Eileen Hall

I have been in 43 stage shows including 5 musicals. At one point I had to go play war in Vietnam, so I took a four year break from the stage. When it was all over, I returned home, older and far more grown uo thanks to that stupid war and my main thought was, well, now what?
I dated a while and to pass the time, I got back into community theater, where I eventually met my first wife. We met at tryout rehersals in Holyoke for a play called "Seperate Tables." Now I had never heard of this show nor knew anything about it. Thought it might be about carpenters making fine furniture, and as I love to work with wood I thought this would be perfect for me. I even had my own tools.
I entered this building off Appleton Street to a large room with several chairs and was greeted by a smiling lady with salt and pepper hair. She said, "Good Evening, I'm Eileen Hall and I will be your director." WOW..guess I got the part already. Her first words to me sounded like a female version of the old Alfred Hitchcock TV show, complete with accent. A few others showed up including the woman who would be my first wife, and by the end of that evening I had the part but was not too thrilled with it as Seperate Tables is somewhat of a stuffy English play but there was nothing good on TV that month so I figured what the hell, I'll do it.
That evening was my first encounter with Mrs. Hall. That was what everyone always called her. Not Eileen..nobody would do that. It was from then on, "Meeses Hall."
We rehearsed for several weeks and did the play 5 times I believe to small audiences and that was that. I did strike up quite a friendship with this amazing woman, we parted our ways, and that was that.
A few months passed by, and one evening the phone rang. I answered and was greeted by, "Well hello George, this is Eileen Hall, and I think I need you dear." I said, " Mrs. Hall, I like you but I don't think it would work because of our age difference." Dead silence. Then rolling laughter. She said she missed me for things like that,but getting down to business, she asked if I had ever heard of the Late Christopher Bean. I said, "No, did he live in Holyoke?" Again, dead silence and then laughter, She said," No,no silly boy, it's a play. I informed her I had no idea and I think I questioned her as to where she found these odd plays. I was told I would be perfect for the show and I was to meet her at the Holyoke Soldies Home as that's where we would be putting on the show. I thought this will be curious. Doing a play for World War One soldiers who were in their eighties. We would have to talk louder I guess.
We had a guy she cast in a part that got bombed out of his skull during every rehersal. After a few weeks of this, Mrs. Hall said she will have to talk to him about this. That night she did. She kept him in the show. He stayed popped, but assured here on the performance nights, he would be sober.
We did two weekends there and he was tanked. One night they found him passed out somewhere a half hour before the performance, but the show must go on. Most of the dialogue with him was with my character and he remembered about 4% of his lines, so I found myself rewording things to fill in for him, all impromptu every night. Somehow we got through it and although I loved Mrs. Hall, I vowed I would not do another dippy play that she was directing.
Christopher Bean was in the summer of 1971 and I got involved in another theater group doing some other play in Westfield. I had not heard from Mrs. Hall for some time. In early December of that year that all changed.
I had spoken with her several times on the phone over the past year and I noticed something about her unique style. She had a veddy English dialogue, and when she wanted you to do something, she wouldn't ask, rather, would premise her request by saying, " I need you to"....whatever. This was her way and it was perfectly acceptable to me.
So the phone rings..." Well, hello there George, this is Eileen Hall." Oh, great. She wants me to be in the musical Jack The Ripper I bet. She continues."I need you to be at my home on the 17th please..terribly important"
" You need help with something that day, Mrs. Hall?'
"Well, dear, please just be here at 7 that evening, and I'll explain. Goodbye dear." What the hell is going on now?
I left my house around 6:30 on the 17th and drove to her house near Irene Street in Chicopee. There were a few cars in front of her house. I was greeted at the door, and recognized some people, actors, and a few others I didn't know. House decorated, goodies and wine on every table. Mrs. Hall appreciated a nip or 12 every now and then, but only on special occasions. Like the wind blows or a car drives by. I questioned those I knew as to what is this all about? Just a Christmas party? No one knew.
A few more show up and now there's about 12 of us. Mrs. Hall enters the living room and instructs all of us to sit. She then reaches into a bag and removes a handful of what look like scripts. Oh no...please say it ain't so Joe. She passes them out to everybody. Nobody has any idea what these things are. We look at these things. Scripts? No....no, that would be too expected. They were books of.....are you ready? Christmas carols. The whole group of us we were told, were going to go out in the neighborhood, up and down the streets, singing Christmas carols...accapella. The looks on everyone's faces were like people looked the day the twin towers went down. Christmas carols? This is a gag, right?
"And here's a small flashlight for everyone."
Why me Lord? Why me?
So we all don our gay apparel and head out into 10 degrees to sing Christmas Carols, slowly parading down the street. First song, nobody had their voice right. Sucked, but this was Mrs. Hall, and I guess she was the director. She was giving us voice lessons as mad Christmas shoppers drove around us blowing their horns.
Then something amazing happened. We sounded good...we sounded together. We were beginning to like this.
In every old Christmas movie some carolers are featured somewhere outside singing. Seems nobody ever does this any more, but we were actually singing live carols, on the street, and starting to sing our hearts out. People were actually coming out of their houses to listen. All of us were invited into two houses and fed snacks and spiked punch or eggnog or both. It was the most amazing feeling. I finally got it...the Christmas spirit. For the first time in years, something came over all of us and we started singing our hearts out.
We were out there for about two hours, we with our carol books, Mrs. Hall with the flask of something in her bra...to keep warm no doubt.
We went back to the house, sat briefly and all shared this amazing feeling that happened in a neighborhood on the side streets of a Massachusetts city.
Folks started to leave, and as I was getting ready to go, she gave me a huge hug and thanked me so much for coming.
I said, " Mrs. Hall, why didn't you tell everyone what you were planning tonight?" She responded with, " Well then dear, you wouldn't have come now would you?"
She was right and I know I would have thought it was a stupid idea. A stupid idea? Why is it then, after 40 years, not a Christmas arrives when I don't think of that warm wonderful night so long ago. The simple things in life, always free. Christmas Carols with friends, and a lifetime memory for those of us who were there.
I did one more show, The Odd Couple. She said she needed a slob type to play Oscar...so of course she cast me.
I moved out of state for a few years. Tried to contact her when I got back, but she had moved and I didn't know where she was.
One night I was watching something on PBS and they ran a promo for a program called Independant Lens. The next show they were airing was featuring a singing group from Northampton named "Forever Young" This is a group of senior citizens singing fairly new rock music, and right in the middle of this promo I see this full face of a woman singing,"Should I stay or should I go?

" I think I jumped out of the chair. It was Mrs. Hall.
The next day I called Dave Frasier at WGBY and asked him where these people could be contacted. He called me back an hour later and told me the show was filmed over a year earlier, and that a few of the members had passed away. I asked him who they were. The first name he gave me? Eileen Hall.
I did cry..just another grand example of Murphy's Law. Think of her every year, finally find out where she is, but find out too late.
Some people never leave your heart and some people who do something that can change your life, never leave your life. So is the case with a loony English woman who loved the theater, a bawdy joke, a pint of Guiness, and a lot of laughter. I wish all who read this could have known her. She'd be in your heart always too.
Thanks, Mrs. Hall...sleep in heavenly peace.

