ALOHA AHMET

The Biggest Kahuna

Everyone's been buzzing about the new biography of Ahmet Ertegun, released earlier this month: The Last Sultan: The Life and Times of Ahmet Ertegun by Robert Greenfield. Amazing Amazon lets you search to see if you are in a book! DNS (Digital Narcissism Syndrome.) Let's face it: who does not do that thing first off with the arrival of a book and new ink smell?

There are two paragraphs about how our KHJ "exclusives" had radio people from all over the country screaming at him and Atlantic. He always acknowledged that KHJ launched Sonny & Cher just after they were Caesar & Cleo. Ahmet mentions Bill Drake once "because he was fun to drink with" or some such.

When Charlie Greene and Brian Stone took me with them to NYC at the peak of the S&C craze; FIVE hits on Billboard charts. We spent a week a week at The Plaza and who knows how much those guys spent in Manhattan’s jewelry district alone. Not to mention wine-women-and-song.

Or how Nesuhi Ertegun and I were the only haole (Caucasians) at the debut introduction of American Top 40, which Tom Rounds and I crashed as unregistered guerrilla ops. We had snuck into a convention in Majorca in the summer of 1970 and did our pitch (using Wollensak tape recorder in the basement of a little Catholic church with a handful of young girl students in their uniforms our audience. The name Casey Kasem might have been only thing that they could comprehend. To them it probably sounded like a food dish.

Ahmet was most intense genius record guy I ever knew. And he always credited KHJ and his hours drinking with Drake at Martoni's for much of Atlantic Records mid-60’s rise to the top.

This excerpt is from my book KHJ: Inside Boss Radio (2002.)

Sonny & Cher and The Real Don Steele. KHJ 1965.

Ron Jacobs: In the beginning, we had no superstar group to endorse the station by association. When I arrived from Honolulu in 1965 a friend from there, Judy Moll, told me that her bosses Charlie Greene and Brian Stone were down to selling their office equipment to keep going. So, Caesar & Cleo became Sonny & Cher. We did little promotions and they would do whatever we asked them to do. Sonny was confident that if he just came up with something good, KHJ would give his record his shot.

Sonny Bono: Actually, the song came to me quickly, as did most of my songs. Sitting at the kitchen table, I began scribbling lyrics on the back of a sheet of cardboard from some laundry just back from the cleaners. When it was half done, and I completed the song in about an hour, I sprung it on Cher, who grabbed the cardboard from the piano and grinned, “I’m going to save this forever.”

Sometimes you write a song and don’t think much of it. Then, surprise, it explodes. But other times, you know absolutely that the song is solid gold, waiting to happen. That’s the enthusiasm Cher and I had about, “I Got You Babe.” We couldn’t race to the studio fast enough. At the sessions, the electricity flowed at even higher voltage. Everybody from Charlie and Brian to our pianist, Leon Russell, was blown away. When everyone, from the artists to the writers to the musicians on down to the studio receptionist can’t stop singing and dancing when hearing a song being created, it’s amazing! But Ahmet Ertegun, head of the record company, disagreed on which song to release as the single. He really loved, “It’s Gonna Rain.” I liked, “I Got You Babe.” I tried to persuade him otherwise, but he wouldn’t change his opinion. After arguing unsuccessfully with Ahmet, I decided to go out on a limb and prove I was right. Atco was already promoting “Rain” when I cut acetate of “Babe.”

Charlie Greene: I remember the first time I heard “I Got You Babe” coming out of KHJ. Shit, man, it sounded so fucking good. It sounded incredible and that was it, the ballgame was over. The next day it virtually was a hit. The KHJ switchboard lit up and we weren’t doing it! We had everybody ready to start calling in when they heard it, you know, everybody call. But we couldn’t get through to the switchboard, man. KHJ was getting absolutely swamped with requests. Sonny and Cher became the Beatles of Boss Radio, so to speak. They would come down to the station whenever KHJ wanted them to. Any time. We would do all kinds of shtick ’cause Jacobs was coming up with new ideas that somehow included Sonny and Cher. They were impressed with everything about the station. Loved The Real Don Steele. I mean, they were happening and Boss Radio was happening. It all broke loose with KHJ, I’m telling you. There’s no question about it. As far as I’m concerned, KHJ helped make, or made, Sonny and Cher.

Ron Jacobs: And so Sonny and Cher — of course it was really Charlie — were standing by with a bunch of people ready to call KHJ the first time we played the record. The lines lit up so much legit that their callers couldn’t even get through! So Charlie and Brian and Sonny were going nuts and all of a sudden, ba-boom!

And KHJ went all out to establish the Sonny & Cher-Boss Radio connection. We commissioned Sandy Barron, the hip graphics designer, to do a special KHJ Sonny & Cher-KHJ logo and we ran those on bus benches all around town, you know, the kind that advertise funeral homes. Sure, “I Got You Babe” was a dynamite commercial hit. But the big push nationally came after KHJ got on the record. And that happened only because Sonny Bono and Charlie Greene would not take “no” for an answer. And, I like to think, because Drake and Jacobs could hear a hit.

Dexter Young: I remember when Sonny and Cher came to the studio to do on-air interviews. Jacobs had brought them directly from LAX where they had just returned from a European tour. Jacobs asked Sonny to get rid of a briefcase he was carrying and he said no, that it contained the cash, their percentage from the European tour.

Ron Jacobs: In the beginning, we had no superstar group to endorse the station by association. Judy Moll told me that her bosses Charlie Greene and Brian Stone were down to selling their office equipment to keep going. So, Caesar & Cleo became Sonny & Cher. We did little promotions and they would do whatever we asked them to do. Sonny was confident that if he just came up with something good, KHJ would give his record his shot.

Sonny Bono: Actually, the song came to me quickly, as did most of my songs. Sitting at the kitchen table, I began scribbling lyrics on the back of a sheet of cardboard from some laundry just back from the cleaners. When it was half done, and I completed the song in about an hour, I sprung it on Cher, who grabbed the cardboard from the piano and grinned, “I’m going to save this forever.”

