And I said, “We had pretty well designed things so that the morning man would be the perfect guy to voice promos. Unfortunately, that’s the job we have.” He looked at me and sort of laughed and said, “What you’re saying to me, Drake, is I better talk to Jacobs, right?” And I said, “That’s right, Robert. You better work it out with Jacobs.”
Shelley Gordon: The first time I met Robert W. Morgan was when I reported to work the day after Labor Day in September 1965. This rumpled , cute, blond guy who looked like he had just gotten out of bed, wearing his inside-out sweat shirt, jeans and brown leather slippers came into “my” office and asked where Ron was. Ron was late, as usual, for their production meeting. We sat and talked about the station until Ron arrived, a virtual whirlwind. Ron handed me a stack of papers and told me people would be coming in to claim prizes — trading them for pennies — and could I handle that? I said that I could. He then said, “C’mon, Bob” and went into his office and shut the door. No more than 45 minutes later he emerged with a new promotion in place, copy for Robert to record, instructions and a jock memo for me to get out. And that’s how it started. It was a great job during a very fun time.
Scotty Brink: The first time I encountered Ron Jacobs on the job was my first day in the building at KHJ. I was sitting outside his office with his secretary, Shelley, while Jacobs and Morgan were having one of their screaming matches inside. It was hardly a soundproof office. Morgan stormed out, with Jacobs on his heels and the loquacious expletives continued down the hall. After a couple of minutes, they came back, went in Jacobs’ office and slammed the door. Thirty seconds later, Morgan poked his head out of Jacobs’ office and asked, “Are you Scotty Brink?” I nodded in the affirmative. Morgan presented his warm, wonderful smile and continued, “Welcome to Boss Radio.”
Carol Morgan: Ron was just so completely engrossed in radio. There were times when Robert needed a break from that, you know. He sometimes would go to an extreme and get too engrossed in it. His personality needed downtime.
Kevin Gershan: Robert W. Morgan loved to fish, but he really loved the water, the boat and going real fast. Faster than anyone else with a Bass Boat. Over the years, I went fishing a lot with Morgan. He did everything he could to make sure his boat was something James Bond’s “Q” would be proud of. The latest and greatest tackle. Radar that would allow you to see the contour of the lake bed and where the fish were. Unfortunately, as he said many times, “It doesn’t tell you which ones are hungry.” Morgan would race from one end of the lake to the other in hopes of reaching the “magic number.” The “magic number” being whatever speed was considered the fastest! I remember at one point, 70 miles per hour was the gold standard. And, we always had a rule. “Once you hit the launch ramp, no talking about radio.” This was truly one of his great escapes. As good as he was at it, I don’t really think he ever cared if he caught a fish. It was more medicinal and for the meditation than functional.
Frank Terry: I think Jacobs influenced Robert W. Morgan. From where I was and from what I could see before we even went on the air back in Fresno, Morgan’s personality kinda jibed with mine and Jacobs’. We became friends quite quickly ’cause Morgan was just a real, good-old, down-home boy from Galion, Ohio. He had worked for the railroad and had just gotten out of the army at Fort Ord in Monterey. He loved to fish, just a good-old boy. He was a humorous guy and he loved to laugh and he thought Jacobs was real funny. Morgan and I would sit around all day and tell Jacobs stories. “Did you see what Jacobs did the other day out there?” “Yeah, groovy.”
Kevin Gershan: (Email to Ron Jacobs, May 26, 1998): I am glad to hear that Morgan considered me his best friend. I always believed it to be you. There wasn’t a time you were ever mentioned that he didn’t say, “I learned this from Jacobs.” Always, “I learned that from Jacobs.” He would go on, “Jacobs this, Jacobs that.” Of course with an occasional, “motherfucker — fuckin’ Jacobs” thrown in, in a loving family way.
Shelley Gordon: It was a challenge working for Ron Jacobs. Every day was different. The days flew by whether it was a 40-hour week or a 60-hour week. He was a highly-motivated, hyperactive, programming genius. His mind was going 90 miles an hour, coming up with promos, contests, motivating the jocks. Exhorting them, constantly peppering them with slogans, like “Preparation, Moderation, Concentration.” George Allen was coach of the Los Angeles Rams then. I think Ron wanted to be the George Allen of RKO General. Ron railed about the jocks a lot but I think he truly respected what they did. He could be rude, boorish, insensitive, but it was all in pursuit of excellence and higher Hooper ratings and he was, for the most part, forgiven, because everyone shared the same dream — being #1 in Boss Angeles.
