Radio Free Boston

by Carter Alan

  With the staff locked out, and throwing up daily picket lines in the broad plaza in front of the Prudential Tower, the nerve center of the newly formed WBCN Listener Alliance was established in a home with donated space on Braemore Road in Brookline. Clint Gilbert, a part-time manager of the expatriated Listener Line, designated a recent recruit named Paul Sferruzza (later known to ’BCN listeners as “Tank”), as the person on location who was in charge of the volunteers. “Darrell Martinie’s agent was the guy that came up with that venue,” Tank recalled. “We had our little work area, a bathroom, two bedrooms, and a kitchen space. People who had worked the Listener Line [in the Prudential] came in and worked their shift in Brookline.” Gilbert mentioned, “We got three or four phone lines in, and once we were able to get the new phone number out, 617-SEX-2121, they were ringing!” David Bieber, working with his sympathizers in the print media, managed to obtain nearly daily ads in the papers listing the WBCN strike events and the new phone number to replace the so-familiar 617-536-8000, although the more discrete numeric ID, 617-739-2121 (without the SEX part), was the one that made it to print. Tank pointed out, “The whole focus in Brookline was on the strike and raising money so that guys like Matthew Wong, who was a veteran sales person, could pay his bills.” Clint Gilbert shook his head at the memory: “The listeners were so willing to help; the caliber of what people were offering was nothing like I’ve ever experienced. ‘Just tell me, what do you guys need?’”

  The second benefit concert at the Orpheum Theater. Boston’s bands help keep the striking employees afloat and the fight alive. Courtesy of Clint Gilbert.

  As donations poured into Brookline, and some listeners just pressed cash into the hands of picketing volunteers at the Pru, another drive was on to demonstrate to the new owners just how much the community supported ’BCN. Listeners were urged to send Michael Wiener and Hemisphere Broadcasting letters of protest, or flood its Prudential Tower office with calls. Dozens and dozens of station fans converged on Boylston Street daily to augment the circle of striking protesters and march in solidarity. A “Duane Glasscock Victory Motorcade to Save WBCN” was organized for Saturday, 24 February: “A magical mystery tour of Boston,” according to the leaflets placarded all over the city by droves of volunteers. The Boston Sunday Globe reported the next day that eighty cars, “many festooned with posters, balloons and banners,” accompanied by a police escort, staged a peaceful, promotional drive through the city during a hard rainstorm. “My car was ‘The Big Mattress’ car,” Tom Couch recalled with a laugh. “I had a Honda Accord, and we tied a big, old mattress on top of it.”

  Halfway into the second week of the WBCN strike, Mitch Hastings stepped off a plane at Logan Airport, after having vacationed in Bermuda following the station’s sale. The Boston Phoenix caught up with the former owner and asked him what he thought of the furor that had erupted in his absence. Hastings, who appeared fully aware of the strike, was nevertheless shocked at what had transpired. “It’s nothing like what we expected. We thought we were selling the station to a company that would carry on our programming and staff with a minimum of changes. I talked to him [Wiener] today and I get the impression that he still wants to carry on WBCN’S image, and standing, but he doesn’t quite know how to do it.” A softening attitude from the top of the Pru? It certainly seemed so. The article revealed, “Faced with the continuing loss of ’BCN advertisers and complaints from long-time listeners about the absence from the airwaves of their favorite personalities, Wiener did agree to a sit-down session with representatives of Local 262 of the United Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers of America.” Jeff McLaughlin at the Globe wrote, “The union, led by field organizer Phil Mamber, refused to back down from any of its demands: Reinstatement of every staff member, recognition of the union for collective bargaining and negotiation with the union over any layoffs.” Wiener, in the article, admitted that the loss of advertising revenue was “beginning to really hurt.”

  Motorcade promotional flyer. Go for it! Courtesy of Tony Berardini.

  Then, in a moment of perfect timing, as round-the-clock bargaining sessions stretched on for a week, Arbitron published its radio rankings for January 1979. The figures showed that immediately prior to the strike, WBCN’S popularity with all Boston-area listeners older than age 12 had rebounded into the number 6 position in Boston with a 4.7 share. At the same time, WCOZ’S ratings had softened to a 4.3, earning that station the number 7 slot. This news prompted Wiener to redouble his efforts to settle affairs at the negotiating table and move on. In swift order, the two sides finally hammered out an agreement, and the union dropped its suit in response. When the sudden announcement emerged that workers would be expected to report back to work on Monday, 12 March, everyone suddenly realized, with a start, that the WBCN strike was actually over.

  Jubilation exploded as the amazing news spread. “I never expected to win,” Steve Strick admitted. “I totally expected that all that protesting was just for show, and that at the end of the day we’d basically be looking for jobs. The fact that they hired us back was huge . . . history making!”

  “It was truly one of the highs of my life, the night after we won the strike,” Sue Sprecher said. “I remember being at Mark Parenteau’s place and we were all singing ‘We Are the Champions!’”

