Jumat, 31 Desember 2010

RJ REPORTING FROM HAWAII

NBC Radio correspondent Ron Jacobs, 1955

As everything in America does, "time and date" come first to Guam, where "America's Day Begins" It is already 2011 there, as I write this in Hawaii, where the New Year rings in in ten minutes, at 7 p.m. HST.

Folks here who wish to watch fireworks, dropping balls, flashing neon lights spelling out the event, network co-anchors (chosen from one of the strangest talent pools in the business), man-in-the-street observations about the impact of it all, resolutions (serious or satirical, political or philosphpohical, spoken or spelled out in gitzy, graphics)--these are the people who remain inside, watching their new century, new decade, new year roll in on wide screen TV.

Here in Hawaii, any one of them might open a window and toss/hurl out some kind of exploding device into the neighborhood. We are warming up for the Greenwich Mean Time New Year, now coming in four minutes to Times Square and the patch of Earth that inhabits its same time zone, relation to the sun and moon.

Soon comes the closest thing to pyrotechnic shock and awe as anywhere in the U.S. The Aloha State, still the wonderful Melting Pot of the Pacific, and its large Asian population, pops off the loudest. A typical Chinese wedding can sound like Fourth of July on the Mall, minus the philharmonics and cannon. Your correspondent now hearing booms as loud as those that sometimes emanate from Marine Corps Base Hawaii. President Obama is nearby it at this moment, I figure. I am 16 miles away.

Old school, NBC News, c. 1955. Dateline: KANEOHE, HI. No time left to type. What comes next?

- 30 -

6:59:59.

Senin, 27 Desember 2010

RJ's FIRST ST. LOUIS RAMS POST, 2010

Danny Amendola (above), with all the 21010 Rams, has been under the radar and off Sports Center until now, the NFL's penultimate week, Number 16.

Other than RB Steven Jackson (sixth 1000-yard plus season) and rookie overall first pick QB Sam Bradford (Oklahoma) has not missed a snap while breaking all-time rookie records, the team is virtually anonymous.

Many "die hard" (or long gone) Rams fans have dispersed in disgust during the past two years, during which the team won 3 games and lost 45. Yet, the team is one victory away from winning the--provide your own adjective: bizarre, preposterous, lowliest, shitty, etc.--NFC Western Conference.

At the start of the upcoming month-long tournament the playoff teams are chosen by proscribed pattern and rotation. And as the seasons roll along, this year the Western NFC champs host a first-round elimination game.

The winner, after Sunday's games, will be either the Rams at 8-8 or the Seattle Seahawks at an unprecedented, humiliating record of 7-9. If the latter, the fact of a sub-.500 team hosting an opening round playoff game is, to some, unconstitutional.

But others say, "The rules are the rules." (Repeat: "What would Lombardi do?")

Before we move a second further into future hypothesis, let's get to Sunday's Rams-Seattle win-or-go-home game on January 2, 2011. The game, being the most pivotal and crucial tilt, has been "flexed" by the network masters. Those who select such things have re-slotted the game into prime time: 8:20 p.m. EDT. It has been many moons since the St. Louis Rams have been shown in action on TV everywhere, it being the singular, and final, Sunday Night Game on NBC.

'Hawks fans are lighting incense, meditating and donating money to Haiti, to pray the Almighty Football Gods. If you have ever been, or are, under their spell, read on. If not, click away, Google something else. Fans all over the Northwest are hoping against hope that veteran starting QB Matt Hasselbeck, who will not practice all week, can jump up from his multiple knee injuries and the "unusual" hip injury which knocked him out early in yesterday's blowout loss to red hot Tampa Bay and play in the game.

With the Bald Matt Has-been out, Seattle sent in the barely-experienced, who starts this Sunday in Qwest Field, for the second time in his career. First time out he threw one touchdown and three interceptions. On paper, Whitey & The Seabirds are no match for the Rams and Bradford. who beat Seattle 30-3 in their previous match.

As one who has watched every Rams game since I became addicted in 1965, I have never missed a single game, with no exception, in person, or by nefarious ways and means. This upcoming one will be about my 1017th consecutive game.

But for the Rams to win Sunday’s NFL main event, to assure victory for the visiting Rams, it will require, a top-notch performance by WR-KR Danny Amendola. Unknown and undrafted last year, he slipped into the Rams squad in mid-2009.

Today he leads the NFL with a 2,267 total combined yardage. That is about 47% of the ground gained this year by the entire Rams squad. Out of the slot he is Bradford's throw-to guy, catching quickly, then darting around like a rabbit on speed. He leads the team in kickoff and punt returns and popped an 84-yard rip through the 49ers in yesterday's win.

Amendola also handles reverses, end-around plays; he threw a pass yesterday from one of these formations. The second-year man from Texas Tech fits the typical size of the "little" guys from that school. Amendola is listed at 5'11" and 186 pounds.

In six days he can help lift the Rams into postseason play. Check out #16 Sunday. And, if the Rams can squeeze out a win, Danny is sure to thrill the home crowd in the Edward Jones Dome, where a yet-to-be-determined opponent will be meeting him and the Rams in St. Louie on January 8th or 9th, 2011.

UPDATE:

Over the decades, there’s been much to like about ESPN’S Chris Berman. He has been to Hawaii often. But Berman certainly lives in a bigtime media bubble while here on assignment. Unlike many legendary sportscasters who lived and worked in Honolulu—Les Keiter, Harry Kalas and Al Michaels—Berman is not akamai (hip to) the native tongue. Tonight, in signing off another season of Monday Night Football, Berman rolled out an acceptable Merry Christmas—Mele Kalikiimaka.

But then boomer plowed on, to Happy New Year—correctly it is Hauoli Makahiki Hou. It came out, “HOWLIE-maga-giggy ho.” For those of you who know how to say this simple salutation, this triple bungle sounded like fingernails on a blackboard. Chris, please practice, “how-O’LAY mah-kah-hiki HO,” frequently before you attempt it again aloud, on-air. All your cred dissolves with kukae like this, making you sound like one lolo coast haole.

