Remembering Bruce Williams
By Glen Livingstone
This is not shaping up to be a good year for people who toil in what's left of this business we call radio.
It seems that with each passing day we hear the news that yet another comrade has left us - and, no matter what the circumstances or back story is or was, it's always a hard pill to swallow.
Long-time Vancouver News 1130 traffic reporter Bruce Williams passed yesterday, and the world got a little smaller.
I'd lost touch with him years ago after we'd worked together at CFMI-FM; he as an announcer, me as one of those people who worked behind the scenes making whatever small contributions we could while Bruce and the other on-air talent did most of the heavy lifting.
Several stories about Bruce come to mind but one in particular stands out.
At one point, sometime in the mid-nineties, the music director/assistant program director du jour left in a huff.
It was either a huff or a late model Volkswagen minivan, I can't remember which - and Bruce found himself thrown into the fray to temporarily fill in until a replacement could be found.
Typical Bruce, he performed like a trouper and assumed all of the extra duties while at the same time managing to hold down his full-time air shift.
In short he saved the day, did it all without complaint, and the big expressive grin never left his face.
Bruce was quite the musicologist and he was constantly on the hunt for obscure facts or tidbits to pass along to his radio audience.
One night - long after I'd left work and gone home - the phone rang. It was Bruce.
"Hey Glen, I need a copy of "Down On Me" by Big Brother & the Holding Company for my show tomorrow."
"Why?"
"'Cause it's Janis Joplin's birthday, that was her first record and I want to play it on my show. Can you help me out?"
I just happened to have the song on a rather rare lp that was still sealed.
Of course Bruce knew that.
"Uh, Bruce, you do realize that a sealed copy of that lp goes for about fifty bucks don't you?"
"Yeah, I know man, but I'd really appreciate it."
The next day I met up with Bruce in the station record library with the album and together we carefully removed the pristine slab of vinyl from its shrinkwrap so I could record it onto a cart for him. (Remember those)?
Damn. But what else could I do?
Bruce was such a likable guy that it was impossible to say no to him.
One more story.
Bruce phoned me once when he was in between radio gigs.
After chatting briefly we agreed to get together sometime for a drink, but it never happened.
As our conversation was drawing to a close I asked him if he was keeping busy.
"Oh yeah, I'm up to my ass in alligators - gotta run. Talk to you later."
I never spoke to him again.
Listening to the radio these days is not high on my list of priorities.
I did however make a point to tune into News 1130 on the mornings when I knew Bruce was doing his traffic reports.
His wonderful voice and the warmth of his personality somehow managed to cut through all the noise and hype and reassure me that all was right with the world.
I'll miss that.
By Glen Livingstone
This is not shaping up to be a good year for people who toil in what's left of this business we call radio.
It seems that with each passing day we hear the news that yet another comrade has left us - and, no matter what the circumstances or back story is or was, it's always a hard pill to swallow.
Long-time Vancouver News 1130 traffic reporter Bruce Williams passed yesterday, and the world got a little smaller.
I'd lost touch with him years ago after we'd worked together at CFMI-FM; he as an announcer, me as one of those people who worked behind the scenes making whatever small contributions we could while Bruce and the other on-air talent did most of the heavy lifting.
Several stories about Bruce come to mind but one in particular stands out.
At one point, sometime in the mid-nineties, the music director/assistant program director du jour left in a huff.
It was either a huff or a late model Volkswagen minivan, I can't remember which - and Bruce found himself thrown into the fray to temporarily fill in until a replacement could be found.
Typical Bruce, he performed like a trouper and assumed all of the extra duties while at the same time managing to hold down his full-time air shift.
In short he saved the day, did it all without complaint, and the big expressive grin never left his face.
Bruce was quite the musicologist and he was constantly on the hunt for obscure facts or tidbits to pass along to his radio audience.
One night - long after I'd left work and gone home - the phone rang. It was Bruce.
"Hey Glen, I need a copy of "Down On Me" by Big Brother & the Holding Company for my show tomorrow."
"Why?"
"'Cause it's Janis Joplin's birthday, that was her first record and I want to play it on my show. Can you help me out?"
I just happened to have the song on a rather rare lp that was still sealed.
Of course Bruce knew that.
"Uh, Bruce, you do realize that a sealed copy of that lp goes for about fifty bucks don't you?"
"Yeah, I know man, but I'd really appreciate it."
The next day I met up with Bruce in the station record library with the album and together we carefully removed the pristine slab of vinyl from its shrinkwrap so I could record it onto a cart for him. (Remember those)?
Damn. But what else could I do?
Bruce was such a likable guy that it was impossible to say no to him.
One more story.
Bruce phoned me once when he was in between radio gigs.
After chatting briefly we agreed to get together sometime for a drink, but it never happened.
As our conversation was drawing to a close I asked him if he was keeping busy.
"Oh yeah, I'm up to my ass in alligators - gotta run. Talk to you later."
I never spoke to him again.
Listening to the radio these days is not high on my list of priorities.
I did however make a point to tune into News 1130 on the mornings when I knew Bruce was doing his traffic reports.
His wonderful voice and the warmth of his personality somehow managed to cut through all the noise and hype and reassure me that all was right with the world.
I'll miss that.