by Richard Neer
My brother was equally frustrated. He traveled three thousand miles to see the man and was met with vague monosyllabic answers. He felt that Dylan never warmed to him, and went home disappointed in his inability to draw the legend out. But years later, when CBS promotion man Jim Del Balzo brought a group from the station backstage at the Beacon Theater to meet the star, Dylan’s ears perked up at the mention of the station. “WNEW?” he exclaimed. “Yeah, that cat from your station came out to see me. I heard that show. He was cool. Great. Best interview I ever did. Want some whiskey?” He proffered a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
Dan-o didn’t feel vindicated by the praise and still pines for a second shot. But Muni has yet to get his first recorded conversation with the man, perhaps because Scott rarely travels to do an interview, preferring the subject be brought to him. Even though his son, Mason Munoz, worked for CBS Records and accompanied Bob on tours, he couldn’t convince him to pop up and pay his dad a visit. And the only time Dylan did go to a radio station, it was under such bizarre circumstances that few of his fans were aware that it happened.
WKTU was a disco station that never would dream of playing a Dylan record. They were doing a charity radiothon with their star jock, a man using the moniker “Paco.” For a brief period, his was the highest-rated show in town, as he spoke in a deep rumble reminiscent of Ricardo Montalban, thrilling the Studio 54 crowd. Paco was friendly with Arthur Baker, a producer of disco records who was enjoying some popularity with rock artists who wanted to freshen their sound with the new rhythms. He remixed Springsteen’s “Cover Me” and “Dancing in the Dark,” largely to the consternation of Bruce’s fan base. But now he was working with Dylan in an attempt to make the folk rocker more commercially acceptable. When his Latino buddy Paco called asking for some artist help for the radiothon, Baker promptly squired Dylan up to KTU. CBS Records launched a massive cover-up to hide the event from Muni, who would have gone ballistic had he found out. That’s how much the music community respected and feared Scottso.
But all Pete Coughlin saw was a gray-haired old man who had outlived his usefulness. In Chernoff, he saw a wimp who thought he knew more about radio than Jeff Pollack. And Pollack, pulling Coughlin’s strings, saw Muni as an obstacle to the changes he intended for WNEW—changes that would come swiftly if he had anything to do with it.
In his first couple of days at the station, Coughlin lost any chance he had with the staff over one incident. Word of the story spread like fire on a gas-soaked cross. Muni was on the air, playing a Chuck Berry song, when the new general manager summoned Chernoff to his office after hearing the opening riffs.
“Why are we playing this nigger music?” Coughlin demanded to know.
Chernoff couldn’t believe what he’d just heard and asked his boss to repeat the question. He did so without hesitation, and Chernoff, still reeling, asked that he convey his feelings to Scott Muni directly. Mark retrieved Scottso and marched him back into the office. Coughlin asked the question again, without rephrasing.
Muni and Chernoff looked hopelessly at each other. Scott merely said, “You keep stepping in shit, don’t you? Do you realize what would happen to us if what you just said became public? You can’t be serious.” He turned on his heel and headed back to the studio.
“I feel like some Motown, Fats,” he told his engineer upon arriving. “Pull out some Supremes, Temptations, and Four Tops.” Those groups comprised the next few sets on the air.
Mark was left awkwardly alone with Coughlin. “By the way,” he ventured. “How do you feel about us playing Jimi Hendrix?”
“No problem with that,” Coughlin answered. “Why should there be?”
“Well, he is black.”
“He is?”
After that incident, any hopes Chernoff had about remaining at the station under the new regime were dashed. His dream job of programming the station he’d loved as a child and working with his boyhood heroes were destroyed.
He contacted Tom Chuisano, the former WNEW sales manager who had defected to Infinity to head Karmazin’s K-ROCK. They had lunch but Chuisano, although impressed by Chernoff’s intelligence and résumé, already had a program director and didn’t see an immediate change coming. He did suggest that Chernoff talk to Karmazin, and arranged a meeting.
Mel sympathized with Mark over what was happening at WNEW—sad on one level that his training ground had fallen into the hands of fools, but happy on another that it created an opening for K-ROCK to win the rock wars in New York. He told Chernoff that Ken Stevens at WJFK in Washington was looking for a program director and that although he gave his general managers autonomy in running their operations, he thought that Mark would be a good fit in D.C.
Chernoff went home with a heavy heart and discussed the situation with his wife, Sally. He had grown up in New Jersey and established deep roots. Sally taught school there, and the children were all involved in community activities. Yet there was nothing for him in New York; it was only a matter of time before he’d be fired at WNEW. His contract ran out in mid-February, mere weeks away. There was nothing for him at K-ROCK, and there were no other rock stations in the market. Out of options, he reluctantly called Karmazin and told him he’d be interested in talking to Stevens.
He liked the man immediately upon meeting him. He had opinions on what he wanted the station to do, but was open to Chernoff’s superior knowledge of programming. Their outlook was similar in how they would achieve their goals, and as the meeting ended, Chernoff knew he’d have the job, if he wanted it.
