WIP: DYNAMIC DUO OF THE OZARKS

	January 25, 1966, would be an important day in Mykel Daring's life. The start of a long up and down career that he would be lucky enough to continue into his seventies, when his colleagues had given up or died. At seventeen, he was just interested in getting college credit and a foot in the door. 

	He pulled his red, 59 Impala onto the parking lot of a large office building, just west of the Park Central Square in Spring Valley. It was easy to find as it was the only turquoise, art deco building with a AM tower on the roof in Spring Valley. The across the front of the tower were neon letters, K-I-L-L 1300. He got out,  put money in the meter and walked into the building. His legs trembled a bit and he was starting to perspire, even though it was twenty-nine degrees with a sharp, chilly wind. 

	Inside, he took the elevator to the second floor. The elevator doors opened right in front of glass, double doors with 'K-I-L-L 1300 kHz – Mary Sue Broadcasting' painted in purple on the glass. Mykel walked inside, where an attractive, middle-aged woman, with her blonde hair in a bubble cut, was typing on a typewriter, on a small table at the side of the reception desk. On a monitor, Dean Martin was singing about 'going back to Houston' between a metallic, clinking noise, and the air smelled of artificial lilac air-freshener from an aerosol can. She turned around and looked at Mykel, “Good afternoon and welcome to K-I-double-L! May I help you?”

	“My name is Mykel Daring and I have an appointment with Mr. Lance Powers.” The lady picked up a clipboard and looked at it, rather puzzled. Mykel realized, from past experience, the confusion and politely informed the receptionist, “It's spelled with a 'Y' and a 'K'.”

	“Okay, here you are!” she giggled and made a check mark by his name. “I'll tell him you are here.” She then picked up the receiver of the phone, pushed a button and said, “Lance, Mykel Daring is here to see you.” She put down the receiver and smiled at Mykel, “He will be right out.” 

	She smiled at Mykel, “Mr. Ketner, the general manager, is big on changing names. He says for security reasons and to give us flare. I'm just the receptionist, but because take pictures of me for promotional material, he even changed my name. With a name like Michael Daring, you may not have to change yours.” She held up a little, plastic, desk plate, with an imitation wood-finish, that read MISS MELINDA MONROE - RECEPTIONIST. “Mr. Ketner decided I should be Melinda Monroe, because he thinks I look like Marilyn Monroe,” she rolled her eyes with a smile. “My real name is Irma Lou Pootkeester.” 

	“I see,” Mykel answered, trying not to laugh at her real name, because he didn't want to offend her right off the bat. A stout, African – American man, with a pencil thin mustache and straightened hair, walked into the lobby. He took off a brown, pork-pie hat and set it on a prong on a coat-wrack, then began taking off his overcoat.

	“Good afternoon, Matt!”			 

	“I brought you something, Melinda,” the man said. 

	“I hope it is a mink coat,” Melinda chirped with a smile.

	“No, it's a contract to type up for Bob Curtis Volkswagen.”

	“You mean Bob Curtis Studebaker – Volkswagen, don't you?” Melinda questioned.

	“Not anymore. That is why he wanted to buy,” Matt explained. “He has found out that Studeys are going out of business. The company will be no more. He has to get rid of them and he wants everyone to know that he will just have the Bugs from now on.”

	“My father swears the Studey is the best cars,” Melinda said. “I don't think my parents would ever by a Volkswagen.” 

	“Hell, I don't think I can even fit in one, much less get Dora and the kids in one.”

	“Oh Matt, this young man is Mykel Daring. He is going to be our intern this semester,” Melinda introduced Mykel to Matt.

	“Mathew Gilstrap, nice to meet you. I handle, what Mr. Ketner calls Ethnic Sales, and, well, I sometime get sales that our veteran salesmen can't get,” Matt chuckled with a smile, as gave Mykel a firm handshake. “I'm starting to get sales at business that wouldn't have let me in the door about a year ago.”

	“Since Mykel is going to work here, you should tell him your big secret,” Melinda suggested with a wink.

	“I was getting to that. I'm also on air too. Did you ever hear Nightcap with Matt Moonlight?”

	“Yes,” Mykel answered with a look of epiphany. “Are you Matt Moonlight?”

	Matt then began speaking in the low, soothing voice, that he used when playing mushy love songs and jazz, late at night. “Why yes I am, son. I'm here to give you sweet dreams.”

