A NAME BY ANY OTHER NAME

For Me, being in radio was never about the music. As much as I adore music, most of what I know is by virtue of having spent nearly a half a century showcasing other people's talents and visions. My early contribution consisted of placing a tone arm onto a vinyl disc in the hopes of landing the needle into the proper groove to play the desired song. Of course, with the advent of technology, my role was condensed to “pushing the right button.” This thought was prompted by a post I read on Facebook written by an erstwhile radio guy who was lamenting the disrespectful use of names like the “Doobies,” the “Allmans” or the “Stones” to describe certain bands when he wrote: “Sorry, but the correct name is The Allman Brothers, The Rolling Stones, The Doobie Brothers.......those groups deserve the respect. As fantastic as I was as a hippie rock fm radio ICON, I never thought that I was more important than the music.” Most program directors and general managers would like you to believe that you are not more important than the music when, in fact, with 5 stations in one town playing the same songs, there is no better way to draw listeners than with someone who can be more entertaining and informative than the other 4. The song remains the same. You HAVE to be more important than the music. Disc jockeys sometimes think they experience a higher level of “cool” than most people and, perhaps, a few decades ago, that may have rung semi true. The local radio DJ was a hero to the kids. He was playing songs just for them. Music that alienated their parents and made them (us) feel unique, with important new ideas. A generation that was going to change the world. Of course, I can only speak for my personal generation but, I think it's safe to say that a lyric like, “War......what is it good for......absolutely NOTHING...” will evoke more of a call to emotion and action than a lyric from farther back like, say, “Abba, dabba, dabba, dabba, dabba, dabba, dabba, said the monkey to the chimp.” I think the first time I realized that being in radio was for those with ego issues was when I worked with a new, young DJ in Plainfield, N.J. He was a recent broadcast school graduate whose father, when he got his first job in radio, bought him customized license plates that read: “I M A DJ,” which he flaunted proudly. Last I heard, he was selling clothes in the Menlo Park Mall. “NOT A DJ.” I went into radio not because I was enthralled by the music. No....I went into radio because I wanted people to like me. That was a problem from the time I was a little boy and felt like I was always on the outside looking in. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to be accepted. I first realized I was funny when a joke in the 1st grade got me sent back to the kindergarten classroom on the day the kindergarten parents were visiting and they had cake and ice cream. I was 6 when I learned that “comedy pays.” Radio proved to be a great way to parlay that and get the recognition I so felt I was lacking. It didn't matter what music I played. It was background for when the mic wasn't on and we weren't busy, on the air, entertaining. It was a time killer so we could conceive and construct a new “bit” or get a call recorded or do an interview – all elements of entertainment that didn't care about whether they came after a Peter Gabriel song or Garth Brooks. The REAL musicologists I know - those who have devoted their lives to everything surrounding the music they lived and loved - those who call The Stones, The Stones and the Allmans, the Allmans and the Doobies, the Doobies. For many of my contemporaries, their passion has led them to bigger and better things than sitting behind a microphone identifying songs and artists that generally need no identification. “The Beatles,” they once might have blurted out over the final few notes of “Yesterday,” “with 'Yesterday.'” Whew....thank you. Without that kind of laser focused expertise, I might have thought I was listening to Edye Gorme or Benny Goodman's 1938 Carnegie Hall Concert. In fact, many of my friends got OUT of radio for just that reason. It wasn't satisfying their passion. In fact, one particular friend, knows so much about the music that he has written best selling books about the Beatles and Led Zeppelin, who, by the way, he refers to as “Zep.” So, for the guy who wrote the fairly inane post demanding more respect for bands by using their full names I ask this simple question: “R U A DJ?”

DEATH OF AN OLD FRIEND

A way of life, less loved than taken for granted, is nearing an end and the signs are everywhere, no more so than within the fading relationship we have with good sense. You see, an old friend has been dying a slow death over the past few decades. That old friend is known as common courtesy. I was first introduced to common courtesy by virtue of a whack in the back of the head for failure to address an elder as "sir" or "ma'am." My grandmother was raised in Hampton, Va. in a time when courtesy was understood as "just the way it is." This was an attitude that she passed down to her daughter, my Mother who, in turn, passed it down to me to share with my kids. This is where I began to see my old friend start to fade. Now don't get me wrong. I have 5 kids and every one of them is polite almost to a fault. They have learned their lessons well. It's the world around us. I remember getting a call from an irate teacher who informed me that my son was being sarcastic and she didn't appreciate it one bit, You see, he had` the unmitigated gumption to refer to her as "ma'am." I would love to have seen the look on her face when I told her that he was “taught that in the home, ma'am.” When did "No, sir" become "uh uh" and "I beg your pardon" transform into "Huh?" In this age of  down sizing when it has really made sense to get a smaller car, a smaller home, a smaller diet, we have, apparently, spilled the practice over into areas that need to become more not less. We have downsized courtesy. We have become decourtesized. And, the signs are evident wherever you go......under the simplest of circumstances. When is the last time you can remember someone saying "Thank you" when you held a door. Come to think of it, when is the last time you remember someone holding a door. Everyone is in so much of a hurry and so deeply buried in electronic devices that they can't take the time for a "thank you," an "excuse me," or an "oops, I'm sorry." They often don't even bother to acknowledge your very existence. When they realize there is someone else, not only on the planet but in their very vicinity, they look at you as if your nose is on crooked.  I, personally, like to embarrass people. I'll hold a door and when they whisk past as if the sea was expected to part for them, I like to say, really loud ,"You're welcome." Most people become deaf at that point and just keep walking, brushing off that annoying little pest that just flitted by. Occasionally they look as if they were planning to say "Thanks,” but their mind was somewhere else…..oops. Maybe that's the problem. Pay attention. No matter how many of these signs are right in front of our faces.........we only bump into them and keep walking with our eyes pointed down. A few weeks ago, I got a speeding ticket. I was certainly in the wrong. I was 15 miles over the limit and deserved the citation. I was so taken aback when the officer said "Thank you for your courtesy," because I didn't yell and scream about how wrong this was, that my reflex response was, "Thank YOU for the job you do." I may have had to pay the ticket, but we both became richer for the courtesy. It takes more facial muscles to frown that to smile. Relax. Smile. Look up every once in a while.......try to be a little more polite. Thank you!