I hope your wishes come true.
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Musings, observations, and written works from the publisher of Eckhartz Press, the media critic for the Illinois Entertainer, co-host of Minutia Men, Minutia Men Celebrity Interview and Free Kicks, and the author of "The Loop Files", "Back in the D.D.R", "EveryCubEver", "The Living Wills", "$everance," "Father Knows Nothing," "The Radio Producer's Handbook," "Records Truly Is My Middle Name", and "Gruen Weiss Vor".
The Daily Show
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“I never had a problem with ratings, but they kept firing me because I didn’t sound friendly enough. I had humongous ratings in Spokane, so I thought I could get away with anything. There was a commercial for Volkswagen and it started out in German (“Achtung! Achtung!”) and I thought it was funny—it reminded me of those old WW2 movies. And I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I apparently said something that made them think I was implying this dealership was a cover for an underground Nazi movement in the United States. It turned out that the Volkswagen dealer was from Germany, flew for the Germans in WW2, and his employees were all German and they were highly offended. They were going to sue me and the station, so the station fired me to get him off their back.”
“WCFL let me do whatever the hell I wanted to do on that overnight show, and it was a lot of fun. I was trying to be who I was, and that had been getting me fired all over the place; in San Bernandino, Spokane, Boise, you name it. I was just glugging down the coffee, pitcher after pitcher of the stuff. When I got the call from WLS four months later to do afternoons, I thought—that beats the hell out of staying up all night.”
“At that time the battle between WLS & WCFL was a big deal. Obviously loyalty was not one of my strong suits, because I kept switching back and forth, but I remember the first time WCFL beat WLS in the ratings and it was a HUGE deal. It was a real battle. Very exciting. If I were to count up the number of guys who went through CFL and LS in the 60s and 70s I’d need an adding machine. With millions of dollars riding on those ratings, if you didn’t cut it, they didn’t mess with you. They just got someone else. It was a very stressful business in those days.”
“That last year at WCFL (1976) was the worst, after they changed formats and became beautiful music. They fired everyone but me, because I had a no-cut contract. That was the worst year of my professional life. They were trying so hard to get me to do something that would get me fired, or make me so miserable that I would quit. Everybody had been instructed to note everything I did wrong. Thirty seconds late for work—duly noted. I was coming on the air every fifteen minutes saying ‘The World’s most beautiful music. All day. All night. WCFL.’ If I screwed up and gave the wrong time, or didn’t say the words exactly right, they wrote it down. They were trying to build a case against me. People I considered friends were suddenly afraid to be seen talking to me. It was really really horrible.”
“I think the Real Don Steele is the best pure rock and roll disc jockey of all-time—he was from Los Angeles at KHJ. That guy was incredible. I never really considered myself a disc jockey—and I didn’t imitate him, but he was the very best. He was like Landecker or Brandmeier—pure high energy. I didn’t do that kind of radio, but I admired how good he was. The best thing that has ever been on the radio though, in my opinion, was Paul Harvey. We used to ride up on the elevator every morning together—we got to work around the same time. He was the best that ever was and the best that ever will be. He was a brilliant writer, and had an unbelievably fantastic delivery. Most news guys go in one ear and out the other. He was way more than that. He reached through the radio and grabbed your throat and said ‘Hey, listen to this. This is important.’ He was so commanding. Everything about it. I just idolized that guy. There will never be another one like him.”
“I understand he doesn’t like me anymore. I heard him do one of the cruelest things on the radio once—he was praising how attractive the Bush twins were, while ripping the looks of Amy Carter and Chelsea Clinton. I thought that was just unbelievable. They were kids! And I said I was appalled by that, and it got back to Rush. So at the NAB Hall of Fame induction a few years back when I was being inducted, they asked Rush to introduce me because they knew about how he felt about me. Well, Rush said he would only do it if he was assured that I wouldn’t rip him, and of course they couldn’t promise him that—so he passed.”
“I’m so good at fakin’ it. I plead guilty to being moody and easily depressed. I spent a lot of time in a down mood—so that stuff is basically accurate. But I also knew that nobody wanted to listen to someone who was always down, so I faked this whole charming and delightful thing. Very successfully I might add.”
WLS already had an all-star lineup when I came aboard in 1972. Superjock Larry Lujack was the morning man, Fred Winston was doing middays, and J.J. Jeffrey was the afternoon man. I was hired to fill the evening slot.
I met Larry before I was on the air a single time. The program director Mike McCormack called me into his office because he wanted me to sit in on a Larry Lujack aircheck. In the radio business we call them “airchecks,” but they’re really just critique sessions with the program director. The disc jockey brings in a tape of his or her show, and if the program director likes it, he praises it. I suppose this has happened once or twice in radio history. Usually it goes the other way. Usually the program director picks it apart.
McCormack started Larry’s tape, and we listened to a bit Lujack had done that morning. It was reality radio. Larry was pointing out that you could hear the garbage trucks in the alley through the air conditioner in WLS’s main air studio, and he held the microphone right up to it, so the listeners could hear it too. After the bit ended, the program director turned to me.