Sometimes you write a song and don’t think much of it. Then, surprise, it explodes. But other times, you know absolutely that the song is solid gold, waiting to happen. That’s the enthusiasm Cher and I had about, “I Got You Babe.” We couldn’t race to the studio fast enough. At the sessions, the electricity flowed at even higher voltage. Everybody from Charlie and Brian to our pianist, Leon Russell, was blown away. When everyone, from the artists to the writers to the musicians on down to the studio receptionist can’t stop singing and dancing when hearing a song being created, it’s amazing! But Ahmet Ertegun, head of the record company, disagreed on which song to release as the single. He really loved, “It’s Gonna Rain.” I liked, “I Got You Babe.” I tried to persuade him otherwise, but he wouldn’t change his opinion. After arguing unsuccessfully with Ahmet, I decided to go out on a limb and prove I was right. Atco was already promoting “Rain” when I cut acetate of “Babe.”

Charlie Greene: I remember the first time I heard “I Got You Babe” coming out of KHJ. Shit, man, it sounded so fucking good. It sounded incredible and that was it, the ballgame was over. The next day it virtually was a hit. The KHJ switchboard lit up and we weren’t doing it! We had everybody ready to start calling in when they heard it, you know, everybody call. But we couldn’t get through to the switchboard, man. KHJ was getting absolutely swamped with requests. Sonny and Cher became the Beatles of Boss Radio, so to speak. They would come down to the station whenever KHJ wanted them to. Any time. We would do all kinds of shtick ’cause Jacobs was coming up with new ideas that somehow included Sonny and Cher. They were impressed with everything about the station. Loved The Real Don Steele. I mean, they were happening and Boss Radio was happening. It all broke loose with KHJ, I’m telling you. There’s no question about it. As far as I’m concerned, KHJ helped make, or made, Sonny and Cher.

Ron Jacobs: And so Sonny and Cher — of course it was really Charlie — were standing by with a bunch of people ready to call KHJ the first time we played the record. The lines lit up so much legit that their callers couldn’t even get through! So Charlie and Brian and Sonny were going nuts and all of a sudden, ba-boom!

And KHJ went all out to establish the Sonny & Cher-Boss Radio connection. We commissioned Sandy Barron, the hip graphics designer, to do a special KHJ Sonny & Cher-KHJ logo and we ran those on bus benches all around town, you know, the kind that advertise funeral homes. Sure, “I Got You Babe” was a dynamite commercial hit. But the big push nationally came after KHJ got on the record. And that happened only because Sonny Bono and Charlie Greene would not take “no” for an answer. And, I like to think, because Drake and Jacobs could hear a hit.

Dexter Young: I remember when Sonny and Cher came to the studio to do on-air interviews. Jacobs had brought them directly from LAX where they had just returned from a European tour. Jacobs asked Sonny to get rid of a briefcase he was carrying and he said no, that it contained the cash, their percentage from the European tour.

STILL AWAITING NFL

Well, back again after the Byzantine path my life has taken since my last post. Some team with horns on its helmets "played" on Sunday. It was such a letdown I have purged my mind and hard drives of all the stuff about that horrific display. So ... with great memories of NFL Past, here's something for you football junkies and/or those with time to kill amd who still READ ...

Still waiting for MY season to start.

I am the fan the Rams left behind. My addiction began in 1965 when I took over as Program Director of KHJ Radio in Los Angeles. Among the job perks: Six Ram season tickets. Harlan Svare was in his third and last year as the team’s head coach.

The glamour and victories of the Fifties had vanished. The Rams had plenty of tickets available to pass out to the media.

Coming from Hawaii, I thought a big time football game was the high school Thanksgiving Day Doubleheader played yearly in the old Honolulu Stadium. How old was the place? Built in 1922; by the 50s it was known as the "Termite Palace." But that didn’t hold down attendance. Crowds of over 20,000 jammed into the place, which officially held 17,500. Arch high school rivalries like Punahou vs. Kamehameha, which dates back to the 19th century, would be fought out, often in the autumn mud.

When I first moved to California in 1962, after a few months in San Bernardino, I moved to Fresno for two years. (I had seen enough of the Fresno State Bulldogs in their visits, playing the University of Hawaii. The crowds were much smaller at UH games than for the high school battles.) Roommate Frank Terry and I drove north from the San Joaquin Valley early Sunday mornings, to Kezar Stadium to watch the 49ers play under the seagulls and their droppings.

But it was the Rams that hung me up. On my first trip to Los Angeles in March of ‘62, while scouting for talent for a new radio station, I often hung out at the Gaiety Delicatessen on Vine Street. That was the gathering place for disc jockeys who were “on the beach” -– radio jargon for unemployed. One such was Bill Watson, an L.A. native who grew up in the San Fernando Valley when the Rams were the most glamorous team in the ascending sport of professional football. They won the league championship in 1951 with a team packed with future Hall of Fame players.

Watson was the perfect age to go crazy over that. He was a jock. Not just a radio deejay, he ran track for his Burbank high school. Watson raved on and on about the Los Angeles Rams the way an L. Ron Hubbard disciple proselytizes Scientology. We went to the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum to see Watson’s idols play. I can’t remember many specific details.

Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum

The place seemed huge enough to hold the population of the island of Lanai – about 20 times over. The action on and off the field was too fast for me. But actually I identified with the Rams in many ways. They were born the same year as me, in 1937. Their record was as bad as the ratings of KHJ Boss Radio, the L.A. radio station that I joined up with in '65.

In 1966, George Allen arrived to coach the team and vowed to turn things around—fast. (He accomplished that but we actually did it even quicker. KHJ went from the cellar to the top of the L.A. radio ratings in five months. You can look it up.)

