World in My Eyes: The Autobiography

by Richard Blade

  “I like you; you’ve been great to work for. But I was upfront with everyone when I was hired that this would only be for one year, and the end of the month will make it a year. And I can’t stay here in Bakersfield.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “What I said I would do,” I continued. “Go back to LA and try and get a job there. That’s always been my goal.”

  “So you’re staying in radio?”

  “Definitely.”

  Brandon thought for a moment. “We have a station in San Luis Obispo. It’s a rock station but much more mainstream than Magic. We just heard from Arbitron that they have finally approved the San Luis Obispo market for its first ever ratings book. There’s never been a ranking of radio stations taken on the Central Coast before. This is crucially important to us. Would you go there and do mornings and be the program director? You will, of course, get a raise.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not about money. I made a promise to myself and I have to keep it.”

  “And I respect that,” said Brandon. “But these ratings are a huge priority, both for the company and for me personally.” He took a moment then continued, “Have you ever been to San Luis Obispo?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then we’ll fly you there. We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll get someone from KERN to cover your shift on Magic and you and I will fly to the coast and I’ll show you the Z93 studios in person. It might change your mind.”

  I was blown away. I had no idea how they would take my leaving, but flying me in a private plane to try and keep me working for the company? This was something that took me completely by surprise. I’d never been in a private plane so why not? I was certain it wouldn’t change anything, I’d still be going back to LA, but this would be a fun little adventure.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just let me know where and when.”

  I drove back to my apartment and waited for Katy to come home from her air shift. I broke the news to her that as she hadn’t come to a decision about what was to happen between us I had been forced to make that choice. I told her that I had given my notice directly to Rogers Brandon and would be leaving come August 1 and she could have the apartment and everything in it. I assured her that I was positive that Magic 98 would want her to remain on the air because she was such a talented DJ.

  Tears flowed that night but we kept it civil and restrained and on that Wednesday evening our love affair ended.

  CALIFORNIA GIRLS

  After a year of driving back and forth across the arid deserts and oilfields of Bakersfield, it was a thrill to be up in the sky and soaring over the California Coastal Range of mountains that separate the San Joaquin Valley from the Pacific. The barren sand quickly gave way to rolling hills and vineyards loaded with grapes ripening for the harvest. The view was spectacular. Rogers Brandon had the pilot fly slightly north and over a dramatic chain of peaks called the Nine Sisters and then out above the Pacific at Morro Bay. He pointed out the famous landmark rock that gives the bay its name and then turned south to hug the coastline.

  There was a light haze hanging low over the ocean that only served to accentuate the beauty of Avila Beach and approaching those sands, like vast columns of marching soldiers, were endless lines of incoming swells readying to break and release their pent-up energy on the shore after their 2,000-mile journey across the ocean. The pilot dipped the plane to the left and throttled back as the small four-seater turbo prop began its final approach into San Luis Obispo Regional Airport

  A car was waiting for us and we headed to the studios of KZOZ on Higuera Street. Z93 occupied a free-standing, one-story brick building and I was happy to see everything was right there; the sales offices, the management offices and the studio. No more driving back and forth, a definite plus. I was introduced to the staff and the station’s consultant who the company had brought in, Mark Driscoll, a legendary DJ out of New York.

  We went over what was being offered to me, morning drive from 6am to 10am, overseeing the running of the station as program director and a salary increase to $1,800 a month. It all sounded good but I wasn’t swayed. I wanted to get back to LA.

  One of the DJs, Harlon “the Wingnut,” whose long hair and tie-dyed t-shirt marked him as a holdover from “flower power” and the sixties, spoke up.

  “You should walk around slow town and check it out. It’s a great little place,” he suggested.

  Mark agreed and said we should go for lunch. As the two of us walked along the main street to the restaurant that Mark had chosen we talked about a number of things including San Luis Obispo’s nickname.

  “They call it SLO town,” laughed Mark. “And sometimes it is. I spent a lot of time doing radio in New York and believe me, I’d see more going on there in a day than you could see happening here in a year. The biggest tourist attractions close by are a wacky motel called the Madonna Inn that has a “cave room” and Bubblegum Alley, which is just that, a little alley where the kids have stuck their gum on the walls over the years. It’s kind of gross, but kind of quaint too.”

  Mark was right. This place had a quirky small-town vibe. But as we reached the restaurant I’d noticed something else and I had to bring it up to him over lunch.

  “Was I just seeing things after being locked up in Bakersfield for a year, or are there an inordinate number of beautiful girls in San Luis Obispo?” I asked Mark.

  “Your eyes do not deceive you, my friend. You’re not only in a beach town, but this place is also home to Cal Poly. Just wait, when the college is in session and all the students are back, it’s like a parade of supermodels every day.”

  What was said during the rest of lunch was a blur. My mind was racing. A California beach town full of hot college girls and I would be the newly single morning DJ on the only rock station on the entire central coast? That was a recipe for disaster and I was all in.

  As Mark picked up the check I heard a voice saying, “I think I can do this. I’ll stay through the ratings book and then leave.” That’s when I realized that voice was mine.

