Tag Archives: OTR

The Old Time Radio Convention: Old Folks Enjoying Reruns.

27 Oct

October 27, 2010

Recently I attended the Old Time Radio Convention in beautiful Newark New Jersey. This convention boasted the most octogenarians per capita of any hotel outside of Florida. I was there as the token young man. I was the only one there under forty. In fact, I may also have been the only one there with laces on my sneakers instead of Velcro.

The hotel was located by Newark airport and directly adjacent to the Newark prison. In fact, the only way to the prison was a narrow road that was also the only way to the hotel. I drove past the hotel entrance because it looked closed, which it wasn’t, and went past the next turn because it looked like the hotel exit, which it was. My plan was to make a U-turn and go back to the entrance, but the only room to do it was about 20 yards down the road. I pulled ahead and wondered why there were large orange barrels blocking half the road. Then I saw the low brick buildings, barbed-wire fences, and angry man with a large rifle. So I slowly backed away from the prison, only then noticing the large KEEP OUT- NEW JERSEY DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTON sign that I totally missed.

I was at this same convention in 1994, sixteen years ago. All this time I’ve had a magnet on my fridge from the event with the year on top. I took it with me and when I paid my admission I pulled out the magnet and showed it to the old gent running the convention. I told him that I was last there with my father, now deceased, all those years ago. It was a heart warming anecdote, or so I thought. The guy looked at the magnet, and totally seriously, even a bit angrily, sneered “so where have you been all this time”? I took back the magnet and walked in. BTW- there were no magnets this year, but I did get a pen.

The convention attracted about one hundred people, and many of them were blind. It makes sense. Radio is for the ears, for the imagination. All of the blind people, except one, seemed very interested in the events of the day. There were many discussions of various old radio shows and people involved in OTR. One blind woman, however, was a total loudmouth who must have thought she was at Yankee Stadium.

PRESENTER: “So it was back in 1942 that I met Bruce Freedkin and-“
LOUDMOUTH: “Yay! Bruce Freedkin! We love you!”
PRESENTER: “Right, yeah, well, Bruce Freedkin and I were mixing tapes in the Brill Building when-“
LOUDMOUTH: “Brill Building!”
PRESENTER: Sigh “It’s going to be one of those days.”
LOUDMOUTH: “Yay!”

The days events were broadcast live over internet radio. Right in the back of the main hall was a table set up with broadcasting equipment manned by a guy who looked like he took some time off from following the Grateful Dead around and a young woman who may have had a date once in her life. She had a strange, almost alien looking face, with makeup that seemed to simply accent the alien-ness. Her T-shirt, reading, I brake for MGTJSPE didn’t help. And I have no idea what that meant. Over the course of the day I lost track how many times some old codger shuffled over and asked “what station are you from?”

So I sat there through interesting panels about old radio shows, punctuated by the occasional “Yay! Radio!” from the blind woman. There were demonstrations of sound effects, clips from old shows, discussions of how radio influenced the comics, and more. If you like adventure, the Scarlet Queen panel was for you. Like mystery? The Shadow discussion was up your alley. If you get a laugh out of white men pretending to be black men, the Amos and Andy panel was for you. Not for me, mind you, for you.

Eventually I left the old folks remembering their youth when they sat around and stared at radios the size of today’s refrigerators for awhile. I went to the dealers rooms, all eight of them, and if you went into one you didn’t need to bother going to the other seven.
They all sold nothing but bootleg old time radio show CD’s. No longer did fans of Phil Harris or The Whistler have to get their OTR fixes in dark alleys. Buck Rogers addicts and Little Orphan Annie junkies alike could get well with all the OTR they could imagine in one place. More than one Mysterious Traveler fan overdosed on $2 bootleg discs. TV wasn’t forgotten either. Every single lousy cartoon you remember from the 50’s or 60’s was there too, all cheesy off-the-air broadcasts, complete with static, bad editing where the tape was paused for commercials, and tons of picture degradation as copies were copied from copies of copies of copies copied from copies that were bad to begin with. On the other hand, who could pass up the complete Gigantor for $5?

The highlight of the day was the live performance of an old radio show and it is not as interesting or exciting as you may be imagining. Oh, I know it sounds so glamorous, but trust me, it is an actor’s wet dream to do this and get paid. Imagine a play. Now imagine you don’t need sets. Or costumes. You sit on a comfy chair until you have to speak, then you walk over to a mic and read your lines, then sit down again. Yes, I said “read” your lines, as this is radio so no one needs to memorize the script when you can just read from it. We all did the same thing in third grade.

Of course, there was a catch. The loud blind lady sat right behind me, just to the left, so that during the introductions she cackled out “we love you!” to every performer- right in my left ear- and screamed at every joke “that was a good one! HA HA HA!” Yes, she laughed just like that, HA HA HA.

The day ended and I left. The old folks stayed behind, as there was a buffet and more recreations to come- all at an extra charge, which I declined. I had already had my share of overpriced food- $2.50 for $1.25 bottle of orange juice, and a bag of fruit snacks for $3.25 that even my local newsstand is embarrassed to charge $1.75 for. I also later had a thin $6.50 tuna wrap and a $4 bottle of Pepsi. This is why there is a fence between the hotel and the prison- there is nothing the felons could steal in the area worth more than the Pepsi sold at the hotel. I’m sure it is a tempting target.

