Dad's Stories: Is That Really Me On The Radio?

IS THAT REALLY ME ON THE RADIO! (5/26/2004)

There’s an old Bob Dillan song titled, “Blowing In The Wind.” Sometimes when I write these stories I feel like I’m “blowing in the wind.” All of what I write is based on true stories, at least to the best of my recollection. These are hopefully, interesting events which took place in my past, that others might find entertaining and somewhat funny.

I want to share a couple from my early Radio Broadcasting experience. Yea verily, there are hundreds, but here’s a couple for you. My second job in Radio was at a small family owned station in Brownwood, TX. The station’s call letters were KEAN, owned by Lyman Brown who had once worked as a staff announcer for WBAP in Ft. Worth, TX. Mr. Brown was barely paying me enough to survive on, but I was still happy to have a job working in Radio. To say there is no ego involved in being on Radio and TV, would be a fib. On the other hand, that’s not all it is about. Like any profession, you want to do a good job and earn the satisfaction of achieving a personal goal you’ve set for yourself. Early in a radio career all announcers enjoy hearing themselves on the air, which is something you don’t get to do unless something is recorded earlier and then played back on the air. Such as commercials or promos.

Early one Sunday morning while working at KEAN, I decided that I just had to hear what I sounded like on the air. While a couple of records were playing, I recorded a five-minute newscast on tape in the Control Room. My plan was to play the tape back… walk outside, get in my car, turn the radio on and sit there listening for a couple of minutes to "me" reading the news. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? I pulled the news copy off the UP wire service and made a tape recording of news and the weather. You can record on the audition channel of the console, while the music is still playing on the air on the program channel. I took my time and made, what I thought, was a professional and polished five-minute newscast and then set it up for playback.

I played records, gave the time and temperature, interspersed with a few little witty and farcical comments until the top of the hour. Now it was time to play the news tape, run outside to my car and actually hear myself reading the news on the radio. I gave the Station ID and time, then rolled the news tape. There I was, reading news in my best stentorian news style. I could hear my voice through the huge control room speakers…everything was going as planned. I sprung out of my chair, ran outside... got in my car and turned the radio on. Viola! There I was, Sam Walk, on the Radio reading news like Walter Kronkite. I sat in my car and bathed in the radiating warmth one can only experience while having your ego kneaded and massaged by thoughts of, how great I am. Finally, I decided it was time to get back inside before the tape ran out.

I jumped out of the car and loped to the front door and turned the knob to go back inside. Do you remember the feeling you had when the teacher said, “Okay children, it’s pop quiz time,” and you hadn’t even glanced at your Science Book. You were sunk! Yea verily, Lost! Dead! Well, that’s how I felt when it dawned on me that I’d locked myself out of the station! Not a problem, that's why they give you keys. I reached into my pocket and my fingers probed emptiness. I’d left my keys inside on the console along with my wallet. It's true, the devil does dance in empty pockets! How could I have been so negligent! My stomach lurched in panic. I jiggled the door hoping somehow it would magically fly open. It didn’t, of course. (They never do). Okay, now it’s time for blind panic and irrational thought processes to kick in. I quickly ran to the back of the station and tried the back door. Locked! I could sensed the “coppery” taste of pure unadulterated fear in my mouth as I looked around desperately trying to figure out some way to get back inside the station. Breaking into Fort Knox would have been easier. Who was the mad architect who had designed this impenetrable structure.

I tried to raise the window, but it was locked too. Cupping my hands to the glass I peered inside. Oh yes, there it was, the promise land. I could see the transmitter with it’s softly glowing tubes and multi-layered meters with tiny needles rhythmically moving up and down, proof that my voice was still on the air. I could plainly see the door that led into the Control Room. I’m certain that I must have felt just like Moses did when he could see the land of Milk and Honey, but couldn’t get there!

I had this depressing vision of myself walking to the nearest pay phone and calling Mr. Brown and saying, “Hello Mr. Brown, this is Sam Walk, heh, heh. It seems I’ve locked myself out of the station and we’re broadcasting dead air! Would you mind dropping over and letting me back inside?” No, no, that wasn’t an acceptable solution. Taking a step backwards I looked all around. Surely God was aware of my terrible circumstance and would deliver me in my hour of trouble and travail. There was no way to get inside from the roof, therefore no point in climbing up there. What terrible sin had a committed to deserve such punishment and public humiliation. I was only trying to hear myself on the radio, was that so terrible?

Almost resigned to defeat, I noticed a big rock lying on the ground. I picked it up--took a deep breath and threw it right through the window. There was a loud crash and glass falling inside and out! Possibly, I could have chosen a smaller rock. Too late now. I reached inside--unlocked the window and raise it. I quickly crawled inside and scurried through the control room door. I could still hear my voice over the monitor speakers giving the weather forecast, so I knew I had only seconds before the newscast was over.

I sat down quickly and queued up a record to play following the news. When the news was over, I went on the Microphone live and confidently welcomed my listeners back for more music and relaxation on a Sunday morning. After the music was on the air, I sat back in my chair and said out loud, “Who fired that shot!” (announcers talk out loud a lot, mainly for infliction practice). It was Satan, that's who. In a matter of five minutes I had locked myself out of the radio station… had to break a window along with half the known laws of the penal code. I was only trying to hear myself on the radio for sixty-seconds. I stood up and walked back to the transmitter room and the scene of the crime. There was glass all over the place and a big rock still lying on the floor next to the transmitter. Should I try to clean up the mess? No, that was no good, because I couldn’t replace the window. It must look like an outside job! Remember, we are by nature, law breakers.

I’m sure most of my readers are familiar with the old adage, “Oh what a tangled web we weave when we first practice to deceive.” I was about to put that old favorite to task. I had to come up with a good story about the broken window for Mr. Brown. I decided that I’d just call him on the phone and tell him exactly what I saw when I entered the transmitter room to take my routine meter readings. A broken window, glass all over the floor and a huge rock lying next to transmitter. To my knowledge, nothing was missing and there was no other damage that I could see.

After I called him, it took Lyman Brown about ten minutes to make the twenty-minute drive from his house to the radio station. He walked quickly inside and searched all around the place. He opened drawers and cabinets and scoured the place for missing items. Finally satisfied that all was in order, he walked into the control room and said, “Well, Sam, it looks like something scared them off, before they could grab anything or do any damage.” My mind throbbed with unmitigated guilt. I wanted to tell him the whole truth, but was a weakling.

With the ridiculous story still darting around in my memory… experience told me it would only confuse matters. Now I understood why they made people take that oath in court. I told Mr. Brown, I’d walked into the transmitter room to take meter readings and discovered the rock and glass. Well, that was part of the truth, right? That’s exactly what happened. I wasn’t actually responsible for what others thought or deduced from certain facts.

When my shift was over that Sunday, I skulked into Mrs. Browns office ( she was the bookkeeper) and put all the money I had to my name, ten-dollars, in her top drawer. That should pay for most of the broken window damage. Dadgummit, my negligence meant that I would have to eat toothpaste for breakfast again, but that’s another story for another time. The saddest part of the whole episode is… I didn’t really enjoy listening to myself on the radio!