  Danny Schechter, channeling some (very appropriate) hippie idealism that harkened all the way back to the scribing of America’s founding fathers, wrote in the strike victory press release, “We hope that our efforts can be an example to others in the Communications Industry—to show everyone that unity is strength; that colleagues should care about each other and support each other; that principles are worth defending; and that working people do have rights which are worth struggling to secure.” The already-scheduled 11 March solidarity concert at the Orpheum Theater was hastily, and happily, relabeled a “Victory Benefit” as a humbled, and candid, Michael Wiener told the Boston Globe, “I’m thrilled the strike is over. I’ve never seen anything like it. Clearly, I miscalculated—to mount an effort like they did is just extraordinary. What can I say? I’m happy as hell we’re all on the same side now.”

  Victory onstage at the Orpheum Theater, 11 March 1979. WBCN’S finest hour. Photo by Eli Sherer.

  The New York Times reported the resolution of the strike on 13 March, with Michael Knight writing, “It was a famous victory, everyone agreed, although no one could agree on exactly what had been won aside from the temporary reinstatement of 19 employees who had been abruptly dismissed when the station, WBCN, changed hands last month.” But much had been won, most notably the reality that the radio station had beaten back a hostile takeover, remapping the battlefield into a cautious cooperation between two suspicious parties. The armistice validated that a business acumen found on the corporate level should and could work together with a passion found on the street level to serve the public interest. The Times article went on: “Michael Harrison, the publisher of Goodphone Weekly, an industry newsletter, called the strike settlement a milestone for those who believe a radio station is ‘part of a community and not just a collection of wires and turntables, or a business like any other.’” Looking toward a new decade, there were many great things in store for what would become known as “The Rock of Boston.” But as lofty, acclaimed, and noble as some of those future achievements would turn out to be, WBCN would never be as unified and purposeful as in those twenty-one days in the winter of ’79. It was, and would always remain, the station’s finest hour.

  Fly low, beat the radar. May the wind at your back not be your own. And remember, wherever you go, there you are, so take us along. TONY BERARDINI, RADIO SHOW CLOSER

  “THE REALLLLLL

  WBCN, BOSTON!”

  Michael Wiener and Gerald Carrus sat in their office on the fiftieth floor of the Prudential, looking down at the twinkling skyline of the city that had rejected them. As the two owners sat stunned in their defeat, even while publicly claiming a victory, they had to admire the for
titude of their former opponents, whom they were now inheriting, like it or not. As the two pondered their next step, the ex-strikers below headed off, arm in arm, from party to party, chattering excitedly in their groups, to continue the revelry long into (or through) the night. But Monday would soon arrive, and other than the fact that they had a job to report to, nobody knew exactly what to expect once they got there. Although the outright sacking of half the staff had been forestalled, both sides realized that a reckoning still waited. Plus, outside of WBCN’S bubble, the challenges that had threatened the station before the strike remained; WCOZ, the greatest radio threat ’BCN would ever face, was still very much an immediate danger. And soon, that relentless competitor would become far more dangerous as it converted, Transformer-like, into something larger and wilder: a radio beast known as “Kick-Ass Rock and Roll.”

  Producer Steve Lushbaugh created a famous radio station sounder that blasted out, in Godlike magnitude, “The Reallllll WBCN!” across the air every hour or so. Like a marquee and spotlights proclaiming the presence of a major event inside a theater, the blaring announcement trumpeted ’BCN’S official (and authentic) return. The employees, flushed with success, reported back to work on Monday, 12 March, finding that the environment at the station was far from unpleasant. Charles Laquidara’s first poststrike “Big Mattress” became a nonstop party as listeners phoned in their good wishes, friends and supporters were thanked on the air, and Laquidara established the Hot Chocolate hit, “Every 1’s a Winner,” as a victory song. “There was a harmonious reentry,” David Bieber remembered. “There was a big party at a roller rink, catered top shelf, where everybody got skates. Mike Wiener and his wife Zena were there, Gerry Carrus . . . there was really a good feeling. It was like that refreshing breeze that happens after a hurricane blows away all the bad air.”

  However, although everyone smiled and acted cordially, there remained serious differences with the new owners, who still maintained that the size of the station’s workforce needed to be whittled down. The New York Times reported, “Michael Wiener praised the settlement as a victory, although it represented a repudiation of his policies and a delay, at least temporarily, in his attempts to cut costs at the station.” Even the union’s official “Strike Victory” press release, largely penned by Danny Schechter, acknowledged the latter point: “The union recognizes our need to review our staff requirements. And we are determined that any necessary staff reductions will not be effected in a capricious manner.”

  “We had a strike settlement that we signed to end the walkout . . . which just meant that we went back to work under the terms of the previous contract,” Tony Berardini explained. “Then we had to sit down and work out a new contract . . . which was really something. As you can imagine, everyone was all fired up. At that first contract meeting with Phil Mamber and the new owners, about thirty people—jocks and sales and news—all showed up. It turned into a three-ring circus; the new owners just got pummeled! Mike and Gerry had the most pained looks on their faces. It was brutal; [there were] several hours of recriminations and venting, and 144 all they wanted to do was move forward and get the station back on track. But it eventually smoothed out.”