Sabtu, 25 Desember 2010

L.A. LAKER FANS SHOW ALL

Last night, Christmas Eve in some bowl game played in Aloha Stadium, the visiting, large underdog Tulsa Golden Hurricanes shellacked the Hawaii Warriors, 62-35. What could be worse than a 27-point nightmare on national TV?

Answer: today’s dazed L.A. Lakers (defending world champs) were torpedoed, blown up and sunk by the Miami Heat, 96-80. The victors were lead by LaBron James, of Miami’s Big Three, who racked up a triple-double and covered Kobe Bryant like a wet blanket left out in Southern California’s torrential rains of the past week. All shown in living Hi-Def on ABC-TV, the Los Angeles Times reported, “A lot of people paid a lot of money for tickets, with face value as high as $900 for non-courtside seats.”

See, I have attended Lakers games. During the 1960s through 80s the brightest entertainment workers from the area paid a few extra dollars for courtside seats. That was before digital cameras equipped transmitted images immediately to headquarters and those in this Age of Celebrity, to whom these Lakers home games offer more photo ops than the jump shots. Below, all taken from a Times picture gallery, including some of today's Christmas 2010 game, is a selection of Hollywood behind the scenes—uh, or another stage altogether, the world famous Staples Center. (These photos were not used with written permission; I welcome any Cease & Desist Orders, which could garner more his than a million bucks in tiny Google ads.)

Why Penny Marshall buys two seats.

Lakers not only losing, but not even beating spread.

More losing bettors--with the bucks to cover anything.

Totally into post-game show. Mmm.

Stoned American.

Look it's me! Look at my ring!

Jack checks for larynx.

A Kardashian: sisters' seats taken by her agent and herbalist.

Neil Diamond throws hissy-fit.

Yay! I love soccer!

Crotch stare'n'sniff by famous star.

OBNOXIOUS

That was an offensive maneuver called pick and roll.

Rehearsing OMG scene.

Will Farrell discusses China with Dyan Canon in Cantonese.

Halftime 2006: Jewish broker from Beverly Hills hustles Placido Domingo.

Seal & Sons. The coolest.

Lou Adler: "How else to get noticed when sitting next to Nicholson?"

Anthony Kiedis impersonates Lou Adler during West, Jabbar, Magic eras.

Hey, this is Hollywood, not Sacramento.

Larry David, speechless after Lakers turnover.

"We hit the box office five minutes into the second half."

Threesome checks out LaBron James' culo. Christmas 2010.

Kamis, 16 Desember 2010

KRASH KEALOHA (1949-2010)


KRASH KEALOHA (Victor Opiopio)

It was just a few weeks ago when I learned, belatedly, that on of my oldest friends, Curtis Iaukea had died. (His story is told in my previous blog.) I mentioned briefly Honolulu’s one-and-only monopolistic daily newspaper. I had long thought often about how deprived a community must be when their town was eventually reduced to one newspaper.


No more traditional competition, once the prime motivation of journalists. How advertisers would have to submit to non-negotiable ad rates. How many fine reporters and back room employees had been instantly left jobless? How slack procedures would become? And how quickly a soggy and diminished newspaper would be reduced to just another online collection of wire stories, amateurish blogs, party photos and rewrites of the police, city hall and other local sources?


Well, it finally came to pass in Honolulu. Earlier this year both remaining newspapers quite suddenly morphed into a thing called the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. It might indeed be the latter, but it is no star in any known constellation. Islanders mainly rely on the few remaining local TV stations for their news.


And thus this comprises another “legal” morphing of news departments. The result: Many of the same lame deficiencies now available exclusively on our sole surviving excuse for what was once considered a couple of well-produced mid-market publications.


There is much more to this entire shrinking media, for which Honolulu is merely a microcosm of what has been happening around the U.S. for years. I’ve been making notes, while trying to suppress vomiting over the situation and will deal with its causes and effects later, in a longer, documented piece.


I bring up this situation now, because I was hit by it again earlier this month. I received emails from two friends and veterans of Hawaii media before it slipped into the lua (toilet). The notes were from two folks known on the air as "The Honolulu Skylark" and "Billy V." The subject was a celebration to honor another friend, whose air name was "Krash Kealoha."


The event was to be held last Saturday, December 11, 2010, at Gabby Pahinui Park in wonderful Waimanalo. The place is still laid back Hawaiian country, both literally and figuratively on the opposite side of Oahu, about as far as one can get from Waikiki and downtown.


I dug out a story I’d written about the history of KCCN, the world’s first all-Hawaiian station. The piece was from 20 years ago when I was an associate editor of both HONOLULU and HAWAII magazines; this required more brains and paid less than radio. But the results did not evaporate in “thin air,” as radio is thought to do. Much of my work is on file at the Library of Hawaii. I hope that might benefit those interested in the various subjects after I am gone. For sure there’s more to the work than all the airchecks extant.


Anyway, I advised Skylark and Billy that I would be there. I thought, “It will be so nice to see Krash again.” Years before he had been the victim of a major accident while on the tarmac at an airfield. The eventual result was that he was confined to his bed, virtually unable to do any of the things at which he excelled, and loved doing. I made it a point to call him every month or so, to say Howzit, share some gossip and, most of all, cheer him up.


Procrastinating, which I justify as producing the best work—“On deadline”—I began to edit my story about KCCN, highlighting Krash’s contribution to this one of a kind station. Typed it in all caps, underlined the emphasis lines and marked it up to be read aloud.


Then I decided to Google Krash, just to see what I had possibly omitted. After his home page this headline hit me in the face: Hawaiian radio legend Krash Kealoha dies. It had been posted by one of the combined TV news departments. On November 25.