	“They never have a photo of you on the Killer hit charts that you can get in the student union,” Mykel said. “It's just that silhouette.”

	“Well, now you know why,” Matt laughed. “It might be a scandal if Spring Valley found out there was a Negro on the radio playing records for girls and lonely women.”

	“Don't forget the babies at Dix Hospital,” Melinda added.

	Matt smiled, then spoke, in his radio voice, “Hello babies! This is Matt Moonlight, welcoming you into this big, wide, wonderful world!”           

	      A K-I-double-L jingle blared from the monitor, followed by “Ebb Tide” by the Righteous Brothers. Another man, with a wavy pompadour of jet-black hair and a circle beard, came walking down a hallway into the lobby. His cologne arrived a few seconds before he did.

	“Hello, are you Mykel?” the man asked. Mykel acknowledged who he was.

	“I'm Lance Powers, glad to meet you. Come back to the studio where we can talk?”


	“Lance, I just got a major buy from of Bob Curtis Volkswagen,” Matt boasted. “He is announcing the end of the line for the Studey's. He says he is clearing them out.”

	“Would he do trade on an Avanti?” Lance joked. 

	“I doubt that he would go for that,” Matt laughed. “But you might get a Beetle on trade.”

	“Naw, too small for my taste,” Lance remarked. “I hate to hear that Studebaker is closing down, but, at least, there will always be Oldsmobiles and Plymouths.” Lance then motioned to Mykel, “Follow me to the studio.” They were walking down a brightly lit hallway, when they met a heavy set, middle-aged man with a walrus mustache, a cigar stub underneath, and a stack of yellow papers, walking rapidly toward them.

	“Gangway! It's news time!” The man spoke in a gruff, gravely voice that Mykel recognized from the radio as T. R. McGuillcuddy of “K-I-double-L's 20-20 News.”

	“That's right, it's time for news, so we can go to the bullpen,” Lance remembered. Mykel followed him, past the studio, to a larger room with several desk, with ash trays filled with white and black flakes, coffee stained paper cups, and empty pop bottles. Lance rolled a chair over to the front of a desk with a name plate that read: LANCE POWERS – PROGRAM DIRECTOR. It was flanked by a picture frame containing a photo of a gorgeous blonde and a gold miniature of a submarine with a plate underneath reading USS QUEENFISH SS-393. He pushed a button on the office phone and the on-air feed could be heard through a tiny speaker. The rest of the desk was strewn with papers, copies of Cash Box and Billboard, and rumpled packs of L & M cigarettes. Lance picked up one, put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a Ronson lighter. He then picked a paper up that had written in ink “Shows promise bring him in! Sol.” Mykel then noticed it was the letter he wrote to the radio station, to obtain the internship.

	“It says here you are from Binbury, Vermont, but you graduated from Lemming Pond High School in 1965. So, you are a freshman at Spring Valley State College? How is that going?”

	“Pretty good. It was kind of rough last semester, but I hope things will be different this semester,” Mykel answered.

	“You first semester is always rough, because you really don't know what you are doing,” Lance counseled Mykel. “You either get the hang of it or you dropout. College is hard, but if you make it through and earn a degree, you certainly deserve an award and all the spoils of the American dream.” he took a long drag of the L & M in his mouth, causing it to produce a lengthy, nasty ash. He quickly removed the cigarette and flicked the ashes into the ash tray on his desk. “So, did you work at the radio station in Lemming Pond?”

	“I tried to get a job there in high school, but they old me that there was a law in Missouri against teenagers working in radio,” Mykel explained. “They said you have to be over thirty to work in radio and have a college degree.”

	Lance frowned, “That is a big, fat lie! Granted, you're technically not advanced enough in your college classes to be an intern, but Mr. Ketner liked the letter you wrote to us, about how you want to work in broadcasting, and he said for me to write you and offer you an internship. He knows about what works in this industry, he has been in radio since he got out of the service. He worked in New York for one of the networks...I believe it was Mutual...and hosted one of those mystery shows. It was called Stories from the Charnel House and he was Old Ichabod the Gravedigger. Ever so often, we have him do the voice and the laugh. It's really funny!”

