first day and didn't expect anybody till about then. But there was no sign that anybody was going to show up by 2:00.

 

There was no schedule posted either, so I didn't even have a name to match the face for who hadn't shown up yet. Crap!  First day on the job and I'd already run into trouble. What do I do? The only phone number on the console was for the AM house. But there were two reasons I wasn't ready to call John yet. I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle a "crisis" on my own. And whoever was late, I didn't want to get them in hot water. What a nice first impression that'd make. Oh, the new guy? He's a little tattle tale. No, I wasn't going to inadvertently throw any of my new un-met co-workers under the bus. I'd just have to tough it out. At least for the time being.

So, I quickly began the process of pulling another hour of music, either for myself or the random next guy, and keep going. It was the only option. As the say, the show must go on….