Living On Air
Authors: Joe Cipriano
What people are saying about
Living On Air
“Joe Cipriano and I are kindred spirits. We both began our broadcast careers on radio as teenagers in the 1970s.
Living On Air
isn’t only a wonderfully written stroll down Joe’s Memory Lane. It’s also helped me find the map to my own. Thanks, Joe.”
--Tom Bergeron, Host “Dancing with the Stars”
“Joe Cipriano has been our guy in the booth for over 14 years on shows like the
Emmys, Grammys, Blockbuster Awards
, and more. We’ve been through a lot together in doing live television, and his stories in this book are funny, charming and a great inside look into the challenges and the incredible fun that we’ve had along the way. Joe’s the best!!!”
-- Ken Ehrlich, Producer Emmy Awards, Grammy Awards
“Only one voice was truly synonymous with Fox’s groundbreaking comedies like
Married with Children, The Simpsons,
and
In Living Color
and that voice belonged to Joe Cipriano. His distinctive style was the perfect complement to the fresh, youthful, alternative, and outrageous attitude that came to define the fourth network.”
--Sandy Grushow, Former Chairman,Fox TV
“People who watch my show,
Iron Chef America
, hear my friend Joe Cipriano whenever I speak. Joe is my voice man!! His book is filled with great stories. It’s a funny, warm, and entertaining read.”
--Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto
“When you think about voices that stick in your head, names like Joe Cipriano come to mind. Joe’s energy, unique style, and recognizable voice bring products to life. And take it from me, no one says ‘Sunday at 8/7 Central’ better than Joe Cipriano!”
--Rick Dees, National Radio Host
“Joe has an amazing voice, a great sense of humor, & a big heart ... No wonder he’s the best in the biz! A great read from my great friend.”
--Ellen K, “On Air with Ryan Seacrest”
“At last, a brilliant, emotional, and insightful look into the world of voiceover, from one of the industries best. I loved it! Rock On, Joe and Annie!”
--Michael Damian, Actor, Director, Musician
“Success is all about cherishing relationships along the way and the wonderful support of friends and colleagues. I’m happy to be along for the ride on Joe’s ‘On Air’ journeys across America.”
--Rita Vennari, President SBV Talent Agency
“Davey, Tom, Joe ... or more simply Cip. It’s time to celebrate the fact we live ‘In a world’ where a scrawny kid from Watertown can rise to the top of his industry and have a cee-ment pond, a great wife, and amazing children. All well deserved my friend.”
--Steve Feica, Former WWCO News Director and Associated Press Editor
“
Living On Air
, truly mirrors the winning personality of the unusually gifted Joe Cipriano and the intriguing backstage lifestyle of live radio and voiceover announcing. And like Joe’s dazzling smile and exalting vocal expression,
Living On Air
will lift you up with compelling anecdotes and life lessons that remind us to live well and go after our dreams. It’s a book full of heart and fun.”
--Joan Baker, Voice Actor & Coach, Author, “Secrets of Voice Over Success”
“I got to know Joe Cipriano during the creation of the Don LaFontaine Voice Over Lab at the SAG Foundation. Joe has a knack for gathering people together for a worthy cause and Joe brought them in, in droves. His energy and his commitment to making the Lab a reality was impressive. His book is filled with the same energy, along with funny and endearing stories about his life and remarkable career in voice over.”
--JoBeth Williams, Film, TV, Stage Actress and President SAG Foundation
“What an informative and entertaining read from one of the best in the business…hilarious and poignant”
--Paul Pape, Actor, Co-Founder Don LaFontaine Voice Over Lab
“
Living On Air
is a charming read about how an ordinary boy from a small town in CT managed to achieve an extraordinary career in the world of radio and voice over. Joe Cipriano is an inspiration for anyone who has a dream. While this is not a how-to book, it is easy to trace the steps that led to his incredible success. Joe’s tenacity, dedication and sheer passion opened doors for him because when you work that hard, you are always at the right place at the right time. His encounters with major stars are L.O.L. funny. Joe’s sunny disposition can be felt throughout and as a result, I found myself smiling from the very first page right on through to the last.”