	Lance shook his head and said, “Sounds like the Lemming Pond radio station has the same kind of management this station used to have.” He took crushed out the last of the cigarette. “When I first went to work here, about five years ago, this was owned by a company in the northern part of the state, Farmer Family Radio,” Lance rolled his eyes with disdain talking about the former owners. “And the calls were K-X-D-P. They were not making money in Spring Valley and the reason is they had been in small markets, where there was no competition. They didn't know how to compete and they would put on just about anything. I was hired from a radio station in Illinois. I didn't know what I was getting into. This station was like a bad small town radio station. We were mainly playing hillbilly and gospel music, occasionally some waltzes. When we weren't playing music, we had a show on called Garage Sale of the Airwaves and junior high sports, including junior high girl's volleyball. That stuff worked at their radio stations in Conway, Jericho Springs and Alton, but not in a college town like Spring Valley.”

	“It also didn't help that the guy running this place was a real jerk! His name was Dick Grimm and the name fit him to a tee. He wasn't a real broadcasting person like Mr. Ketner. He weaseled his way into the job someway. He ran a construction outfit that went bankrupt, so the owners, for whatever reason, felt he could run a radio station. His big thing was he recorded this cart with about a two minute long speech on how he guaranteed that you would not hear rock and roll on this radio station. He made us play that six times an hour. Of course, we barely had any commercials, so any way...,” Lance spun the tale of how the radio station came to be Top 40 from the depths of broadcasting Hell. “The current owner of the radio station is a man from Oklahoma name Cal Biggsley, his family owns some radio and TV stations in Oklahoma and Arkansas. About three years ago, he and his family were vacationing a Table Rock Lake. His little daughter, Mary Sue, came down with a strange illness – fever, headache, shortness of breath. They rushed her up here to Dix Hospital. Poor kid was bad sick.”

	“At some point, little Mary Sue told her parents that she would love to hear her favorite song, which was 'You're The Devil In Disguise' by Elvis Presley. Not being from Spring Valley, they didn't know anything about the radio market. Even though rock and roll had been around since 1957 or so, Spring Valley didn't have a radio station that played rock and roll full time. The other problem is they called information for the phone number of a radio station. They operators don't know the formats of the radio stations and just give you a random radio station phone number. They called here and old Grimm rips into this poor, little, sick girl, telling her that 'we would never play rock and roll.' The kid was so traumatized by that, she suffered a heart attack and died that night.”

	“About two weeks later, Cal walks in here and announces he has bought the radio station,” Lance continued with the yarn to end all radio anecdotes. “He says to Grimm, 'Did you tell my little daughter, Mary Sue, that you wouldn't play an Elvis song for her?' and Grimm, had the audacity, to brag that he did and was happy he made her cry, Cal, then, told him she died that night and stupid Dick Grimm laughs in his face and says, 'Well, that's one less Elvis fan'. Cal punched his lights out and then told him he was fired.”

	A K-I-double-L jingle played, followed by “On The Rebound” by Floyd Crammer. T. R. McGullicuddy walked back into the bullpen, holding his news copy, in one hand and lighting a cigar with the other. Lance continued the story, “I'm standing, watching this take place, with my mouth open, and he turns around and appoints me program director. While all of this is going on, McGullicuddy stands up from his desk and starts clapping.” Mykel noticed a sly smile on T. R.'s face when Lance told that part of the story.  “That is also why the name of our company is Mary Sue Broadcasting Incorporated. Cal named the company in memory of his daughter. Mr. Ketner had ran one of Cal's television stations and moved here, because some of his cousins have a clothing store here in Spring Valley. Follow me, to the studio and we can talk, while I do my shift.”

	They got up from their chairs and started to leave the bullpen. T. R spoke up, “Hold on, Lance! I need to point something out to the boy.” He walked over and pointed to three strips of duct tape, placed in the shape of a star, on the vinyl floor. “See that mark. That is where Dick Grimm landed after Cal Biggsley cold cocked him. He landed like a sack of wet corn meal!” T. R. laughed, then closed his eyes and smiled, while telling Mykel about the altercation. “Cassius Clay, or whatever he is calling himself this week, could never land a punch, on a more deserving person, than that day Cal punch out Grimm, for not just mistreating his late daughter, but mocking her after she was gone!”