After more soul searching he decided to accept the offer, but only on his terms. He wanted to work Monday through Thursday in Washington, he told Stevens. He needed to spend the extended weekend with his family in New Jersey. While in Washington, he’d work day and night, for however long it took for him to get the job done. Upon the completion of the school year, his wife and family would move down to join him and he’d assume more normal hours. And the announcement would have to be held off until he finalized things at WNEW. Stevens agreed, and now all Mark had to do was execute the bittersweet task of informing Legacy.
He didn’t have to wait long. Coughlin told him that he and the owners wanted to meet with him at a local restaurant Tuesday evening after work. Classic setup, he thought. Do it away from the station, in the evening in a public place, to avoid a disruptive scene. But rather than stomp out of a crowded eatery, Chernoff short-circuited their plans and started the discussion before they could leave the offices. Sure enough, the owners began with expressions of doubt mixed with sympathy—that unfortunately things weren’t working out and that maybe Mark wasn’t suited for what they wanted to do.
“That’s great,” he interrupted them, “because I’ve already accepted another job.”
It was their turn to be stunned, or at least act that way. This was the ultimate act of disloyalty and it confirmed their feelings that Mark wasn’t a company man. I quit, you’re fired.
So Chernoff went to work for Ken Stevens at WJFK, and despite the uncomfortable family situation, he liked the people he was working with and found Stevens to be a fair-minded boss. Sally had come down during a break and they’d found a house they liked in the planned community of Reston, Virginia. They signed a contract to buy it and put their house in New Jersey on the market.
But fate intervened. Suddenly, there was a job at K-ROCK. Pat Evans, one of the few female program directors in the country, had grown tired of being humiliated by Howard Stern, on and off the air. She also wasn’t happy with the high-pressure atmosphere in New York, with Infinity’s corporate headquarters lodged in the same building as the station. She resigned, eventually accepting a position at the more laid-back KFOG in San Francisco. Chernoff interviewed with Chuisano again and was offered the job. Stevens was completely understanding of Mark’s desire to go home, and luckily Mark was able to extricate himself from the Reston house and withdraw his New Jersey residence from the market.
Coughlin lasted at WNEW-FM two months long
er than Mark had. His crude comments in the presence of clients soon convinced Legacy that the man was an embarrassment, in too far over his head. He was shown the door after less than ninety days in the position. Shortly thereafter, at a manager’s meeting when the change was announced, Jeff Pollack passed by Muni and sang softly into his ear, “Scottie got his way-a” in a childish tease. Muni grabbed the slender consultant and swore that if he ever taunted him again, it would be his last act on earth. Scott had repeatedly tried to bail Coughlin out of jams that his loose mouth had gotten him into, and was deathly afraid that if any of his indiscretions were made public, the station would suffer irreparable harm. It wasn’t just politics with Scott; it was his life. Pollack seemed to see it all as a big game, a power struggle.
But major damage was already done. Chernoff sadly realized that had he been able to hang in sixty days longer, he likely could have remained at WNEW-FM. He’s convinced that had things broken that way, he’d still be there today, and the station would be playing rock and thriving. Now he was working for the enemy and although not a vengeful man, he knew all the station’s strengths, many of which he’d propagated, and he also knew their weaknesses.
Chernoff’s replacement at WNEW was Ted Utz, whose history in radio is unlike almost any other, in that he’d done things in reverse. The typical path is disc jockey to programmer to general manager, then in a few cases, to ownership. But Ted Utz, who graduated Syracuse University a year ahead of my brother Dan in the mid-seventies, decided that upstate New York needed an AOR station and organized a group of friends and investors to seek a license. Staked with eight thousand dollars of his own money, Ted petitioned the FCC and performed all the tests and applications necessary for approval. He even managed to get college credits for his labors, and learned a great deal more in his practical pursuits than he had in school. While he was doing this, he worked part-time at WRNW in Westchester County, New York, along with my brother, Meg Griffin, and a big, nerdy, skinny Howard Stern. After completing the rigorous requirements the FCC mandated for ownership back then, WAQX Syracuse was born, and immediately started pulling big numbers in a market starved for rock. His success was noted by Lee Abrams, who invited him to program a similar station in Albany, New York. Although WAQX was a labor of love, Ted’s 25 percent share afforded him little control and he yearned to break free and to be his own boss. So in a strange turn of events, he accepted Abrams’s offer, and achieved similar success in Albany, then Providence and Dallas before following Charlie Kendall and George Harris at WMMR in Philadelphia.
A tall, craggily handsome man whose bearing belies his youth, the always elegantly dressed Utz was able to build on WMMR’s already positive numbers, especially strengthening John DiBella’s morning show for the inevitable assault by Howard Stern in syndication. Although the Stern juggernaut did surpass WMMR in the morning, it took longer to do so in Philadelphia than it had in any other major market. So Utz already had an impressive management résumé when he hit New York, and continued to burnish his star in the country’s largest marketplace.