--Fay Ann Lee, Actress, Singer, Writer, Director
“Joe Cipriano is a perfect example of what happens when luck, opportunity and preparedness collide. Every candid, uncensored story reveals more of his amazing heart, persistent nature, risk-taking spirit, self confidence, and unwavering faith. What an honor to go on this inspiring and touching roller coaster ride with Joe and Ann, they’re the best partners in every way! We love you!”
--Stacey J. Aswad and Chuck Duran, Hosts VO Buzz Weekly
“I enjoy Cip’s romanticizing of radio and his stories of what it’s like to literally grow up on the air in front of thousands of listeners during radios personality days. If you’re someone who loves the broadcasting industry as much as I do then you’ll love the stories in this book. Great job Cip!”
--Sean “Hollywood” Hamilton, NYC / Syndicated Radio Personality
Back Cover Photo credit: Ryan Stephenson
Cover Design by
[email protected]
Living on Air
Published by Joe Cipriano Promos Inc.
ISBN 978-0-9910126-8-8
Copyright © 2013 by Joe Cipriano
Cover design by
[email protected]
For more information on this book and the author visit:
www.livingonairbook.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, or in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
To Dayna and Alex
Contents
INTRODUCTION
I have an incredible job. It pays more than I ever thought I could earn, it’s fun, it’s creative, and I’ve met the most wonderful people, all through my work. I like to think it takes someone with extraordinary talent and remarkable good looks to get to where I am today, but the truth is it takes hard work, determination, and a lotta luck. I’m told my good looks didn’t help one bit.
I am a voice-over actor. Some folks give me a blank look when I tell them what I do, so I describe it by saying I’m a television announcer. Mostly I voice network promos, “Monday on CBS,” “Sunday on an all-new Simpsons,” that kind of stuff, but I’ve also worked on movie trailers, live television shows, game shows, commercials, radio, you name it, I’ve done it. I was a kid from a small town, David Joseph Cipriano, without a college education, and yet I became one of the top people in my profession. People always stop to ask me if they can learn to do what I do and that’s why I wanted to share my story. Through trial and error, successes and more error, I found my voice. Whatever your dream is, I hope my journey can help you find your voice, too.
As much as I love what I do, it should come with a warning label: “This job may be hazardous to your health.” There are unbelievable highs and terrible lows. It has the ability to turn your stomach around and upside down, a little bit like taking a ride on a roller coaster, without a seat belt. And the truth is, I have
been unceremoniously kicked off this ride, more often than I like to remember. The worst time happened without any warning, when most people thought I had it all.
I suppose it helps that I’m a positive guy. I’m always looking for luck to come my way. I would much rather live each day thinking good things are going to happen instead of bad. Not that I don’t get disheartened, because of course, that happens, too. But I have been able to reinvent myself every time I hit that unexpected dive on the roller coaster. And I’m convinced my positive attitude has helped make my dreams come true.
Whenever people ask for my advice, I always tell them to follow their heart. Take that risk, but hold on to your day job while you go for it. If there is one thing I’ve learned, whatever gig I have at the moment isn’t mine to keep, it’s just on loan, until somebody else comes along. It goes away, it comes back, and repeats that cycle over and over again. That arbitrary aspect of my job reminds me of when I was a kid, picking dandelions out in the yard. There’s that white, puffy ball at the top of the stem I used to blow on, and the seeds spread out all over the lawn. Holding on to a voice-over gig is a little like trying to catch all of those seeds, scattering in the wind.
My dad used to tell me, if you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life. So far I’m still here, holding on to my seat, having the time of my life. I hope you enjoy the ride.
SUMMER OF ’69
WWCO was a small-time radio station that hungered for a big-time sound. It was the hub of our world of entertainment for everything new and exciting that happened around my hometown, Oakville, Connecticut. For as far back as I can remember, my mom listened to that station every single day of her life. Each morning as I got ready for school, I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the air and the sound of my mom humming along to a song on the air. We used to have a tan General Electric clock radio that sat on top of our refrigerator, always tuned in to 1240 on your AM dial. Coming downstairs, I’d walk into our warm kitchen on a cold morning as the soundtrack of my young life played out on that local Top 40 radio station.
