Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

overwhelmed recruit! More than the latter could ever have come near to expecting. The “inquisition” covered an extended number of seemingly-unrelated fields—from the war (and the Doolittle Raid, in particular) to sports, to politics, to Jason’s tastes in music. Even to his likes—and dislikes—of movies and radio shows.

The drawing-out, of course, was to ascertain the candidate’s knowledge of current events—and to establish how well-rounded he would’ve been, vis-a-vis the range of topics, on which he would be expected to intelligently comment. (Key word seemed to be “intelligently”.)

The extent—of the entire “examination”—had come as a bit of a shock! The younger man had been under the impression, that he’d simply be reading precise commercials—from a precise, printed, script. And/or simply announcing song titles—and artists—of musical recordings.

“Four hours,” the chief executive had explained—once the ultra-thorough “inquisition” had finished—“is a helluva lot of time to fill… on the radio. You may not think so… but, it is.”

“I’m sure it is,” came the satisfying (to Mr. Garback) answer. “I have no doubt that it is.”

“Well, we’ve recently discovered, that a few comments… mostly on, non-controversial, current, events… helps to build our listenership. We don’t exactly know how much. Not yet, anyway. Kind of a new concept, you see. Another gut feeling… on my part! But, we all feel that it helps. So far… it hasn’t hurt! Not so anyone would notice!”

Next, the head man guided the “new body”—further down the long corridor. They arrived, at another studio—the one that was currently, in use. The interior was laid out, pretty much—as was the “dummy” site. The room—from which the pair had just come.

The biggest difference—and it was a gigantic change—was the fact that, in this venue, three of the walls were lined with shelves, upon shelves, of those “clunky” 78rpm records. Hundreds of them! Literally! The shelves appeared to resemble “lying-on-their-side” bins. The records, in them, all stood straight up—library-style. The arrangement made inserting, and withdrawing, the discs much easier. More efficient—than anyone could’ve imagined. Much more handy—in that day and age.

Jason had, by then, gotten so caught up—in the “splendor”, of the actual studio—that he’d not noticed the tiny engineer’s booth. located to the right of the personality, who was then on the air. Not until the forty-something “personality” had waved—then, pointed directly—at the engineer’s niche! The tiny cubicle was located, behind an, exceptionally-small, darkened, window—surrounded by a mountain, of those wall-mounted 78’s—in the studio’s west wall!

Mr. Garback pointed to a large, bright-red, loose-leaf notebook—spread open, on the desk/counter—in front of the on-the-air middle-aged male.

“Those are your commercials,” the president advised. “The ones… the commercials… that happen to be, on a record, the engineer plays. Those you don’t have to worry that much about. That’s just what’s happened, you see! The engineer… he has the same copy. He simply goes ahead. He plays the ‘Plug-Ugly’ . . . as we call ’em. And then? And then… he turns the show back to ol’ Bernie. Bernie Bennett… he’s the guy, who’s broadcasting now.”

It was at that point, that the aforementioned Bernie resumed his part, of the show. He made a quick comment—about the prospects of the Tigers, vis-a-vis the upcoming season—then, turned a dial, and played a previously-set-up recording, of Cow-Cow Boogie. by Freddie Slack’s band. As Ella Mae Morse sang the lyric, the man set up his next recording—then, sat back, in his overstuffed chair. Seconds later, he looked up—and waved at his poobah. And then—at Jason.

“He doesn’t have another commercial… I don’t think… until he’s played another record. Or maybe two records. But, he’s going to have to read the next one,” explained Mr. Garback. “While that record’s playing… the next one… Bernie will go ahead, and familiarize himself, with whatever the blurb is. I think it’ll be for Wonder Bread. Maybe for Hostess Cup Cakes. Same company, y’know… makes both brands.”

The pair stood outside the window—looking into the studio, and taking in the expert actions, of “Bernie Bennett” (whose real name was Bernard Kwiatkowski). It had been quite an “education”—a completely outstanding experience—for a, somewhat-amazed, Jason! But, a totally rewarding exposure!

After twelve or fifteen additional minutes, the two spectators wound up—back in the president’s office, once more. Jason was offered a job! Beginning at four o’clock—that very afternoon! And starting at $80.00, a week!

While the salary was, probably, $10.00 or $15.00 higher—than the average “radio personality” income, in those days, it was somewhat less than what Our Hero had been averaging, in the, physically-challenging, construction field. So, the new occupation would be—considerably—less demanding! Considerably! And—potentially—much more rewarding! Also considerably! (Also potentially!)

That afternoon—at 3:59PM—Jason had seated himself, in that big, comfortable, chair, behind the monster-sized microphone. Bernie’s final record—was just winding down. The experienced, highly-professional, “personality”, himself, was standing next to the new man’s chair. The experienced one, was bent over—facing the mic. Brooks Garback stood—somewhat nervously—just inside the studio’s door.

“And now,” began Bernie, as Jason removed the just-expired record from the turntable, to his right—and replaced it with his show’s second selection. (His intended first recording—had already been positioned on the turntable to his left.)

“And now,” repeated the signing-off talent, “we have a brand new radio personality… right here at WXXD! An exciting new talent! His name is Jimmy Root!”

Immediately, after the word “Root” was out of Bernie’s mouth, the new—recently-named—“personality”, cut loose, with his, newly-chosen, theme: Benny Goodman’s up-tempo recording, of Jersey Bounce! From the left turntable! And Our Hero was off and running—in his brand new career!

Previously, there had taken place a goodly amount of “negotiation”—in the office, of Mr. Garback. Jason’s pre-set salary, however, was not among the subjects discussed. Surprisingly, the first—and, seemingly, most significant—obstacle, turned out to be his “stage name”. In the early-forties, almost everyone—in the entire entertainment universe—had possessed (or was assigned) an acceptable “stage name”.

He had heard his grandfather speak—more than once or twice—of a front-line station (WJR, in Detroit) having made a big deal, out of “leveling”, with its radio audience. Big-deal announcement! This had all taken place—in the “growing more honest” early-sixties. The