Fuzzy F.M. memories
It’s a funny thing about reunions. When they’re good, they have the power to fold time back upon itself and spark up the powerful, special energy of old friendships. Also, they make you think you can drink like you’re 32 again.
This particular bash was way overdue, a reunion of those of us who worked at K-ONE/ KOZZ back in the late ’70s and early ’80s, with K-ONE a popular country station, and the Z the album rocker. (Prior to morphing into KOZZ, we had been Reno’s “underground” rock station, KGLR.) If you were a listener back in the day, see how many of the following names ring your chimes.
In attendance from the old Z staff were Dan Cook (now a savvy local radio suit), Paul Emery (San Diego equities prostitute), Ravi Peruman (aka Matthew Mettner, now working at KGO-TV in S.F.), Chris “ZZ” Davis (tap-rooted nicely in Sacto), Kathy McCovey (hell- and horse-raiser extraordinaire), Lou Ann Travers (in recent years, at the X and Smooth Jazz), Steve Funk (doing both sales and on-air show at the X), Jody Detry (Bay Area radio sales queenpin), Harry Reynolds (morning rant-master/disc-spinner at the X), Max Volume (mainstay rock overlord), Andy Schuon (Z whiz kid who went on to big-time gigs in L.A. and N.Y.), Al Hopper (in charge of getting Don King to airport on time), John “Badman Badwick (Reno equities hooker), and yours truly (bum).
Missing in action were notables like the Diyatollah of Rock’n’Rollah (Diane Michaels), Billy the Janitor, Snifflin’ Dale Kelly, Bike-ridin’ B.J. and Mark Decker, among others. All the sales creeps were there, too. (It must be said that, over time, many of them turned out to be not just tolerable, but … gulp … likable!)
Photos were whipped out, stories re-lived, health problems compared, bald spots goofed on and numerous VLC discussions broke out (Viagra-Levitra-Cialis). Ancient artifacts such as turntables and editing blocks were recalled. Time began doing that folding thing, and, suddenly, all of us were hangin’ and having a damn good time.
Of course, there always comes that point when people hop up on stage and (a) make a nice statement, (b) tell a great story, or (c) make a boozed-up jackass out of themselves. As usual, I started out with intentions of (a), but then somehow slipped into (c). Which meant that I totally spaced out on showing off the great photos and clippings I had dug up that afternoon, mementos that would have flat-out rocked the house. Curse you, pale ale! Oh well. I’ll be ready next time.
And, truth be told, I hope there is a next time. It really was a happy night, filled with great memories from a most enjoyable era. We had a helluva crew in that building. So, dear friends and old pals from the last century, it was a gas to see you in this one. May your tumors be no more than rumors, and your sleep a constant deep. See you at the next one, and don’t be late.