Sh-boom, sh-boom … or is that shazzam!? 1954 in America was a sneaky year. Our Stepford-style(RW) lives followed a formula set forth in the six-pack or so previous years since the end of World War II. For the most part, women unquestionably obeyed their husbands, and children dutifully behaved at the supper table and clothed their bodies appropriately. Only bad boys and crew cut military men sported tattoos. And on women?! Never! At least not in this decade. But the war changed us in oh so many subtle (at first) ways. Many women liked the freedom to work outside the home, brought on by the absence of our men in uniform. The country’s personal involvement in this war heightened our awareness of each other as people, genders, races, and cultures. Even our music was affected. Big Bands and big-voiced singers still ruled the airwaves, but an indefinable itch tickled to be scratched. The Stepford life clung to us as Ray Anthony, baton-master of the Ray Anthony Orchestra, introduced his new line dance, the everyone-follow-me bouncing “Bunny Hop.” A goofy variation of the Conga line, I say the “Bunny Hop” was an obvious sign of restlessness. Our bouncing up-and-down was an attempt to work off frustrations reflected in an impatient and moody 1954. Black teens and young adults weren’t bouncing, though; they were swiveling and swinging and sweating to their own beat. The White folks began to take notice, and said, hey, wait a minute – we wanna swing too! Those who got wind of the hip new music played on “Black radio” hunted down the records to play at home. It certainly wasn’t pouring out of their lily-white radio speakers. Those producing the controversial music bounced their heads against the glass ceiling of White radio station owners and program directors, afraid to make waves. But Rock & Roll was not to be denied its birthright. With the help of a handful of disc jockeys pushing the buttons of the FCC (Federal Communications Commission), our once hardened, black-and-white society hesitantly shifted into teeming shades of gray. Behind closed doors, White folks shucked and jived to that scandalous “race music.” … In between my prattle and the stories of your favorite DJs, you’ll find tidbits of the era, the industry, and some mention of noteworthy DJs, other than those interviewed. Many great minds were mentored along the way … “I was the pain-in-the-ass kid who hung around (WWOL/Buffalo),” says New York DJ Joey Reynolds of his introduction to radio. The up and coming upstart broadcasters began to replace “announcers” and dramatic radio show hosts, for their own share of immortality … and landed as DJs in Rock & Roll radio. …
… Ron Riley … or did you know him as “Ron ‘Ringo’ Riley”? How about “Smiley Riley”? With stints at WLS-Chicago, Milwaukee’s WOKY (pronounced “walky”), and even his own Bowling for Dollars TV show, Ron never wanted to be anything other than a deejay. … … “I was supposed to be a concert pianist.” Say what?! Not the words you would necessarily expect to come from a lifelong radio deejay. But there it is … Mike Korgan, known to the public as Ken Chase, was a serious twelve-year-old taking piano lessons from Herbert Ricker, listed as one of the top ten (living) classical composers in 1951. … … “Alan Freed and I, I think, kicked the slats out of our cribs to Rock & Roll music.” So says “Frosty” Mitchell. Known to his parents as Forrest, his high school sports prowess led to a teen sports radio spot on a Des Moines, Iowa, radio station about 1950. … … another kid in Philly cocked his head quizzically at his dad’s voice coaxing him awake. “My earliest memory was of listening to him from a clock radio next to my bed and wondering how he got inside the box. My mom kind of explained how it worked. But I don’t think I got it.” Jay Rose – or in “real” life, Jay Rosenberg – recalls this fond memory of his dad, Donald Rosenberg – though before all was said and done, Donald became “Dr. Don Rose” to thousands of fans on both sides of the country. … … “I was going to study medicine. And I’m still gonna do it.” With that enigmatic line, Bruce Morrow took me down the racy path of his life … oh, he’s told it before. What are you supposed to do when decades of your fans beg you for the story behind the voice? You write a book … or two … or three. Bruce Morrow, the DJ who is everybody’s cousin, makes the radio business look easy. He’s one of Rock & Roll’s early personalities, with a capital “P”. … … Wolfman Jack – the consummate Rock & Roll Radio DJ. No DJ book is complete without him! And this one is dedicated to his legacy of believe to achieve. Though he’s still a wet-behind-the-ears kid during the infancy of Rock & Roll, he was a quick learner, as you’re about to discover. Here, we set the stage for Wolfman Jack, with the emerging story of Robert Weston Smith. … young Bob learned to create vibrant pictures in his mind gleaned from the radio’s words and sounds. “Radio creates movies that go on in your own mind,” wrote Wolfman. “Part of the ‘movie’ is a relationship with someone – the DJ, the announcer – that you never meet and you never know, but they’re part of your life anyway.” … … The Fifties rolled to a close in Philly with WIBG’s top dog DJs, Bill Wright, Bob Mitchell, Harvey Miller, and BFYP DJ, Tom Donahue, tapping their fingers to “Waltzing Matilda” (Jimmy Rodgers) listed in their “Sure Shot” slot, and Frankie Avalon asking “Why” at No. 1 on survey #64, ending December 27, 1959. Who were you rockin’ to as we knocked on the door of 1960?
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