The engineer lowered the needle to the record and a momentary scratch and pop was followed by the haunting guitar notes of the Ventures playing “Apache.” I spoke into the mike. “This is 1450 AM RADIO KENA Mena, Arkansas and you’re listening to … the Bearcat Prowl.” The year was 1967 and with several schoolmates I was hosting a weekly radio show of news and events that we judged of interest to students in our little town of 3,000. We announced game schedules, pep rallies, school plays and we played songs that wouldn’t ordinarily be part of the station’s country western format. I would pore over the teletype paper spooled on the floor for unusual and quirky news items to read. The DJ was a cocky fellow who drove a white Thunderbird. In sotto voce he admitted that the buxom receptionist with the blond curls had yielded to his charms against that very teletype machine. For years afterward, I could not hear the rattle of a teletype without getting inordinately stimulated. Our broadcast rolled out across the rumpled mountains and trickling streams, the chugging freight trains and buzzing highways. The mystery and romance of my voice coupled with compelling music traveling the invisible air waves to unknown recipients was sublime.
I don’t recall a time without the magic of radio. In my childhood living room stood the upright Philco, tall and round shouldered like the refrigerator’s little brother, housed in a fine wooden cabinet with a huge green eye for a dial and an open back that revealed a tiny dusty mechanism of wires and glowing tubes. The grownups listened to Fibber McGee and Mollie, Gunsmoke, Lum and Abner and Gangbusters. There were many live music shows including the Grand Ole Opry and the Big D Jamboree from nearby Dallas. I recall tense moments as we gathered around the radio and tracked the progress of a tornado through little Texas towns like Wink and Grit and Idalou, all the time the airwaves were crackling and popping in concert with the storm’s electrical activity.
When the sun went down border stations like powerful XERA used transmitters as strong as 500,000 watts to blast their messages north from just inside Mexico. Their signal was potent enough to make headlights on parked cars glow and people reported picking up transmissions on farm gates, iron bridges and metal fillings in their teeth. Luminaries such as Mother Maybelle Carter sang “Wildwood Flower” and offered baby chicks with guaranteed live delivery. Dr. Brinkley revealed the miraculous possibilities of his goat gland operations for men with flagging libidos. Wolfman Jack began to channel the dark textures of Muddy Waters and Lightnin’ Hopkins from out of the chaos and weave a new story with rock-a-billy and western swing. It was all exotic and exciting and somewhat forbidden.
Mama’s radio sat in the kitchen window. Once white plastic, it had yellowed to an even tan, but it faithfully delivered the pleas of radio evangelists like Brother Ray T Pedigo, Missions to Japan who explained the desperate plight of those who had not received the message of salvation and how much difference your gift of one dollar could make. Mama drew comfort from gospel songs like “How Great Thou Art.” Mama would mail off her dollar in a folded envelope addressed to Box 54 Dalhart, Texas.
I spent the winter of 1971-72 living off-grid with Sue and two small children in an old school bus in the remote woods of West Virginia. Once a week I would start the engine and run it a few minutes to keep the battery charged, primarily so we could listen to the AM radio. The Wheeling Jamboree was good for bluegrass and country tunes. I was impressed with the powerful performances of Mollie O’Day, then in her 80s singing “Tramp on the Street” live from Huntington. The proliferation of fundamental preachers calling the faithful to action made me wonder about the make-up of their actual congregations. Their preaching was often unintelligible. The strange drama of “Tradio” would play out as people would call in and offer for sale or trade “a half-dozen quart fruit jars” or the warning “a black bull is loose on Mud River Road.” Outside the bus the whip-poor-wills called and the screech owls hunted meadow mice in the fragrant dark.
The late recording and broadcast engineer Phil Gall and I often discussed the glory days of radio. He showed up for a New Year’s Eve party at my home in the ’80s with a spool of copper wire, a 1-watt AM transmitter and an “On The Air” lighted sign from his days working at Northern Arizona University’s early radio station. We strung the copper wire through the tall branches of a giant ponderosa pine to serve as a broadcast antenna and set up our studio in my living room. Until the wee hours of the New Year we beamed living songs and select recordings over “KMUD’s” powerful 1-watt signal for twos of miles across the cinder hills and frosted sage of Doney Park. Oh, we were the wolves of the world.
In 1917 Mary Costigan came to Flagstaff to help her brother John operate the newly rebuilt Orpheum Theater. She was an enterprising woman and soon started the town’s first beauty salon and a florist shop. When her brother died she took over the lease on the Orpheum. Mary applied for and received only the second radio broadcasting license awarded to a woman. She began transmitting from the back of the stage at the Orpheum on Dec. 5, 1925 on 1460 kHz on the AM dial with the call sign of KRFX on a 25-watt station built for her by Arthur Riordan, who learned his skills while serving in the Army Signal Corp during World War I. In 1929 she moved operations to room #105 in the new Monte Vista Hotel and stepped up to three hours of programming a day over a 100-watt transmitter. She continued providing service to Flagstaff until June of 1928 when a local physician purchased the station. In 1932 the station was moved to Yuma.
Currently five licenses have been granted in Flagstaff for new low watt radio stations. Three are going to church-funded stations. One of the others includes a collaboration between Niles Radio and the Sunnyside Neighborhood Association to establish 101.5 FM Radio Sunnyside which will have its studio in the Market of Dreams. Mac England has been named general manager. Hardly a newcomer, Mac has seen public radio stations from conception to broadcast before, so he’s an able man for the job. They plan to broadcast programming in English, Navajo, Hopi and Spanish languages to reflect the diverse community they will be celebrating.
Coming full circle, Chris Scully of the Orpheum is partnering with Charles Seiverd of The Noise and a stalwart group of volunteers to bring live radio back home to the Orpheum. They plan on broadcasting from the ticket booth with an eye on the downtown scene. 94.9 FM Radio Free Flagstaff will soon be on the air, covering Flagstaff news, weather, and current affairs and highlighting local musicians through live and recorded performances. After just 90 years radio is coming home to the Orpheum and the people of Flagstaff. Can I have an Amen?
Tony says: Would you like to have a voice in community radio? Are you an independent musician who owns the rights to your creation? Would you like to donate old vinyl, 78’s, cassettes, CDs or volunteer your time and skills? Contact Radio Sunnyside at radiosunnyside101.5@gmail.com or Radio Free Flagstaff at radiofreeflagstaff@gmail.com.