WAIMANALO (HawaiiNewsNow) - The Hawaiian music world is in mourning this Thanksgiving. The father of modern Hawaiian radio Krash Kealoha passed away Thursday morning in his Waimanalo home. Kealoha was suffering from a tumor and decided to forgo radiation treatment. According to Kealoha's wife, Chris, he was in poor condition.”


Since I only scan the flimsy online version of the faux newspaper and not linked to the obituaries, nor had I watched local TV news, this was news, horribly shocking news, to me. I got the word more than two weeks after the fact.


Another surreal delay, longer than the time passed between the passing of Brother Iaukea. And since people assume things, the “celebration” notice failed to mention that Brother Kealoha was dead--although that was the reason for the gathering.


I tried to gather my emotions and recalibrate what I had just written.


Several hours later I read the following words to all those gathered at the beach, under the tall ironwood trees, waves rolling in under an Aloha Sun, so appropriate for Krash. But first an Air Force honor guard presented his mom with the American flag, replete with the proper rituals. A longtime friend of Krash, who’d flown over from Kauai, shared some stories, prayed in Hawaiian, and then sang. He ended with the Lord’s Prayer, the Hawaiian version. A lady read a resolution from the Hawaii Senate honoring Krash. I kept telling myself, “I am a professional.” It was only at the last paragraph when I lost it. Somehow I managed to read it through the tears.


Mixed in with them were a few shed over the demise of timely, accurate journalism.


KCCN RADIO. THE ONLY ALL-HAWAIIAN RADIO STATION IN THE WORLD KEEPS THE FAITH.

HAWAII MAGAZINE, FEBRUARY 1990.

============

HALF OF ITS CALL LETTERS ARE NOT EVEN IN THE HAWAIIAN ALPHABET. “KCCN” CANNOT BE PRONOUNCED AS A WORD. IT LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING IN RUSSIAN, MAYBE. DESPITE ALL THIS, KCCN HAS SURVIVED 43 YEARS, AS THE ONLY ALL-HAWAIIAN RADIO OUTLET ON THE PLANET. SOMEHOW, IT KEEPS HANA-HOUING ALONG. IT TOOK 44 YEARS AND 19 STATIONS BEFORE AN ISLAND STATION FEATURED ALL-HAWAIIAN MUSIC. UNTIL KCCN CAME ALONG, NO ONE BELIEVED THAT THERE WAS ENOUGH INTEREST FOR HAWAIIAN MUSIC—IN HAWAII.

AUTHOR JERRY HOPKINS WROTE: “KCCN MAY NOT BE FIRST IN AUDIENCE RATINGS, BUT IT’S NUMBER ONE WHEN IT COMES TO IMAGINATION, ALOHA—AND GUTS. I’VE BEEN LISTENING TO THE RADIO FOR 40-SOME YEARS—AND NOWHERE HAVE I HEARD ANYTHING LIKE IT.”

IT WAS NOON ON NOVEMBER FIRST, 1966 WHEN KCCN OFFICIALLY BEGAN FULL TIME BROADCASTING. IT PLAYED AUTOMATED HAWAIIAN MUSIC—FROM A WAREHOUSE ON PUAHALE ROAD IN KALIHI. KRASH KEALOHA SAID: “IT WAS ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE GRANNY GOOSE POTATO CHIP FACTORY. IT HAD TO BE THE SMELLIEST PLACE IN THE WORLD. HAVE YOU EVER SMELLED POTATOES BEFORE THEY MAKE ‘EM INTO CHIPS? YUCH !!!”

AS THE LOCAL STATIONS BLASTED SONGS LIKE “GOOD LOVIN’” AND “WILD THING”—KCCN’S MANAGER PERRY CARLE PLEDGED: “WE WILL BROADCAST HAWAIIAN MUSIC, SPECIAL FEATURES AND EMPHASIZE NEWS OF INTEREST TO THE PEOPLE OF HAWAII.”

TO A LARGE EXTENT, KCCN HAS DONE JUST THAT FOR MORE THAN FOUR DECADES—BUT IT HAS BEEN A BUMPY ROAD RIDE TO SAY THE LEAST.

AFTER ONE YEAR, THE ORIGINAL OWNERS WANTED OUT. NOW, HONOLULU HAS HISTORICALLY BEEN “THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE” OF AMERICAN BROADCASTING. REGARDLESS, A YOUNG CALIFORNIA ENTREPRENEUR NAMED AL LAPIN, JR., BOUGHT KCCN. HE MADE SOME BOLD MOVES. FIRST, LAPIN HIRED LUCKY LUCK, ONE OF THE ISLANDS’ MOST BELOVED RADIO AND T.V. PERFORMERS. MARINE LIEUTENANT ROBERT MELVIN LUCK WAS DISCHARGED IN HAWAII IN 1945. BORN IN WACO, TEXAS—SON OF A WRESTLING PROMOTER—THIS GENTLE GIANT WAS OAHU’S FIRST POPULAR WAKE-UP DEEJAY.

LUCKY LUCK COULD SPEAK PIDGIN AS WELL AS ANY HA’OLE EVER HAS. HIS FAMOUS SIGN-OFF WAS, “IF YOU NO CAN SAY SOMETHING GOOD ABOUT SOMEBODY, NO SAY NOTHING.” AND THAT WAS JUST NOT A SLOGAN FOR HIM. LUCKY PRACTICED WHAT HE PREACHED ALL HIS LIFE.

SOON, KCCN HAD A FULL “PERSONALITY” LINEUP. JOINING LUCKY WERE—“BIG JOE,” WHOSE REAL NAME WAS CECIL SEAVEY—DOUG MOSSMAN, WHO PLAYED “MOKI” ON THE “HAWAIIAN EYE” T.V. SHOW--AND KENT BOWMAN, WHOSE COMIC NAME WAS “SENATOR K. K. KA’U—MANUA.” KRASH KEALOHA SAID, “WITH PERSONALITIES WE GOT DOWN WITH THE MUSIC. BEFORE THEN, IT WAS TOURIST SOUNDS, LIKE “LOVELY HULA HANDS.” NOW, KCCN HAD THE TALENT TO STIR THINGS UP. IT WAS TIME FOR AN ODDBALL PLACE TO DO IT!