The deejays at C-O were the most famous celebrities I could ever hope to meet. They didn’t all look like movie stars, but they had a confidence and authority that was irresistible to me. They were talented guys who really came alive during those few hours they were on the air. I could feel their passion through our radio at home, and even out of the speaker in our car. It was contagious, but it was the kind of disease I wanted to catch.
It seemed to me that everybody who worked at the station was part of a team, one big family, and if you were a deejay, you were the star. All the girls wanted to date him. I wanted to be him.
WWCO was owned by Merv Griffin, the talk-show host, singer, actor, and media mogul. He bought it in 1965, the first link in his radio chain, then sold it eight years later. The AM station played my favorite music, all the popular hits of the time, while the FM station played country songs. I didn’t even know there was an FM signal. Hardly anyone else did either. At that time, all anyone ever listened to was AM Top 40 radio.
I was 14 years old when I started hanging out at the station on weekends, in that summer of ’69. That was the year Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, the Woodstock Music Festival took over Max Yasgur’s farm in upstate New York, and Charles Manson went on a killing spree in the Hollywood Hills. My parents and their friends talked about a generation gap while most of their kids talked about a revolution. Meanwhile, I was going through my own rebellion, more of an evolution instead of a revolution. I had enough self-confidence, ambition, and arrogance to think that if I worked hard enough, I could make anything happen. With my heart set on becoming a deejay, that’s all I talked about, hoped for, and counted on coming true.
I was inspired by the NASA program, the Kennedys, the Civil Rights Movement, even the Smothers Brothers television show. Everything that was going on around the world motivated me to start making my own dream a reality. While my friends were focused on getting their homework done for the next day, I worked on planning my future. I had no idea how to get started. The only thing I could think of was to call my favorite disc jockey at my favorite radio station.
Jerry Wolf had the afternoon shift at WWCO. There was no one on the radio like him. He was funny, smart, quick, irreverent, creative, everything I hoped to be. He had this saying, his signature
phrase that everybody knew, “This is Jerry Wolf, rappin’ on you and pumpin’ out too what you’re pumpin’ in on the request lines!” I wasn’t even sure what it meant but it was original and it sounded cool. He talked so fast it felt like each word was shot out of his mouth like a machine gun. I would imitate him at home over and over again until I could talk just as fast. That must have driven my folks crazy.
I saw Jerry’s picture once at the Naugatuck Valley Mall in a print advertisement for a mod clothing store called Chess King. From that moment on his image became my vision of what every deejay should look like. He was tall, thin, with long dark hair down to his shoulders, and a full beard trimmed close to his face. As soon as school let out at the end of that year, I decided to make my move. I picked up the phone in our hallway upstairs, stretched the cord as far as it would reach into my bedroom, closed the door, and sat on my bed at the window. I practiced what I was going to say, then started dialing the WWCO request line. Two days later, I finally got through.
“Hey man, this is Jer at 1240 C-O. What can I do for ya?”
All keyed up from waiting so long, I blurted out what I wanted to say in one breath, faster than Jerry’s own radio rap.
“Hi, Jerry? Uh, my name is Dave Cipriano and I really like WWCO and I love your show and someday I want to be a disc jockey too and I was wondering if there is any chance if some day I can come down to the radio station and meet you and see what the station is like…some day?”
“Well, cool man, that’d be really cool. Yeah, we can have you come down. Hey listen little man, just call this number and we’ll set it up for ya.”
After I hung up the phone I sat calmly, staring out the window, for about one second before I let out a yell. I could hardly believe what just happened. I had actually talked to Jerry Wolf, my idol, the coolest deejay on the radio. I played the conversation over and over in my head. Right away I got back on the phone to call every one of my friends. I couldn’t wait to tell them that I talked to that guy on the radio. Even better, that he invited me to come down to the station.
