An ode to radio

Whenever I would see Gilda Radner do a “Judy Miller” sketch on SNL I always laughed and cringed. “Judy Miller” was a kid who used to star in a fictional TV show in her bedroom. She played every role (what’s a variety show without guests?) I never did that when I was a kid. TV was too advanced for me. But like all true radio geeks I used to do bedroom radio shows.

I was smart enough to wait until my parents were out for the evening and my little brother was asleep. Then I’d set up my old Wollensak reel-to-reel tape recorder (which I still have, by the way), my 45 rpm record player, my record collection (“He’s a Rebel” and “Ahab the Arab” played constantly), a $2.00 silver dollar microphone, and a copy of LIFE magazine (I needed commercial copy) and would “broadcast.”

It was all rather primitive. I could never segue from one record to another since I only had one turntable, and besides, who gave a shit about “more music?” This was Judy Miller… I mean, MY show. “Ahab the Arab” was coming. Just be patient.

I would do comedy bits between records, various (lame) impersonations, take “dedications” (don’t tell anybody but I made them up – “Here’s ‘He’s a Rebel’ from Carol to Schlomo”), give the time, temperature, promote the concerts I pretended to host (“Saturday night at the Corbin Theater – the Ken Levine revue -- Tina Turner, Jackie DeShannon, and Connie Francis!”) In my pre-pubescent mind I thought a great line-up of talent would be all girl singers with big tits.

My on air “style” was a mish-mosh of Elliot Field, Gary Owens, Dick Whittington, Jonathon Winters, Bob & Ray, Don McKinnon, Oscar Levant, Alan King, B. Mitchell Reed, and Emperor Hudson. I somehow managed to combine the worst of all of them.

I recorded these God-awful programs and wisely never listened back to them. I’m sure even at the tender age of 12 I would have been horrified at how truly terrible I must’ve sounded.

But so what? I got to practice my craft. Kids who dreamed of becoming major league baseball players could play little league. Future wannabe rock stars could play in the school band or orchestra. There were no organized programs for nerds who wanted to become disc jockeys. Yes, there were Ham Radio clubs in some high schools, but those nimrods were too nerdy even for us. And they missed the point. The rush wasn’t connecting to some other gozzlehead three states away; it was being on a major market flamethrower like KFWB, WABC, WLS, and KLIF and having millions of your peers (of all schools and chest sizes) hang onto your every word. D.J.’s were STARS back then. And if you couldn’t play an instrument, or throw a spiral, or surf, or look like the kind of person who could do any one of these things, being a radio star was your salvation. It was the acceptable alternative to becoming a serial killer.

At the time I never told anybody about my bedroom shows. It was one of those activities you kept to yourself. (And I had the good sense not to record the other activity.) I thought I was the only kid pathetic enough to do bedroom radio shows. Years later when I got into radio professionally I learned that many of us did variations of this same activity. (Note: A radio child prodigy is one who can talk up to vocals at age 7.)

Just as grown up “Judy Miller” must be thrilled that no one was actually sitting in front of their TV sets watching her fling herself against a wall while displaying her ballet skills, no one heard our bogus radio shows.

However, today is a different story. With computer programs, iTunes, and a microphone, not only could a kid produce a rather sophisticated bedroom radio show but he could BROADCAST it – and not just locally –all over the world. Holy shit! I thank God that wasn’t available in my day. I probably still couldn’t show my face in Luxembourg.

Of course, how many kids want to have bedroom radio stations? How many kids today even give a shit about radio? Radio for us was magic. At night the ionosphere would raise, radio waves would skip, and signals could be heard in distant locations. I used to sit in Los Angeles in the winter and pick up WLS out of Chicago. Imagine – some announcer speaks into a microphone and his voice is being heard 2,000 miles away. Now any idiot can broadcast (or blog for that matter) and his message can be accessed in every corner of the globe (except China or where you need AT&T for reception).

It ain’t the same.

I miss the old days. The innocent days I suppose. When radio was a big part of everyone’s lives. Where we all discovered the same music together. Where we all bolstered our self-esteem because the coolest, hippest, funniest DJ’s on the planet were talking directly to us.

And nerds like us wanted to be on the radio because it was “special.” To be that one person behind the microphone sending your voice 2,000 miles was a privilege. Not everyone could do it. And now everyone can. But no one wants to. To me that’s really sad.

Meanwhile, go on YouTube. I’ll bet there are 50,000 different “Judy Miller” shows.

I’m so happy that I was in radio when I was. You never forget your first love.