The mid-60's were energized. Indeed, "The times they were a-changin'." KHJ presented Bob Dylan at the Hollywood Bowl for his first "electric" performance. The Doors were a local house band, playing the Sunset Strip. A record company gofer and his acne’d angular teenage wife hung out at our radio station, eager to promote their first record—after changing their name from "Caesar and Cleo." They are now known as former US Congressman, the late Sony Bono and the glamorous Perpetual Diva, Cher. On KHJ the hits just kept on comin' as "Boss Radio" became a national fad. And the Rams commanded more respect as the years went by.

Longtime Rams announcer Bob Kelley – he came west with the team from Cleveland, then died of a heart attack in 1964. He was replaced on KMPC, the Rams flagship station, by a rookie play-by-play man, Dick Enberg.

At work I met people like Mick Jagger, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles and ALL the rest while trying to play it Hollywood cool. On Sundays, five other allegedly mature men and I motored to the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum in what was then known as Watts; now it’s usually called South Central. We’d turn over our complimentary tickets (valued at $6.00), pass through Tunnel 7, traipse up the stairs from to Row 72 and climb over people to Seats 124-129.

"Mama" Cass Elliott. RIP

Our core group of six fanatics were Mitch Fisher, Chuck Stein, (the wonderful) Bill Kelly, Milo Periichitch and one “revolving” seat for Peter Gardiner/Allen Daviau/Mama Cass or some other rock star who dug pro football, someone's guest or even my first wife, Lenore.

We'd sit down still gripping one of the world's most revolting hot dogs, a cuppa over-fizzed Coke or putrid coffee — and go berserk for four hours screaming for Merlin, Deacon and the rest of the Dee-Fense to make the big play again. And we'd holler ugly slurs at the offense (led by Roman Gabriel) when they sputtered, which happened much too often for our liking. Fisher called him “Pineapple Head,” because he was somehow “ethnic.” Between us all, in full fury, we could hit 120 decibels to express disgust at what the Rams were not doing.

L.A.'s pro football fortunes were changing fast. Previously anonymous defensive linemen became the "Fearsome Foursome." traveling to Ram home games was an adventure in the mid-60's, during the NFL season. Every Sunday always started with the same argument: Where to stop for bagels? Which delicatessen, Canter’s or Ma Gordon's? The bagels were better at Canter’s, but Ma Gordon's was the perverse alternative because the proprietor was a retired, bald professional wrestler.

Next came the debate over which route to take to the Coliseum? I was the designated driver. Why not? I had a new Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Lovin' Spoonful on the radio. KHJ – BOSS Radio. Rams gonna win today? Do You Believe In Magic? Fisher mentioned THAT title just as the song came on KHJ. The five passengers smoked unauthorized cigarettes and tried to out-bellow the navigational suggestions screamed by the others.

"Hey, man, you know Santa Barbara's screwed every time they put the 'No Left Turn' sign up on Santa Barbara, man." Puff, puff. "Hey man, take the Harbor Freeway. Stay left, cut in at the last second and come off on Figueroa. Then you got the parking lot on the right, no sweat." Toke, toke.

After the route argument was resolved we'd pull into the parking lot — and become really frustrated. We switched on the pre-game show on KMPC. We looked up and saw the rear of the press box where the program was coming from. And we waited for what seemed like forever to be shunted into the spot the Lebanese Parking Gestapo had chosen for us. It was always a space that meant waiting long after the final gun before we even got the car out of the huge lot and onto the jammed surface streets.

1966. Our second preseason opened with the traditional Los Angeles Times Annual Charity Game. The L.A. Rams vs. the Cleveland Browns. Just as I pulled into the Santa Barbara parking lot one of our gang, Chuck Stein, a sly accountant, demanded that I stop at the entrance. He got out of the car and walked up to the first parking lot attendant he encountered. Mumble, mumble. Israel-Arab Handshake. Friendly waves to one another. Chuck returned smiling. For a mere twenty dollars he had permanently ingratiated us with "The Lebanese Underground," our name for the stadium's parking crew.

Lebanese National Flag

We repeated this opening day ritual every year until the team moved to Anaheim. You know what they say, "If you wanna slide, you gotta grease."

Thereafter, for the rest of the Rams' Coliseum games we parked in just about the best spot available. It was on the sneaky little alley on the South side of the stadium, next to the old Olympic swimming pool. We'd usually end up behind the limo that brought the Mayor of Los Angeles to the games.

During the fourth quarter, the parking crew let down the chain that kept anyone from pulling into the alley. This gave Mayor Bradley, ourselves and a few others a direct shot right out of the lot. While thousands of other Ram fans were still crammed in the Coliseum aisles and tunnels or searching the lot for their cars, we were on Hoover Street and heading home. VIP, cool.

Cruisin’ through Watts, the Caddy windows wide open, we screamed with what was left of our voices: "L. A. Rams, baby! We're Number One!" We were at one with James Brown. I Feel Good!

Being a radio guy, I was impressed with one player's voice, class and intelligence during post-game interviews. He also remains my all-time favorite Ram player on the field. That's when I discovered how articulate #74 Merlin Olsen was, besides possessing a resonant radio voice and always remained a gentlemen, no matter what had transpired on the field. After his Hall of Fame career he became as fine a broadcaster as he was a defensive tackle.

During their last season in Southern California, two other Ram greats from the 60's served as color analysts for their radio broadcasts on KMPC, which continued airing the games through to the bitter end. Those former players cum announcers were Deacon Jones and Jack Snow. One of the first homemade banners ever displayed in the Coliseum read, "Deacon—for Secretary of Defense." Prophetic. In retrospect, it turned out that David Jones' Pro Football Hall of Fame career positively shines, compared with that of the actual Secretary of Defense at that time, Robert McNamara. Revelations in McNamara’s autobiography about his role in the Vietnam War qualify him for the Political Hall of Shame.