Donald Trumps Christmas Party

People in radio seem to get a few things now and then, that they never expected from the outside world. In the early 80's I once recieved a Christmas card, sent to my home from President and Mrs. Reagan. I don't know why. The only thing I ever did was make fun of him like every other talk show host in the world, and somehow that must have garnered a holiday card. There was another incident along those lines in the mid 90's. Donald Trumphs Christmas party at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City.
I was on the air at WMAS doing my morning show when the mail came in. Jonathan, the news/mail goober made some snide remark about this rather large envelope from the Taj Mahal. I had been there maybe three times in my life, so I figured they finally tracked me down and were sending me an itemized bill for damages or whatever. When I chisled through the weld of glue on the flap, I was greeted with an invitation to his Taj Mahal Christmas party. This card was guilded, with caligraphy like my buddy Jonathan couldn't even come close to, and the message was quite clear, informing me that my wife and I were invited to spend the weekend as The Donalds guest at the Taj Mahal and attend the yearly party in Ballroom "B" or whatever, a week from Friday night. Please call the toll free number to confirm.
OK...What's goin' on?
I get home that morning and say to herself, " Hey, herself, look at this."
She reads the thing, looks at me and says, "OK..What's goin' on?"
I had no idea, so I call the number as instructed to do. I am informed we have a room for Friday and Saturday night and all expenses incurred are comped. So I pick up the phone off the floor, tell the wife, and simultaneously we look at each other and say," OK..What's goin' on?"
For the next 10 days or so, I am doing my best to figure out how it is that me, a relatively unknown, red haired sleepy gnome gets invited to a Christmas party thrown by a guy who has more cash in his pocket at any given time than I will have amassed in my lifetime.
The day of the excursion to Atlantic City arrived, I packed my only suit, ( some things never change ),and the two of us embark on our trek to the Donalds little get together. On the way down there, the discussion turned to who might be there. The mayor of New York? Of course, Donald wouldn't forget him, nor Elizabeth Taylor, Sinatra, Steve and Edie..Letterman perhaps? Whoever was there this was going to be big.
We arrived and for the first time ever, I decided to do the valet parking thing. I don't know why, it just seemed if this was all comped, I could afford the $1.25 for the driver. If you have never been there, the front of the Taj Mahal has an enormous drive around shaped somewhat like a horseshoe. I am driving through this highly congested Friday afternoon traffic snafu looking for a place to pull over and it is mobbed. Except for one area brandishing two signs that read the following: "Mr. Trumps Christmas Party",it was the only place I could pull over. OK, what's goin' on? I pull in and the Beefeater there comes running up to the car and asks to see the invitation. I comply. He says, "Thank you Mr. Murphy," then goes to a phone, talks to someone, the car doors are open, they take my one suitcase that I wrestle away from some guy and we enter the building. Remember, this is Friday late afternoon, a week or so before Christmas, and there are lines of people at every counter...except one. Yup, the counter with the banner that reads,"Mr. Trumps Christmas Party Only." There's nobody there. We cautiously approach, and at about 5 feet from the counter, this stunning girl on the other side says, "Good Afternoon, are you the Murphy party?" Ok, What's goin' on? How could she possibly know who I ...oh, wait..that's who the Beefeater outside must have called.
As we signed in, we are told we stay there courtesy of Mr. Trump, all food for the weekend is gratis and the wet bar in the room is no charge. She gives us two plastic cards for the room and good at the restaurants or room service, and finally gives me a real key. I asked her what the key was for. She said the elevator. Now I'm wondering why the hell a place like this locks the elevator, and not wanting to sound really stupid, I just thanked her, and away we went. The elevator opened and we got in, I hit the button for the 16th floor, but it didn't work. Now, we're going up and down in the elevator trying to figure out how to get this thing to the 16th floor. The wife says we must be in the wrong elevator, we should look for one you have to unlock. I said shut up. I finally got off the thing and found a suit and told him of my plight. He said in order to get to the 16th floor, I had to put the key in, turn it, then press the 16th floor button. Oh...I knew that.
We get in the room and two words come to mind...holy crap. This room cost more that my house. Huge canopy bed, bathroom you could bowl in..( wanted to, but didn't bring my ball )and you could see Havana from the window above the jaccuzi in the corner of the other bathroom. But, Murphy's Law kicked in. A remote, but no TV in the room. Now why have a remote, but no TV? So I press the "ON" button, and I hear odd noises and the sound of a tv as this thing rises out of a console which I thought was a bureau. The wet bar was loaded with booze..and I thought, yeah, life is good.
So now it's about 7:45 PM, and the phone rings. It is the front desk, informing me that our table is ready in the Grand Ballroom "B". This is nuts. I brought a cassette tape recorder with me, because I was going to interview the Donald and all the celebrities there.
We arrive at the "B" room. Doors like the ones that kept King Kong out of the village on Monster island. Two security guards, a little smaller than the doors. We show some other guy the invite. He welcomes us, and hands it to some other guy inside. We are escorted in, as we are now royalty, and all the while, wafting through my mind are the words, "OK, what's goin' on?"
This place was gigantic. The entire back wall was nothing but food. There was a 15 piece orchestra in the corner. Service people everywhere, and at each seat, a gift from Donald himself.
The room was filling fast, everyone escorted to their seats, and we scanned the room and the door constantly looking for those famous friends of Mr. Trumps who surely would be arriving.
When the room filled, some guy thanked us all for coming, and said the food was now being served. Oddly, it was like a smorg, but if it wasn't on that mile long table, it wasn't worth eating, and the food was spectacular. The orchestra was fabulous. There was only one thing that was a mystery. Who the hell are all these people? Not only was Trump not there, but there wasn't a soul in the room that was even remotely familiar. Ok..What's goin' on?
We had a fine meal, listened to great music, and clown that I am, I introduced my wife an I to everyone at the table, and we were having a great time doing oragami and playing with our free gift, a pair of champagne glasses emblazoned with the Taj Mahal logo.
It was around 10PM or so I just had to start asking some of these folks just how exactly they knew Donald Trumph. Most of them didn't, and a few also thought the place would be full of celebrities and Trump himself. Alas, now I have a problem. I had been hyping this trip on the air to my audience, and a lot of people were interested in hearing all these world known celebrities on my program come Monday morning. What to do, what to do? AHA! I have the solution. By this time, I had convinced everybody there I was nuts, so I told them I was going to tape a quick interview with them only they had to make believe they were someone famous. I got Sinatra, Steve and Edie, Barbara Streisand, Joan Rivers and half a dozen others. It was hilarious. None of these people had any talent, they used their real voices and all in all were terrible. I put this thing on the air on Monday and people actually called and thought they were listening to the real people. They sounded nothing like the real people, but mystery of mysteries the thing worked and to this day I am stymied how this group of people no one knew convinced my audience they were the real McCoy.
We wined and dined till after midnight and all went our separate ways, back to our fine rooms, all wondering why we were there.
The next morning, we went down to this restaurant to have breakfast, and seated next to us was Jackie Mason. People were bugging him for his autograph, and I thought that was tacky, so as we were leaving, I gave him a napkin with my autograph and told him I felt bad because everyone was bugging him, so I decided I'd sign a napkin for him. He started laughing like hell. Two years later, I had him on my show and recounted that experience, and before I could finish, he said, " I remember that, and you gave me your autograph on a napkin."
We had not much else to do the rest of that weekend but play the slots and loose, but the booze and food was all gratis.
We left early Sunday afternoon, and again pondered the reason we were invited to a party, at no cost to us, with hundreds of everyday people that nobody knows. I am sure there were important folks there that are used to attending this thing every year, and I think I have come up with the solution as to why we were invited to this thing.
I believe that year there was a very well to do Trump friend in New York City who always got invited to this party

. A very wealthy man. Somehow, because I had been there a few times before, this man, we'll even use his name. George Murphy. Somehow the man who should have recieved this invitation was snubbed, and I believe that the night of this party, that he knew about, he sat steaming mad at Trump. Alone in his high rise penthouse, I am positive he uttered the words, OK..what's going on?"