Ron Jacobs: There was the other side. Our arguments ignited sessions of violent screaming behind closed doors. Sectors of KHJ had thick walls but a ruckus still sent people running down the halls, away from what sounded like pending mutual homicide. What was the blood-chilling conflict? Oh, usually it would be Morgan demanding that we use eight seconds from the intro of the “Bridge on the River Kwai” movie soundtrack in place of a cut from “Fire Down Below” that I called for. Or perhaps we disagreed on the merits of Jackie DeShannon’s singing style. Whatever our melodramatic disagreements, most of them dealt with a mutual passionate concern for putting only the very best out on the air.
Shelley Gordon: What Ron forgets were all the times Robert spent sitting in my office waiting for Ron to arrive to work on the promos. Those bursts of temper weren’t staged; they were real. Unless they happened during the first couple of months before I arrived on the scene. I’ve forgotten a lot, but I still remember Ron eating a Spanish omelet at Nickodell’s while he interviewed me to be his secretary.
Mitch Fisher: Nickodell’s makes me think about the jocks and the record promoters getting sauced there. No, I didn’t frequent the place. I just would go for a lunch or two. All those luncheons with all that greasy food. Ugh. I gained a few pounds at Nickodell’s. Across the street from KHJ you could get good Mexican food at Lucy’s El Adobe. It was also the headquarters for Robert Kennedy’s presidential campaign. I actually saw him there, yeah, Bobby Kennedy eating enchiladas there. The big music hangout was Martoni’s. Jacobs and I didn’t go to Martoni’s that much. Jacobs was generally anti-social and I was married during that time. Wasn’t into the Martoni’s scene very much.
Bones Howe: I walked into Martoni’s one night in 1969. I’ll never forget it. Bill Drake was sitting in the second booth and I’m walking by and this hand comes out and grabs me and he says, “I just heard ‘Aquarius.’” And I said, “Yeah, you know I’m really excited about it, Bill, you know it’s gonna be a big record.” I’m trying to be a promotion man suddenly. He says, “It’s a little long don’t you think?”
And I said, “Well, you know, it takes time to build, we had to do this thing where we did a medley,” and I’m trying to do all of this creative talk. Drake says, “Why don’t you sit down for a minute.” And I learned about music. He taught me about music sweeps in fifteen minutes. He said “Well, we’re gonna play that record because it’s gonna be a hit, we’re gonna have to play it. But, you know, we’re not gonna play it very much because it’s long.”
I said, “It has to build.” I went through all of that with him and he said, “Although ‘El Paso’ is six and a half minutes long, everybody played it when they had to go the john. But you’ll really get it played a lot more if you can shorten it.” And I began to listen to what he was saying. And he said, “These guys know if they got two and a half minutes before they come up to the logo, they’ll stick your record in there if it’ll fit.” I went back to the studio that night and made three versions. “I’ll give him 2:59, I’ll give him 3:59, I’ll give him anything he wants. How’s this, Bill?” We sent three acetates over to him the next day and KHJ was the station that broke that record. And I’m eternally grateful to Bill Drake for that lesson in music sweeps, which everybody copied.
Humble Harve: Ninety-million wannabes heard of Jacobs back then but he did a great job of staying aloof and unreachable. All the record promo schmucks and hacks that lived in Martoni’s wanted to get to Jacobs but they had to settle for Bernie Torres or Bill Watson. Jacobs was always considered to be above the fray. You wanna hear something bizarre? A guy I knew from back in Philadelphia called me and offered me some bread if I could “Get to Jacobs.” (Laughs.) I told him he had a better shot at getting to Lyndon Johnson.
Ron Jacobs: On one occasion in 1967 I pulled up to KBLA in Burbank in my black Cadillac and grabbed Humble Harve as he came off the air and out the back door to the parking lot,. His reaction would have fit right into The Sopranos, had it been on the air then. He freaked out in another way when I told him that I had come to offer him a job at KHJ.
Humble Harve: When I was on KBLA I went up to San Francisco because I had never been there. I heard KHJ on the pier there in San Francisco. I said, “I gotta be on this station, bro!” You can hear the damn station in San Francisco. Here I am on KBLA in Burbank and you can’t hear it past Colorado Boulevard. I want to be on the station that’s got a wire, Jack.
