Radio Free Boston (32 page)

Dinah Vaprin, known for her resolve and often, in her words, “undiplomatic ways,” became the news director in '82 and '83 and handled morning drive news. “On ‘The Big Mattress,' we always used to do five- or six-minute [reports], then it got shrunk down to three minutes, then it was two minutes, and then it became one hundred and four seconds. I always went over [the time limit], and this drove Oedipus up the wall. One day he just said, ‘That's it. You're out.'”

“I had Tony [Berardini] come in one day,” Abel remembered with a grin, “and say, ‘Hey Katy, I've got news for you: people are listening to us to hear Aerosmith, not about El Salvador!'”

“Tony and Oedipus would say to me, ‘We've been doing these [research] focus groups, and the groups say they listen to '
BCN
for the music; they don't care about the news,'” Vaprin added.

“
WBCN'S
diminished news commitment was concurrent with the evolution of the radio station,” Oedipus stated matter-of-factly. “Listeners told us, in studies, that they did not listen to
WBCN
for the news. When they wanted news they went elsewhere.
WBCN
needed to shed the vestiges of the past, like lengthy newscasts and self-indulgent, free-form music selections that were chasing listeners away. We did not need news reports to keep the spirit of
WBCN
alive.”

When Vaprin exited (again), Abel took the news director reins, faced with the grim prospect of
WBCN'S
shift to a more modernized and efficient attitude toward her department. “It was a transitional era in so many ways,” she recalled. “So, while I couldn't do fifteen-minute newscasts anymore,
I could still coax Oedipus or Charles or Tony into doing advocacy campaigns.” Abel's outrage at the deteriorating situation in South Africa, where the government's system of apartheid remained entrenched with the elimination of civil liberties and opposition leaders jailed, inspired her to propose a day of targeted features to focus attention on the issue. “That was an example of a programming initiative which, in the eighties, was kind of out there; nobody was doing anything like that. It really hearkened to an earlier era in '
BCN'S
history.” The idea captivated Oedipus, who had supported the political stance of many an English punk group, like the Clash or the Buzzcocks, when they performed alongside reggae and soul bands at “Rock Against Racism” concerts. Abel continued, “There were enough people in Rock 'n' Roll who were saying, ‘We hate this shit!' So that was a reason Oedipus could give me the cover the way he did; it was a totally punk thing to do.” “Commercial Free for a Free South Africa” was the result: a day devoted to South Africa awareness on 12 November 1985.

Throughout the day from 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.,
WBCN
featured interviews and news segments from political leaders and also debuted “Sun City,” the controversial single put together by Little Steven (Steve Van Zandt) of the E Street Band, aided by '
BCN
alumnus, Danny Schechter. The single urged musicians to boycott the popular South African resort town where Western rock bands regularly performed. Steven took time out to be the station's guest, explaining the genesis of “Sun City,” which featured a cavalcade of stars including Bruce Springsteen, Lou Reed, Bono, Peter Wolf, Jackson Browne, and many other supporters of the cause. Abel was delighted that the station rolled with her idea and that people embraced it: “I don't believe that someone driving around Hudson in a truck was deeply upset about South Africa as I was, necessarily, but I did get enough feedback from listeners to know that they liked and really respected the fact that we cared so much.”

“From a programming standpoint, it stood out from everybody in the market, and it was a good thing to do because, who's for racism?” Tony Berardini pointed out. “My thought was that this was very similar to what we did when John Lennon was assassinated: we went commercial free, and it created a bond between our listeners and the radio station. It seemed like the thing that '
BCN
would do.”

“To their credit, Tony and Oedi took it to Mel Karmazin, rather than tell
me to ‘go back to the newsroom, you crazy person!'” Abel laughed. “I don't think that Mel gave a shit about the causes that we were embracing, but he was probably an astute-enough businessman to allow Tony and Oedipus to talk him into cancelling commercials.” Well, yes, but not exactly. Berardini lamented,

I didn't make the connection that there was a slight difference in the amount of money involved in going commercial free in 1980 than there was in 1985. Like, a
lot
of money! The sales department was all up in arms, and my phone rang. It was Mel: “Let me get this straight, you're going commercial free all day?”