We'll Be Right Back

The bane of every broadcast outlet are the incessant pauses that have to be taken to sell somebodys stuff. Early days of radio or television took very few breaks per hour, because advertisers were willing to pay out the wazoo for air time.
In the 50's, it was not unusual for a half hour show to have one sponsor for the entire show. On television, the show would open with some announcer saying, "Brought to you by....", and 15 minutes later, a live 60 second commercial would sell the product. At the end of the program, the announcer would come back with, " This show has been brought to you by....", and that was that. I did a ton of live commercials on radio, and wrote almost all of them. Ads were, "in house" productions, then something started where the sponsor himself wanted to voice the spot. I, almost always used humor, and many character voices I would do to try and get the best response possible for the advertiser. Early radio ads made sense, and people listened. Now, ads on radio and television can cause riots, boycotts, 15 hours of discussion on CNN, and are as rediculous as one can imagine.
It seems that creatures other than people, are the main spokes things for television products, and I cannot imagine why. There is a huge bee with an accent like Ricardo Montelban selling you allergy spray. Multi colored cartoon bears with toilet paper stuck on their butts,green blobs having a disco party in your stomach, a duck with Gilbert Godfried's voice selling insurance, and a lizzard selling another brand. Yo quero, Taco Bell?
The gecko ads are curious. Madison Avenue decides to make the company employees look to be as stupid as possible. One of their ads shows a man, supposed to be the CEO of Geiko, I surmise, having a conversation with an accented lizard, and decides he is going to fall over backwards and have the 4 inch reptile catch him, and this guy is playing the head of the company. Sure, buy your insurance from us. Wait till you see the rest of the people in the office.
Demographics are the target in television. If you are home sick, incapacitated, or retired, you will be bombarded with ads selling you AARP, life insurance, free wheelchairs, or help with the biggest plight on the planet, Mesothelioma. A stupid device to crack an egg, every time you turn on any channel during daytime TV.
Ever notice when some cleaner is being promoted, the area cleaned has not been cleaned since the Johnson Administration? Even the cleaning utensils, i.e. mops and brooms are regarded by humans in the commercials, as ordinary talking items, and it is commonplace for old sponge mops to pack a bag and get on a bus. Why is it, whenever a somewhat tedious task is being performed in these commercials, it is always by some woman, shaking her head in disbelief, a huge schlock of hair hanging over her face, and is always, always filmed in black and white? Recently, an ad for a special pair of rubber gloves was being offered to help alleviate a horrendous issue in this country...peeling potatoes. Yes, yes, I know, something we all dread, and would rather go to the dentist than do, ever. So here's these gloves. Rubber gloves...with some sort of bumps all over the palms of the gloves. The idea is to grind off the peels..isn't that amazing? But wait, there's more. Announcer espouses the quality of this miracle idea.."No more peeling for hours!"..enter the black and white clip of the woman struggling in vain to get the peels off with a potato peeler.
The most heartwarming part of this ad is announcer then telling you what you can do with the 74 pounds of potatos you just sanded smooth...you ready?..."You can make, mashed potatos, potato salad..and tons of french fries with the french fry do-dad, a $20.00 value, your's free! The potatos in this add, are pristine, no eyes, splits or discolorations at all. But one thing they never told you. The potatos had to be boiled before these gloves would work. Nothing I like better than boiled french fries. Have you seen the one about the electric stair chair? This thing is attached to rails on a staircase, and can transport you up or down, while you sit and enjoy the scenery of your wall. The announcer opens this spot up with the following.." Most senior citizens suffer the most falls causing them great injury. The answer to this? Don't fall". Wish I thought of that the last 3 times I took a header down the cellar stairs.
Have you, or somebody you, know died from taking this drug? I did, but I'm dead, so can't join in on the class action lawsuit. Got a headache? Try New Clompamaosin. You'll feel better in 15 minutes. Some people who use Clompamaosin suffer hair loss, rickets, false pregnancy,bleeding from the eyes, ears and rectal area, scurvey, coma, diabetes, excessive vomiting and body odor, infected gums,stroke, heart attack,cirhosis and genital fungal growth...but man, you won't have a headache.

Another inovation in advertising is cramming 45 seconds of dialogue into the last 10 seconds of a commercial. This is radio's version what is at the bottom of the TV screen, in print one sixteenth of an inch high, in 35 lines that you can's read on a 60 inch screen, even if you had longer than the 3 seconds it is shown there.
The tricks to get you to buy things have been around a while. Remember GL70? To this day I have no idea what that is, but it worked. I still remember it. Now there's a whole slew of things nobody knows anything about, but I am not going to run out and buy something because it is now made with South American Hoodia. Have we lived this long, somehow without il casei immunitas? Now made with real chicken?? What the hell was in it before? I saw a box of macaroni and cheese, with a banner printed across the front reading, " Now even more cheese taste." That's not possible.
The bag of powered cheese cannot taste more cheesier. It's powered cheese. After you cook it in the oven for 45 minutes, the instructions warn you that the product will be hot. Thanks..appreciate the concern.
Order before midnight tomorrow. If you call in the next ten minutes..soon to be put back in the vaults for ten years. All designed to make you think you heard something else. Years ago, when mail order was the thing, you always had a PO box on the address. There were no PO box numbers your order went to. That was a way for the seller to track where the business was coming from. Still done today on informercials. If the PO box number you send on your order is 1 2 3 4, well, let's say thats at TV station code in Chicago. They get 300,000 orders with that PO box code. Conversly, the PO box is 5 6 7 8, and they get 22 orders, they pull their sponsorship from that station, and try somewhere else.
We'll double the offer, ABSOUTELY FREE!!! Just PAY shipping and handling, and postage, and processing, and tax, and this means you could have made two of these things in your cellar from old car parts for about a fifth of what we're charging you.
The bottom line for me is, if a sponsor wants you to respond to his ad, he will not use mini print or speed talkers, he won't offer you a free duplicate of the thing you are ordering, that you don't even need one of anyway, nor will he use double talk to make you think you heard something else and have to dive for the phone immediatly, or try to sell you a $300 item with the scam line that you can TRY it in your home for just $14.95. So many people get sucked into this sort of deal, it is astonishing.
There was once a company up here called Tommy Van Scoy's Diamond Mine. They're long gone now, but once I did a parody live on the air about this place. Tommy had an unusual voice, like the Carvel Ice Cream guy did. I called it Jockey Van Short's Diamond Dump, and rattled off the most rediculous spot I could think of. Later that day, they pulled their advertising for what I did. Somebody from there must have heard it. The GM of the station was wild. The next day, they called back and increased their advertising on the station. Seems, for some reason, they got more feedback in one day from the parody I did than at any other time they could recall.
The power of advertising. You never know what is going to work, and sometimes why it does But things have changed in that world, and I don't think for the better. Just ask Chuck Woolery. "We'll be back in 2 and 2". That phrase is now in the same category as Tippycanoe and Tyler too. If Chuck was still on currenty TV, he mostly would be saying, "Right back at cha in 6 and 6."
Back in the 80's there was a guy trying to foist upon the American public a product called Dream Away. This guy looked like he had produced sleeazy movies all of his life. He told you to take these pills, and you would lose weight overnight. You would just dream it away. The FDA and the FCC shut them down because it was a scam. Gee, what are the odds? To this day though, I remember that commercial, because it promised the weight would go away while you slept, and I still wonder where it went, in your bed while you slept. And you thought bed bugs were nasty.