Utz had been promoted by Legacy to be in charge of regional AOR programming because of his successful stint as program director at WMMR. He’d become their at-large troubleshooter, bailing out stations in Detroit and Los Angeles. Initially brought in at WNEW to mediate disputes between the programming staff and Coughlin, Utz soon gleaned that the rifts ran much deeper than that. The sales staff had turned on their boss as well, and Ted reported to his superiors that the situation was irreparable. Given his ownership experience in Syracuse, Utz was handed the reins, originally as a temporary replacement for Coughlin. But his stellar revenue performance (increasing billing by 15 percent the first year) gave the station stability, and he ascended to the general manager’s post on a more permanent basis. With a veteran sales staff in place, Utz could concentrate on the programming, which still bore Kendall’s signature with Chernoff’s variations. There was a little tinkering to do, but he inherited a generally solid situation from his predecessor.
After only a few months, another buyer was entering the picture. Legacy was looking to expand their holdings, and made inquiries about buying Group W from the powerful Westinghouse Company. However, Westinghouse was looking to acquire radio properties, not sell them. Legacy was thus convinced to peddle their stations for a tidy profit. WNEW-FM was under new ownership once more, the third owner in just over a year. Group W had experience in the New York market with the successful all-news WINS. Despite this, they also pressured Utz to achieve even higher 12+ shares, especially during morning drive.
But Stern’s massive numbers in the morning were now affecting middays as well, since he often stayed on the air at K-ROCK until eleven-thirty. At WNEW, Coughlin had insisted on firing Ray White from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. and replacing him with Pat St. John. The disruption gave Chernoff an opening and he figured that if he could strengthen the rest of that time slot, and then bolster afternoon drive, K-ROCK could become more than just a one-man station dominated by Stern.
Pete Fornatale was now just doing part-time duty at WNEW-FM for not a lot of money. As his contract expired, Chernoff lured him over to K-ROCK, ostensibly to do weekends. But the master plan was to slide him back into his old midmorning slot, as an engaging follow-up to Stern. Since the program often lasted less than three hours and Stern left him with gargantuan numbers, the offer was appealing to Fornatale. K-ROCK began to win the midday battle.
It was during this period that I almost made the switch to K-ROCK. Working without a contract, I had nothing to tie me to the old place but heritage. I was working quite a bit as a sports-talk host at WFAN, a job I landed shortly after The Sports Connection was canceled. I knew my aspirations lay there. Many of the jocks I’d worked with over the years at WNEW were gone, and management was changing on a regular basis. There was little discretion in music selection—everything was laid out on the computer and DJ Select had been temporarily eliminated so you couldn’t change anything you found objectionable. There wasn’t room for creative segues anymore, and sets tied together by musical strings were virtually impossible to do. Utz was a generally nice man, who had gone to school with my brother, but he had left me hanging to save his own skin once, so my trust in his protection was shallow.
It happened during an all-day charity event Bill Graham was producing from San Francisco that continued during my Sunday afternoon shift. It featured Jefferson Starship, Santana, and Boz Scaggs, all classic Bay Area artists that Graham had given their start. Journey would be headlining, playing with Steve Perry again after a long hiatus, which was a big deal in AOR land. The concert producers called to tell me that under no circumstances was I to broadcast any of the Journey set. They hadn’t played together in a while and were worried that if they indeed did reunite more permanently, they might be harmed by a sloppy performance. I called Utz and asked him how he wanted it handled.
He said to go ahead and run the Journey concert. After all, once we had, what could they do—send us a nasty letter? Following instructions, I aired their set, informing the audience that we had an exclusive—the reformation of one of the decade’s premier rock bands.
That Monday I received an angry phone call from Columbia Records, threatening me with legal action for putting the concert on. They had spoken to Utz first and he had told them that I’d made the decision on my own, and that any repercussions from it should come my way. Bill Graham was furious and was demanding my head from Muni. Since he and Graham had been friends for over twenty years, Scott read me the riot act for betraying his buddy. I explained that I had been instructed by Utz to run the broadcast. Muni said that he’d try to calm down everyone involved and charged into Ted’s office.
That was the last I heard of the matter. After the storm subsided, I went back to work the following weekend as if nothing had happened. No lasting harm had been done—I was angry that my boss had used me as a scapegoat, but I felt powerless to react. Utz later explained that there was nothing anyone would do to p
unish me if I had made the call independently, but that the station could have been on the hook for damages if he took responsibility. Also, it might strain relations with an important record label, which could compromise us on exclusives. The harm to my reputation for integrity apparently wasn’t considered important.
I was very open to Chernoff’s overtures. I figured that since Fornatale’s defection, Group W would be wary of losing their heritage position in the market by further attrition. So I had numerous conversations with Mark about a role at K-ROCK, but none of the offers he made exceeded my current salary at WNEW by enough to make me think seriously of jumping ship. My projected role at K-ROCK would essentially remain the same as it was at WNEW: weekends and fill-ins.
By this time, the decision would strictly be based on money. As much as I liked working for Mark, my contact with management was so limited that it made little difference. I still could play new music at WNEW; K-ROCK was strictly rock oldies. My future seemed to be in sports talk anyway, so DJ work just amounted to a way to subsidize that. It was sad, but since the experience of being fired and no longer enjoying the freedom to program my own music, it had become just another job.