Then there was Jack Snow, whose little boy would grow up to be major league baseball standout J. T. Snow. According to Dick Enberg, then the Rams' radio play-by-play announcer, Jack Snow was “never caught from behind." In the 1960's, until Bernie Casey arrived from the 49ers, Snow was the closest thing to a deep receiving threat the Rams had. But "Bullet" Bob Hayes he was not.

"Never caught from behind!"

Each game, Snow, the All-American from Notre Dame, would somehow get open, gather in a bomb thrown up by Roman Gabriel and take off for the goal line—only to be tracked down and tackled by some speedy 49er, or Colt or Packer defensive back. This was glossed over by Enberg. The next week, it was the old, “Never caught from behind" routine by again. Ah, radio, "Theater of the mind." We guys in Row 72 really dug Enberg, so we just ignored his snow job descriptions of #84’s prowess year after year.

It was during the next-to-last game of 1967, against Green Bay, winners of Super Bowl I, that we learned a major rule: Never, ever, leave a game early. The Packers and Rams were in the same division back then. The Pack’s nefarious head coach,Vince Lombardi, symbolized all that was evil in The Universe. As usual Lombardi’s team was kicking the Rams’ butts. So with just minutes left in the season’s penultimate game and Green Bay beating the Rams who managed only a lackluster offense that day, we headed for the exit.

We nearly reached the Coupe DeVille. Following the silence of a time out we suddenly heard an ecstatic roar rise out of the Coliseum. Huddled around our portable radio we heard Enberg scream that Rams linebacker Tony Guillory had blocked a Packer punt near their own goal line. Chaos! Confusion!

Incomplete Ram pass. Then, on second down, Enberg described Gabriel’s perfect lob pass to Bernie Casey in the corner of the end zone. Touchdown! Rams win, 27-24. Riding home, we were too pissed off at our disloyalty to fully savor the victory. It was George Allen's greatest moment. And where were we? In the parking lot, listening to it on the radio. Thereafter our crew remained in our seats, even if the Rams were down by four touchdowns.

While driving away from the games, win or lose, we always listened to the post-game shows on KMPC From the very start of my Ram addiction in 1965, there was always a consistent, mysterious sound in the background of every Ram post-game locker room interview. We began to call the unknown person who made it, "The Whistler." No matter if it was a chat with Jack Pardee before the game, or an interview with Dick "Scooter" Bass after a great rushing performance, there was always one constant: The same haunting melody, whistled in the background.

We spent years trying to figure out who was doing it. Was it an equipment man, a coach, a player—what? Out best guess was that "The Whistler" was a bulwark of the offensive line, guard Joe Scibelli. He had been with the Rams since 1961. Was it just coincidence that the background whistling came to a stop in 1976, the year after the former Golden Domer Scibelli retired?

The identity of "The Whistler" was the big ongoing mystery and the subject of much debate for years, until it was replaced by a much more ominous and perplexing question: "What was the real story on the death “by drowning” of team owner Carroll Rosenbloom?”

Who killed Carroll Rosenbloom?

Superstition and voodoo. There are certain rituals we fans partake in to assure (or at least encourage) victory for the team. Well, I have a confession to make. The Rams would be undefeated right now [five games into the 1995 season, after suffering their first defeat] if it wasn't for something really stupid and masochistic I did one summer.

This story has its origins in 1967. George Allen took over as head coach of the Rams in '66 and in one season turned the team from losers to winners, just like Rich Brooks has been doing with the Rams this year. Allen inherited a seventh place team with a 4-10 record and finished the next year at 8-6. In his second year, he took the team to the old Western Conference championship game before losing to the Super Bowl-bound Green Bay Packers. Still, Allen's sophomore record was 11-1-2 . (Ties counted in those days.)

In 1967 I was still the Program Director of KHJ Radio, the job that came with six Rams season tickets. Mitchell Fisher, the first friend I made when I arrived in LA in April 1962. He also worked at the KHJ in charge of promotion, and also one of the original Boys In Row 72 who went to all the Ram home games with me.

The year before, the Rams lost the final game of the season to Vince Lombardi's fucking Green Bay Packers. In '67 it all came down to the final game of the year, against the Baltimore Colts. The Rams under Allen had played the Colts fairly even since he took over. But the Colts possessed perhaps the single most deadly offensive weapon in the NFL: Quarterback Johnny Unitas, #19.

Unitas broke our hearts as often as any opponent. And on December 17, 1967, Johnny U. was coming to town for the last regular season game. Fisher and I were young, crazy and totally committed to the Rams by then. We read in the newspapers that the Baltimore team would be staying at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotelnear our radio station, which was located on 5515 Melrose (before that street became famous). Further, the papers said the Colts had scheduled their Friday practice at the Hollywood High School football field, a few blocks away from KHJ.

Mitch and I, both of us being "executives," decided we would wander over and heckle the Colts. We got there before the team's busses arrived. Separated by a chain link fence from the bus stop seemed to be Hairy Mammoths. We positioned ourselves just five feet away from where Unitas and his team mates would depart the vehicle and trot onto the field. The first bus pulled up and the players disembarked. Linemen appeared much bigger than they did on TV. Up close, runners and linebackers looked like Superman. Then a frail, pale guy with a crew cut and high top black shoes stepped off the bus. Hall of Fame quarterback Johnny Unitas, #19.

"How's it going, Johnny?"

We went nuts, bellowing things like: "You'll get yours Sunday, Johnny U!." "Hey, hot shot, the Fearsome Foursome is waiting to eat you alive." These exclamations were liberally sprinkled with expletives, which we felt safe shouting since we were separated from the target of our derision by that chain link fence. We felt like spectators at a zoo, jeering the dangerous beasts, hoping to not show the deep-seated secret fear we felt if the fence ever gave in. One of the NFL's earliest monster defensive linemen, Bubba Smith, glowered at us. We were harassing the great Unitas and Bubba snarled, eager to wring both our necks— simultaneously. The Colts jogged off winners. Fisher and I went back to work, knowing we had unfavorably influenced the outcome of the game in favor of Baltimore..