  Rogers Brandon was so happy that his “show and tell” had worked and wanted me to leave Bakersfield and take over in San Luis Obispo immediately. He had the afternoon DJ from KERN assume my duties at Magic 98 and by the end of the week I had said goodbye to both Bakersfield and, sadly, to Katy.

  The Arbitron ratings period was scheduled to run from mid-September until mid-December. The numbers (results) would be released during the second week of January. I would stay until then and get the station through “the book.” I had only eight weeks to prepare Z93 for the upcoming ratings battle.

  The monster that loomed over us was KSLY, a long-established country station with a huge following. If we could be a strong second to them that was all that was hoped for. But to achieve that we had to get our name out there. Mark and I pleaded with our owners to free up some money and soon we were able to order t-shirts, jackets and stickers that we could use as promo items. We wanted every bumper on the central coast to display “Z93—The Music FM.” But how do we convince everyone to stick one on?

  The answer was simple: prizes. We see your sticker, read out your license plate number and you have thirty minutes to call in and claim your prize: an album, t-shirt or maybe even a pair of concert tickets. But it bothered me. That wasn’t big enough to guarantee that mom and dad would let you place a sticker on the rear end of their beloved Ford, let alone change the dial from KSLY to Z93.

  Then it came to me: What if we saved all of the winners’ names throughout the twelve-week ratings period and on the last day of Arbitron’s survey threw a free outdoor party for our listeners and drew one name from our entire existing winners’ list and that person would get a grand prize from Z93? But what would be big enough and catchy enough so that our name was always in your head, Z93?

  The answer was obvious and it tied in so perfectly with a car bumper sticker campaign,

  “Win a Z from Z93”

  The sales manager, plus Ma
rk and I, approached the biggest Datsun dealership on the central coast and persuaded them, along with the promise of on-air mentions and a number of sales incentives, to give us a used, but perfect-condition, loaded, two-year-old 280Z for our contest. Now we were ready.

  Mark and I cut a series of promo spots to run around the clock on Z93. Working with Mark Driscoll was a true learning experience; not only did he have one of the greatest voices in radio but he was also a whiz at production and putting together spots, promos and commercials. Those times in the studio with Mark became invaluable to me because learning from the best really makes you want to step up your own game.

  It was the middle of August and we were just four weeks away from the start of the ratings book. I was having a meeting with the jocks and going over the new music I’d added to the playlist. Punk and New Wave were happening, and along with Journey’s Escape and Stevie Nicks’s Bella Donna, I’d put into rotation The Go-Gos, Wall of Voodoo and The Pretenders plus several big records from England that Dad had sent me, “Tainted Love” from Soft Cell, “Fade To Grey” from Visage and a track that had so much energy I felt it would hold its place against any of the rockers we were playing during the evening show, Spandau Ballet and “To Cut a Long Story Short.”

  I was going over the music details with my crew when one of the most stunning girls I had ever seen strolled past the window of the station. For a moment my eyes couldn’t quite take in this moving fantasy. I stopped talking mid-sentence and my gaze followed her down the street. I knew I couldn’t miss this chance and just let her disappear. As incredibly unprofessional as it was, I leapt to my feet, said to the group, “Hang on a minute,” grabbed a t-shirt and sprinted outside.

  I caught up with this walking loveliness in seconds and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and greeted me with a dazzling smile.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Can I ask you what radio station you listen to?”

  “Z93 of course,” she beamed.

  “Great. That’s who I DJ for and I can’t think of a better way to advertise our station than to have a beautiful girl wear our t-shirt.”

  Okay, so it was corny, but sometimes corny works.

  Darcy lived just twenty minutes north in Atascadero. Her parents had a small ranch there and she was getting ready to start her second year at Cal Poly. I was hosting a station party that evening at a local Mexican restaurant and invited her. The attraction was instant and we hit it off.

  As Darcy and I started to doze off that night, I saw the two of us reflected in the mirrored wardrobe doors in my room. She was laying there, already breathing deeply, her body looking flawless as she drifted away—Sleeping Beauty in person. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in that unforgiving mirror and a realization came over me. I was getting fat.

  My year in Bakersfield had been nothing but endless hours of work punctuated by short breaks where I only had time to grab junk food, eat then sleep, and I had continued that habit in San Luis Obispo. Now all those empty calories were starting to show. I was probably twenty pounds heavier than I had ever been. I turned off the dim bedside light and hoped I was the only one of us who had noticed.

  The next evening there was a slight chill in the air and a light rain was falling but that didn’t deter me. I pulled on tennis shoes, shorts and a hoodie and left my rented room on Laguna Lane and hopped the fence onto the grounds of Laguna Middle School right next door. Their sports field and track were empty and waiting for me. I accepted their invitation and knew those first laps would be hard; after all, I’d done nothing physical for fourteen months—no surfing, karate, swimming—just work. But now I had to do something for myself. That August night in 1981 I started to run and I have never stopped.

  I had been looking for a model for an ad we were putting together for our Z93 t-shirts and jackets and knew that we could do no better than Darcy. Close your eyes right now and imagine the ultimate California beach girl. Congratulations, that’s Darcy. Her blond hair tumbled down to the small of her back and her toned legs went on forever.

