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.