And, of course, we did. Final score on Sunday: George Allen's Rams 34, Johnny Unitas' Colts 10. Los Angeles finished in first place. We were on Cloud Nine—for six days—until the Rams went to Lambeau Field and were blown out by the Pack 28-7. But we had won something, first place in the division, and beat the Colts to get there and on to the playoffs.

Cut to July 15, 1995. The Rams have left California and I'm looking forward to the new season in a new city with a new coach. Believe me, after seeing most of their games at Anaheim in ‘94, both the team and the crowds couldn't have been more apathetic, drunk and lacking in knowledge of the NFL . I was ready to watch them win on satellite rather than sit there in person and watch them self-destruct.

On this July day I drove to Anaheim again, but it was to attend a big Sports Card and Memorabilia Show. (My obsession was to collect every Ram card ever issued.) These shows feature big name star, there to sign, for a fee, various items: photos, balls, bats, helmets, gloves, etc. At this show, signatures ranged from $14 (Kellen Winslow) to $135 (Magic Johnson.) In between were superstars, from Dick Butkus to Stan Musial to Juius Erving.

I spotted a beautiful magazine—Legends Sports Memorabilia, November-December 1994 issue—which featured color paintings of the Rams great "Fearsome Foursome," which Sports Illustrated had just proclaimed one of the two greatest defensive lines of all time. (The Vikings' "Purple People Eaters" were the other.) The magazine that caught my eye showed Merlin Olsen and Deacon Jones in the Rams' late-60s blue-and-white uniforms and Roosevelt Grier and Lamar Lundy in the in the early-60s blue-and-gold jerseys. The magazine was autographed by all the guys. I didn't think twice. Bought it for $90 on the spot.

Later, while sorting through thousands of cards displayed by a dealer from Houston, looking for obscure Rams, I heard an announcement on the P.A. system: "Johnny Unitas will be signing for 15 more minutes." Suddenly I flashed on all those thrilling moments in the Coliseum, the Foursome charging, Unitas standing firm in the pocket, releasing the ball at the last second.

I was under the influence of a higher pigskin power. I walked out the lobby and purchased a $30 ticket for a Unitas autograph. Looked like a computerized concert ticket. I checked out the 8x10 photos of the Hall of Fame QB on sale for five bucks each. The one I bought showed Johnny U. standing alone in a field, with trees scattered in the background. There he stands, ball cocked over his right shoulder, left arm extended, stoic look on his face. Perfect.

I walked back to the autograph area. There was Unitas, alone with one autograph dealer, signing 8x10's with a blue Sharpie pen. Like a production line, one every ten-seconds, headed for fans all over the country, completely impersonal, just a scrawled "Johnny Unitas." I strolled up and mumbled something like, "How's it going, Johnny?" Without looking up or stopping his routine, he said, "Great."

I started to blabber about how the last time I "talked" to him in was in 1967, when he was getting off the team bus at Hollywood High School. The man at Unitas' side stiffened, like I was some sort of deranged Colt-hater with a 9mm pistol in my pocket. So I quickly began to ooze things like, "Hey, John, you were the greatest the Rams ever had to play against. Remember those games in the old Coliseum?"

Unitas, who had huge, gnarled hands and sported a large gold ring, actually stopped and looked up. His companion relaxed. The great quarterback looked up at me and said, "Yeah, those were good times." I asked him if he would write something personal on my picture. "Sure," he said, "what should I put?”

My mind froze. All I could remember was this immortal passer in the white helmet with the blue horseshoe on it. I recalled how many times we drove away from the Coliseum disconsolate because Unitas had whipped the Rams on the last series of the game. How unstoppable he was. Meanwhile, Unitas strained at me. So I blurted out my request.

Now, I have the photo, neatly framed, on the wall right next to the Fearsome Foursome magazine cover. It's a great metaphor. Four monsters trying to claw their way at him, while the legendary QB stands there with impunity, poised to burn the Rams secondary. That's cool. I could start a sports bar with the other stuff on the walls: Autographed Jerome Bettis picture, 1994 Rams Throwback poster, etc.

It's just the inscription on the Unitas photo that I KNOW personally cost the Rams to lose their one game so far. By three points at that. Forget Marshall Faulk ripping off those long runs. Don't blame Johnny Bailey and Todd Kinchen for dropping key passes. Un-unh. Blame ME, the guy with the picture of the greatest Colt of all-time up there on my wall. And written in bright blue ink, "To R.J. — Loved Beating Those Rams. Johnny Unitas. July 15,1995."

Since this is being written after the 1995 Ram-Bear game, it's an appropriate time to recall some previous meetings between the two original pro teams. But first some background. The Cleveland Rams fifth game in franchise history was played against the Chicago Bears on October 10, 1937. The week before, the Rams took on the Windy City's other team, the Chicago Cardinals, which as readers of this journal surely know, would become the St. Louis Cardinals in 1960. In the Rams' inaugural year, they lost to the two Chicago teams by a combined score of 26-2.

Ditka. #89.

So you see, the Ram's rivalry with both the Bears goes way back. But, the 1985 Chicago Bears, coached by Mike Ditka, have Super Bowl rings to show for those 58 years. The closest the Rams have come to winning it all, since their 1951 pre-merger NFL championship, was on January 20, 1980 at the Rose Bowl. They would win Super Bowl XIX in the 1999 season. Also time ran out in the third quarter, the Rams led the Pittsburgh Steelers 19-17 in Super Bowl XIV. Sorry, but I have a permanent mental block about the remainder of that game. (However, I do suffer recurring nightmares of John Stallworth running wild with Terry Bradshaw passes.)