THE INTERNATIONAL MARKET PLACE HAD OPENED IN WAIKIKI IN MAY OF 1957. IT WAS THE HOME OF “DONN THE BEACHCOMBER’S RESTAURANT.” AND THE MOST EXOTIC FEATURE IN THE PLACE WAS A TREE HOUSE—BUILT FOR ROMANTIC DINING IN THE BIG BANYAN TREE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MARKET PLACE. THE WOODEN SHACK GOT TONS OF PUBLICITY—BY 1968 IT WAS AS WELL-KNOWN AS ANY WAIKIKI LANDMARK. SO, ON AUGUST 14, 1968, KCCN BECAME—‘THE ONLY RADIO STATION IN THE WORLD, UP A TREE.”

ENTER VICTOR HO’ONANI OPIOPIO—A FARRINGTON GRADUATE, WITH SOME EXPERIENCE AT SMALL TOWN MAINLAND STATIONS—

AND A KCCN GOPHER SINCE THE STATION SIGNED ON. HE KEPT WAITING FOR HIS BIG “BREAK,” TO GET ON THE AIR. THIS HAPPENED ONE DAY WHEN HE WAS SUDDENLY ASSIGNED TO RELIEVE LUCKY LUCK AT 10 A.M. BECAUSE THE MIDDAY ANNOUNCER WAS OUT SICK.

WITH HIS ADRENALIN PUMPING, YOUNG OPIOPIO HEADED FOR THE TREE HOUSE, FOR HIS LONG-AWAITED RADIO DEBUT.

HE RECALLED, “IT WAS RAINING. I SLIPPED. AND THEN I STARTED TUMBLING DOWN THE STAIRS. YOU COULD HEAR THE TUMBLING OVER THE AIR. AND LUCKY WAS ACTUALLY DOING A PLAY-BY-PLAY DESCRIPTION OF IT ALL. SO HE SAID—“HERE COMES KRASH KEALOHA!!!”

WELL, VICTOR OPIOPIO HAD BROKEN A LEG—AND PICKED UP A NEW NAME—ONE THAT WOULD BE HEARD ON HONOLULU RADIO FOR MORE THAN A DOZEN YEARS. AN AMBULANCE PULLED RIGHT UP TO THE TREE HOUSE AND TOOK THE VICTIM TO KAISER HOSPITAL. AND, KCCN LISTENERS CALLED IN TO SEE HOW “KRASH” WAS DOING.

THE VERY NEXT DAY—WITH HIS BROKEN LEG IN A CAST—OUR HERO, BROTHER KRASH FINALLY WENT ON THE AIR. FAST FORWARD TO APRIL 1970. KCCN’S BROADCASTING LICENSE WAS TRANSFERRED TO A COMPANY LOCATED IN DALLAS, TEXAS.

BY EARLY 1971, THE NEW OWNERS OF KCCN WERE GETTING VERY NERVOUS. THEY WERE WORRIED ABOUT THEIR INVESTMENT OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. SOON, RUMORS OF A “FORMAT CHANGE” REACHED THE BANYAN TREE HOUSE. SO, DISC JOCKEY DOUG MOSSMAN WENT TO THE NEW BOSS. THE TEXAN SAID, “HEY, MAYBE NOBODY LISTENS TO THIS HAWAIIAN STUFF. MAYBE WE SHOULD CHANGE TO SOMETHING, LIKE TOP 40.”

MOSSMAN INVITED THE MALIHINI BOSS TO COME WATCH HIS SHOW. THEN HE RACED TO K-POI RADIO, CLOSE BY, ON THE ALA WAI. MOSSMAN REMEMBERS: “I BORROWED A BUNCH OF HIT TOP 40 RECORDS, AND BROUGHT ‘EM BACK TO THE TREEHOUSE. THEN I SIGNED ON—PLAYING ROCK’N’ROLL—AND ASKED OUR LISTENERS IF THEY WOULD PREFER THIS KIND OF MUSIC. THE TEXAN WATCHED THE PHONES GOING CRAZY FOR 15 MINUTES. AND THEN HE SAID, ‘O.K., I GIVE UP.’”

MEANWHILE, THE KCCN LISTENER RESPONSE WENT ON FOR WEEKS.

PEOPLE WERE EVEN SHOWING UP WITH MONEY. DOUG MOSSMAN SAID: “I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE WE WOULDN’T HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS ALL OVER AGAIN IN THREE MONTHS.”

SAMMY AMALU WROTE IN THE HONOLULU ADVERTISER: “THE STAFF OF KCCN BELEIEVED THAT THERE WAS SUFFICIENT INTEREST, AND LOVE IN THESE ISLANDS, TO WARRANT AN ALL-HAWAIIAN PROGRAM FORMAT. THE LETTERS AND PETITIONS POURED IN. THE TEXAS OWNERS WERE CONVINCED.”

TO THANK THE COMMUNITY FOR THE OVERWHELMING RESPONSE, STATION MANAGER BILL BIGELOW SUGGESTED A CONCERT AT THE WAIKIKI SHELL. “THE FIRST ANNUAL KA PONO NA MELE”—THE NIGHT OF SONGS—WAS SET FOR FEBRUARY 28, 1973. AMALU WROTE: “THERE WERE DOUBTERS WHO SAID NO ONE CARED ABOUT HAWAIIAN MUSIC. THEY WERE WRONG. PEOPLE CAME BY THE THOUSANDS. THEY FILLED THE PLACE TO OVERFLOWING. THEY SAT BACK, OPENED THEIR EARS—AND THEIR HEARTS—AND THEY LOVED IT.”