  The folks on the other side of 536-8000, the WBCN Listener Line (circa 1980). Photo by Eli Sherer.

  Against the backdrop of the station’s familiar voices triumphantly reas-suming their positions on the air, the inevitable trimming began. The first station casualty after the strike was Clint Gilbert, the employee responsible for staffing and running the Listener Line, who was let go by Wiener, ostensibly for his activities with the Committee for Community Access (CCA). As expected, John Brodey, who had been on the docket to leave even before the union action, soon put his plans in motion and exited for his job in the record industry. Jim Parry, the one DJ left at the station who could trace his radio genealogy back to the first nights of WBCN’S “American Revolution,” unexpectedly drew a pink slip. “I was not pleased with the end,” he explained sourly. “They fired a couple of people in each department: me in programming, Matty [Matthew Wong] in sales, someone in the office; it was, like, four people. But I was getting kind of [fed up] anyway, it was really changing . . . a lot. The guys that came in knew how to run radio stations, and it became very different.” Charlie Kendall soon caught an express elevator of his own off the fiftieth floor despite working for the company and achieving a great deal of success before the strike. “When I first took the job, I said, ‘Look, I’ll work for x amount of dollars, but you’ve got to give me 3 percent of the profits.’” [After the strike] Wiener and Carrus called me into the office and said, ‘Look, we’d like you to stay here, but no percentage points. We don’t want any partners.’”

  “I didn’t know about that deal, but the reason Charlie had to leave anyway was that nobody could trust him,” Tony Berardini rationalized. Although the smooth-talking radio pro had helped the union during the strike, he had, after all, been Hemisphere’s primary asset to keep WBCN on the air and functioning during the battle. “There was always going to be that division between him and everyone else. A program director needs to be a leader and you can’t lead if people won’t follow you.”

  With Charlie Kendall out the door, Wiener and Carrus needed a replacement, so they approached Berardini. “I said no. At that time, the image of being part of management two months after the strike and aligning myself with the people who had caused it was just anathema to me. There was no friggin’ way. I just wanted to be music director and do my shift.” Word about the owners’ offer got around the office, though. “One day, I was in the music room; Charles and Mark came walking in. They locked the door! ‘Tony, you have to take the program director job.’ I said that after that long strike, I was back to doing what I liked doing. They said, ‘No, you don’t understand. If you don’t take that job, they’re going to bring in some guy from the company, some asshole from New York, who’s going to want to change everything; he’s going to want to tighten things up.” Berardini smiled at the memory. “What was I going to say to two on-air leaders of the radio station who were basically telling me that they’d decided that I was doing this? I told [Wiener and Carrus] that I didn’t want to wear a tie and that I wanted to keep an air shift, because [typically] the PD at WBCN didn’t do a regular weeknight show. Gerry Carrus looked at me like I had two heads and said, ‘That’s fine; you can do an air shift. And don’t wear a tie; I don’t care.’”

  During Berardini’s first week in his new office, he’d hardly figured out where to put the desk lamp before being pulled into a disagreement between Charles Laquidara and Matt Siegel about an incident on the air. “I can’t remember if it was over Mishegas [a game show segment] or something, but they were having a fight.” The quiz show segment at the end of every “Big Mattress” had grown to mammoth proportions, filling out the last fifteen minutes of Laquidara’s shift and serving as the segue into Siegel, who’d inherited the midday show. “It took a good hour to deal with this since Matt had to keep running in and out of the studio because he was on the air.” While Tony concentrated on mediating the argument, a call came in from the receptionist. “She said, ‘There’s a guy who has an appointment waiting in the lobby. His name is Howard Stern.’ I had no idea Charlie [Kendall] had made this appointment, and I certainly didn’t know who the hell Howard Stern was. I said, ‘Please apologize to him; tell him I’m dealing with an on-air issue and have him find a seat.’ Then he waited a whole hour.” Eventually, Berardini was able to show Stern into his office. “Of course, he wasn’t the big star yet; he was just looking for a gig at the station. But what was I going to do? I already had Charles Laquidara in the morning, Matt Siegel in middays, Mark Parenteau in the afternoons, and Tracy Roach at night. This was after the strike, and we had one of our best [ratings] books ever. I had no place for this guy. What was I going to give him, weekends?” Of course, Stern would eventually return as a conqueror at the head of his own massive radio empire, but regarding this initial episode w
ith the fledgling “shock jock,” Berardini just had to smile and admit, “Who knew?”

  Near the beginning of June 1979, Tony Berardini needed a part-timer to run the station from the twelve strokes of midnight to dawn on Sunday mornings, and hired his first new employee. He found me at the same place Joe Rogers, Tommy Hadges, and Oedipus had all trained: MIT’S WTBS-FM (which had become WMBR only one week earlier). Berardini made his selection, I suppose, because I knew a bit about music and could speak fluent AC/DC. On the air that first night, I was speechless for six songs, but after I pulled it together, my new boss walked in and threw me the two beers left in a six pack that he and Tracy Roach had been sharing in his office while listening. I suppose it was his way of saying I passed the audition.