	 Lance interrupted, “We need to hurry to the studio, this is a short song.” They walked quickly to the studio. Lance grabbed a 45 record, pulled it out of the gray cardboard sleeve, put it on the turntable, put the needle on the record with a Columbia label, then maneuvered the turntable backward. This caused the 45 record to produce an odd sound, like 'Wershp'. “Quiet! I'm going on.” He flipped a switch, on the console, and a yellow light came on. He then push another button, which started the turntable spinning. “K-I-DOUBLE-L, THE BIG THIRTEEN HUNDRED, I'M LOVABLE LANCE POWERS WITH A FORMER NUMBER ONE KILLER HIT ON THE KILLER COUNTDOWN, IT'S BILLY JOE ROYAL, HE IS STUCK 'DOWN IN THE BOONDOCKS' ON THE BIG THIRTEEN HUNDRED – K-I-DOUBLE-L!” He flipped the switch the other way, the light went off and Billy Joe Royal began singing.

	“Wow! I hit the post perfect on that intro!” Lance turned around to Mykel. “What was I talking about, before we came in here?”

	“You were telling me why the company is called Mary Sue Broadcasting,” Mykel reminded Lance. “And how Mr. Ketner came to Spring Valley.” 

	“Oh yeah, Mr. Ketner came to town and he thought it was time that Spring Valley had a Top 40 radio station. I agreed with him. You have two colleges in town, Spring Valley State and Wister College, plus the Baptist Seminary, and contrary to what they would tell you, they DO listen to pop music – they just won't admit it. There is also the secretarial school and the nursing school here in town, along with several high schools and middle schools, so there was no reason not to have a Top 40 station in this town. The first thing Mr. Ketner did, with Cal's blessing, was ask the FCC if we could change the call letters to something easy for the announcers and for the audience to remember. Apparently, a radio station had went bankrupt that had K-I-L-L as their call letters, and Mr. Ketner and Cal said those would be perfect. We filed the paperwork, got the new letters in August and changed to Top 40. We were now 'KILL – Home of the Killer Hits.' Unfortunately, in November, President Kennedy was shot and people began complaining about the new call letters. So, we went from saying K-I-L-L, to saying K-I-double-L, however, we still call it the Killer Countdown and say we play the Killer hits.”

	“Of course, before that, the older people, who had listened to us when we were K-X-D-P,  were complaining about the format change,” Lance began talking in a cranky old person voice. “They didn't want to hear teenybopper music and they didn't want to hear music by Negroes; although that's not the word they used,” Lance continued with his history of K-I-double-L. “They didn't realize that we were no longer programming the radio station for them, but they felt entitled to complain about the music. Frankly, some of the music, at that time, was too slow to me and the trend was these horrible songs about some boy's girlfriend getting run over by a train or some girl's boyfriend drowning on summer vacation.”

	Lance then smiled and asked, “Did you see a picture of a beautiful, blonde woman on my desk?” Mykel nodded yes. “That is my fiance, Sharon, she is a stewardess for T-W-A, out of Kansas City. She became a real help to me with this change. I think it was in October of that year, she went to England. She and the other stewardesses had some free time, so they did some sight seeing and shopping. She called me and said that the kids were going crazy over this band of four guys, with matching suits and wear their hair in long bangs. They are called The Beatles. I told her to buy me some of their records. So, she brought them home and I would work them in during my show, because they were up beat and fun. I didn't get much response, at first,” Lance continued while cuing up the next 45.

	“When President Kennedy was killed, Mr. Ketner had us play Mantovani, George Melochrino, and 101 Strings for several days. When we went back to regular programming, I made a conscious effort to play 'She Loves You' more. The response was better this time. Lo and behold, Capitol sends us a new 45 by the Beatles, 'I Want To Hold Your Hand', and that one took off immediately. After they were on Ed Sullivan, we seemed to play wall to wall Beatles. So, every time Sharon goes to London, she goes to a record store to find out what is new that the kids are crazy about. We've broke the Stones, the Kinks, Herman's Hermits, Dave Clark 5, the Yardbirds, before our competition. I'm working on promoting this new group, the Who. The kids seem to like them. We are starting to get some positive response on a group call the Hollies. Slow, but I think the kids are warming up to them.” He put on his headphones and held up his hand. “Quiet! I'm going on.”

	“K-I-DOUBLE-L, THE BIG THIRTEEN HUNDRED, I'M LOVABLE LANCE POWERS!” He seemed to yell into the microphone, while pushing a button that let out a shrill 'Beep.'  “FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF SPRING VALLEY SAYS IT'S THREE-THIRTY AND TWENTY-FIVE DEGREES. HERE'S DICK AND DEE WITH 'THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.' I WISH SOMEONE WOULD BREAK INTO THE RADIO STATION AND STEAL THIS RECORD. YOU ARE LISTENING TO LOVABLE LANCE ON K-I-DOUBLE-L!”