Back to 1995's fourth opponent. I remember many things from watching Ram-Bear battles in the L. A. Coliseum from high up in Row 72. Consider the second game of the 1965 season. Ram owner Dan Reeves (not the ex-Cowboy who also coached the Giants, but the Real Dan Reeves), had stolen away defensive genius, coach George Allen from the Bears to coach his team. "Papa Bear" George Halas, the Chicago team’s founder—and coach spanning 34 years—was enraged. He complained to the league office and threatened to sue the Rams. George Allen had directed the Bear defense, winning recognition in 1953, the year Chicago won the NFL title with its strong D. After that championship game, the players carried Allen, not Halas, off the field.

As Halas' protégé, it was assumed Allen would take over when the Old Man retired. But George Halas seemed destined to coach until he died—he kept doing it until the age of 72—so Allen left to become head coach of the Los Angeles Rams. Southland fans were still reeling from Harland Svare's previous three seasons as head coach, during which he won 13 games and lost 41. We didn't know it, but George Allen was about to turn a 4-10 team around in one year, going to 8-6 in his first season as head coach of the Rams.

The first game between teacher Halas and pupil Allen was a long-awaited, much-hyped affair. The previous week, the Rams lost their first game under Allen on the road against the Detroit Lions. The Rams were shut out 20-0. Didn't score a point. No one gave L. A. a chance in their next game, the home opener against Halas' "Monsters of the Midway." When the Bears hit town for the September 26, 1965 match up of mentor versus disciple, Chicago was still employing George Allen's ferocious defense.

In those days, the Bears wore jerseys with very small numbers. I guess Halas didn't think TV would last. But no one needed a "#51" to spot Dick Butkus. Greatest middle linebacker I ever saw. On offense there was #40, the immortal runner Gale Sayers. The day everyone had been waiting for arrived at last. Los Angeles held its breath. What revenge would Halas extract on his mutinous former disciple?

The Old Man, who always wore a rumpled dark suit, stalked the sidelines. George Allen, who during games always appeared on the verge of a massive heart attack, implored his new Ram team to shut down the Bears. The Ram defensive line—not yet christened the "Fearsome Foursome"—help hold Chicago to 28 points. Somehow, the Rams scored two more than that. Halas, sulked off the field. In Row 72, we went nuts. Los Angeles finally had a winner.

The next year, during a Bear game in the Coliseum, a spectator did the stupidest thing a fan can do: He jumped onto the field in an attempt to prance 100 yards across it to impress his friends and the huge crowd. (It was the late-60s, who knows what substances he consumed before this act of madness?)

Starting in the West end zone, this kid pranced around the Ram defense, which looked on bemused. The officials stood in place, hands on hips, waiting for the folly to finish. The fool thought he had it made—he merely had to dance past the team in the blue jerseys with the orange trim. As he ran by the Bear huddle, a very big guy with a very small "89" on his jersey leaned out of the Chicago huddle and delivered a forearm smash to the throat of the poor fan who had been running at full speed. The victim dropped like a Scud missile. Yes, Bear tight end Mike Ditka—who played even tougher than he talks—had knocked the interloper out cold. The game was delayed for what seemed like an hour, as the crowed booed deafeningly each time the Bears lined up to resume play.

Then, there was the most surrealistic series of downs I've ever seen in an NFL game. It happened when the Rams were played the Bears in the Coliseum in 1968. By then, Los Angles was a serious contender in the old Western Division. They would finish the season in second place with a 10-3-1 record. But—it would have been 11-2-1 and possibly first place, but for the last Ram offensive series of the game. Los Angeles was just inside Chicago territory, trailing 17-16, with little time remaining.

Quarterback Roman Gabriel, in his blue-and-white #18 jersey, stood back in the pocket and tossed three long passes into the Bear end zone, all tantalizingly close, all incomplete. Then, with seconds left in the game, the offense trotted off the field and the Bears ran out the clock.

Only my friend Bill Kelly spotted it instantly. "Fourth down, fourth down!" he screamed. The Rams radio announcer, Dick Enberg, didn't notice anything odd. The P. A. announcer merely announced, "First down, Chicago." I focused my Bushnell wide-angle Rangemaster binoculars on the Ram bench in front of us. The players and coaches were hanging their heads. I swear we weren't hallucinating. It was "Three and REALLY out."

Even though L. A. was the capital of the psychedelic world at the time, I swear this TRULY happened. An NFL professional football team's pivotal game of their season, threw three diffused bombs into the Chicago Bear end zone—-and left the field. Bears 17, Rams 16. Remember that the next time you hear about George Allen, stickler for details and coaching “genius.”

KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO ~ SHIPPING!

We’ve all heard it said, regardless of what the media involved, that, "The very best advertising is by Word Of Mouth." That's certainly been something I've seen proved correct continuously over the years.

Within the last week, wonderfully patient folks have awaited the arrival of the revised edition of KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO. The emails, letters and phone calls from those who have read the book are more gratifying to me (and the crew who worked on it) than I can can convey in words.

The closest thing is a Hawaiian mahalo!

An email arrived (DING) just as I typed the previous sentence. It s from writer and audiophile Gary Ginell, who says: "I am enjoying the hell out of your book. As one who has worked in that atmosphere (AM radio), I've worked with jingles, petulant DJs, playlists, commercials, weather spots, etc. etc. and know how complex it is.

"I'm re-listening to old KHJ air checks now from when I was 12 and 13 years old, when KHJ was like the air that I breathed. That was 1968 and '69 when you guys were on top of the world. You had such a tight rein on that format, and the music was so damned good back then. I really appreciate the variety of music you programmed. That's what gave me my broad taste today. You didn't care if it was black, white, vocal, instrumental, acoustic, electric, or whatever.

"Thanks, Gary."

And what a thrill to read what the legendary Chuck Blore wrote in a note to a friend. Yes, the same genius who was my programming idol, mentioned often in the KHJ book. I rubbed my eyes and read it again:

“When you look at the history of L.A. Radio, there are two stations whose monumental ratings numbers set them apart from all the rest. They are, as records indicate, KFWB-Color Radio, which averaged an audience share of over 35 through the mid-1969s, and, later, KHJ-Boss Radio which averaged close to 30, starting its run in 1965.

