CLAUDE HALL (1968)

For as long as I was in radio, everyone in the biz regularly read Billboard magazine. It dates back to sheet music and juke boxes, long before there were 45 r.p.m. records (or iPods), FM radio (or satellite broadcasting) and the rest of the "trade magazines" that followed (now mostly replaced wholly or in part by online editions).

The man we deejays and programmers turned to first in Billboard was Claude Hall (above). He was their radio editor. But more importantly, he wrote the weekly column called "Vox Jox." Back in that day, being recognized in print in Claude's column was the big deal for anyone in radio. It was totally democratic. Radio folks, from the biggest like Allen Freed and Murray the K. in New York, to some guy in Armpit, Oklahoma, were acknowledged if they did anything of note. I was mentioned in his column a few times before arriving at KHJ, Los Angeles. By then, Billboard had moved from New York City to an office building on the Sunset Strip. Smack in the middle of bigtime Hollywood. And the first writer to notice us upstart underdogs was Claude Hall. He went on to report on Boss Radio's progress, and was always most kind in his mentions of yours truly.

Claude, who is as prolific as any writer I know, and perhaps the most knowledgeable about radio, has two online features that run in Radio Daily News.com, published by Larry Shannon in Texas. In the left-hand column, Claude, also a hard core native of the Lone Star state, writes an ongoing novel. Sometimes I suspect it is, as they say, "thinly veiled." And why not? The man has had his share of adventures. On the opposite side of the page, Claude has been writing daily remembrances and observations since before they were called "blogs." I recently dropped him a note about something he wrote. This is what he then posted in his column:

Ron Jacobs, who I refer to mostly these days as the Hawaiian radio guru, has been doing some blogging. Good stuff, too, He recently emailed me for my, "...version of how I pinch hit for Bill Drake at Billboard's First Radio Forum, pleasing the apprehensive Lee Zhito, justifying your faith in me and setting up the future relationship of the magazine and AMERICAN TOP 40".

"It was a milestone for me, one of several for which I have you to thank. I thought I was home free making the speech, had the crowd in the palm of my hand, when a damn Bar Mitzvah band on the other side of our stage started up just as I was going into my big finish. 93/KHJ, segue to 'Havah Nigilah'! Warm aloha."

I don't remember the Bar Mitzvah band, Ron. Wish I'd thought of it! Sounds like a great flourish with which to end a speech.

What I do remember--and vividly--is that you made me look good! Lee Zhito had nothing to do with any of the 10 forums and after four I did them alone. Planning, organizing, conducting. Zhito once, after he was made publisher, reneged on making me editor-in-chief (he kept the job for himself). Told me he usually had 250 people a month applying for my job. If those people had really known my real job description (you know, the one they never put down on paper), bet that number would have dropped to one or two a month.

Now let's return to the first forum, held at the New Yorker Hotel in New York City. My intention was to place four outstanding men on a panel at the opening session. George Martin, producer of the Beatles; legendary radio man Gordon McLendon; Bill Drake, gaining attention as consultant for KHJ in Los Angeles; and Art Linkletter, whose daughter had recently stepped out of a window thinking she could fly (we had many anti-drug abuse programs at the forums). Then Robert Kennedy was killed and Drake phoned and said he had to stay with his station during this national crisis.

I was extremely disappointed. Bill Drake had sort of been a coup. He was known to be reclusive, told me he was reclusive and didn't like to talk in front of people. I'd persuaded him at long length to appear. Then, viola! He was not coming. Nothing I could say would change his mind. But he was sending me Ron Jacobs the program director of KHJ. I had three of the biggest names in the world of media...and a guy I'd never met.

So I'm standing there where the opening session is to take place and this guy in a Brooks Brothers suit and tie appears and introduces himself as Ron Jacobs and asks how long I wish him to talk. Now, I'm still teed off at Bill Drake. Then and now, I suspect that Drake had no intention of appearing. With a touch of sarcasm, I say "21 minutes." Ron thanks me and leaves. When he returns, he's in a Nehru jacket with medallions, sort of a typical uniform of the hip at the time.

Ron Jacobs was phenomenal! I became an instant fan. Still am. Impressive isn't the correct word to describe his talk. He never said one "uh." He spoke for 21 minutes. Dynamic talk about radio. A beginning, a middle, and an ending. Clear. Concise. Pithy! Ever since that day, I've been grateful to Bill Drake for not showing up.

Later I went on to do interviews with both Drake and Jacobs. These were printed in the book, "This Business of Radio Programming." (Danoday.com) Bill Drake may be one very smart SOB. I do not know. But Ron Jacobs is without question one of the brightest people I've ever met. In radio or out. And there's more to the man than that. There's fiber. A sense of ethical fairness. About four or five years ago, something came up concerning a matter, which I'd forgotten over the years. Not Ron. He remembered. That impressed me. I can see now why he had and has so many loyal friends.

A lot of good radio men have come and gone. But right now, in my opinion, we have four national living treasures in radio. In alphabetical order, so as to not have to rank them, they are Chuck Blore, Kent Burkhart, Ron Jacobs and George Wilson. Good radio men.

Thanks much for including me in such an auspicious group, Claude. All I can add to your recollection of that day, 40 summers ago, is that KHJ promotion manager Mitch Fisher was with me on the trip to NYC and the Forum. We indeed suited up in Nehru jackets and "love beads" before going down to the ballroom and my speech. I was in a black silk coat, Mitch was wearing a brown one. Mitch, having nothing to do other than observe, smoked a joint before we left the room. I, of course, could do no such thing. Had a strict rule of not mixing business with pleasure. Never, ever did, believe it or not.

We waited for the elevator, high above Manhattan, on the umpteenth floor of the ritzy hotel. The elevator door opened. Inside were five nuns. In full habit. Mitch and I stood at the front of the elevator, facing forward, trying to ignore reality. "How are you today, fathers?" asked the sisters of us, two Jews in Gandhi garb. Mitch tried to conceal a snarfle-snort. Would he erupt in laughter before we reached the lobby? I have no idea exactly what I said. I think I got through it without laughing loudly at the absurdity of it all. The dear ladies had no idea of the trip they put us through.

All I know is: After that encounter much of the anxiety and apprehension about what I was about to do disappeared. I was rushing on the pure adrenaline of a successful escape from disaster. If my talk was a success, all I can say all these years later, is "Hallelujah, Praise the Lord!"