	 Lance turned off the microphone, “I hate Dick and Dee Dee, but it was requested. You will find when you work in this business, that you will get tired off playing certain artist and songs. I also can't stand the Righteous Brothers and the Four Seasons. The good news is school is getting out right about now and the request will start pouring in for good songs.”

	T. R. McGullicuddy walked into the studio with a cart and handed it to Lance. He took his cigar out of his mouth and commanded, “This cart is the next news break, I've got to run over to the Highway Patrol office and get a report from them. Run that twice if you have to.”

	“Okay, T. R, this is our new intern, Mykel Daring. He is a student at Spring Valley State College and from Lemming Pond,” Lance introduced Mykel to the newsman, who put his cigar back in his mouth and shook Mykel's hand.

	“Glad to meet you,” T. R. said.  “I was talking with one of Lemming Pond's favorite sons this morning, Carroll Bob Catterwood.” 
 
	“What was he doing here this morning?” Lance asked.


	“He and Jerry Vinton were ousted as chairman and co-chair of the Republican Party last night,” T. R. explained. “You will never guess who they were replaced with.”

	“I'm not sure I want to guess, from the sound of your voice.”

	“Vinton was replaced by Mason Dixon of the Confederate Colonel Fencing Company,” T. R growled with disgust. “And Carroll Bob was replaced with Laban Edward Fantt of  Ozark Rental Properties.”

	Lance looked over at Mykel and explained, “Mason Dixon used to be Herman Shattenkirk. He was in the construction business with Dick Grimm, that I was telling you about, until they built a concrete wall that collapsed and killed an old couple and crippled a little boy for life. So he changed his name, started a new company, began dressing in a Confederate uniform – complete with a sword, and doing these horrible commercials where he says that everyone is going to need a big fence around their house now that Jim Crow has been abolished, Dr. Spock is popular with parents and the British rock bands are coming to this country. Luckily, he doesn't advertise with us.” He looked back around at T.R.  “Doesn't Fantt have those little, rundown motor court on the north side of town that...?”

	“That the ladies of the evening work at, yes, that is just one of his upstanding business ventures. He is also know for rental properties with toilets that don't flush,” T. R. chuckled. “And now, we here in Spring Valley and Browne County can proudly say that the chairman of our Republican Party is named L. E. Fantt and, bad thing is, he looks exactly like his name.”

	Lance burst into laughter, “Elephant! My question is why would they vote out Catterwood and Vinton for those two characters?”

	“It was the John Birchers in the local party feel Catterwood and Vinton aren't tough enough on the Communist element here is Spring Valley,” T. R answered.

	“What Communist element in Spring Valley?” Lance asked in jest, as he loaded a cart in each of the two cart machines. 

	“The college, the public schools system, the hospitals, the libraries, girly magazines, the television stations, and this radio station,” T. R joked. “We are all out to destroy America and they need to educated people to fight us with votes and carry hand guns.”

	“They are all nuts! The Birch Society will be the death of us yet!” Lance said as he pushed the button that played a cart with a jingle, which featured women chirping “K-I-DOUBLE-L IN SPRING VALLEY MISSOURI! GO-GO RADIO!,” he then hit the other cart machine's button, which started a commercial for Salem Cigarettes. He quickly switched out the cart with the jingle with another cart. The whole time Mykel watched in awe, wondering if he could ever get the hang of doing what Lance was doing with such speed and grace.

	“You know, I have this theory,” T. R crossed his arms and closed eyes, as he spoke. “What if the John Birch Society was really in league with the Soviet Union?  They scare people with all that crazy, paranoia propaganda and make everyone hate everyone and everything in this country. Nobody will like or trust anybody. Then, they sway the election, so the wrong candidate gets elected, it demoralizes the country and the Soviets come in and take over.  The Birchers tried to get Goldwater elected. Next time, they might try to get Richard Nixon or even Ronald Reagan, now that he is in politics, elected President.”