Johnny Williams: Harvey’s a great guy. I used to enjoy listening to him. Sam Riddle was on right before midnight at first. Then Harve — for the longest time. He didn’t do anything special in the studio. He just sat in the same seat that everyone else sat in and did his thing. It’s amazing how many different personalities came out of the same seat. And nobody had any props. There weren’t any special props to make this happen. You just sat down, you didn’t have anything to work with. Nobody brought in any huge stacks of material either. But on the other hand, whatever we needed was there. I probably became spoiled, but I came to expect all that after a while. I remember when Jacobs turned KHJ into the home of nonstop contests. There was always something going on. It was just spectacular for the sound of the station. I also remember being disappointed the first week we ran without anything happening. I was thinking how terrible everything suddenly seemed.
Humble Harve: When I was on KBLA, fighting the KHJ promotions was a drag. Promotions rolled out of KHJ nonstop. I had no idea what the impact would be. All I know is everybody was listening to Boss Radio. It was pushing me against the wall ’cause I had to come up with more and more innovative things to do on the radio to counteract this thing. And there were people listening to KHJ for long periods of time where before they would listen to one jock or something specific. But now they kept the radio on KHJ because of how many times the hits were played, because of the song rotation. This was the first time I had come up against a station where the audience listened to the radio for the radio station. I mean it didn’t matter who was on, the same good records were going to be played over and over again. That wasn’t the case before KHJ did it.
Scotty Brink: Despite Jacobs’ volatility and generally terse demeanor, I have always considered him to be the brightest, most creative person I ever worked for. I learned more radio from Jacobs in that short time and in the whirlwind that was KHJ than I have in any other ten years — even if I could pick them individually — that I have been in the business. Ron Jacobs was and is a major influence in my perception of what works.
Jon Badeaux: Everyone both loved and feared Ron Jacobs. Let’s just say it was best to stay on his good side. During my first year at Boss Radio, I worked both the 9 a.m.-noon shift and 3-6 p.m. I believe Sam Riddle was doing 9-noon then. Everyone in those days, of course, smoked. One morning I emptied the ashtray and threw it up by the console. It bumped a cartridge tape start button and a jock logo played over a song. Moments later, Jacobs flew in the room demanding to know what happened. He figured it out before I could finish the first sentence and stormed out, saying it better never happen again. That afternoon, while sitting across from The Real Don Steele, I was telling one of the other engineers what happened. As luck would have it, I demonstrated by tossing the ashtray up onto the console and it started the jock logo for Steele. The other engineer ran out of the room while I held my breath. Thank goodness Jacobs didn’t hear it. Or, as I thought many times, he did and just wanted me to suffer.
Frank Terry: Even back in Fresno, Jacobs was doing stuff that was so far off-the-wall. And he instilled some of that in you. He kind of goosed you along to come up with something creative, something brand new and he would tell you if he didn’t like it. If he liked it, he said he did. And if it made him laugh, man, that was the greatest compliment in the world. And he would take just anything and it would become — I don’t care what it was — it would become a promotion. It would become some kind of a production that you couldn’t imagine. And he also liked to think of himself as a coach. And that’s what he was. You screwed up, he was there to tell you about it and wouldn’t tell you in a nice way either. It’d piss you off! You’d want to smack him one.
I mispronounced a word one time. I’ll never forget this. The word “jubilant.” I said “joob-you-lant” on the air. Jacobs came in screaming his ass off at me that it wasn’t “joob-you-lant” it was jubilant. I wanted to say, “Fuck you, get out of my face!” and quit. But I got to thinking that he was absolutely right. He’s like some of the great football, basketball coaches. He would take you to that place where you’re about ready to say OK, screw you, and walk out. Then he’d get you right back in to be part of the team and you’d go out and run into a Mack truck for him. He’s the one that got me wherever I am now and a lot of other people too, not just me. It was Ron Jacobs sharing what he knew.
Carol Morgan: We were in San Francisco and Robert and Don (Steele) were working at KEWB. It was 1965 and I was in the hospital. I remember Robert talking about going to Los Angeles. I remember him getting more and more excited about the possibility. But Bill Drake had to talk him into it because we were really content in San Francisco. I know I didn’t want to leave. It was the first time I balked at any kind of move. All the other times I was ready to go wherever he wanted to go, do whatever he wanted to do. But we were having a really good time, such a good time that I ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. We were out all night around the clock, a “burning the candle at both ends” kind of life. And we were really close with Don and Gracie, his lady at the time.