Molly McEvoy

In radio over the years, there a scant few stories that touch you for the rest of your life. Such was the story of Molly McEvoy.
The community first heard of Molly on the airwaves of virtually every radio and television station in Western Massachusetts. Molly, a six year old beauty was stricken with a life threatening diagnosis. For who knows what reason, this child, in order to survive, had to have a heart and double lung transplant, at the same time. No one reading this, unless you are the parents of this little girl, could ever comprehend the severity of an operation like this.
As the date for the surgery came, tens of thousands of people listened for the latest updates on how Molly was doing through this ordeal. We waited...and waited. This operation was not only about Molly. It was about some other child, somewhere, who for reasons we will never know, became the organ donor.
The following day, the news was encouraging. Molly was on the mend. A life barely started, and she went through a trial that no adult should ever have to endure.
The daily updates soon faded to weekly ones, then monthly. Molly and her folks were on the local news a couple of times. For a while, she became sort of a girl in a bubble because of infections, illness, all the things that had to be controlled due to this incredible operation, and a never ending supply of daily medications.
I believe it was a few months later, that the McEvoy's name again appeared in the news. With all the technology, all the precautions, all the medicine, the worst possible word arose. That word was, "rejection". During the plethora of doctor visits, it was discovered that all three organs, for some reason were failing. The prognosis was bleak. Surgeons and specialists from everywhere converged in person, on the phone, in mail, trying to come to an agreement on the most effective way to resolve Molly's steadily worsening condition. When the dust cleared, and the papers settled down, a team of doctors notified the family of the best, and only option they believed they could provide. The operation had to be repeated...again. Exact same scenario.
The family made preparations as best they could. The major factor in this repeat attempted miracle, was another donor. The implications of that are too big to understand. You want your child to live, yet you pray for another solution so that another child does not have to die.
When the second surgery day came, the feeling in the Pioneer Valley was the same as the first time. It was eerily similar in all aspects. We all listened to the news and waited for this virtually unknown scenario to unfold. Late in the day the news began to trickle in. For a second time in less than a year, the surgeons and staff had pulled off the impossible. A double lung and heart transplant.
In old time movies, when news came that the war was over, everybody threw their hats into the air. If everybody that was listening to the news about Molley that day had a hat on, when the bulletin came over, the hats would have eclipsed the sun.
Once again, daily reports came and became weekly, then monthly reports. For the most part, the news was positive, and reassuring. Molly was going to make it now, and hopefully only have to worry about a lifetime of pills to stay strong.
Weeks go by, and I get to WMAS at 5 AM like I have been doing for years at that time. At 5:30 AM, the sattelite goes off, and Hello there, we are now local. Kevin Lynn was the news guy this morning, and he rattled off the news. I always "kind-of" heard the news in the background, catching a few words here and there, and as Kevin was going through the trials and tribulations of this planet, I heard the name Molly McEvoy. I cranked up the volume on my earphones, my focus completely on Kevins voice. This time, the story concerned the entire family again. But this was not a medical issue needing drastic attention, but a story about how tha McEvoys insurance company had said to them,"OK, that's enough, we want out now, we can't pay anymore, so later dudes."
Molly needs medical attention for life, and whoever this insurance provider was backs out. I might be wrong on the amount, but I believe it was over $350,000.00 that this family was in debt, might have been more, or less, I just can't recall, but whatever the amount, it was an immense amount of money.
At 5:35, when Kevin finished the news, I put a song on, and called him into the main studio. I played another song, and we ruminated on this situation. When I went on the air, I discussed it at length, and said that we, the comminity should try to help. Inside, I had no clue whatsoever as to how to help this family with this horrible situation that has now arisen. It is now 5:50 AM, I go into the first commercial break of the morning, and during this two minute break, something occurs to me, I call Kevin back in, tell him to sit down, and didn't tell him why. He sat there befuddled, we got on the air, and I announced to him and the audience that I wanted to raise $10,000.00 for this family, and I would do it by staying on the air, non stop for as long as it took. As Kevin and I were the only "in house" program at the time, all I had to do was not go to sattelite at 10 AM, and just stay there, announcing this plan all day long. Off the air, Kevin said, "Ten Thousand Bucks? You think you can do that?' I told him I had days to do it before I fell asleep, and away we went. For the next four hours, I did my show, spoke often of the new plight of the McEvoy family, and at 10 AM, I had $1200 bucks, plus.
The day rolled by, and the calls came in. Two grand at noon, 4 grand at 3PM. It seems that some folks in radio have egos the size of Rhode Island. I never did, and never will. WMAS broadcast on both AM and FM, and that afternoon, one of the FM egos stopped me in the hall to ask how this fund raising project was going. I told him I was staying on the air day and night till I hit 10 thousand for the family. He then informed me that I was a dreamer, I didn't have an audience the size of HIS audience, and I should be more realistic, and shoot for five thousand. This feeling inside me was one of almost rage. I wanted to lash out. Here is someone I have to work with, and he tells me to be realistic. I walked away from him rather than explode. There was nothing to stop me from doing this for this family who has been through unbearable weeks and months of worry.
Dave Madsen from channel 40 heard about this also. He called me and said he wasn't going to do just a story, but he was sending a crew to do a live shot on the 5:30 news.
By five o'clock, we were around six thousand, and I knew I was going to be in for a long night, but I was now on the air almost 12 hours, and raring to go. Needless to say, a lot of people were getting involved in this. Stores in the area put out fish bowls, companies took up collections, BANKS were donating money! Right after 5:30, channel 40 showed up and we took to the airwaves. That was the straw. The phone lines were cooking all over the station with donations. Around this time, I noticed something I never saw before or since. Every WMAS employee had stayed to answer phones and take donations. The whole sales department, the General Manager, and a lot of FM guys, and the FM guy was telling his audience to go to the AM side, and listen to me. Absolutely unprecidented. Some lady from Vermont was listening in her car while driving home to Vermont. She called as she traversed up 91 and donated $250.00....amazing.
At 6:30, this caring,giving community had donated $8900 dollars, and I would stay there till I had my 10 grand. By that time, most of the station had cleared out except for a few, including Kevin Lynn, the news guy. He stuck it out all day with me. The impact of the News 40 broadcast was the determining factor in this effort. Someone took a picture of me, my wife Linda, Carolee Salerno and a melting Kevin Lynn in the studio. To this day, this picture hangs on a wall in my home. That's it at the top of this post. Old friend Dave Madsen came through for the family by sending a crew to the station, but Dave is always there for those who need help. This area is blessed to have such a strong caring man at the helm of the news department at WGGB.
At 7:20 PM that day I took to the airwaves. A little, small AM radio station had managed to garner $10,300.00 in less that 14 hours. It was the most exhausting day I have ever spent in radio, but I would stay there till I reached the goal for this family. I was being realistic. I know New Englanders. When in need, we help our neighbors. To that FM guy. Thanks for the help. Your lack of caring inspired me to never give up that day.
As it worked out, I was unaware that a fundraiser was to take place at Smith College the following Sunday. An incredibly gifted pianist, Zach Davids was to perform a piano concert, including a song he had written months earlier. The song was entitled, "Molly's Song", and it was somewhat reminicent of Jim Brickman's fine work, but make no mistake, this was Zach"s music, and he is probably the finest pianists I have ever heard. More amazing, I believe he was 16 at the time of this performance. Zach, too, wanted to help this family. I showed up unexpectedly at the college, and spoke during a break of Zach's music. Tucked under my coat was a manilla envelope with a large amount of the proceeds that I presented to Molly's father in front of the audience, and announced the final total of the radiothon. On the air, I told the audience I would not announce the final total till it all came in. After all was said and done, we were about $200.00 short of the original total.
Western Mass. did it. OK, so it wasn't the hundreds of thousands they needed then, but it was a start, and I hope it led to other good things for the family.
A few weeks after the radiothon, I was working in front of my house. A fair amount of foot traffic is common there in warm weather. A lady who goes by on occasion stopped to talk to me. She had heard much of the radiothon that day, and asked if I could do the same thing for her grand-daughter. Instantly, I felt knots in my stomach. Did I want to help? Of course. Could I? No, I couldn't. Jerry Lewis raises amazing money for MD every year, but that is planned. The Labor Day Telethon, is as much a part of Labor Day as It's A Wonderful Life is to Christmas. This scenario on the sidewalk in front of my house never, for an instant ever occured to me. How can you help one, and not another? Is my child less important than someone else's child? Does one child have to die before another can live? I never pondered this happening.
What I started for the McEvoy family was a spur of the moment idea. It was a way to help. Unlike The Labor Day Telethon, it was not prepared, it was not promoted...it was not expected. To try and do this on a regular basis could not be done. I tried to explain this as delicately as possible to this lady. She left, dejected, and to this day I feel her pain, as it has never left me. I never again got involved in a project like this, and I never will. It is far too hurtful to people who have life or death issues in their lives.
We passed through the summer and into the fall. My morning show was on every day. One morning I went in at 5 AM as always. At 5:30, Kevin Lynn went on the air with the news of all of the trials and tribulations of this planet. I just catch a word or two of his news casts as usual. This morning I heard a name that made me crank up the monitor. It was Molly. There would be no third operation. There would by no hope for any more miracles. God thinks she had enough. Time to go home little girl.
There are few things in life sadder than a small casket. Such was the case when friends and family gathered by the hundreds to say good-bye to a little girl they never knew in life, including me, but will carry in their hearts as long as they are here. To this day I wish I could have done more. So do a lot of people.