BUT … IT WOULD NOT BE THE LAST TIME THAT KCCN WOULD CALL ON ITS AUDIENCE TO KEEP HAWAIIAN MUSIC ON THE AIRWAVES.

AFTER FIVE YEARS IN THE TREEHOUSE, KCCN’S STUDIOS CAME DOWN TO EARTH. NOT ONLY HAD THE NOVELTY WORN OFF, BUT ALSO THE EQUIPMENT WAS DYING FROM BEING IN THE OCEAN AIR.

KCCN MOVED TO THE WAIKIKI BUSINESS PLAZA. AND BY 1973, YET ANOTHER GROUP OF NEW OWNERS TOOK OVER. BY THEN KRASH KEALOHA WAS THE MORNING DEEJAY AND PROGRAM DIRECTOR.

KRASH WAS CALLED INTO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE—AND WAS TOLD THAT THE STATION WAS CHANGING TO COUNTRY AND WESTERN MUSIC. KRASH SAID TO HIMSELF, “WHAT THE HELL, I’M OUT OF A JOB.” SO, THE NEXT MORNING, HE ANNOUNCED THE COMING MUSIC CHANGE, ON THE AIR. THE MINUTE KRASH SIGNED OFF, HE WAS FIRED.

OKAY. NOW THE REACTION WAS GREATER THAN IT HAD BEEN TWO YEARS BEFORE! THERE WERE IRATE AND THREATENING PHONE CALLS TO KCCN. LISTENERS SHOWED UP AT THE STATION. THE MAIL POURED IN. A PETITION OPPOSING THE CHANGE CONTAINED 75,000 SIGNATURES.

GUESS WHAT? KRASH WAS CALLED BACK, LATER THE SAME DAY OF HIS UNAUTHORIZED ANNOUNCEMENT. HE HESITATED, BUT THE STATION OFFERED HIM A LARGE RAISE. AND, HE WAS BACK ON THE VERY NEXT MORNING. KRASH SAID, “THEY THOUGHT IT WAS A GREAT PROMOTION, AND TOLD US TO MILK IT.” GOODBYE, “SONS OF THE PRAIRIE,” WELCOME BACK, “SONS OF HAWAII.”

BUT, IN ALL OF THIS, KRASH SENSED THE BEGINNINGS—THE START OF WHAT WOULD BECOME KNOWN AS “THE HAWAIIAN RENNAISANCE OF THE SEVENTIES”—A GREAT MUSICAL, AND CULTURAL, AWAKENING. IT WOULD CHANGE THINGS FOREVER.

THE SECOND PHASE OF THE KCCN STORY WAS BETWEEN 1975 AND 1977. WITH KRASH KEALOHA AS THE LINK, A TRIO WAS FORMED. THEY NEARLY TOOK KCCN TO THE VERY TOP OF THE RATINGS. KIMO KAHOANO, MASTER OF THE SAMOAN FIRE AND KNIFE DANCE, WAS HIRED. HE LEARNED RADIO BY TRIAL AND ERROR. KAHOANO SAID: ‘I PLAYED THE MUSIC I FELT COMFORTBLE WITH. I KNEW ALL THE WAIKIKI ENTERTAINERS AND PLAYED THEIR SONGS. AND I COULD ALWAYS PLAY THE KAMEHAMEHA GLEE CLUB.”

THEN, JACQUELINE LEILANI LINDSEY JOINED KRASH AND KIMO. HER DREAM, WHILE SHE WAS WORKING AT A FEW, SMALL STATIONS IN THE SAN FRANCISCO AREA, HAS BEEN TO RETURN HOME, TO THE ISLANDS—WHERE SHE COULD PLAY SONGS ON HONOLULU’S ALL-HAWAIIAN MUSIC STATION. THERE HAD BEEN A FEW WAHINE ANNOUNCERS IN THE PAST. BUT, AS KRASH KEALOHA SAID: ‘JACKIE WAS DIFFERENT. SHE HAD RADIO EXPERIENCE, SHE KNEW HOW TO PUT THE PIECES TOGETHER.” MS. LINDSEY TOOK THE NAME, “THE HONOLULU SKYLARK”—BORROWED FROM A KELI’I TAU’A SONG ABOUT HAWAII’D FIRST AIRPLANE FLIGHT, IN 1910.

FINALLY—KCCN WAS POSTIONED FOR THE BIGTIME. THE STATION BEGAN TO PLAY THE MUSIC THAT WAS HAPPENING. KIMO KAHOANO SAID: “THAT WAS BLOOD AND GUTS. WE LIVED AND DIED FOR THE STATION—AND HAWAIIAN CAUSES. WE WERE OHANA [FAMILY.]”

KCCN'S BIGGEST SPLASH HAPPENED IN 1978. THE STATION CONCEIVED AND PROMOTED THE HAWAIIAN VERSION OF THE GRAMMY AWARDS—“STARS OF DISTINCTION”—OR AS IT IS KNOWN IN HAWAIIAN, ‘NA HOKU NA HANOHANO AWARDS,” QUCKLY KNOWN AS THE “HOKUS.”

ON THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 18, 1978, THE FIRST ANNUAL HOKU AWARD SHOW, BROADCAST ONLY ON KCCN RADIO, TOOK PLACE AT THE ALA MOANA HOTEL. THE EVENT BROUGHT NEW PRESTIGE TO KCCN.

BY THE SUMMER OF 1982 ALL THE HARD WORK PAID OFF. KCCN WAS RANKED #3 AMONGST OAHU’S 20-PLUS STATIONS. IRONICALLY, KRASH KEALOHA AND KIMO KAHOANU WERE NOT THERE TO CELEBRATE. KRASH DEPARTED OVER WHAT HE CALLED, “A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE.” THIS SHOCKED THE BROADCAST COMMUNITY. KIMO LEFT THE SAME YEAR, IN A DISPUTE OVER HIS PLAYING THE HAWAIIAN LANGUAGE VERSION OF “LORD’S PRAYER.” AND, FINALLY, IN 1986, SKYLARK LEFT KCCN TO JOIN ANOTHER STATION.