"Today, if a station even came close to a double-digit number it would make headlines 3 inches tall in online broadcast stories. Each of these historically successful stations needs to be memorialized. My autobio, which includes those days as PD of KFWB, is now hopefully nearing publication. The “KHJ book” is sitting in from of me right now.

"It's called KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO. It is incredible in its infinite behind the scenes detail of how a truly great radio station was run, and I think, could be again if there was a PD as passionate as the book’s author, and former PD, Ron Jacobs. That's especially true because the entire second half of the book are his memos which are not only critical of something gone wrong, but explain in sometimes almost bombastic detail exactly how to do it right.

"I didn't really intend to run off on a rant like this, but it's really something everyone who has anything thing to do with, or interest in radio, then and now, would like to know about. I promise, it's really an exciting read for anyone and everyone who is in, has been in, or listened to Top 40 radio at its best, in its peak: 93/KHJ.”

Gracias, Señor Blore.

So ... Lord and Lady Blogsters, we will interupt the excerpts of KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO that have been posted here for the past few weeks, to present more feedback just received.

Then, if you are curious about ALL the details about the book and getting your copy, please go to http://www.93khj.com/

One more email that made my day: "I received and read KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO last Friday. I've read through it once, and am reading through it again.

"Everyone in what's left of the business should do the same. If they did, what comes out of the box would surely improve, and any jock with a modicum of talent would only be made better. Hell, it would aid the medium's ability to compete with IPods and the Internet. It might, maybe, could even encourage the testicular fortitude needed to maintain some integrity, while peacefully co-existing with sales...as opposed to sales running roughshod as they do, post Telecom '96.

"Memos like those you wrote 40-45 years in the past, can still rouse the competitive fire of any one who GETS it.

"There's not a single directive that does not apply today. They are fierce, laser-focused, and unrelenting. Especially the parts about not COASTING (although, in Southern California, today, you'd have to spell that kind of radio-mindset with a "K").

"I have worked at KRTH for 16 years--first as a 34-year-old, on staff with Morgan and Steele, an honor that was simply unreal, through today, marshaling the tough weekend hours along with Charlie Tuna, yet another privilege.

"As a first grader, in the fall of 1965, I'd be grabbing my lunch pail, heading to the bus stop, while my older brothers readied themselves for high school, with splashes of Aqua Velva on their faces, and Robert W. on their transistor radios.

"Imagine what it was like for me to have Morgan enter the KRTH control room in the summer of 1994 and tell me, "...you make the station sound good." Or three years later, having Don Steele's producer relay a message to me as RDS lay terminally ill: "That guy sounds like he's havin' fun!" Or to have Charlie Tuna compliment my preparation. UNBELIEVABLE!!

"Absorbing the history of KHJ, as it was directed and executed, inspires me to work even harder to cut through the malaise of today's radio. If that was your intent when deciding to publish this book, congratulations: it worked!

"Don't worry about the delay in its arrival--I didn't snap-up a copy in 2002, when I should have. Standing-by for a few months until you could re-release it was not a problem. It's the best 93 bucks I've spent in a while.

"I just hope that more people in this business can get past their epic megalomania and realize that the written history of what you accomplished is available for perusal. And I hope you understand that this is not from a stuttering-fan/suck-up.

"My wish is that one of these remaining companies would put your considerable wisdom and fire to use, TODAY." All the Best, David L. Burchett AKA Dave Randall. Thousand Oaks, CA."

Many thanks, Dave, I hope you make it to Hawaii some day and we can meet up.

So there you go,dear reader, some "words of mouth," all unsolicited. I hope you can get the book and enjoy it as much as these folks. Aloha, RJ.

2 B continued . . .

http://www.93khj.com/

KHJ: INSIDE BOSS RADIO ~ Part 19

Humble Harve compares the other cat's whiskers

Humble Harve: Johnny Williams once said that when you go in the conference room for the jock meeting you check your ego at the door. Well, it better be that way because the whole idea was that if one spoke comes off the wheel, the wheel’s eventually going to fall apart and everything crashes. That was the whole idea that was generated. But if anybody else would have been there other than Jacobs, I don’t think we would have been one tenth as big as we were. We would have had a nice format but it would have gone the way that other formats go. It wouldn’t have lasted more than, I don’t know, a year. ’Cause it wouldn’t have been executed properly.

Don Berrigan: I remember with particular interest the talk that Tiny Tim’s handler gave us, prior to Tiny Tim’s entrance into a jock meeting, as we were building up to a big promotion centered around him. I have echoed to others over the years that Tiny Tim was not an act, but what you saw and heard was the real Tiny Tim. In working with him during the promotion, I was moved and refreshed by the sense I had of his total lack of guile and games. I have a vivid image of the expression of disbelief on the face of The Real Don Steele when Tiny Tim whipped his ukulele out of a shopping bag and began his “thank you” serenade. I found it interesting because I had the sense that, despite Don Steele’s vaunted super-double hipness, this was a new one to him.

Gary Mack: Every week at the jock meetings Jacobs was like George Allen exhorting the Rams in the locker room. There was some picking of nits but always a lot of positives. Jacobs did a lot of fine-tuning in these sessions. More adrenaline pumping than any radio meeting I’ve been to since. Then Jacobs would unveil the latest promotion. There was a lot of ooh-ing and aah-ing when he’d roll out the latest promos he had written and Robert W. Morgan had recorded. What amazes me, listening to them now, is the quality of those spots. They’re still better today than anything you hear done on the new digital production consoles.

And all of it done on quarter-inch mono tape! I’ll bet we went through a ton of splicing tape and razor blades. And what is so unbelievable is that KHJ’s studio and production facilities were really rudimentary. But the meetings — they were good!

