So, another instance of moving forward by going back — finding not just a memory, but an entire decade of memories, the ’60s, a decade which many of my contemporaries claim to not be able to recall, perhaps due to the use of not-so-legal substances, or time spent away from home in a war they prefer to forget.
But my experiences are not so dramatic, much more benign — high school, college, a couple of boyfriends, some serious, some not. Losing virginity — oh no, where did it go? Learning to drink, not just beer, but liquor, or “liqueurs”, as one rather ostentatious (and later discarded) boyfriend would have said. And, while not dramatic at all, a lasting memory of late nights spent alone in my room, listening to the radio.
A dear friend recently gave me a gift – a collection of audio files of the Jean Shepherd radio broadcasts. Last night I listened to a selection from the assortment, laid back on the bed with a dog to either side, and there I was, back in my room in the house in which I grew up, tinny radio on the bookcase headboard, with distant sounds of Daddy watching a Mets game in the living room sneaking though my closed door. Shep going on about a visit to Coney Island, a German film he liked, a man he met in the Village, reading excerpts from Kierkegaard. Ahhh—-Happiness.
Growing up outside of NYC, the radio and TV stations almost all originated from the city. WNEW, “11-3-0 in New York” was the home of a local pair of pundits, Klaven and Finch. I can still hear them signing on every day with their trademark “Morning there, you”. Not quite so well known as Bob and Ray, they nevertheless amused their loyal fans with witty craziness. WPIX carried the Yankee games, so was seldom listened to in our household, as my father and I were diehard National League followers- the Giants and Dodgers before they moved west, and, of course, the Mets: the hapless NY Mets of Marv Throneberry and Ed Kranepool fame.
Another favorite station, WINS, played entire scores of Broadway musicals late in the evening, thus beginning my love for such tunes as “Some Enchanted Evening” and “You Are Beautiful”, the latter from Flower Drum song, an incredibly memorable version of which was later recorded by Johnny Mathis on one of his LPs. Unfortunately WINS changed its format in 1965 to “All News All the Time”, becoming one of the first of the 24/7 news stations in the US.
But my most fondly remembered radio experience from back in the day was from WOR, 710 on the dial, and the nightly extemporaneous broadcasts of one Jean Shepherd, or “Shep” as he was known to his listeners. Today many know him only as the writer and narrator of the Bob Clark movie “A Christmas Story”, a slow-to-get- noticed film which is now a favorite of the holiday season. In fact, he appears late in the film as the man who tells Ralphie to get to the end of the line to see Santa in the department store. But there was much more to Shep than this.
Jean Shepherd was born in Chicago and grew up in Hammond Indiana, got his radio license while still a teenager, and launched a career as a radio personality, actor, and humorist. He came to WOR in 1956 and broadcast his late night show through the late 1970s. I was introduced to him by a high school friend; the broadcast started at about 11:15 and ran ’til midnight — a bit late to be staying awake on a school night, but still, I was home, safe, and in the dark journeyed with Shep to his childhood adventures with Schwartz and Flick, his experiences in and around New York, the Village, the theater scene, and my favorites, tales of his escapades while in the U.S. Army Signal Corps.
On Saturday nights he broadcast later in the evening from The Limelight in Greenwich Village and, as always, working without a script, would expound for several hours, spinning his stories, commenting on the so-called news of the day, or, on several memorable occasions, playing the kazoo, nose flute, or Jew’s harp, to accompany selected favorites such as “The Sheik of Araby” or “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen”, which he would sing as “The Bear Missed the Train”. Some nights he played jazz, and is featured on a 1957 Charlie Mingus LP “The Clown” on which he provided an improvised narration to the four cuts. On other occasions he read poetry, a favorite being the works of Robert Service: “The Cremation on Sam McGee” and other selections from “Ballads of a Cheechako”.
Shep performed live at many local colleges in the Tri-State area, and I caught him a couple of times at Rutgers and Fairleigh Dickinson University, the latter venue being referred to by Shep and most locals as “Fairly Ridiculous”. I recall his good-natured comments in which he mocked the scenic attributes of the Garden State, waxing rhapsodic about his trip from the Village to the Hackensack campus of FDU. Another time he explored the absurdity of the New York Nets basketball team moving to New Jersey, a losing team making things even worse for themselves.
He always included one of his classic stories in the evening’s repertoire, perhaps life in his fictional childhood town in Indiana with Flick and Schwartz, or tales of “the old man” facing the challenges of daily life dealing with a recalcitrant Oldsmobile or a cranky furnace, or best of all, life in the U.S. Army Signal Corps.
Although he had written several books, I do not recall that he hawked his publications at these performances, unlike so many other performers. He was an observer of life, the American condition, not a comic, but a humorist.
And so I will drift off to sleep listening to the Shep of old; my friend has provided me with more than 700 hours of memories. If I listen to an hour or two each evening, I’ll have about a year of enjoyment, laughter, happiness; oh what a gift. I will hear again the strains of his familiar theme song: Eduard Strauss’ “The Bahn Frei Polka” and Shep’s inimitable voice. Thank you, dear friend.
[ Some of Jean Shepherd’s radio shows can be heard on Yesterday USA Radio Networks ]