Al Martino

I am an actor, or at least was one. I did a lot of community theater in New England. I once found myself doing rehersals for three different plays, for three different companies at the same time. It was, and still is my drug of choice.
Any actor will tell you that radio or television is fun, to a point, but the stage, the audience reaction, the smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd, is like no other form of performance.
So when Wally Beach called me one day when I was working at WMAS, and asked me to be Al Martinos emcee, I said, well...um...sure. Wally was a peculiar sort of man. His dreams were as high as the stratosphere, his realitys were, to say the least, lower than whale crap. He had been in and out of theaters all over Western New England, certain that his next gig was, "The One"! Unfortunatly, it never came to pass, and Wally went to that great agents room in the sky several years ago.
The call to me was for a series of shows he, somehow, convinced Martino's people to commit to. I can somehow hear it now. " There will be thousands of people breaking down the doors to see him. I will charge top dollar for every seat. The venue is as pristine as you can possibly get". Wally was never really a success, but he could sell gasoline to a guy on fire. Wally said he just needed me to emcee the first two nights, and with Al's reputation, and my following in Western Mass., this show couldn't miss. One catch..it was a freebee. I said, "Wait a minute. You want me to emcee Al Martino for two nights, at a great venue, pack the house, and you want me to do this because I am a nice guy?" He said yes. So I said, "OK". I asked him where this amazing show was to take place. He said it was a magnificent venue, The Canoe Club. THE CANOE CLUB?? I said, "Where the hell is the Canoe Club?" When he told me, my mind flashed back 30 years to this place on the Connecticut river. In June of 1966, a girl I was nuts about, Penny Page, agreed to be my senior prom date. How I pulled this off, to have Penny as my date, is comperable to how Wally got Al Martino to perform at the Canoe Club. It is impossible, but I did it. Penny was the heartthrob of every guy in High School, and after the prom, somehow, we wound up at the Canoe Club on the Connecticut river, for fun and dancing, and whatever.
Well, now I knew where the venue was, I agreed to my fee, (insert laughter here),and I was set for the first two nights to emcee the Al Martino show.
There are places in the area that have been around for a very long time. Establishments that have grown, built a community reputation, and are 20 times larger and more popular than they were 30 years ago. A week before the Martino show was to come to Holyoke, I decided to go out to the place to get familiar with this, I imagined, now Holyoke institution. I drove down Route 5, crossed over the railroad tracks, cruised down the dirt road, and rounded the corner....and, There It Was!! The exact same building that I was at on the night of my senior prom thirty years ago! I had stepped back in time. It was exactly the same as it was in the sixties. The picnic tables were still around the perimiter. This place is a reconverted barn. Nobody was around, so I pushed the door open. Nothing was different. I went to the wall near the river where I tried to grab Penny's butt, and found the knuckle imprint in the plaster wall where she had swung at me, and I had ducked. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Canoe Club.
The following Monday night, I got this cheesy Tux from some discount place in the area, and went to the Canoe Club to be the emcee for one of the most recognized talents in the industry. This was Johnny Fontaine, the guy who got slapped by Marlon Brando in The Godfather, a man who was on the record charts from the fifties through the ninties, and it was up to me to introduce him to the citizens of Western Mass.
Showtime was about ten minutes away. I peered out throught the curtain to look at the house. Twenty-six people. Apparently, Wally figured if he made me the emcee of this show, I would talk about it on the air, and there would be no reason to pay for advertizing for this show. So I found out, I was the only one in the state that talked about this week long show. Wally never promoted this thing. All the people in the audience were my listeners, all twenty-six of them.
I found out the opening night, that Al had an opening act. Nothing like being prepared. It was a comedian, a terriffic guy named Corbett Monica. Corbett was Sinatra's opening act for years in Vegas, and what a terrific guy he was. We struck up a friendship, and I miss him to this day.
I met Corbett, we through a few bits together down in back, and now it was showtime. The house started to fill up. At curtain, twenty-seven grey haired old ladies were in the audience, along with Linda, my wife, and her Aunt Flo.
I got center stage, the curtain opened, and my audience cheered. They were all listeners to my radio show. Had I said no to Wally's request to emcee the show, NOBODY woud have been out there, because NOBODY knew this show was going on. I introduced Corbett, he came out, shook my hand, did his set, then I came back, introed Al, and he came out, and did his thing. Fabulous. At itermission, Al was not a happy Goombah. He grabbed me and told me he wanted to see Wally Cox now! I said, "Ah, Wally Cox is dead Al, you mean Wally Beach?" He started laughing, and apologized, but he was not happy. Wally never showed up that first night.
So night number two rolls around, and the same show goes on, except that for the second night in a row, Al pulls a dance partner out of the audience for a number he is doing, and again, it is my wife Linda. We had maybe forty in the house that night. The Canoe Club. July. One hunderd and one degrees. No A.C. Wooden windows that open out, and no screens on them. Owls carrying chickens through the air from one side to the other. It was not pretty. One night, we thought a pipe had broken till we realized it was the sweat of the band pouring off of the stage.
After Tuesday, Wally called me and begged me to continue there, because his other emcee had to mow his lawn or something, and because I had made a friendship with Corbett, I agreed. Thursday's show, the audience was almost non-existant, so Friday, I went on the air in my morning show, and announced that tonight was WMAS night. You can see Martino, and Corbett Monica for free just because you're a WMAS listener..call now!. The phone lines went nuts. I was a hero, because not only was I making the station into good guys, but I was peppering the audience, plus there might be seven or eight people that would come, and actually pay for their tickets. Even Penny Page called and said she'd go except for the fact that I once tried to grab her butt there, and there were just too many bad memories connected with the Canoe Club because of that.
Almost 100 people showed up that night, and I invited Al, Corbett and any of the fifteen band members to come to my house for a cookout the next day. Like every night, Linda went with me, and Al pulled her out of the audience to dance on stage with.
Saturday came, and we had a cookout in the back yard here. Al couldn't come because he had to visit an old friend in Springfield. Al Bruno. Corbett came, two members of the band, and the band leader. I gave him a few Judy Garland albums because he was a collector of Judy's music. We were outside, and the rains came, so we moved inside, and had a great afternoon.
We did the show that night, and Sunday night. Al told me it was the worst week of his life. Corbett told me, if he was opening for Sinatra, Wally would never be seen again.
Nobody ever got paid for that show. Not me, not Corbett, not Al, nobody. There was one amazing story that came out of that week, a very funny story Corbett Monica told Linda and I in our living room that rainy Saturday afternoon.
It seems that somewhere in the 1960's, Al Martino came to Springfield to perform at the Storrowtown Music Tent. This was a venue owned by Mike Iannucci and Ann Corio. They were married then, and I have been a guest in Ann's home. They're both gone now. Al was performing for a week there, no doubt, to much larger houses than the Canoe Club offered.
One day, during the course of his Storrowtown Tent stint, Al decided to go to downtown Springfield. I don't know why...perhaps he was bored. He went into a store, I think it was Steiger's Department store, and was looking around. He found something he liked there, and for some reason, we will never know why, he used the old five finger discount to get it. Somebody saw him, and he was arrested.
At the height of his popularity on the radio, Al Martino was arrested in Springfield, and the story spread across the land, reaching the "trades" in California.
Word has it that the late Al Bruno helped Mr. Martino get through this episode, but before it was over, Variety Magazine ran a story about it. Buddy Hackett read this story,about the great Al Martino being pinched for shoplifting, and sent a telegram to Al Martino. The telegram read as follows: " Dear Al,
Sorry to hear of your recent troubles. I have one favor to ask. The next time you go shopping, could you please pick me up a toaster.
Love, Buddy Hackett"