Shelley Gordon: There’s a perception of Ron coming down on the jocks all the time, probably based on the memos and some emotional jock meetings, but he complimented and encouraged them also. Those compliments didn’t come easily. They had to be earned. When they did come they carried a lot of weight.

Everyone bitched and moaned about jock meetings but Ron scheduled them anyway. He told me that having all the Boss Jocks together at the same time in the same place was as important as any operational details that had to be explained and it gave them a chance to interact. Radio is different, he said, in the sense that these guys were on the same team, but not really working together or even listening to each other because of their hours. Johnny Williams coming off the air at 6 a.m., Harvey just getting started at 6 p.m.

The meetings were a chance to connect, though sometimes they got pretty heated, a lot of egos in the same room. But they were effective in that everyone knew exactly what was expected of them in terms of performance — not just the mechanics of the new contest or promotion. The jocks knew Ron listened at all hours and they dreaded the red phone ringing when they screwed something up. But it could just as well be him calling to say something was great if he really dug something you did.

Charlie Tuna in radio's analog AM days

Charlie Tuna: Boss Jock Humble Harve was the designated “cool cat” — with the black shades, incense, peace-sign, love beads and the “hip” persona to go with all those props. Meanwhile, Jacobs was truly democratic and did not discriminate. He would put down anyone. All our jock meetings were behind closed doors. It was like Jacobs wanted someone to take him on. He started as a Gatling gun-tempo morning man in sleepy Honolulu. None of us knew he was also moonlighting as a Roller Derby announcer in the summers. His only chance to be “on” was during our jock meetings. They made Friar’s Club roasts look like a séance. Morgan and Jacobs had been going at it since back in Fresno in 1962.

But the funniest was when Jacobs got on Harve’s case, usually for no other reason than to get to play Don Rickles with Harve’s wonderful, but neurotic, personality. Supposedly when Jacobs met Harve for the first time he called him something like, “The most drab looking nebbish who has ever attempted to make it in show business, even as a ticket taker.” Harve was ordered to wear solid black shades at all times. Indoors, outdoors, day, night, always. “Then,” Jacobs supposedly told the bewildered Harve, “you got a shot, like maybe people will think you’re Ray Charles or Roy Orbison.”

See, Morgan and Jacobs were one another’s greatest fans when it came to putting people down. So when Jacobs starting in on Harve he wouldn’t stop until Morgan was choking with laughter.

Jim Mitchell: Working at KHJ was like going back to Colgreene. At KGB in 1963 or at KCBQ in 1965-66, somebody would say, “Let’s have a contest” and we would kind of limp through it with formulaic routines and bored promos. With Jacobs, it was like everything rode on THIS promotion. There would be major brainstorming, hours in the production studio — usually with Jacobs, Morgan, and Mouzis — doing tracks over and over again, long after I thought it was perfect. I was doing news, but I couldn’t resist wandering in for those sessions. And the jocks kept up the enthusiasm as long as the event or promo ran. Over the years, we all had enough 3 a.m. calls to know that there was no hour when the boss might not be listening.

Steve Clark: Those hotline calls from Bill Drake and Ron Jacobs were always a threat. Bill would call late at night happy on "winky-poos" (booze), always in a good mood, never upset, usually asking for a song to be played “next.” Even if I just played it to impress some chick he was with, it was “You got it, Bill.” You always did what was necessary to keep Drake pleased, fuck the format that was the legendary Bill Drake. He was always nice, a real gentlemen. We got along, always joking around, and we had much in common — those California girls.

When Ron called on the hotline, you knew you fucked up, or some precise instructions were coming. No mistakes, no questions, just do it exactly as Ron told you. Nothing less than perfection was accepted from Ron Jacobs. Ron’s memos were verbal road maps with every detail covered, nothing overlooked. Sometimes you had to read them over and over to make sure you’re clear in your head what Ron wanted. He wasn’t tolerant of fuckups — not even a little tolerant. Boss Radio was perfect radio.

Charlie Tuna: I have Robert W. Morgan to thank for, among many other things, teaching me early on about working “outside the box.” Sure, KHJ had a format, but it really was just a guideline or a safety net to fall back on during one of those days when you were less than on top of your game. The rest of the time you could be as creative as you wanted to be. And no, there were no stopwatches clocking how long you talked. “If you have something to say, say it or do it,” was a simple enough rule. We all got the concept of what KHJ was supposed to be. We attempted to deliver seven different personalities with each of us using our own style of executing the format.

Humble Harve: And it wasn’t just format. It was constant promotion. The thing that I liked best of all was the brainpower put behind it by Jacobs because every day there was a new contest or promotion. There was a new shtick to promote — it was Jimi Hendrix at the Hollywood Bowl, tie-ins like the “Laugh In” TV show, the world premiere of the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” flick, the “Christmas Wish” giveaways — it was this, it was that.

Every day there was something else to hang your hat on so there was more than just you on the radio. The whole station backed you up with money, with contests, with this, with that, and this was unique and that was different. I’d never had that at any radio station. It was the first time that I recall a radio station that bent over backwards to promote everybody at the radio station in huge promotions, nonstop! When KHJ came on, KFWB didn’t know what hit ’em. And they couldn’t compete because they didn’t know how. It was a brand new way to do everything.

Ripped Ron Jacobs ruminates on Rams and radio

Robert W. Morgan: Jacobs would write all this great shit at night when he was ripped, and I’m half asleep. He’d call up with some off-the-wall deal, “You gotta dig this, man. Dig this, dig that.” And I’d think, ‘Wait a minute. Where did all this come from?’

It was one contest after another. A new one began before we had a chance to physically give the prizes away. KHJ started that. I don’t think any station ever did that before. Ours was an accident. I think we did a second one right away and Jacobs put up a liner, “Boss Radio, where the contests never stop,” or something like that. That really pissed him off after like the first 20, you know, having to segue entire contests.

2 B continued . . .

http://www.93khj.com/