================

IT HAS BEEN 20 YEARS SINCE I WROTE THIS STORY. KCCN, AND ITS IMITATORS, CONTINUE TO PLAY HAWAIIAN MUSIC, AND ALL ITS NEW VARIATIONS. FOR MANY OF US KAMA’AINA, THERE WILL NEVER BE ANYTHING LIKE THE GOOD OLD DAYS, WHEN KCCN WAS FIGHTING TO BREAK NEW GROUND, TO KEEP HAWAII’S MUSIC ALIVE AND ON THE AIR. AND, LIKE HAWAII ITSELF, COME HAOLE, OR HIGH WATER, THE MUSIC OF THE ‘AINA WILL LIVE ON FOREVER. SO MAHALO, ALOHA AND GOD BLESS, BROTHER KRASH. YOUR MEMORY LIVES ON IN THE MUSIC WE LOVE--THE MUSIC YOU BROUGHT US.

================

This is Honolulu TV coverage of the Waimanalo tribute to Krash Kealoha:

http://www.hawaiinewsnow.com/Global/category.asp?C=6743&clipId=5376446&autostart=true

Selasa, 07 Desember 2010

CURTIS IAUKEA, 1937-2010


My friend Curtis Iaukea died Saturday at home in Papakolea. It was the house he’d lived in for years, on Iaukea Street, the one with the giant, tattered Hawaiian flag flying out front.

I only head the news today. Our one Honolulu newspaper devoted 179 words to his life; a cursory obit in the sports section called him a “legend” and mentioned some perfunctory facts.

Among many details omitted was that Curtis Piehau Iaukea III was a descendant of Hawaiian royalty. He was the grandson of Colonel Curtis Iaukea, vice chamberlain and diplomat to the court of King Kalākaua and Queen Liliuokalani and later Sheriff of Honolulu.

I first met Curtis when he sat down next to me in 1946. It was third grade at Punahou School. Rickety Rice Hall. The kids were arranged alphabetically. Curtis and I became the most unlikely of brothers. We were both belonged to minorities: he, one of the few Hawaiians there and me, one of the few Jews in the school.

Those old enough to remember this man knew him as a kolohe, mischievous hulk. I could pound him until fifth grade. A few years later he was one of the best lineman in Punahou’s long football history.

The last time I visited him in March we spent five hours reliving our glory (and gory) years. He said his biggest thrill was playing in the Rose Bowl. The quarterback of his Cal Bears team was Joe Kapp, who went on to have a big career in the NFL.

But Curits passed on the gridiron and chose to pursue what was called “professional wrestling.” That was a euphemism for what these monsters called “The Show.” In the 1950s Hawaii’s wrestling impresario was “Gentleman” Al Karasick, who promoted the bouts at the erstwhile Civic Auditorium. After World War ii this domed arena on South King Street was the largest indoor venue between the West Coast and Japan.

I worked there as the backup Roller Derby trackside announcer while I was at KGU and KHVH in 1956 and '57, something I generally leave out of my resume.

Karasick, who later transferred the franchise and his nickname to “Gentleman” Ed Francis, was found of Curtis. He was a friendly local boy who travelled in all circles. From Kahala to Kahuku, everyone came out to cheer on “Da Bull” as he disposed of hellish, costumed warriors from around the world.

There was no television at the start. But one would read in the newspapers of Curtis’ thrilling triumphs. Often the stories detailed the riots that broke out amongst the patrons, spilling out onto the sidewalk, while Curtis locked himself in the dressing room, checking out his paycheck.

I was born three months before him. All the lines on my forehead run horizontally below my bald head, each representing the trauma, adventure and wear of a lifetime. But Curtis Iaukea had scores of diagonal lines; they were not the ridges of a normal human. Each, like notches in a gunman’s belt, marked the spot where Curtis once bled, spurting. gushing, just before the bout’s climax.

The horrified crowd, seeing their hero’s claret blinding him, dripping on his chest, responded. Into the ring they would hurl chairs and miscellaneous detritus at “King Curtis’” evil opponent—until Curtis flopped and dropped the guy and planted one big bare foot on the chest of the loser.

Last time I saw Curtis he had to show me “the razor trick.” How he hid a bit of a razor blade between his fingers and self-triggered the blood. In later years, when he ran a boogie board rental concession at The Groin (the makai end of Kapahulu Avenue, intersecting Kalakaua), people stared at these atrocious scars in sympathy, and horror.

That was enough to get Curitis going, talking incredible story. I’ve know many folks, here and afar. Brother Curtis was as smart and akamai as anyone I ever met. In his later years all the big names in wrestling checked in with Curtis on the phone. “You know, da guy who was elected governor,” he would say of Jesse Ventura. They all called—his former opponents--out of concern, fellowship and, more so, profound respect. Curtis Iaukea was a man of honor in a world of scoundrels.

When we last hung out, it was unspoken, but we both knew this could be the last time. We laughed at ancient pranks. We teared up in nostalgic waves. People came and went, leaving the two of us alone. Our bond radiated between the two of us. Driving away I played Elvis Presley’s “If We Never Meet Again This Side Of Heaven.” And prayed for my friend’s sweet soul.

A man among men, Curits Iaukea touched millions. He had friends, literally, on every continent of the globe. Everyone in the Punahou Class of 1955 asked about him when we last met. I told everyone he was sharp as a tack, and fighting disease with his warrior strengths. Then the final bell finally rang, and he went out a champ.

Me ke aloha pumehana, kaikuaʻana.

Sabtu, 04 Desember 2010

GOD & KHJ BLESS TINY TIM

Ron Jacobs & Tiny Tim, KHJ, May 1968

This is not in my book KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO, but it is another untold story.