“Yeah!”

“How are you going to make up the revenue? If I were the general sales manager, I'd be sitting there saying, ‘You screwed me out of my bonus! Now I'm not going to make my numbers because Tony took all the spots off the air!'”

Berardini chuckled at the memory, which certainly at the time wasn't quite so humorous. “One of Mel's phrases was particularly applicable to the situation. He said, ‘Tony? If you want me on the plane when it crashes, make sure I'm on it when it takes off!' In other words, ‘Give me a heads-up, because I'll help you.' He never told Oedi and me what to do with programming at the station, other than saying, ‘Don't lose the license!' So, I told him I'd figure the sales problem out.” Commercial rates being set as they were by time slot, the reality was that any spots removed from the daytime hours could not be made up during the overnights; they had to be played in a concurrent position on another day. “So, I went to Oedipus and told him, ‘We're doubling the spot load for next week!'” Berardini grinned dryly, “Of course, he was thrilled.”

Although
WBCN'S
newscasts were constantly under the knife, the “Boston Sunday Review” (
BSR
) continued, largely unchanged, for the entire decade. “When I took over the
BSR
, I recall it being a very free-form show,” Matt Schaffer pointed out, “but what I did was set up a structure to it. There were features on the half hour, newscasts at specific times . . . a combination of live [segments] and recorded interviews.” Abel often worked in a cohost situation with Schaffer but admitted, “For the most part, it was always his show.” When they did collaborate, there was tension: “We were like siblings, fighting a little because we were so different. The dynamic between
the two of us was always funny; Matt was all about culture and I was all about politics, and we were constantly butting heads. He'd want to have the
Spenser for Hire
guy on while I wanted to spend an hour talking about trilateralism or something.” The pair quickly established themselves as master interviewers, facing an extraordinarily diverse collection of heroes and villains on the show. Schaffer mentioned just some of them: “Robert Ludlum, Sting, Allen Ginsberg cursing on the air, Bette Midler, John Houseman was a fabulous interview, Frank Herbert, Robert B. Parker, Erica Jong, Alex Haley, Clive Barker, Julia Child, and some of the most famous chefs of the day.” Schaffer also interviewed Andy Warhol for the
BSR
: “It was one of the worst interviews of my life!” he moaned. [Warhol] didn't really talk that much. I think that's the kind of person he was; he just took on what people wanted him to be.” Sixties icon Timothy Leary also visited Schaffer: “Oh, he was crazy, but smart. He was less a person that dwelt in the past and [more] one who was very much involved in the present. It wasn't like I took him through his life [in the interview]; he came in because he had some sort of consciousness-raising software that he was [introducing].”

“I think we interviewed Ronald Reagan's entire cabinet,” Abel estimated. “That's something Matt gets a lot of credit for because he developed relationships with publishers. We got all these big names interviews coming through town: whether it was Alexander Haig, [David] Stockman, or Jimmy Carter. They felt, basically, if you were going to Boston on a book tour, you better do
WBCN
because they own a certain segment of the audience.” Since a lot of these interviews were taped during the week, it was not uncommon for '
BCN
staffers to arrive at the station by day to the sight of unfamiliar figures standing about alertly, hidden behind sunglasses, with small coils of wire running out of unobtrusive earpieces and disappearing into conservative dark suits. When one of the two doors into the air studio opened occasionally, perhaps as a Listener Line volunteer walked in or out, a high-decibel shriek of music followed them, buffeting the Secret Service agents as they swept the station for dissidents, bomb-making materials, or perhaps those sensitive files Danny Schechter had “misplaced” back in 1971.

In a significant collaboration between the news and music departments at the station,
WBCN
signed on to broadcast the daylong “Live Aid” concert from London and Philadelphia in July 1985. Organized by Bob Geldof on the heels of his successful holiday benefit single “Do They Know It's Christmas,” the worldwide concert telethon was devoted to famine relief for a
starving multitude in Ethiopia. Although the presence and performances from the era's biggest stars (Paul McCartney, Queen, and Elton John) and reunions of past legends (Led Zeppelin, The Who, and Black Sabbath) made the on-air commitment palatable from a programming standpoint, the unvarnished messages of alarm expressed on behalf of the Africans were certainly disturbing. Nevertheless, the day became a momentous and compelling event during which any concerns about ratings points were rendered insignificant as, not only
WBCN
, but also radio stations around the world, lent their airwaves to help mitigate a human disaster.

