OK -9-, Mike, Phil... heh, heh...
At the risk of taking up too much of this thread. My apologies for another entry. This is going to be a "screed," as Al Wallack might say.
Jeff Kaye. My experience was totally different from that of Bob Savage. I was a punk 23 year old-know-it-all, working weekends and overnights at WYSL and admittedly not as good as I could have been, but better than some. A friend of mine, from Buffalo State, Craig Kozinski (no relation to Bob Kocinski) was a promotions assistant at KB. They lovingly called these guys "shleppers." He put my name in play and gets credit and my thanks for his act of generosity.
Aside. It helps to understand that KB at the time had a lot of Yiddish and Borsht Belt influence, most of it coming from two guys Jeff (Krimski) Kaye and Norm Schrutt. OK, three guys. Add Don Berns' name to the list. Jeff and Norm were cut from opposite ends of the same ego-driven cloth. So words like "shlepper," "shmuck," "putz," "shtick," and "shmooz" were part of the every day station vernacular. You came to understand the words and how to use them. Example, Jeff brusquely tells me, "The sponsor billboard goes before the temperature and the weather outro. Get it right. Don't be a
putz."
So my friend Craig, without me knowing it, tells Jeff about me and Jeff's secretary Francine "Straps" Keating (one of the nicest women on the face of the earth) calls me at home and says, "Jeff Kaye wants to talk to you, can you bring him an aircheck?" I think it's a joke. Somebody like the notorious Randy Michaels at WGRQ is busting my balls. I say, "Thanks, I'll get it right down to you," dismiss the call totally and do nothing.
Two days go by. I get another call. It's Francine again. "We didn't get your tape, did you forget?" At this point I tell her I thought somebody was punkin' me and didn't want to look like a total fool dropping of a tape at the Mighty KB, only to have a receptionist look at me with a blank stare and toss it in the circular file.
So I tell Francine I'll drop the tape off immediately. I'm 23. Living in Cheekto-Vegas. I'm wearing cut off shorts, have long brown hair. (Hah! These days thinning and very gray.) I'm wearing a wife-beater, sporting a great tan (these days, I wear SPF 50) and wearing beach flip-flops. I get in my red VW bug and drive to 1430 Main Street to
drop-off a scoped but un-edited cassette skimmer tape. I'm thinking it would be nice, but I have no chance at a gig at KB. I'm just
dropping off a tape and resume, expecting to receive a rejection letter on Classic KB stationary a few days later.
I park my car in the lot, walk in to 1430 Main with my tape and resume and tell the receptionist, "I'm dropping off a tape for Jeff Kaye, could you please just have him send it back with the rejection letter. Thank you." It took no more than 30 seconds. I turned and walked out to my car. Backing out, I look right and there's Francine Keating running through the lot, waving her arms. "Don't leave, Jeff wants to speak to you right now."
I'm dressed more for an afternoon at Hard Rock Quarry, than an interview with "the legend." Muttering some obsceneties to myself, hoping I don't soil myself and praying at the same time, I follow Francine to Jeff's office. I look like a total shlub. My aircheck is playing as I walk in to Jeff's office. It's OK, but certainly not what it should be. If you're a jock and a PD is listening to your aircheck in your presence, you know every minute flaw.
Jeff looks at me with one of his classic "WTF" looks. Stops the tape, takes it out of the machine and tosses it at me. Tosses it!
"I heard you wanted this back after I was done listening to it."
I'm trying hard not to have my voice squeak out, "Yes, thank you."
"Siddown." Pauses. Always the dramatist. "You want something to drink? You look like you're on your way to the beach."
"Uh, no thank you."
"I got beer in here."
"I'll have a Seven Up."
"Here's a Coke, take it or leave it."
"Thank you."
"You always dress like this for an interview?"
"Uh, no, I thought I was only dropping off a tape. Sorry."
I notice there's a freakin' HANG MAN'S NOOSE hanging above his desk! The office is tiny. Closet sized. I don't ask about the noose. Like I said, there was a touch of drama in the man. Who else would have the nuts to re-write and produce the radio classic,
"War Of the Worlds" and pull it off?
"Jeesus Christ," he says condescendingly.
Ever heard the word "shrinkage?" That's what I was feeling. Long before Seinfeld
thought he coined the word, I was experiencing it. I'm sitting across from "the man." It occurs to me that his chair is way higher than the one I'm sitting in. I'm kinda looking up at him. Months later, I was told the chairs "sized" specifically for interviews and conversations like this. Myth or reality? Who knows.
"Listen, we have a weekend overnight opening now and maybe a summer fill-in opening in a few weeks. You interested?"
"Yeah... uh, YES!"
"Good. You're hired. You're tape's not bad, but fer Chrisake, loosen up and SAY something when you're on the radio. Have fun. And when you're here, ACT like you wanna be here and as if you
deserve to be here. Because you wouldn't be here if you didn't deserve to be. This is KB. Got it?"
"Got it."
I could be wrong, but I think I just got hired at KB.
"Can I ask how much the job pays?"
Jeff laughs, leans back in his chair and says, "It pays a helluva lot more than you're makin' now at that s**thole down the street."
Then he gives me the particulars on pay and union benefits and tells me to come in the next night to train with Bob MacCrae on the all nite show.
The music rotation might have been better defined by 1973, Bob. There was a long 8.5
x 14 (legal size) music rotation sheet which contained categories and stopset positions with jngle positions marked. And there was a one-sheet format guide. One sheet. One.
Weird, huh?
To me, Jeff was always a legend. But he was human. He expected a lot from all of his staff. He could chew your ass out (always in private) then tell you that you did a terrific bit last Tuesday at 4:13 a.m. He was also known to call the hotline at any hour of the night (say 3 a.m.) just to ask, very clamly, "How's everything going? What was that third story in the 3 o'clock newscast?"
That would be the story I messed up. It was his way of saying, "You screwed up, I heard it. It may be the all night show, but it's impoartant. Get it right. Don't be a
putz."
Another thing, at least in my experience, he'd criticize in private and praise in public.
Was Jeff Kaye Mother Theresa? Hell no. But he wasn't Rasputin either. The words of Isaac Hayes some to mind, "He's a complicated man and no one understands him but his woman... They say that cat Jeff Kaye is a baadddd mother*****. Shut your mouth! But I'm talkin' about Jeff. We can diggit."
To this day, I hold him in high esteem. As I said, my experience is an entirely different take from Bob's experience. Who knows why, but that's the way it worked for me. I think he expected a lot from himself and the people he hired and he believed that by hiring great people (Beach, Berns, Jack Sheridan, the
real Don Wade, Armstrong and other name players) he made himself more successful.
And -9-, you're right, I was just a "bit player." But at least I was a player. No slight intended.
Bob, the roof of 1430 Main had been fixed by 1973. They put more tar on it than the La Brea Tar Pits. But the damn electrical circuits in the control room had a way of blowing fuses at the weirdest times. Like when some cafeine feuled overnight guy (not me) plugged in his Mr. Coffee pot and the control room went dead silent.
Amazing.
Sorry for the screed. I sure wish Wallack and Berns would contribute to this thread.