Stay On The Air And Die

There was a station in Westfield. Small place. The call letters were WDEW. You know, Dew Drop In? Please, give me a break. This couple bought the place, and changed the call letters to WLDM. A typical Mom & Pop place. Years later, it became a 50,000 watt monster named WNNZ. I was the first live voice on the air when it signed on, but I started there when it was WLDM. On a windy day, the signal would reach at least 4 miles. Twelve people listened to it to try to win prizes, like a pair of bridal show tickets, or a bag of cotton balls. High caliber prizes.
I did the morning show, and shortly after I started, I found hundreds of up beat, fairly modern songs. As the format was basically a bit slower than a funeral parlor, I decided to try and spice things up a little, after all, the music was there, it must be there for a reason, so why not, let me flip a few in. I had reaction from the beginning. The owners were gone somewhere, and the few calls I got, I knew folks liked this stuff.
They came back from wherever, and the first thing he did was open the studio door, during my shift, and asked me who the hell I thought I was, to change the format of the station. After a minute or so of being chastised, he slammed the door. Swell, now he's nuts because I tried to improve the format with the stations music. He then opens the door and says, "by the way, I liked the songs you played", and he leaves. Any radio people who read this will know this sort of wackoid personality. They have all the answers, that's why their station has 12 listeners.
This station was located in the basement of a ranch style house near some wetlands. The only escape from the basement was a hatchway in the ceiling of the sales managers office. The only good day there was the Saturday morning shift, because I was all alone.
So this one day, I do my morning show, write and record the endless specs for air time that very few people bought, and I went home. It was raining like hell that morning, and it continued to rain. Down pours like you seldom see up here, and constant with no let up at all.
WLDM was a daytimer. There are nowhere near as many of them today. Daytimers signed on at 6 AM each morning, but signed off at sunset. The AM signals are stronger at night, and whoever had the signal in any geographic area, could stay on the air. Everybody else had to shut down to avoid a "bleedover", where you could hear two, or even three stations on the same frequency. If you had a 3PM show, you were gone at 4:15 in the winter, but could be on till 8PM in the summer.
The phone rings at my house on this day with unending, driving rain. It's the owner, and he wants me on the air, at night, after sunset, to tell people it's raining. Fine. Six of the standard twelve listeners will be in bed, but what the hell, I'm a trooper. I go to the station. This trip took me past a supermarket on a bend of the Westfield river. It was at this point, I realized that Western Mass. was in some serious trouble. The parking lot of this supermarket is, on an average of 20 to 30 feet above the river. It was starting to flood over from the rise of the river. So I
get to the station, and it is dark by now, park, and go inside. He tells me that the station is going to stay on the air to keep the public informed of this encroaching great flood hitting the area. I thought, gee, yeah, that's what I'd do. If some emergency was in my back yard, the first thing I would do is turn on a radio station frequency that has never, ever broadcast after sunset, but, I don't know, maybe somebody will be there. Now why this was ok on this night, as opposed to ever before, I don't know, but I was the guy who wanted to introduce different music to the 12 out there, I was wrong, so I must be wrong about this too. I now take to the airwaves. This was a music station, well, eh, yeah, music I guess, but I was told, NO MUSIC. Just inform the public. I saluted, spun around, and took to the airwaves. "Good Evening ladies and Gentleman, and all the ships in the Big Y parking lot. It's raining hard out". Ok, now what? I go to check the AP news wire. These things bad bells on them. One bell said, hey, radio guy, we're writing something. Two bells meant, hey stupid, come read this, ok? Three bells meant, other stations are talking about this stuff already. Four bells meant you get over here now, jerk. And the most was five bells. I only heard that once. When the space shuttle blew up. But this night, I was desperate for something to talk about. Somehow, the AP gave half of one bell. I sped to the AP machine. These things were always in a 2 foot by 2 foot closet, and you had to keep the door closed. I guess so if the Russians were walking down the hall they couldn't read the daily hog slaughter reports,(something I used to read for no reason whatsoever). I get there and the advisory was, "heavy rains pound the east cost". Well, now I have something to talk about!
About 9 PM, the owner comes down to the studio, and announces to me that he has been on the phone with the Mayor, let everybody know. I was going to call my wife, but she's 4 miles away and can't hear the station, so I talked into the mic. Here come de mayor, here come de mayor. It was around this time that I had to use the bathroom, so I broke the no music rule and went up to the bathroom. When I came back down to the basement, I heard something to my left at the bottom of the stairs. It was water rushing in through the cinder block walls in about three places. Like a faucet, as the back and sides of this place were now under water. I couldn't see it in the dark when I got there, so I went upstairs again and turned on the back flood light, ( no pun intended), and the ground in the back was now a lake. I told the owner who was in his office in the front, playing with his Lincoln Logs, that there was water coming in through the walls. He then made the most profound statement; "That's not good". It's now 9:30, the mayor shows up, and the owner brings in a wooden pallet he was keeping, as a prize to lucky caller 3 I guess, and puts it in front of the console, and puts my chair on it. He said he didn't want me to get shocked. Wha chew talkin' bout, Willis? This is for real. I am broadcasting on 200 year old equipment, none of which was grounded, and even if it was, I'm on the air in 3 inches of water to tell 4 people it's raining out.
Mayor Varelas of Westfield, was a fine and well liked gentleman. Had a slight Greek accent, and he was just a great guy. It was a shame we were going to get fried together. He came in and made his little speech for about 5 minutes, and told everyone not to worry, the rain will stop soon. Ah. This was worth all the problems of this night. The rain will stop soon. You know it's true. The mayor said it.
All throughout this stupid night, I gave the on air number and begged people to call with conditions where the were. Nada. I knew this, this was a given. But the owners had to let those two people out there know, that we were on the air! Oh yeah. And it was raining.

Pot Holes..A Way Of Life

There is a bridge that connects West Springfield with Springfield. It is known as the North End Bridge. It was named this because it is north of the South End Bridge, and when it was built, I am sure it was a three week debate on what to call this bridge. Politics in Massachusetts. It connects Park Street in West Side with West Street Street in Springfield. Park Street has a big Park on it. West Street is on the west side of Springfield. I guess there was a huge creative name gap when these things were named also.
As soon as you cross this bridge heading into Springfield, the first building on the right side you would pass was WMAS radio. I spent many years in that place. The station moved out about a year ago, and is now broadcasting from the Basketball Hall of Fame building, and the old building is now some construction office, but the tower still looms in the back of it.
There is a rather well known attorney in the Springfield area. William Lyons. I knew his Dad, and his two brothers, but I never met Billy. That is until the winter of 1994. Billy passed over that bridge every morning on his way to work in a little blue car. This particular morning he had 3 other guys with him.
The third and final part of this equation is a pot hole. Just about every place has them, but in Massachusetts, like the flowers bloom in Spring, potholes bloom at the beginning of winter, outnumbering dandelions by about four to one.
This particular pothole was on the Springfield side of the bridge, and I had noticed an unusually large number of hub caps at the front of the building that morning, but didn't think too much of it. What I didn't know was that behind the snow bank, at the end of the bridge, a pothole, about the size of the bed of a Toyota pick-up truck had developed from the massive volume of traffic that traversed the bridge. So much traffic, you never saw the hole because of the car in front of you, until, BAM, there goes another hubcap. Such was the case with Billy Lyons. With shards of exploded rubber flopping off of his right front wheel, he limped the little car into the parking lot of the station, where I had just come out during a news break. Cell phones were not commonplace back then, so he asked to use the phone to call somebody for help.
When I went out and saw this hole and the hubcaps, I decided to talk about it on the air. Phones lit up, people were going wild about the Swiss Cheese terrain of Springfield. So I called the city, on the air. They told me the guy who could get it fixed was on his way to Boston, but he did have a car phone. I got the number. I called him on his car phone and spoke with him on the air about the monster aperture in the road. Of course, he was unaware, sure, but he knew he was on the air, and I guess he knew he had to do something. So he promised to call me back. In the meantime, I had the engineer set up a remote mic for me, I made up a huge sign that read,"Hubcaps For Sale, proceeds for charity", and started to broadcast from the top of the snowbank on West Street. I think I had about 25 different ones proped up in the snow. A lot of people listened to me back then, and you never know how many till people would call the station, and say thanks because they pulled into the left lane to avoid the crater on their way by.
So,I'm out there for about 45 minutes doing my show with massive traffic noise, and horns blowing, along with an occasional BAM, and flying hubcaps. Now the guy, on his way to Boston, calls me back and says he has made calls, and it will be taken care of right away. Yeah, sure, where have we heard that before? I made 53 dollars that morning for the food bank, and about 8:45, a Springfield cop goes flying across the bridge, lights flashing, goes around the rotary on the other side, and pulls up in front of the behemoth depression. He gets out and comes over to me, I put him on the air, and he says, "I don't know who you know, but there's a crew about 5 minutes away to fix this thing". Five minutes later, two trucks, and the traditional 6 people show up. Five to watch, and one to fill the hole. Half of these guys and the cop were having a chat fest with me, standing in the snow, while traffic was backed up all over the place. Now channel 40 shows up. We have a television crew taping all of this insanity, a big wig on the phone, two trucks, a cop in his cruiser, six city guys, and the phones ringing off the hook all over the station of people trying to talk to me to have the city guys go and fill up their particular pothole when they are done on the bridge.
On a morning that started out as average, I made a friend since the incident, Billy Lyons. I had a city official talk to me on the air from his car phone on his way to Boston, I had a blast with a cop and a few city workers, talked to a lot of people who loved what I was doing out there, had the story on the evening news, and made 53 bucks for a charity. The other option was to let some guy with a flat tire use the phone, and play a song.
When you do a radio show, live every day, you do a couple of things. You try to make people laugh, but you never hear it. You try to make people react, but you never see it. You try to make things better, but you never experience it. The one thing you do know is that if people like what you do, they listen, all the people who don't like what you do, don't. I can't concern myself with those that aren't out there, so I entertain the ones that are. They get it. They know the pothole show started out as a goof on driving in New England. Many of them wished they were on the air doing what I was doing. They lived vicariously through what I did, and in the long run, tend to feel better with themselves, even if only for a short while. All this day took was one pothole, a lot of hubcaps, and I guy I never knew before, an attorney, heading for court. By the way, his field? Traffic and driving infractions.