I ended up doing commentary from Wembley Stadium for
WBCN
via telephone, which at the time was not as easy as it sounds. International callers still had to ring up an overseas operator to get through to the States, and since this was way before cell technology had become common, utilizing one of the sparse phone booths in the stadium was necessary. Fortunately, I was able to avoid the long lines by compensating a janitor (a trusting bloke) to use the telephone in his office. Thanks to
U
2, I had a fantastic seat in the press section, about a third of the way back from the stage. Just before the concert began with a performance from Status Quo, the entire Wembley audience suddenly wheeled in my direction to look at . . . me? “Hey everyone, wave to the visiting Yank!” I basked in the fantasy for two seconds and then realized that Prince Charles and Lady Diana had arrived and taken their seats about forty feet away. Of course, every time I tell the story, they get a couple feet closer.

The effort to decry racism, begun with “Commercial Free for a Free South Africa” in 1985, became the last, great advocacy campaign from the news department at
WBCN
. It continued into 1988, when the station made national headlines with “Shellshock,” a monthslong protest over Shell Oil's continuing practice of doing business with South Africa. Charles Laquidara asked listeners to cut up their Shell Oil credit cards and send them in to him as a protest against apartheid. “Let's get the Shell out of South Africa!” became the rallying cry. For nearly half a year the crusade continued, and even though Shell did not stop doing business with the apartheid government, “Shellshock” achieved a great deal by adding numbers to the voices of protest. However, even with this encouragement, the process of paring down the percentage of news on
WBCN
continued. “This transition was occurring as part of a much bigger transition in the industry,” Abel observed without bitterness. “I don't think you can point fingers at individuals at
the station who were somehow unable to hold back the tide.” There were, however, a couple of big hurrahs left for the news department, as Sherman Whitman, hired five years earlier as a reporter for “Big Mattress,” took over many of Abel's duties when she exited in early 1989. It would be Whitman's pleasure to see the dramatic completion of the work Abel had fostered but also his sadness to witness the end of
WBCN'S
legacy as a game changer in the area of local news reporting.

WBCN
traveled through the eighties with a couple of powerful positioning slogans: “The Rock of Boston” and “Your Number 1 Rock and Roll Connection,” the latter dispensed in dozens of variations such as “Your Number 1 Concert Connection,” “Your Aerosmith Connection,” “Your Springsteen Connection,” and so forth. Ironically, it was Clark Smidt,
WBCN'S
former adversary at
WCOZ
, who coined the phrase “Your Number 1 Rock and Roll Connection.” “I became a broadcast advisor/consultant at the time, and Tony hired me for 1,500 bucks to work on a slogan. That's what I narrowed it down to and they loved it.” The image of a Fender Stratocaster headstock and part of its severed neck, sometimes with strings dangling, became the iconic logo of the station throughout the eighties. Plastered liberally on billboards, on bumper stickers, and in magazines, the use of the guitar indisputably identified
WBCN
as Boston's home for rock and roll. Since the image also showed that an instrument had been shattered, or was in the process of being destroyed, it implied that the station lived its life boldly, like a guitar poised in midflight over Pete Townshend's head rather than one hanging safe and sound on the wall of some music shop. With that in mind, many of the ideas that emerged from the
WBCN
promotions department around this time involved attitude, altitude, gravity, and motion.

David Bieber and assistant Larry “Chachi” Loprete built their department into a formidable instrument through a thick Rolodex of contacts, an informal “think tank” atmosphere and the spirit of adventure. “We had weekly promotions meetings, and we did go for outrageous things,” Bieber recalled. The idea emerged from one of those brainstorming sessions to hold a chancy, but certainly ear-catching, event in conjunction with Elek-tra Records to promote the newest release from the Cars. “We put Mark Parenteau in a car, suspended by a crane, over the Charles River. He did a live broadcast from up there and [then] we gave away the car. We did not clear it with
OSHA
or anyone else; we just rolled the dice.”