By 5:30 I was driving home, the hotel in the rearview mirror, some CD’s in the backseat, and half a bottle of soda that I was not throwing away at those prices right beside me. I had a good time, the shows were enjoyable, and the people who weren’t laughing in my ear were nice and friendly, if a bit dusty. I look forward to the show next year, where the people will be another year older and the blind woman a few decibels louder.

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The Real Radio Know-It-All

20 Jul

July 20, 2010

It seems like everyone wants their kid to be a doctor when he grows up. (Or she, but from here on I’m sticking with “he.” I’m not sexist, just lazy. I want to avoid some typing.) Not me. That is a whole lot of responsibility.

Think about it. You are an ER doctor and an ambulance rolls in. The paramedics jump out and start shouting “car vs. clown car, BP 130 over 85, pulse neg, blood ox 32, high contusion on the thoraxial shmasical clavicle,” and other things they yell on TV. After the shouting dies down you realize that they left the patient in the ambulance and they go back for him.

Anyway, his life is in YOUR hands. That is a lot of pressure. His life is in YOUR hands. Yes, I am repeating myself and using Motivational Caps©- it is THAT much pressure. What if you do something wrong? What if he becomes brain dead? What if he dies?????

Frankly that’s not important. Death is a part of life. You know what worries me? What if he LIVES?

So I saved this kid and now I have to spend every single day of my life wondering if I did the right thing. What if the kid grows up to be a serial killer? What if the kid grows up to be the next Ugandan dictator? What if I just saved the life of the next Hitler? That’s all on me. I can’t take that kind of strain and stress.

Better I stay out of it entirely.

However, what I would like to be is a fake doctor. like Bernard Meltzer.

If you lived in New York and you are older than 35 the odds are you heard “Uncle Bernie” Bernard Meltzer on the radio. Broadcasting from roughly the Stone Age until 1995, Meltzer hosted the popular “What’s your Problem?” advice show. (This was the show’s second name, replacing the unpopular “Who are you looking at?”)

Bernard was popularly known as “Doctor Acula,” um, excuse me, it’s late, I mean “Doctor Meltzer.” Callers greeted him with “Hello Doctor Meltzer.” Guests said “Thanks for having me on, Doctor Meltzer.” He himself said to callers “You’re on with Doctor Meltzer.” Despite this, he was not a doctor. Of any type. No degree.

His show began with a disclaimer that clearly said “Bernard Meltzer is not a doctor.” Coming out of commercials, bumpers reminded listeners that “Bernard Meltzer is not a doctor.” Bernard Meltzer told his listeners “Bernard Meltzer is not a doctor.” And the first call? “Hello Doctor Meltzer.”

Anyway, this was an advice show, and what did he give advice on? What didn’t he?

A typical show began with a question about a failing romance, followed by a question about fixing a house’s foundation, followed by someone asking about where to put their 401(K) and then a caller asking about his heart arrhythmia.

And you know what? He had an answer for all of those questions. No, not a BS answer like I like to give, but actual, real, good answers. He may not have been a doctor, but he seemed to know everything. And he had a folksy way of saying it. Here are a few of his well-known quotes.

  • A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked.
  • Success is getting and achieving what you want. Happiness is wanting and being content with what you get.
  • We may give without loving, but we cannot love without giving.
  • You can make more friends in two months by becoming really interested in other people, than you can in two years by trying to get other people interested in you.

I am not sure, but he may have simply watched one too many old Charlie Chan films.   He also often asked “What shall we do with grandma, now that she’s old and gray?” and annoyingly never gave an answer.

Honestly, he was amazing. People called about electrical repair, which car to buy, liver ailments, pre-nuptial agreements, horse anatomy, you name it, and he had an answer. Strangely, WOR-AM’s “history” page simply describes him as “financial advisor,” which is a very poor job by WOR.

His show aired on WOR AM 710, once the home of the Mutual Network and the broadcast studio of The Shadow. Lately, it has become the home of The Pet Show, a call-in show about sneezing dogs.

Later in life, perhaps worried about the FCC, or simply afraid of being sued, he actually earned a degree, but it was through a correspondence course from an unaccredited university, the Triple-A High School Diploma Company of Delevan, Indiana. Radar on M*A*S*H got the same degree in the season one episode “Dear Dad- Again.” (This may not be true.)

If there was a caller he particularly liked, he would send them a t-shirt. It was a plain white tee with something to the effect of “Bernard Meltzer answered my question on WOR” written across it. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to who got the shirt, but usually anyone who asked for it got one. And take it from me, everyone asked for one.  His callers were a bunch of schnoorers. He would also send listeners helpful pamphlets (for free) full of his advice on model rocketry, quantum physics, auto-erotic asphyxiation, or whatever obscure topic the caller asked about.

One of the sad facets of his show was that, as he got older and sicker (he continued to broadcast well into his late seventies) he would never take a day off. His voice got weaker and weaker to the point that he would often pause long enough in mid-sentence for callers to ask “are you still there?” His producer would often introduce the calls in order to lighten the vocal burden. It was often a wonder that he made it through the show, as sometimes you were positive he was not making it back from the commercial break.

There has not been a show like his before or since.  And that is the type of doctor I wish to be- beloved by all, yet with no malpractice insurance.

Rest In Peace, Mr. Know-It-All. I would have published this on the anniversary of your death, March 25th, but on that day I was busy blogging about pro-wrestler Akeem and his manager, Slick.

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