By the mid-Sixties, a bit of old-time radio could still be heard, here and there on your radio dial, but for the most part--'adios'--it was broadcasting history. Time stalked the radio business, and not only did Amos and Andy disappear but so did many of the talented disc jockeys of the day. Intelligent, warm, funny and inventive, those guys had well deserved, for decades, their exhalted status.

But change was blowin' in the wind, as you recall, and many of the great local radio personalities were leaving the business as fast as they could run. Places for them in the new order were shrinking in number, and the new order was rather..malodorous..to put it kindly.

Little fanfare has been heard for those radio giants. Too bad, and not only for their sake, because with their passing a lofty level of excellence in broadcasting was vanishing too, and we all lost in that bargain. What amazes me still was the absence of discussion amongst the remaining old pros of the collapse of their world. I'd like to have heard more..."Rage against the dying of the light!"

The dark side of the Sixties Generation, you see, was plundering the radio business--particularly on the burgeoning FM side. The geeks I had the displeasure of working with were like rabid jackals on the attack, but I'll save the gory details for later on; I don't want to bum you out at this early stage raving about a wave of pretenders who were bone ignorant of the slightest subtlety, excellence, or sophistication. Besides, apart from that..they were great guys!

Well, maybe not. But anyway, I started in radio some six light years before that dark time, on a lovely island, far, far away. And there were many superb moments in radio for me, both before and after the Children of the Corn. There was a lengthy transition period between Amos and Andy and those misguided souls, and that's where I stumbled in. It was an accident of time, blessing me with exposure to a touch of the old ways, and to some of my radio heroes as well. And since the torch was only half-passed at my arrival, I enjoyed some matchless experiences that today's young announcers simply do not have.

To wit--to begin with some name-dropping--I was able to meet, interview, and/or trade philosophies with a diverse collection of personalities that included bonafide legends like Rudy Vallee, composer Bernie Wayne (Blue Velvet) and opera star Richard Tucker; of course there were jazz musicians, including Wild Bill Davison, Al Hirt, Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Tony Scott, and lesser-known jazz figures Dorothy Ashby, Art Mardigan, Frank Isola, and Jack Brokensha; serious jazz fans know their names. Lou Rawls belongs somewhere on that list, too.

From the world of folk music came Brother John Sellers, Barbara Dane, and Bobby Camp (actor Hamilton Camp). From the concert stage: an exciting young pianist, Andre Watts, and the great contemporary composer, Alan Hovaness.

Of all people, I was able to meet and watch work the ubiquitous character actor, Alan Mowbray. And there was "Charlie Weaver," the stage persona of Rosanna Arquette's grandfather, Cliff Arquette. Rosanna's parents were there too, younger than she is now, with little Rosanna bumping around in the corner at play.

I met the most excellent Statler Brothers, Johnny Cash, Tex Ritter, Merle Travis, Dodie Goodman, 'Queen for a Day' host, Jack Bailey, and "Slapsie" Maxie Rosenbloom. I dished with Snookie Lansen about his sex life, rubbed knees with John Carradine, got loaded with James Dickey, and flirted with singers Connie Haines, Fran Warren, and Toni Carroll. (I couldn't flirt with Dionne Warwick; her husband was there.) I managed to offend the great Billy Eckstine, but enjoyed a wartless rap with Bill Haley. The Clara Ward Singers even invited me to sing gospel with them (no, they didn't), but I did talk property values with the forever gnarly Woody Herman.

Former Michigan Governors, G. Mennen Williams and John Swainson, and Detroit Mayor Jerome Cavanaugh, were some notable political tycoons who stuck their heads in the door. I remember informing Williams' entourage that the word Governor had been mispelled on the side of his station wagon (Govenor); no one had noticed!

Mickey Lolich, winning Detroit Tiger pitcher of the great '68 World Series, reluctantly agreed to an interview, and Hall of Famer, Hank Greenberg, strolled in one day. There was even a former Tiger batboy at WBRB, doing a job as sports director.

Then, there were those radio guys: Paul Winter, for one, whose show, 'Winter Wonderland,' had been my all-time Fifties favorite on Detroit's big-timer, WXYZ. Incredibly, Winter was still on the air in mid-2000 as the noble voice of the Motor City's public television station. Paul was also a serious art buff, and he taught Humanities at Wayne State University. Paul was a genuine Renaissance man. Sadly, in September 2000, Paul Winter passed away, ending a fine life in art and academe and a fifty-year broadcasting career that surely eclipses that of any other media type in the Detroit market--or most other markets, for that matter. His legendary shoes shall remain unfilled.

Perhaps Paul's finest moment was as talk-show host 'extraordinaire' at WTAK, the all-talk sister-station to WBRB, where I did a far less extraordinary talk show, I must confess. Paul and I were networked on WBRB's FM frequency, providing the Detroit market with a unique two-station talk format, yapping away from distant suburbs. Paul Winter was as knowledgable a talk-show host as they come: he was spirited, brilliant, stylized and civilized. A unique individual, a large personality, and a kind man with a word of encouragement when needed. Paul Winter was indeed the total package.

Don McLeod was another local legend I got to meet up close. McLeod had begun his career in radio's golden days as a sound-effects man---tooting whistles, slamming doors, playing horsie with coconut shells---ultimately to become one of the greatest voices ever heard on any radio wave. McLeod was another personal hero I'd grown up with, listening to him spin records on 'McLeodsville USA,' and watching him as host of one of the first televised teen dance shows in the country.

When McLeod retired from radio, I was hired to replace him. I'll always remember the thrilling moment when the station manager, reviewing my audition tape, announced to me over his shoulder..."You're it."

Don McLeod's level of radio excellence had been asked to leave the world--which might explain why his initial warm welcome soon turned silent. He heard me on the air! If he then logically assumed that I was one of the invading air-heads, who could blame him? Squirming nervously in the great Don McLeod's chair, I showed him little talent, and that's the truth.

McLeod stayed on for a week to break me in, but "keep the music commercial" was about all he had to say to me. I've often wished I'd thought to inform him that I truly longed to represent, in every possible way, the integrity of radio's historical establishment which he epitomized as much as anyone in the USA! He woulda' loved me. And I would've meant it. But anyway, I was "It" at WHFI, with all of eighteen months experience. By that time, the summer of 1964, Bermuda seemed a long way off.