	Lance fired the other cart, which was a commercial for Colonial Bread. “That is kind of far fetched, T. R. It would be a cold day in Hell before either Richard Nixon or Ronald Reagan are elected President.” Lance chuckled, as he removed the Salem commercial's cart and put in another cart. “I could see Everette Dirksen or Durwood Hall getting to be president, but not Nixon or Reagan. I mean, do we really want the host of Death Valley Days to be President?”

	 There was a buzz from the intercom. “Lance, your presence is needed in the lobby,” Melinda's voice came over the intercom, with a slight, nervous twinge. “Muriel Krampus, of Concerned Mothers of the Ozarks, is here and she brought a reporter from the Daily News and a TV camera person from channel 4. She has a petition of some sort for you.”

	Lance frowned and gritted his teeth, “It is probably like the others. Let me finish this break and start a record, then I'll be right there!” He started the other cart, which was a PSA for the Presbyterian Church, with Stan Freburg as a guy, making excuses for not going to church. He switched out the bread commercial for a cart marked jingle. Lance then pulled Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan off of the shelf and cued it, which made a 'Womp' sound.

	“Usually, we try to limit how often a song gets played, but I've made an exception for 'Like a Rolling Stone.' It was a big hit all last summer and is still getting request, but the LP version is perfect if you need to go to the bathroom or, in this case, deal with a crazy Bircher woman in the lobby.”

	The jingle played, with women singing “THE BIG THIRTEEN HUNDRED - YOURS TRUELY K-I-DOUBLE-L IN SPRING VALLEY!” Lance pushed the turntable button, at the right moment, after the final trumpet blast on the jingle, the downbeat of the snare drum signaled the beginning of the Dylan record. Lance excused himself and left the studio.

	“Come on, Boy! We are about to see a fight!” T. R said with a smirk, as he motioned for Mykel to follow him to the lobby to watch Lance deal with Mrs. Krampus. They followed Lance down the hall way to the lobby. Right before walking into the lobby, Lance stopped and sliped on a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses and lit another L & M, before walking into the lobby to meet with Mrs. Krampus.         

	 Mrs. Krampus was a slightly pudgy woman with a permanent scowl on her face, which seemed to have an excessive amount of ruby lipstick on her lips. She wore a navy blue, lampshade hat with a white band and satin rose attached. Her dress suit was bright red with a white blouse and navy blue scarf underneath. She had legs like a dinning room table, stuffed into white hose and a pair of red shoes, that rivaled the shoes in the Wizard of Oz. There were two other gray headed women accompanying her. A female reporter from the newspaper and a man with a film camera from the TV station was in the lobby, as well. 

	“Is there a problem, Miss Monroe?” Lance asked Melinda.

	“Mrs. Krampus, this is our program director, Lance Powers,” Melinda introduced Lance to the embittered woman.

	“Your radio station is the problem!” Mrs. Krampus screeched at Lance like a Halloween witch. “I have a petition with one hundred names of concerned citizens, who are demanding that you stop playing rock and roll and go back to the wholesome programming your radio station was once known for broadcasting.” She handed Lance a page, covered with signatures, stapled to a missive, written by Muriel Krampus herself, about how rock and roll was going to destroy the world. “That is a mission statement from the organization I represent.”

	 “This is a carbon copy of the one you brought to the radio station, right before Christmas! I will tell you what I told you last time, I will not consider your demands! These signatures all look the same. You probably got these names from the headstones in the city cemetery. Also, Beatles is spelled with an A, Byrds is spelled with a Y, and, Bob Dylan's name is not spelled, D-I-L-L-O-N.” Then Lovable Lance held the two papers up in front of Muriel Krampus' face and ripped the papers down the middle. “THAT is what I think of your petition, Mrs. Krampus! Good day!” Lance turned and began walking back to the studio. He lit another L & M on his way down the hall.

	“I want to speak to the manager of the radio station!” Mrs. Krampus yelled, as she began to bawl. “I may have to bring a lawsuit against this radio station!”

	“I'm sorry, Mr. Ketner is at a Rotary Club meeting and will be out of the office for the rest of the day,” Melinda told Mrs. Krampus, as she continued to have a meltdown.

	T. R and Mykel were following Lance back to the studio. “You do realize, you will be on the six o'clock news ripping her petition up?” T. R. asked Lance.

	“Yes, that is why I did that! If the press wasn't here, I wouldn't have done it,” Lance answered with a smirk, as he pulled off his shades. “We can't play polite puppy with her. We have to be a stand up to her and her group.”