Feed The World

There are times when you work on radio that you go to work with no great expectations for that particular day. Such was the case for me on December 2, 1985. During the 6:30 news, a report came across the Mutual Broadcast news concerning the famine in Ethiopia, about a young mother and her starving baby. To this day I cannot conceive of what this unknown woman did to try and save her baby from dying of starvation. She bit off her own tongue to feed to the child to keep it alive. She bled to death, the baby perished as well. I sat there feeling both numb and silenced, and in 60 seconds I had to be back on the air being my own chipper self. I was hosting the morning show at WSPR in West Springfield. It was a solo show, except for a guy named Bill Brady who did local news. When I heard the report, I wondered if I could do something to help get supplies to Africa, an I imagine, like most people, you feel empathy, but become bogged down with the thought of being only one person, so what can I do that will make a difference? That thought ran across my mind, but I had one thing the majority of people don't have. A radio show. All right, a small station that not a lot of people listened to, so I had to make it bigger, and get other stations to help with some major project to get people to help feed the hungry, no matter where they may be on this planet. Driving home that day, I was listening to a music station somewhere in the area, and the song, "Feed The World" was playing. At that moment, my thought was born. This song, the astounding song Bob Geldorf penned to help feed people. It had just been released the previous year, and had raised many supplies and much needed dollars. The following day I spoke with the GM of the station and told him I wanted to orchestrate a country wide simulcast of that song, on Christmas Eve, so that every radio station in the country would air the song, at the exact same time. They also would run daily promos on their stations, telling when the simulcast would happen, and include the name address and phone number of their local food banks or shelters. He told me go ahead and do whatever was needed. What I needed was a list of contacts who could get this thing going. I had three weeks to get this entire thing put together, and I was all alone with this monumental, seemingly impossible task in front of me. This was the second time this was to happen, the first being Bob Wolfe at WROM in Rome Georgia, who put together a simulcast of , "We Are The World" in early 1985. So I went to the library, yes the library, (we've come a long way baby), to find out who the guy was that did this. I went back to the station and called Bob for the first time. I explained the idea, he was in full agreement with the concept, but expressed doubts it could be done in three weeks. Then I hit paydirt. He had a list of names, contacts and radio stations around the country all of which made his effort the sucess it was. I got on the phone that day and stayed on it till close to midnight. Four AM rolled around quickly the next morning, but I was pumped. I had amassed a lot of stations that took the info I gave them and agreed to air the song at 3:20 PM, EST on Christmas Eve 1985. That time was chosen, as opposed to 3:05, the time I had originally picked, because one of the people I spoke with said it would be the 12 o'clock hour on the west coast, and Paul Harvey would be on the air then all over the place. Many of Bob's contacts gave me other people to call to possibly help get the word out, and this thing began to snowball. For the next week I was on the phone calling all over the country, then something peculiar happened. Some stations started calling me asking for a copy of the song, because it was never on their play list and they couldn't find it any where. I started making dozens of cassettes, mailing them out, trying to figure out why a song, released a year before could not by found in stores. That second week, I was talking to the GM of a station,of a BIG station in Chicago, and asked him if he had a copy of the song. He said they did, but people might have problems finding it it stores. I asked him why. He told me that the song, released and recorded in England listed the name of the artists as Band Aid. Yeah, so what? Seems that Johnson & Johnson had a copyright on the name Band Aid, and it was an infringement on their product, so the song was pulled from shelves, pending a possible lawsuit. I was as livid as I have ever been. People are gnawing off body parts to feed their children, and the fat cats in their 5th Avenue apartments could care less about anything more except their dinner choice that evening. The next day, I hit the airwaves and lambasted the Johnson & Johnson bastards for this abomination, and did so several times in the next 10 days. They would not stop this project, and I continued to make phone calls and write letters, and mail out copies of the song to whoever needed them. Towards the end of the second week of this drive, I had secured most of the area stations in the Springfield, with the help of Drew Hastings at WMAS, still on the air there. One day on the phone he asked if I called the TV stations in the area. I honestly never thought of that, so I did. Dave Madsen, then at 22, climbed on board to cover the story, 40 did to. Then I started getting calls. A radio station in Miami put me on the air. Then Chicago, Austin, Seattle, and a few others. In September of that year, Mexico was rocked by a massive earthquake, and, of course the country was in shambles. A call came into by one afternoon at the station, about 6 days before the simulcast was about to take place. It was the CEO of Stereo Rey in Mexico. He had heard of the project, and his country was hungry also. He told me that his network of stations across Mexico would get the word out, and he had no problem getting the songs to his stations and others there. Of course, It was Mexico. Seems Johnson & Johnson didn't care about them either. Less than a week to go, and now this project is in 2 country's. I might add now that I spent the best part of those three weeks on the air or at my desk, sometimes round the clock to answer the phone and keep adding affiliates to the list. I'm glad I did this. Friday night rolls around, I answer the business phone, and an accented voice asks to speak to George Murphy. When I said, "Speaking", he informed me he was calling from JFK Airport, and his name was Frank Partridge, the head of the BBC in London. He had heard of the simulcast on some New York station, and was waiting for his flight back to London. He wanted all of the details I could give him, and told me the story would be sent across England upon his return. I could not figure out how he contacted me, and didn't ask him. Now the station list was in England. The next day, I purchased a copy of Billboard Magazine, which I did every week. They had called me about a week earlier about the simulcast, and I didn't think they'd do anything with it. I was wrong. Now I knew how Frank Partridge found me. This is what was in Billboard. Might be difficult to read. http://books.google.com/books?id=3yQEAAAAMBAJ&pg=PT9&lpg=PT9&dq=wspr+1985+billboard+magazine+george+murphy&source=bl&ots=x2bSE82xXJ&sig=5VWebZeW_aEK7zt-tMCloqjVuP0&hl=en&ei=Oo_US4fzEcL-8AbO5J3TDw&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CAYQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q&f=false I managed to get the Armed Forces Radio Network on board, along with the Canadian Broadcast System. Some station in Hawaii called me. This thing had become massive, and all those stations constantly putting out the word about where to donate money and food in their area. I was ready for Tuesday, three days away. Tuesday, December 24th. I did my morning show, and, of course, constantly gave out the names of all the local shelters, food banks, soup kitchens. I knew that this same thing was happening in many places around the globe. The calls kept coming in. My friend Alan Eisenstock in Los Angeles called me on the air. He had heard of this event on the air in LA. He said he'd call me back after the simulcast. I got off the air at 10 AM, and I don't remember what I did till 2 that day. I came back to the station, and there was clothes and canned goods everywhere, that had built up in the previous week. Around 2:30, I went back on the air. The camera crew from Channel 40 showed up. Thanks, Dave. Channel 22 came in. Channel 3 out of Hartford, another crew from New Haven, and a crew from Vermont or New Hampshire. The producer of that crew told me they learned about it after hearing it on Paul Harvey. Bill Brady was in Hartford, listening. About 3:15, I went live on the air, and spoke of this project, and how I stayed up for days, for I never, ever wanted to hear another story even remotely similar to the one that started this thing. I watched the clock, and timed it to the second, then hit the start button on the turntable. There were dozens of people in that studio, and around the world, day or night, wherever it was this song was playing. A bit more than 3 minutes that meant millions were listening, and some of which were at least contemplating doing something...anything. The song ended, people in the building cried, and cheered. They all understood why I did this. IT was not about me, it was about mankind. It was about the most basic human need. Food. And if only one more person got food because of it, it was worth every second. Bill Brady called me, and listed off several stations in Connecticut that were airing the song. Alan Eisenstock called me from LA. He said every FM station across the dial, and many on the AM side aired it. Christmas Day came and went, and CNN did a piece on the Broadcast. On Friday, a story about the simulcast appeared in the local paper. The broadcast was heard in 23 nations on approximately 10,000 stations. I received letters from all over the country. Frank Partridge called me from London and informed me it was a "smashing success" there. It's amazing what you can do when you find the right people to help you in any situation. Each one of us can make a difference. I guess my message now is, the next time you want to help somebody who can't help themselves, help them eat. It is a start to the brotherhood that seems so far gone these days.