Ron Jacobs: Morgan and Steele were very tight in San Francisco in a way that they weren’t in Los Angeles. It was always Bob, Carol, Don and Gracie. Great movie, eh? (Laughs.) Steele had his shtick and he was a hard-working professional. This meant more to him at KHJ, in the sense of doing well in his own hometown. You know he’s Donald S. Revert from Hollywood who has made this whole loop and he’s reached the next-to-the-top step, which is San Francisco, with Morgan.
The Real Don Steele: I started using “Real” in Omaha. I was working there as Don Steele — (sings) “Be aware, I’ll be there.” So I’d been there pushing a year, which is a loooong motherfuckin’ time to be in Omaha, Nebraska. A nice place to fly over. By that time I was totally disgusted. I wanted to get out of the goddamn town, was drugged with the station, drugged with the management, drugged with the city — by that time it had gotten to me. The program director called up and said, “Why don’t you call yourself the Real Don Steele?” I looked at the receiver and I thought, “You rotten, stupid, son of a bitch, asshole, motherfucker.” He wasn’t asking me if I wanted to call myself that. But I thought, “Right, I’ll take your order, you dummy.” Well, all of a sudden people on the street no longer called me “Bob Steele” (the B movie Western star.) They called me The Real Don Steele. A phonetic thing. People react to certain words.
Ron Jacobs: Steele was, above all else, a totally professional guy. He was an absolute minimalist. He was almost like a mime, to make that kind of a comparison. Steele could come on KHJ and do clichés that became part of the language — at least in Southern California. He did it with vocal inflection and with energy. Like if we took air checks of Steele and broke ’em down into transcripts, “Ooooh baby! The Supremes” — or whatever — really didn’t mean anything. But the way he does it he could sound like 86,000 people watching a touchdown by reading a piece of paper that said “Yay.”
The Real Don Steele: My style is hard to verbalize. Hey, I’m a hard-sell radio announcer. I have a phonetic hang-up. Maybe, why I’m liked is because I’m funny, but what makes me funny is not that I’m telling a joke, per se. I dig sound. You don’t have to know what they mean. Preferably, they should have, not a double meaning, but a quadruple meaning. Like, “It ain’t that bad if you fry it right.” I actually did hear that. I was sitting in a bar near some fellows and they were talking about catfish or something. This guy was the typical beer drinking, scratching, hard hat and he said, “It ain’t bad if you fry it right,” and I said, “Hey, I like that.”
What does it mean? I think it sounds GO! I think it means a lot of things. How about LIFE. How about having to EAT SHIT! Having to PAY YOUR DUES? Or, “If you got it, flaunt it!” And I use these for my IDs. Our format requires that you must give the time and I came up with, “It ain’t that bad if you fry it right,” at 3:30 and “If you got it, flaunt it!” at four o’clock. You know, “Spread your love,” at 5:30. “Take that piece of meat, put it in your pan and fry it, baby!” Now you tell me what that means!
Humble Harve: Before I worked at KHJ my favorite jock was Steele. Why? Because he had tumult! He was L.A. man, that’s why. He was what I considered Top 40 to be. He sold the music. He sold the action. He made the music sound better. He got you excited.
That wasn’t my shtick. My shtick was to get you excited about the music, not about peripheral shit. And if you could do that, it made the records that more important. It made the artists more important. It made the whole format more important.
But if you latched onto a particular kind of music and you milked it for what it was worth just like Steele did and I did, you got known for that genre. With Steele the idea was that he would kick it in the ass. There wasn’t one dull moment on his show.
Ron Jacobs: Steele was all energy. His timing was the best. I could appreciate him because I thought I was fast as a jock, and wacky and tight and throwing in sounds, ka-pow! But Steele operated in another dimension.
There are people behind the scenes who get no recognition. With all the jocks working with someone on the other side of the glass at the controls — I’ve always said that’s like driving with one person’s foot on the gas and someone else’s on the brake. For a while the youngest KHJ board operator, Ken Orchard, was assigned to Steele. I once asked Kenny, “What was it like on the intercom with you and Steele?” And he said, “Shit, sometimes it was better than the show!” Orchard wished he had a second tape running of just the intercom. Steele was professional but sometimes he’d wait ’til 16 seconds before the record ran out to tell Orchard what the next song was going to be — just to mess with Orchard’s mind.
2 B continued . . .
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