  I shot three rolls of black and white film getting the picture for the ad but in all truth any of the photos would have worked. When we looked back at the pictures the caption wrote itself.

  The Z93 Jacket—Wear It or Wear Nothing at All

  The weeks sped by and fall arrived. Our bumper sticker contest was working even better than we could have hoped. Every time we read out a license plate number between 6am and midnight the winner would call in within five minutes; it was exciting that there always seemed to be someone listening, tuned in, and waiting to win. Our main fear became that we would run out of prizes and giveaways before the end of the bumper sticker contest.

  Darcy modeling the Z93 jacket

  – November 1981

  Finally December rolled around and with it the last day of the Arbitron ratings period. All our planning and preparations had led to this, the culmination of the twelve-week promotion and the massive final party at the Datsun dealership. More than a thousand people showed up and the 280Z sat in pride of place, polished and gleaming in the front of the showroom. We drew the winner’s name and he was there in the crowd. As we handed the screaming winner the keys the press took pictures and we cranked the station over the loudspeakers we’d brought in. It was the perfect end to an incredible campaign.

  Later that evening Mark Driscoll and I drove back to the station to wrap up everything. Mark was a veteran of Arbitron ratings wars and was a lot less concerned about it than I was. He sensed my anxiety and he looked over at me and said reassuringly, “Relax, we’ve done all we can do. We’re at the mercy of the ratings now.”

  With almost a month to go before Arbitron released the all-important numbers, I went up to Atascadero and spent Christmas with Darcy and her family. Darcy and I hiked in the fields behind their ranch and talked about my plans.

  “I don’t think you should go to LA,” she said. “You’re so popular here on the coast. Everyone knows you. It’ll never be like that for you down there; it’s too big.”

  I knew she was right, but it was something I had to do. Darcy knew that too, and as the year drew to its close so did our fling.

  It was mid-January 1982, ratings day. We all knew that word of the numbers would come in first to the Bakersfield office. A little after ten the business line lit up. I grabbed it on the first ring; this was the all-important call. Rogers Brandon was on the other end of the phone. His voice was subdued.

  “We just got the numbers,” he said softly.

  It was my turn to speak. This was not sounding good. How badly had we done after all?

  “Did we come second to KSLY?” That was our hope, our goal, our prayer.

  “No, we didn’t.” His voice was emotionless and somber as if he were contemplating all the money his company had wasted on this first, all important survey, helmed by this young, talentless British DJ.

  “So how did the numbers come out?” I had to know the worst.

  “Okay,” he said. “Well, KSLY got a solid nine share.”

  “And us? How did we do?”

  Brandon’s voice exploded over the phone, “We got a twenty-eight share! No one can believe it. You didn’t just beat them, you crushed them! Get on the air now and I want you to say ‘Z93—the Central Coast’s number-one music station!’”

  If you’re not in radio that doesn’t seem such a big deal, but if you are then you know it’s like winning the World Series, the Stanley Cup and the Super Bowl all at once and then someone tosses in the Masters, the Daytona 500 and a few Olympic medals just for good measure.

  Brandon’s voice continued: “We’re number one! It doesn’t get any bigger. You are the program director of the biggest station on the Central Coast. Are you going to stay now?”

  “I’m thrilled with the numbers, but I can’t.”

  I was honestly sorry—these were genuinely good people but my dreams were elsewhere. San Luis Obispo had been a fantastic town for me but the cliché of
“big fish, small pond” resonated through my brain. I had no alternative.

  The day after the ratings – in the Z93 studio

  “I’ll be here through a week on Friday, and then I have to go just like we arranged. I’ve got to get back to LA.”

  “Then you are going to miss out on an amazing year for the station. With this under our belt everything around here will change, and for the better. I wish you would stay and be a part of it. We’ll be sending you something tomorrow.” He hung up.

  The next day, halfway through my morning show a card, flowers and champagne arrived. The card read, “We’ll be here for you.” Like I said, genuinely good people.

  My return to Los Angeles was now a little over one week away. I called Mark and Tim at Towards 2000 to let them know I was heading back and Tim offered to let me room with him at his little place in Sherman Oaks. Now that I knew I had a place to stay it was time to lay the groundwork for the future and land that elusive radio job in LA.

  UP ALL NIGHT

  At the same time as our ratings book had come out for the Central Coast, Arbitron had released the ratings for all its other markets across America, and that included Southern California. I managed to get a copy of the Los Angeles ratings numbers and marked which stations had gone up and which ones were struggling. It was those weaker radio stations I targeted, figuring that they might be planning changes to strengthen their on-air position and therefore be the most receptive.

  I put together a package with Z93’s amazing results along with Magic 98’s increased ratings from the previous year and prepared to send them out. I called a dozen stations in LA who had big drops in their audience figures and asked if I could send their program directors my resume, tape and Arbitron package. That’s when I found out how self-absorbed and myopic most of these PDs really are; little green men from Mars could come down and take over all the radio stations in Texas and they wouldn’t care; their only concern was their particular station and their market. To them, nothing else existed. No wonder they were such losers!