“I've always wanted to end a show on the quarter hour,” Jack Watley breathed
into the microphone, his voice tired and thin. “And, now I shall.”
He hit play on the title track from Miles Davis' “So What” and pushed his
aching body away from the consol. Many bones cracked in Cracklin' Jack's back
as he stretched and exited the radio booth.
And, of course, a variety of clerical staff and other DJs had come by to see
what was happening at the station. It was an event, and they had access to the
inside.
Jack Watley gazed at the faces staring him down and motioned to Dale.
“Brad, I think it's your shift now.”
Dale didn't have the heart to correct the old guy now, so he just nodded and
walked towards the booth. Watley put a hand on his shoulder as he passed.
“Keep up the fight.”
Nick came up to Jack next.
“Are you feeling okay, Jack? You were in there a long time.”
“How long was it?”
“About eight hours.”
“That's a double shift,” Jack joked. “I should get overtime.”
Nick didn't find the joke funny, because it involved money, and since the old
man had obviously flipped, it was up to him to worry about all the money now.
Of course, accountants wanted to be cool too, so Nick thought he had nailed it
when he got a job after college working for a radio station budget department.
A driven individual, he eventually moved up in stature and around until he
reached the position of CFO for the Los Angeles regional stations of the
GlassStation Communications network (owners and operators of top radio stations
in 40 major US markets, as well as 24 foreign stations).
Nick hadn't planned on the unique “personality” traits that radio station
employees offered, but he eventually figured out how to navigate those waters
and since he was the one actually signing paychecks, most people didn't give
him much trouble these days. Only now, he had the one man with more power than
him acting like that coked-up freak from the morning show - not playing ads and
telling a younger DJ to “keep up the fight.” What in the hell was going on here?
“I want to have a staff meeting tomorrow,” Jack told Nick.
“What for?” Nick asked.
“We need to make some changes around here. I'm sick of just sticking to the
status quo.”
“You know the brass from New York have already heard about this and are working
out contingency plans.”
“Contingency plans? You think I was going to pull out a gun and start shooting
people?”
“I didn't say that, Jack. But, let's be honest. This wasn't exactly a
responsible stunt you pulled. There may be a change in leadership.”
“You'd like that, wouldn't you, Nick?”
Nick held up his hands defensively. “I didn't mean anything by that, Jack. I'm
not after your spot, but something will be done, and you know that.”
“You just keep counting beans,” Jack spat at Nick. “I'll worry about New York.”
Feeling like he did at three in the afternoon, Jack picked up his step and
cruised past the booth one more time.
Dale was switching CDs and trying to make himself as small as possible.
“You like this job?” Jack asked him from across the control panel.
“Um…”
“Of course not. I used to work graveyard. Dealing with all the crazies.”
“Well, it wasn't exactly what I envisioned,” Dale told him.
“Keep at it,” the old man mentored him. “It'll get better. Radio is what you
make of it. Go ahead and play the ads, but until they fire me tomorrow, this
station is about freedom. Play whatever music you want.”
With that, Mr. Watley turned away and walked out of the station, reminding Nick
about the staff meeting in the morning.
Dale stared at the spectators outside. Everybody waiting to see how he would
carry on the torch the old man had just passed to him. He had thirty-seconds of
song left to make a decision.
He thought about how much he'd dreaded coming in tonight and realized he was
about to make a decision that could result in his never coming in again. What
was worse? Going out with a bang, or continuing his existence as a working
drone and being miserable?
What was up with that old man? Why was he even considering this?
Dale was sure
he'd become too cynical to be inspired. They're all watching…
The song ends and he flips the switch.
ON THE AIR
“Good Night, Los Angeles. This is DK Powell and you're listening to Prozac
Nation. It's late. You're depressed. I know it and I'm here to help. If you
want to end it all soon, then stick around. I'll be playing the Banshee
Wizsticks again before Midnight just because it's been more than five minutes
since you probably heard it on any of the other ten area stations that are
playing it non-stop.
“Otherwise, it's all request for the next four hours. What's gonna cheer you
up? Give me your calls.”