“What do you think of that?” he asked.
“I thought that was pretty funny,” I said.
I didn’t know what I had done, but after the meeting I was walking back to the jock lounge with Larry and he turned toward me.
“Thanks, kid,” he said.
Apparently before I came in, the program director had been telling Larry he hated it, and Larry was defending it. When I backed him up by saying I thought it was funny, it defused the criticism, and Larry thought the new guy was alright.
On the other hand, not too long after that, I may have turned the tide in the other direction at least for a day. We were in a jock meeting, shooting the shit, and someone asked the seemingly innocuous question: “Who was more important to music — Elvis or the Beatles?”
“I don’t think Elvis was that great,” I said.
Well, I had no idea that Larry Lujack was a huge Elvis fan, but I found out pretty fast. Larry glared at me. And then he nearly spit the words at me, in his patented Lujack delivery.
“You don’t know anything about music, you... Phil... a... del... phia... FUCK!”
Years later I was at the station when the news came across the wire that Elvis had died (August 16, 1977). The first thing that crossed my mind was that nobody in the world would want to know this information more than Larry Lujack. (When someone calls you a Philadelphia fuck for not loving Elvis, you have a tendency to remember that sort of thing.)
So, I called him at home, and his wife answered.
“Judy,” I said, “It’s John Landecker. I’ve got something very important to tell Larry. Trust me; he’s going to want to know about this.”
“OK, hang on,” she said.
A few seconds later Larry growled on the phone. “Yeah?”
“Larry, it’s me, John Landecker. Elvis is dead.”
“Who cares?” he growled again. “I’m taking a nap.”
I thought we all got along great at WIBG in Philadelphia, but I haven’t worked at a radio station before or since that had the kind of camaraderie we had at WLS in the 1970s. It was like one big non-stop party. We did all sorts of things together inside and outside the workplace.
The whole staff would play basketball and softball against local fire and police departments and various other organizations, and then after the game, all of our families would go out for pizza together. It usually ended up like Thanksgiving dinner, with two big tables — the grown up table, and the kids' table. Superjock Larry Lujack, the biggest star of all of us, would always, and I mean always, sit at the kids' table.
Larry: Get your greasy little face up next to the radio because it’s time for America’s favorite radio program, Animal Stories. And now here in person is the Animal Stories news team anchormen, I, your charming and delightful Ol’ Uncle Lar, and him,
Tommy: Hi.
Larry: In person, little Tommy. How you doin’ little Tommy?
Tommy: I’m fine, Uncle Lar.
Larry: We were sent a picture. I guess in Cedar Rapids they had one of those donkey basketball games.
Tommy: Oh yeah, I’d like that.
Larry: All of the players ride donkeys around, and look at the floor. The donkeys left... uh...
Tommy: (Laughs)
Larry: Uh... unsightly...
Tommy: Droppings.
Larry: All over the basketball court.
Tommy: Uh, well that makes it kind of slippery.
Larry: That’s one thing our WLS basketball team does not do. We do not leave droppings on the floor. However, Landecker plays like a donkey dropping.
The Freud party snub came after Mr Murdoch had Mr Blair barred from attending a media summit in the US after finding a note suggesting Ms Deng had a ‘crush’ on him and discovering the pair had spent weekends at Mr Murdoch’s homes without his knowledge. Mr Blair and wife Cherie were star guests at Mr Freud’s celebrity-studded party at his Oxfordshire mansion, with his father-in-law conspicuously absent.
No one knows for sure where a fear of Friday the 13th comes from. Some point to the last supper of Jesus Christ. The 13th guest at the table – Judas – ratted him out to the Romans, leading to Jesus’ crucifixion one day later, on a Friday. At least that’s how the story goes. Others link Friday the 13th to Norse mythology, which includes the tale of another dinner party (what’s up with these dinners going horribly?) Legend says the Norse gods were dining together when a 13th uninvited guest, Loki, arrived. One thing led to another and Loki arranged the death of Balder, the god of joy, for which the “whole earth mourned.”
There's also a general fear of the number 13 itself. The idea that so many things are organized in groups of 12 – months, zodiac signs, apostles, tribes of Israel, etc. – might be why 13 is considered unlucky. Just don’t tell that to any bakers you know.
But most contemporary references to a fear of the number 13 didn’t hit the mainstream until the 19th century. One of the earliest superstitions around the number 13 included “if 13 people sit at a table together, one will die within a year” (again with these dinners, come on).
Friday the 13th has some troubled history, too. On Friday, Oct. 13, 1307, France’s King Philip IV began a raid against the Knights Templar, charging them with illegal activity and throwing them in prison, where many of them eventually died.
What about people born on Friday the 13th? Are all of them evil? Well, it depends who you ask. Births on Friday the 13th feature some notable names, including Fidel Castro, the Olsen twins, and noted witch Nate Silver.