WSPR In Springfield, Mass

The Reason I am continuing this blog is because of my friend Ray. I have two close friends, and I rarely see either of them. That's why we are close friends. Ray encouraged me to continue, and rather than listen to him gripe about it, Ad Infinitum, I said OK. He is a woodworker and makes things that nobody else does, so look at what he does and come back, and I'll tell you about WSPR Radio in the 60's.

Ray is here... http://www.bowlwood.com/

When I was a kid there were two radio stations in Springfield that everybody listened to. WHYN and WSPR. Neither was better, neither was worse. It all started around 1963 when the Beatles showed up. That was the start of the listening to radio explosion. There were 3 TV stations in the area and as kids, we did'nt care about TV...we had the radio. Transistor radios were the thing. We did'nt have to hear our parents screaming, "Turn That Thing Down!!" all of the time, as we could go down in the woods and rock on.
I remember a guy from the 1960's that was there every day. Jack Diamond was his name, and he was a God. In those days, every jock was local and accessable. Today, those local people don't exist, but in the 60's...we had Jack Diamond. Yeah, for those that remember, he was a jock that talked on the radio in a different way than he talked in real life. He was wired all of the time, and it was a facade that we were'nt aware of at the time, but that's how radio was in those days. For those of us that had parents that had reel to reel tape recorders, well, we could buy a 120 minute tape, abscond with the machine when they were at work, and record....FOR FREE.. all the songs they broadcast on the station, and hear them any time we wanted..as long as we put the machine back in our fathers closet before they came home. I still have a few tapes from that time. I listen to them on occasion. I can hear in my mind Jack Diamond ranting one afternoon about a brand new Beatles song....coming up soon, and I had the reel to reel going, because I was going to be the first in the state to have this new song on tape, and it was going to be for FREE!!!!. But first, we'll be right back after this commercial word from Steigers in Holyoke. Nuts. Some things never change. So, I must have sat through " Ladies, do you need a new dress to impress your husband's family?", and all of the tripe that would cause riots in the streets today, just waiting for the new Beatles song, that ONLY WSPR had, and it was coming up next, and I was sweating...had my finger on the "record" button, and prayed nobody would come home early, that the parents would'nt call, that I would'nt have the urge to go to the bathroom, that my bratty brother would'nt come in from the back yard, that the house would'nt suddenly catch fire, or nuclear war would'nt happen...at least untill after I could record this new song. OK, here we go. Jack Diamond goes into this diatribe about the Liverpool group that has taken America and the world by storm. Now I am starting to hate Jack Diamond. Please play the song, Jack...I only have about an inch or so on the reel..ok ..."Ladies and Gentlemen"...oh geeze.."Boys and Girls"..ok Jack..Now??? He goes on.."Beatles fans around the world"...cripes..it's a 2500 watt station Jack, will ya??? I slam on the recorder..the War Of The Worlds recorder indicator light goes on...I am ready..and in my back bedroom of 457 Pleasant Streeet in Holyoke, I was the first person on the planet,(yeah, sure) to hear and record and still have the following words: (music) You'll never know how much I really love you..(now Jack jumps in with the following),"The Beatles".(music) "You'll never know how much I really care".. then the rest of the song. When it was over, the inevitable happened. Jack Diamond said the four words every DJ on the planet has said when they have no idea what else to say. Those four words are," Can You Believe It?"
OK, so now I have this new Beatles song on tape, and I want my friends to hear it so they will know I am cool, and the next time a new Beatles song comes out, like this coming weekend, they will know where to go to hear it.
Let me tell you about tape recorders in the 60's. There are some cars out there today that weigh a little bit less than some of the tape recorders of the 60's. They also belonged to a parent, usually, as in my case, the father, who hated you and hated you more if you touched his stuff for any reason. In order to have anybody hear this new Beatles song, they had to come to my house, because nobody liked me enough to help me carry this monster machine to their house, so I would call everybody I knew closely, all three of them, and ask them to come over to hear this swell new Beatles song I recorded off of the radio...please?.. Hello...hello? Why was I the only one that cared about this new Beatles song. One week later, Do You Want To Know A Secret was a golden oldie.
Jack Diamond announced one day, that on a certain Sunday coming up, he would be "LIVE AND PERSON" in the JM Fields parking lot and everybody was invited to stop down. I had never met a rock and roll DJ before, so sure, I'm there. He had a radio club and , of course, I was a member. I had my official Jack O'Diamonds club card which entitled me to tons of discounts and free things, none of which I ever found, and when that Sunday came I headed down the hill to JM Fields department store to meet the king of Springfield Radio.
In those days, nothing was open on Sunday, and when I got to this empty parking lot, there had to be 75 kids there to meet Jack. He talked funny, and some of us thought he was an imposter. His voice...who is this guy? Sure he was Jack, but he spoke in his street voice, and did'nt look anything like we all thought he would. He was taller, did'nt have a beard, was a bit chunky, but there he was, the voice on WSPR. I showed him my club card, and he said, " So you're a member, hah?" Figured that one out all by yourself, Jack?
We mulled around for half an hour or so, and I can't remember a thing that was said or done, but I got to meet the real guy on the radio, and thought about it for a long while. I wondered how it would be to get on the radio every day and play music and have a ball. Never did I realize at that time that one day I would be that guy doing radio at the same station as the guy in the parking lot on that Sunday afternoon.
A couple years later, I turned on WSPR, and Jack was gone. I heard that one of a kind voice on some station, but now he was Sandy Beach. I know at some point he left there too and I never did find out what happened to him.
Isn't it strange that you meet somebody, then meet them again a few weeks later, and you can't remember their name, but a voice on the radio, the DJ, you remember the rest of your life.
I still have great memories of WSPR in the 60's, and I still have something else from that time. My official Jack O'Diamonds club card. Some day, I too< might be a winner.

Radio shows in the 80's, 90's and beyond

I started a blog three years ago. The bottom fell out around here, and we had to cut corners, so the computer was one of the first things to go. Now, in March of 2010 I can finally afford to turn it back on. One small problem. There is no way I can figure out how to copy and paste the posts from the blog I started 3 years ago on to this here new blog. I tried everything. See, I figured that if Google would not answer me after I attempted to fill out all of their forms, paid heed to all of their rules, begged them for help, then all I could do is put the blog site I started on here, then you can click on that, and when done, you can post all of your swell comments on this blog, and the world will be whole again. So here's the deal....Go to the following site, my original blog, read the stuff there, then come back to this site, post your warm wonderful comments, and all will be right. I am about to reveal a lot of oddities and stories here for the few that remember, the few that care, and the many who will be interested. It's good to be home again, Auntie M.

http://holyokemassradiowreb.blogspot.com Then come back here, and starting soon, I'll share so much more.