KQRS-AM/FM – 1972 – Progressive Radio
Dream Job of a Lifetime
What can I say about KQRS? It was the dream job of a lifetime. I say this without any hesitation whatsoever, even today, several decades and several careers later.
My connection to KQRS was that I listened to it constantly, and felt like I knew the announcers intimately, even though I only really knew one of them personally at that time. And that was John Fine. Y’know, until I met him in 1969, I’d always planned on shortening my radio name from John Fineberg to John Fine. Confident that we’d eventually end up working together someday, that spoiled that plan.
John introduced me to fellow KQ announcer Shel Danielson (whose on-air name was “Alan Stone”). A couple of years later, when Shel took over as program director (after John Peterson, a.k.a. “John Pete,” left for KRSI, KQ’s only competitor in the progressive radio market), I got a call from John Fine to let me know about the opening that had been created by John Peterson’s departure. I was in San Francisco at the time, attending Elkins Institute, to get a First Class FCC License (a requirement to work at KQ).
I made the call to Shel. We’d only met once, but he could evaluate my voice over the phone. He had also been impressed by a very long, hand-written letter I’d sent to the station from San Francisco, evaluating KQ and touting it as better than even the oh-so-hip stations in the Bay Area. And, then, of course, there was the recommendation from John Fine. Long story short-ish, Shel hired me over the phone.
It was my very first job as an adult, after graduating with a bachelor of arts degree in Broadcasting from the University of Minnesota. I got to start my broadcasting career at what I considered to be the finest station anywhere. As I’d listened to stations around the country recognized for being the best, I knew what I was talking about. Even though it was only a part-time gig, not many people get to skip the small town step and start at the top. I couldn’t have been more excited!
KQRS was my ideal job. We had an incredibly talented staff. We had an incredibly trustworthy staff, as well, as we had a huge amount of say in what we said and what we played on-the-air. Not quite free-form, but nearly. In any one hour, we bounced around from rock to jazz, blues, folk, country, East Indian and comedy. And we made it all fit together, telling stories and making political comments through the music that we chose. We prided ourselves on segues that musically and/or thematically blended magically together. We basically played everything except for classical (which is, shockingly, what I listen to most today).
It was an honor to work with great talent like Alan Stone, Dan Pothier, George Donaldson Fisher and John Fine. And with Richard E. Nelson, a fabulously talented production person, who constantly amazed me with his editing skills.
Like all of us at that time, I lived and breathed KQ. We were fiercely loyal, and our listeners were equally loyal. When I was stolen away to KRSI in 1973, I only took the job because it was full-time (plus I liked the idea of working with my new friend, John Peterson, and my old college friend, Susan Bradley). Even Shel advised me to take the offer, as he couldn’t promise that I’d get the next full-time opening. “And,” he said to me, “we can always steal you back.” “Don’t you forget that,” I said back. (Unfortunately, when I desperately wanted to return “home,” I couldn’t, because I had inadvertently burnt a bridge with Dick Poe, the general manager.)
The KQ I knew and loved died shortly thereafter. Like other progressive stations nationwide, it went from true art to true commercialism. It had gone from a tax deduction for some wealthy lawyer out east to a money-maker. And, once you start making money, the tendency is to try to make even more. Lots more. And that’s how KQ died, slowly but surely.
I got really spoiled working at the KQ of 1972 (even though I missed the even more progressive years that led up to it). Being on-the-air there was the most creative period of my life. I was an idealist, and I never again found a station — or a job — so ideal again. And, even though it was only a very short amount of time that I worked there, I made some incredible friends, people who I still love and still count as dear friends, more than five decades later.
Below you will find two shows of mine from KQRS. First, the one and only program I ever planned out in advance. It was titled the “Ozone Hour.” Very spacey, of course. And the other is my entire final show on KQRS. It was an emotional six hours. There was a sometimes subtle, sometimes blatant, message in every song I chose to play that night, and you could definitely hear the sadness in my voice.
The recordings were all originally recorded on monaural tape. Years later, they were converted to CD, and then, later still, to .mp3. There is some editing to the final show, which accounts for why some of the six hours appears to be missing. But you’ll get the gist of the entire midnight-6:00 a.m. show.
My favorite part of all is in the final few minutes — after my last song (“The End” by the Doors) ends, and Dan Pothier begins an unexpected tribute to me. He spoke, dedicated a song to me, then capped that off with a few final words when his song ended. The reality was that I was sitting on the floor in another part of the station, listening to Dan, and bawling.