During the school year my mom had to practically drag me out of bed every morning but the day I was scheduled to visit C-O I shot off the mattress like I was launched out of an Apollo rocket. Dad was at work and my mom didn’t drive, so I had to take the bus from Oakville to downtown Waterbury. The bus stop was in front of the only movie theater in town, called the Mighty Oak. That’s where I saw all of my favorite films, like Steve McQueen’s “Bullitt” and “Planet of the Apes” with Charlton Heston. In the bright light of day I noticed the Mighty Oak looked kind of small and insignificant.
It was about a 20-minute ride to Exchange Place, the bus station downtown in the center of Waterbury. Across the street was a large rectangle of grass called The Green, our city park. Summer had grabbed hold of Connecticut. I saw businessmen on park benches sweating through their suits, women in pageboy haircuts and polka-dot dresses, teenagers stretched out on blankets on the grass with their hair hanging down and their transistor radios turned up. I heard snatches of 1240 WWCO in the air as I walked past a diner on South Main Street. There was a sign in the window advertising a Cheeseburger Deluxe Blue Plate Special for 35 cents and a chocolate shake for an extra 16 pennies. A few doors down was an old brick building, six stories high with a wood and glass door out front. That was my destination, 65 Bank Street.
I stopped for a second to catch my breath, then yanked open the door. There was a long hallway with dark wood floors and my eyes had to adjust to the changing light. At the end of the hall was an elevator lit by a single bare light bulb. An older man with thin grey hair was sitting on a metal stool just inside. He was wearing dark wool pants, so out of place on a hot summer day, a white short-sleeved shirt, and a rag of a skinny black tie around his neck. As I walked over to the elevator he looked up from his newspaper and snuffed out a half-smoked cigarette. I pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper that was stuffed into my back pocket and checked out the few words I had scribbled down to make sure I was headed to the right place.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m here to see Jerry Wolf. Can you please take me up to the fifth floor?”
“Well, this thing don’t go sideways, kid, so we only got one choice.”
I stepped in as he reached past me to shut a large metal door, then tugged sideways on an accordion gate until it clicked shut. He pulled on a long-armed lever and the elevator jerked upwards towards number five. As we moved higher I heard muffled music coming through the walls, getting louder with each floor. He guided the elevator to a smooth stop, slid back the gate, and on the inside of the metal door was a big number five stenciled in white paint. That door was the last obstacle to the unknown adventure waiting on the other side for me, a kid from a small town, with big dreams. Once that door opened I was positive my life was going to change forever.
The first thing my eyes settled on was a pretty girl in a pink paisley miniskirt standing next to the reception desk.
“Hi! You must be David. Welcome to WWCO.”
She was about ten years older than me and she had on the shortest, totally mod micro-mini-est skirt I had ever seen. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle with two blond streaks on either side of her face. Her wrists were loaded with a bunch of bright-colored plastic bracelets and when she reached to shake my hand, they clattered up and down with each arm pump. I followed her towards a small lobby with my eyes riveted on her extremely short skirt. With each step I could see the line of her pantyhose where it changed to a darker color and I kept watching and waiting for her skirt to go higher. When we got to the lobby she stopped short, turned back around and tapped her toe on the floor. Startled, I nearly bumped into her.
“Do you like this, David?” Uh oh, I thought, did she catch me looking at her legs? But thankfully I was wrong. Looking down at the floor she said, “Mr. Griffin had this made just for us when he bought the radio station. Isn’t it fab?”
Right in the middle of the floor, set out in black tile under her white patent leather boots, were the words: “WWCO 1240 on your radio dial.” Next to that was a picture of a classic microphone emblazoned on the white floor. Did I think it was fab? Hell, yes. I had never before seen a custom-made sign built right into the floor. That was cool. Next, she took me on a quick tour around the office.
