Radio Daze

Do you remember where you were and what you were doing on the evening of Monday, December 8, 1980? I certainly do. I was working as a disc jockey at a radio station in Hot Springs, Arkansas. The station had an AM and FM version. The AM played pop and rock music, but it was completely automated. I worked on the FM side, the country music format and, interestingly enough, I detest country music. Go figure!

At 8:00 p.m. I had started the Ralph Emery Show. This program was nationally syndicated. However, owing to the fact that we're talking about the days in radio before cd players and computers, the program was played off of a vinyl disc, a record. Each day we received a special delivery of a new record of that day's program.

So anyway, I got the record cued up and started playing it at the top of the 8 o'clock hour. Since I had about 20 minutes before the first commercial break, I headed over to the news room to checkout the Associated Press teletype in order to prepare my copy for the news break at around 8:35 p.m.

At first, I grabbed the recent weather data because our program manager wanted us DJ's to give a quick forecast during most commercial breaks. I then started to scan the day's headlines. All of a sudden, the bell on the teletype started ringing. This meant a bulletin for an important story would be coming in shortly. I anxiously stood there wondering what the "big story" might be.

Within moments, I learned that ex-Beatle John Lennon had been shot in New York City. At that juncture, it was reported that he had been rushed to the hospital, but there was no word as to his condition. A few minutes later, the bell rang again with the report that John Lennon was dead.

Of the four ex-Beatles, he was (at that time) my least favorite. Still, it really shook me up. I remember getting a bit choked up and wondering to myself what the world was coming to. However, I pulled myself together quickly and then I took an extraordinary step. Even though I was the low man on the station's totem pole, I quickly interrupted the programs on both the AM and FM sides and patched in the necessary protocol to simulcast.

In a very solemn voice, I delivered the sad news to our listening audience. I had pulled enough copy and selected a few Beatles songs to take us to the top of the hour (9:00 p.m.). While the songs played, I quickly taped some national news reports of the situation. For the rest of the night until sign-off (11:30 p.m.), I interspersed Beatles music with taped news reports and copy from the wire services I read.

I was a bit worried about two things. First, I didn't have the authority to abandon the scheduled programming nor to do a simulcast. Consequently, I knew that by taking this extraordinary step that I might well be fired. I certainly didn't want to lose this job -- being newly married and all -- but I risked it because of who John Lennon was.

My second worry is that I would piss off all of our country music fans. Our station was the number one country station in the market and, since Lennon was a rock star, I worried that our red-neck listener base would not be thrilled with missing out on the rest of the Ralph Emery show or the one that followed it.

In both cases, I soon learned that I had nothing to worry about. The switchboard lit up with people calling the station to say how broken up they were at learning of Lennon's murder. Many lauded me for my quick decision.

One of the calls turned out to be from our station manager. When I heard his voice on the line, I prepared for the worst, but he too told me that he was impressed with the way I handled things. He was also amazed that I had pulled off the simulcast because I hadn't received the training of how to do it. (The truth of the matter is that I guessed and was lucky that my guess had turned out to be correct.)

So, why am I sharing this story? Well, you'll have to wait for a different post early tomorrow morning to find out the answer to that question.