I had just gotten out of Halawa Jail, arrived in L.A. and learned that Don Berrigan was working there on some teeny-bop magazine. Berrigan and I went back to 1953, when I started as a deejay at KHON-Honolulu and Berrigan was there at the creation of Boss Radio in the spring of '65. He created some giant promotions, the kind where the heavy lifters get little billing. He was my wing man on all the madness we concocted in that fortress on Melrose from which sprang such legendary Top 40 Radio promotions as THE BIG KAHUNA.

In this slice of UNDER THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN, his autobiography in progress, Berrigan tells of how we shanghaied Mr. Tiny Tim from KRLA in what turned out to be a first, and probably only, promotion of its kind. As big a success as this adventure was, the highest satisfaction was how superior we felt, outwitting and then nailing down the coffin of the station we came to town to annihilate.

GOD BLESS TINY TIM

On most weekday mornings I‘d dive into the four-lane frenzy on the Ventura Freeway in my massive black ‘66 Olds Toronado, weaving South across four lanes of near bumper-to-bumper, Robert W. Morgan’s show on KHJ Boss radio blasting on one of the best stereos GM ever put into its high-end cars. Eventually I’d take a right onto the Hollywood Freeway, and drop off on Gower, destination the station on Melrose next to the Paramount lot.


All the 45 minute run in from Granada Hills I’d be thinking up new promotions, imagining how much fun they’d be to do, and how bitchin’ they would sound on the air. The better my idea, the more it would yank Jacobs’ chain when I began to provoke him to hear about it. If, in spite of himself, he liked it, he’d be conflicted by all the other work he had on his plate.


I would start by sending in a note with a general description of the idea. If he didn’t like it, he’d send me back a note on his “A Reminder from Rogue Jock” note stationery scrawled with a simple “Nawp.” When that happened, there was no use discussing or thinking about it anymore. When I’d come up with a really good one, at first he wouldn’t admit he liked it. That was when the fun began.


Turning on my Toronado radio one morning, I heard KRLA promoting a new contest. They were giving away a hundred pairs of tickets to a Tiny Tim concert at Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. I asked myself, was it soft, or what we called a sleeper, a surprise hit?


The more Tiny Tim voice-overs and promo spots I heard, the more it got to me. Tiny had gotten some good exposure on Johnny Carson and Laugh-in which gave him a recognizable visual image, and an intriguing curiosity about his personality. He was, in Hollywood parlance, an “unusual type.” But would anyone care?


It often happened that KRLA would get lucky on choosing a personality or band to promote with, but they never seemed to know the right thing to do to maximize it. Or they didn’t have the budget to do anything hot like we did. I was starting to believe I was a pretty good idea man, but I also knew without lots of money behind them, most of my ideas would never have gotten on the air. But KHJ did have the budget, and suddenly itcame to me just how to nuke KRLA with this one once and for all.


I started in on Jacobs by sending my secretary, Miss Hamaker, into his office with a terse note, deliberately vague: “KRLA is killing us.” No answer.


Fifteen minutes later, another note: “KRLA is making us look like we’re planning to change format.” Still no answer.


After another twenty minutes: “How long are you going to let KRLA fuck us in the ass in front of all Southern California with Tiny Tim?


Jacobs barged into my office: “What the fuck are you talking about?”


I had to laugh: “Why don’t you yell a little louder? Maybe some of the neighborhood dogs haven’t heard you. I’m talking about Tiny Tim.”


Jacobs said: “Again? We decided he’s a one-note samba and we should pass on promoting with him.”


I think we should reconsider. KRLA sure has.”


Jacobs was still impatient. “How can we do anything now without looking like we’re running after KRLA’s hind tit. It’d be better to do nothing.”


I motioned for Jacobs to sit down. To my surprise he did. “Look, want another Hawaii Five-O fuck up, only this time more immediate? I see something we can do, but it can’t be half-ass or fast and dirty. It’s got to devastate KRLA, vaporize them once and for all.”


“Like what?”


I still wanted to play with him. “I think we should drive our asses down to Santa Monica Civic and buy all remaining 3400 seats.”


J

acobs was unphased. “And?”


“Give ‘em away in pairs on the air, supported by all kinds of Tiny Tim Boss jocks interviews, Tiny Tim voice-overs, Tiny Tim stings, Tiny Tim station promos and breaks, however far you can go. Tiny Tim is another Kahuna, but this time not a phony. If there’s any doubt about whether Tiny Tim is really a star, there won’t be when Boss Radio is done with him. We’ll fucking make him one.”


Jacobs looked at me intently. “And what’s the reason we’re doing this?”


“No reason. Just because KHJ loves Tiny Tim.”


Jacobs closed his eyes, analyzing all possible positives and negatives. He opened them and looked at me with one of his rare smiles. “But how can we mention KRLA’s concert without looking bad?”


“It’s Tiny Tim’s concert. But I’m still not done with their asses. We’ll throw a big VIP onstage party after the concert, invite TV and movie stars who are probably curious about Tiny, and some of the audience who’ll received specially stamped tickets. You’ll hype all this on the air, and I’ll support the celebrity part of it by sending out direct mail RSVP invitations. And, though we won’t say it on the air, we’ll show a little class by inviting the KRLA jocks who are hosting the concert.”


Jacobs was still analyzing. “Something as big as this’ll need cooperation from Tiny’s management.”


“They going to say no? I don’t think so.”


Jacobs stood up. “Let’s go see Devaney.”

Devaney freaked when Jacobs told him we wanted $17,000 for Tiny Tim tickets, especially in the light of KRLA already being on it. But in the end we sold him. Jacobs and I met with Tiny Tim’s management and, though they hated to screw KRLA, they couldn’t turn it down. By the end of the day the amazed girl’s boss in the Santa Monica Civic Box office had accepted our certified check and all the remaining tickets were ours. Tiny Tim had a sellout.

The first thing Tiny’s management recommended was that the Boss Jocks meet Tiny. Jacobs set this up for the regular weekly Boss Jocks meeting at 10 AM the next morning.