There were gold records on the walls in big picture frames and magazines called Billboard, Sixteen, and Tiger Beat all over the place. There was a knockout secretary named Dorsie Dues who typed up the log of commercials that ran on the air. She had legs that went on forever. We walked past women in tight T-shirts, pounding away on their typewriters, and salesmen yakking on
the phone wearing big ties under big collars. I saw a sports coat hanging on the back of a guy’s chair with a badge on the pocket that said, “WWCO A Merv Griffin Station.” All of that action was enough to make my head spin, but suddenly it was overshadowed by the sound of the Top 40 hit “In the Year 2525” by Zager and Evans pouring out of a speaker mounted on the wall. As the song began to fade, the voice of Waterbury’s favorite deejay shouted out over those last few notes.
“Zager and Evans man, ‘In the Year 2525’…phew, that’s a long time from now. I hope chicks are still wearing minis ’cause if not, I mean, what’s the point?”
A female chorus of peppy, sweet harmonies sang out cheerfully, “Double-You-Double-You…SEE OHHH,” then the opening bars of the next song instantly started up, “Everyday People” by Sly and the Family Stone. [
Click Here
]
“WWCO man! Jer’ Wolf rappin’ on you and pumpin’ out TOO what your pumpin’ in on the request lines, ’cause we’re all in this together man, can you dig it, you, me, and Sly Stone…we’re just ‘Everyday People’!”
BAM, Sly Stone’s voice cut through immediately, loud and clear, right on beat, singing the opening lyric.
I was pulled back into the room by the sound of a young woman’s voice.
“So, are you ready to go upstairs to the studio to meet Jerry?”
“I sure am!” I was curious about everything I saw that day and innocent enough to say whatever was on my mind. I had plenty of questions but there was one that to me was the most important.
“Do you get to talk to Jerry and the rest of the deejays all the time?”
“Yeah, I sure do.”
Wow.
From the office we walked towards a flight of worn-down wooden stairs. We climbed up to the sixth floor, into another hallway. Straight ahead was a room with a couple of green vinyl chairs and a matching sofa with shiny chrome legs. There was a table up against the wall with a half-empty mug of something sitting on top, next to a leftover cheeseburger, and an ashtray full of cigarette butts.
“That’s the jock lounge,” said my miniskirted tour guide. “That’s where the deejays all hang out before and after their shows.”
I stuck my head through the door and smiled, thinking how I might look sitting in one of those chairs. It was like a clubhouse for grownups. I didn’t care about the stains on the cushions or the trash on the floor. It was perfect. We walked down the hallway between two huge indoor windows on both sides of us. I turned to the right and through the glass there was a guy sitting behind a microphone wearing a cowboy hat. That sure wasn’t Jerry Wolf.
“This is the FM studio. That’s our country music station.”
What language was she speaking? Who the heck listens to FM radio? Or country music? I turned around to ask about Jerry when my eyes drifted over through the window on the other side of the hallway and there he was, looking exactly like the picture I had seen at the mall. Jerry Wolf. He had just finished saying something on the radio and he was taking off his sleek black headphones when he looked up and caught sight of the two of
us in the hallway. He flashed a smile and waved for us to come inside his lair.
“David, this is Jerry Wolf!”
“Hey man, how ya doin’? So you wanna be a deejay someday, huh?”
“I sure do! Wow, this is really something!”
Jerry leaned over a stack of records, stuck out his hand for a shake and I grabbed on to keep from falling over. There was so much to see I hardly knew where to start. The AM studio was one step up from the hall floor, a floating room with a huge heavy door and thick soundproof walls. It was like stepping onto a concert stage. The first thing that hit me was how cool everything was, the feel of the room and even the temperature. While the rest of the building made do with window fans to beat the heat, the studio was air-conditioned to a chilly 68 degrees.
There were pictures of rock stars on the walls, along with posters of my favorite bands. I saw Led Zeppelin’s debut LP, with the black-and-white image of the Hindenburg exploding. Next to that was Tommy James and the Shondells’ psychedelic cover for “Crimson and Clover.” There were forty-five rpm records everywhere, and metal racks with plastic cartridges in each slot. The music was booming in my ears. Jerry stood in the middle of the room with all the equipment surrounding him in a U shape. He was captain of the ship running the control board, two turntables, tape machines, his microphone, and other stuff I didn’t know what to call. When I glanced at the telephone it looked like it was on fire, every single number glowed with a blinking white light.
