Dean Goss – Chuck Browning – Buddy Hatton – John Mack Flanagan – these are just some of the great broadcasters who followed me when I left a station during my career. Every DJ has memories of how it was; the heady moments and the depressing moments we faced on the bumpy road of radio. We all have stories of our beginnings too. Some of us just had a natural talent and some of us had to hone our skills until they were ready for prime time. All of us had to start somewhere.
For me, it was late summer, 1962, at the Santa Clara County Fair, when I saw one of my favorite DJs at San Jose radio station KLIV’s booth near the main stage, where Ricky Nelson was about to do his show. Larry Mitchell was unique in that he didn’t have the low voice that was expected of DJs at the time. He was popular because he could relate to us teens, and he was funny. I was too shy to get very close, so I shouted from about 20 feet away: “How do I become a DJ like you?”. Larry said to go to radio school. “Where can I find one?” He told me to check out the Chris Borden School of Modern Radio Technique on Union Square in San Francisco. He might just as well have told me to fly to Egypt – I was 16 and had never even been to San Francisco. But he planted a seed in my mind, and during that coming school year, I mapped out a plan to learn radio over the next Summer. My hope was to find DJ work for when I was attending college. I was already learning how to speak well, thanks to my High School teacher, Dr. Ray Kendall, who was a fan of radio, and who taught me the ways of “old time” radio; plays, narration, sound effects etc. Over the years I’ve thought of Dr. Kendall a lot – even though radio school taught me DJ tricks, Ray helped me get over my fear of public speaking and showed me how to be comfortable talking in public. I was supposed to be learning that skill to help with my plans to be a lawyer. If Mom only knew.
The next June, after I had graduated from high school at the tender age of 17, Mom drove me to San Francisco to meet with Chris Borden himself, and I suspect, to check out this school, before throwing her money down. Chris passed Mom’s rigorous questioning, and a few weeks later I was taking the train to the City. In the meantime, I had gotten a part-time job at a print shop, which allowed me to attend school in the afternoon. That summer I took the train from San Jose, worked at the shop making rubber stamps for four hours, went to school from 1 – 5:30, then walked back down to the shop, where I was the janitor from 6 to 8 PM. It was a busy time full of discovery and excitement that I’ll never forget. San Francisco was THE place to be back in the day. On weekends I was the mic announcer at a discount store.
In the summer of 1963, my world was full of optimism and promise. President Kennedy was still alive, and the Vietnam War hadn’t begun to divide us yet. My generation was unaware of the changes that were on the horizon, consumed with finding our way – to college – a job – a future. We were the first graduates to experience the shocks of the 60’s. In a word, the Class of ’63 was clueless. Surprise!
Back to radio school: Chris Borden was the owner-teacher at the school bearing his name, located on the seventh floor of a building next to Macy’s on historic Union Square. In high school I had listened to Chris when he was a DJ on KEWB, doing a “poolside” show, using theatre of the mind sound effects to make it seem like he was at a swimming pool we listeners could visit, if we could only find it, and by 1963, he was at the “World’s Greatest Radio Station”, KSFO, the station where I most wanted to work— someday.
Ed Foster was our main teacher at Chris Borden’s school, focusing on elocution and the basics, and Chris would mostly teach us with stories based on his own experience. The electronics guy was a Korean War veteran who knew his stuff, and the receptionist was a wise-cracking, good-looking woman we all wanted to “date”, but never did. In 1963-64, there were no women in our classes. Chris “guaranteed” we would find jobs, and he said he couldn’t guarantee that to women at that time in the industry. We were a motley crew, most of us would never actually get that radio job we had dreamed of. Some worked on improving their voices to sound like the radio stars they admired. Some of us worked on our patter. There were studios available for practicing, and that was where we learned the most about radio. All the aspiring jocks had “bits” they loved, and they would perform them ad nauseam, though I confess that I didn’t have much to say when I got my chance in a studio. That would take time – and life experience.
That summer my part-time job expanded to deliveries in the South of Market Area, which, at the time, consisted of many warehouses, along with the usual number of liquor stores and porn theaters. I’d take the train to the terminal on Townsend, then walk down to Fifth and Mission, where there was an alley called Jessie that housed Wobber Brothers Printers. It was a tough place to work – demanding bosses and coworkers. That space is now a nice little restaurant. I delivered finished print work to the local warehouses and other addresses all morning. At noon I would go to Woolworth’s lunch counter for a hamburger, then walk or spend a quarter riding the cable car up to Union Square for my radio lessons.
The following year, 1964, I returned to the Chris Borden School of Modern Radio Technique, this time to study for the FCC First Class Radio License, which was very important if you wanted to advance in radio. The class was from 6PM to 10PM and some of my classmates were cool: Sylvester Stewart (Sly Stone), John Hardy, “Jumpin’ George” Oxford and the rest of the air staff at Oakland’s soul station, KDIA. They were being offered bonuses by the station in anticipation of a license change. Class would break about 8PM and some of us would walk up Geary to the colorful, fun Hofbrau called Lefty O’Doul’s for dinner. Lefty’s was an exciting place to be, with a popular piano player named Al Rik, and a regular cast of entertaining characters singing along to Al’s music. Most of the time we made it back to class. It was a bunch of fun for me, and I found it more and more difficult to return to class, so I eventually flunked the FCC test. It wasn’t until a few years later that I finally got that license and launched my career in earnest. But the experiences at Lefty’s and all the terrific DJ’s I got to know the taught me a great deal about life.
Many years later, after I’d been making my living in radio for almost 50 years, I attended a special Broadcast Legends event, because the guest of honor was my old teacher, Chris Borden, who was living in Hawaii and selling yachts for a living at the time. I reintroduced myself, saying I was in his classes in 1963 and 1964, and made a point of thanking him for helping me to get my career started. His reply was humbling: “I don’t remember you at all, but I do remember Sly Stone”. And I remember Chris Borden.
Happily for me, I got a job at a Gilroy station, thanks to a listing on Chris’ bulletin board, which led to work in Watsonville and eventually gigs in Texas, Salinas and finally sweet home San Francisco.
Recently, one of my granddaughters asked me to help her get into radio. I told her I’d be happy to help her get started, and outlined the work involved. She quickly lost interest, saying she just wanted to be paid to talk, and she’s good at talking. Maybe so – she talked me out of helping her! While radio appears to be a glamorous field, and it is in many ways, anyone who has done it knows that before you get to have all the fun, you need to do the work. Personally, I’m grateful for the work, but especially, the fun.
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