It was one of the few Boss Jocks meetings I was ever invited to. Although they all seemed to be relaxed as they sat around the long table, Jacobs at the apex, it was interesting to feel their competitiveness. Steele and Morgan seemed to be trying to outclass and dominate the others. But Riddle was so successful in all media, he was above their ego trips.

A guy in a suit comes in to the room. Jacobs greets him, introduces him as being from Tiny’s management. He speaks to us with a quiet seriousness.

“Mr. Tim is outside, waiting to meet you. But before he does, there are a few things you should know. What Tiny does – how he thinks and speaks and interacts with people, is not an act. Everything you see and hear him do and say and sing, the way he dresses and makes up his face, is the real Tiny Tim. I’m not saying you should condescend to him. He’s not retarded. Just keep it in mind and relate to him accordingly. You’ll find him to be a most benign, sweet person, totally free of guile or games. Any questions?”

Steele asked: “Is he an authority on anything?”

“You’re right, Don. He’s a savant. His expertise is Broadway musicals, from the first one until the one opening tonight. He knows everything about them, set, story, cast, staff, producer, director, and he can sing all, I emphasize all, their songs. Any other questions?”

The Boss Jocks looked at each other in silence.

The suit said: ”Okay. I’ll go get him.”

Tiny Tim entered the meeting looking as we expected him to: long, greasy hair, white face makeup, blue raincoat over a checked sport coat, faded blue jeans, blue suede shoes someone had disobeyed Elvis and stepped on, and carrying his ukulele in a paper shopping bag. He greeted us with a big smile and a shrill, sing-songy “Hello, Boss Jocks!”

There was something about Tiny Tim’s aura that made everyone present smile ear to ear. I enjoyed seeing the usual ultra-cool Real Don Steele hardly believe what he was seeing and not know how to react to Tiny.

Tiny went right on enthusiastically. “I want to thank you for everything you’re doing for me, so here’s a song for you!”

From his shopping bag Tiny pulled out his ukulele and launched into a loud and totally unselfconscious rendition of Tip Toe Through the Tulips. During the ear-splitting song his mascara outlined eyes made a close up focus on each Boss Jock. I was totally entertained by watching sophisticated Morgan almost croak behind trying to conceal his utter amazement.

As the pre-concert promotion expanded, Jacobs did his on-air production thing with Tiny and all the Boss Jocks, and I did my promo thing – photos, stories for print media, Boss 30 cover pic, etc.

But we had agreed to another consideration for Tiny. Jacobs has the station offer to buy Tiny a new Cadillac (enabled by an Art Astor-arranged trade out.) But Tiny didn’t want a Cadillac. What he did want was for someone to drive him down to Palm Springs to see an old retiree from the Broadway of the thirties whom Tiny admired and had longed to meet. Rothbart called the guy, arranged it, and around nine the following morning Rothbart and I picked Tiny up in my Toronado. It was June, and already hot in Los Angeles. I suspected Palm Springs was going to be fierce.

I had wondered whether Tiny was gay, so I was surprised to find that Tiny had a very foxy young woman with him who he introduced as Miss Cohen. It turned out she was a photographer who was going to take pictures for Tiny. I made a deal with her to buy some for KHJ.

We took off for Palm Springs, the two of them in the back seat. Before long, Tiny started a loud, unearthly cackling that made Rothbart and me dare not look back to see what was going on. After that, the gay question was settled, at least for me.

I must have been speeding because out in the open desert, half way to the Springs, a cop pulled me over.

I rolled down my window. The air outside was like a furnace. “Yes, sir?”

“Going a little fast, weren’t you?”

“If you say so, Officer. I wasn’t watching my speedo as closely as I should have.”

The trooper looked in the back seat. A second of recognition flared in his eyes. “Step out of the car.”

I followed him to where he stood at the Toronado’s huge stern. “Yes, sir?”

He nodded toward my back seat. “That who I think it is?”

“I bet so.”

He tore a sheet out of the back of his ticket pad. “Any chance of getting an autograph on this for my daughter?”

“Got a pen?”

I leaned into the Toro’s open window, and explained to Tiny that the officer was a fan and wanted an autograph for his little girl. Tiny agreed, on condition he could shake the officer’s hand. The star struck policeman was doubly pleased and we were on our way without a ticket.

At Tiny’s mentor’s home, I learned that like some Hindu sects, Tiny did not eat in the presence of others. In the garden, the hotter it got, the more he buttoned up his raincoat. He seemed impervious to the amazing Palm Springs heat. He had a great time talking story with his elderly host, who himself was amazed at Tiny’s erudition on Broadway history. We had a fine afternoon and a restful, quiet trip back to Hollywood, except for one short reprise of cackling.

The following Monday I needed to send a photo to the printer for the cover of the Boss 30. So I called Miss Cohen to see if she had anything for me as we had agreed. She answered her phone but I could not understand anything she said to me. I had heard such babbling before and I knew where it was coming from. Finally I had to hang up, screwed. Luckily Rothbart found another Tiny Tim shot we could use. But I was pissed. The back-stabbing little patronizer better never ask me for anything. But she would.

The night of Tiny Tim’s concert at the Santa Monica Civic, KRLA had to have smelled a rat. I had four catering trucks hovering behind the arena. Rothbart and the beautiful black harpist in her bright yellow evening gown with her arbor of roses were at the ready, too. The moment the concert concluded, the backstage invasion began. As soon as everything was set up, Rothbart went out front and guided the VIPs and color ticket holders backstage. It was a hell of a party, with lots of champagne. Even the two KRLA concert host jocks came and enjoyed themselves.

Looking back on it, I know of no other instance in the history of radio where a radio station totally took over an already on-going promotion from its competitor, made the promotion its own, even improved on it so radically that the market believed the promotion was original, while the true originating station was totally plowed under. I think after that, KRLA never undertook another major on-air promotion before eventually changing to an all-talk format.

Copyright 2010 Donald B. Berrigan