	A door, at the end of the hallway, opened and a short, older gentleman wearing an overcoat, wool muffler and a fedora walked in from a stairwell. He took off his hat and exposed a partially bald head. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket, took off his round, dark rimmed glasses, which had fogged up when he came inside, and wiped them off. 

	“My, it is cold out there today,” he said with a New York accent, as he walked up to the threesome, standing outside the studio door. “We may get some of that blizzard that is everywhere else is getting right now.”

	 Lance walked briskly toward the man, trying to head him off. “Sol, don't go near the lobby. Muriel Krampus is out there, with a cameraman from channel 4, and a reporter and photographer from Daily News.” 

	“It's Nellie Sheraton from Daily News,” T. R added.

	“Oy, that woman hates us! Why is Krampus here?”

	“She brought us another petition of people wanting us to stop playing rock and roll,” Lance explained. “I tore it up. That should make a good photo for the newspaper!”


	“Lance, you know we are supposed to keep all correspondence to go into the station's public file for the FCC,” the man scolded Lance, then realized the presence of a young visitor, so he introduced himself. “Hello, I'm Sol Ketner, general manager of K-I-double-L. Are you the new intern?”

	“Yes sir. My name is Mykel Daring and I go to Spring Valley State College.”

	“Glad to have you here. Now Lance, you shouldn't have tore that up.”

	“Mr. Ketner, it was the same one she brought us last summer and last fall. The only difference is she added The Byrds and spelled their name wrong – with an I. She also spelled Sonny and Cher, S-U-N-N-Y-S-H-A-R-E. It was pretty much a carbon copy of the other ones. Why don't we go into the studio and talk with Mykel about the exciting business of radio and we can talk about Krampus later on?”

	“Suit yourself, but if the FCC wants to look at the public file, it will be your funeral,” Mr. Ketner said. Mykel, Lance and Mr. Ketner walked into the studio. Lance quickly cued up another record.

	“BOB DYLAN WITH 'LIKE A ROLLING STONE' ON K-I-DOUBLE-L, I'M LOVABLE LANCE POWERS. IT IS A FROSTY THIRTEEN DEGREES OUTSIDE ON THE SEDGWICK FURNITURE AND APPLIANCE TEMPERATURE SCALE. THE GOOD NEWS IS THERE ARE NO FLIES AND SKEETERS OUT THERE, JUST SKEETER DAVIS AND SHE'S GONNA GET ALONG WITHOUT YOU NOW ON THE BIG THIRTEEN HUNDRED – K-I-DOUBLE-L!” Lance finished talking and turned off the microphone right before Skeeter Davis sang, “Uh-huh, Uh-hmm, gonna get along without you now.”

	“Mykel, you are getting one of the best trades in the world,” Mr. Ketner began pontificating. “Broadcasting is great trade, especially for a young person like yourself. I have been in this industry since I got out of the service in 1944. Every morning, I wake up and think how lucky I am that I get to go to work in radio. I have done a little bit of everything from news, disk jockey, I was even the announcer on a mystery anthology show.”

	“While I don't condone Lance ripping up the petition Mrs. Krampus brought to the radio station,” Mr. Ketner continued. “I'm not too upset, because he stood up to her. The show I was the announcer for was canceled abruptly, because of complaints from some parents and other people, who claimed one episode of our radio drama was too frightening. We had good Hooper ratings and two steady advertisers, but the network caved in to pressure. We never broke any laws in the FCC Blue Book.”

	“That brings me to something else that I want to tell you. We all answer to the FCC. If an inspector from the FCC was to ever show up here and ask you what your job is, you tell him that you are to maintain the transmitter and we are running properly,” Mr. Ketner explained. “Radio can be fun. I believe you can do many great and creative things within the FCC rules, as long as you don't hurt anyone. One of our competitors is breaking an FCC rule known as the Fairness Doctrine. It says you must present two sides of a controversial topic. Our competitor runs programming like Dan Smoot and Gardner Ted Armstrong, but they also have a local insurance man buying an hours worth of time and endorsing George Lincoln Rockwell for president. Do you know who that is?”

	“No, sir,” Mykel answered.

	Mr. Ketner looked around the studio until he found the Daily News. He turned to page two and found a photo of Rockwell. “This guy is George Lincoln Rockwell.”

	“Why is he dressed like a character from Hogan's Heroes?” Mykel asked, looking at the man in the photo with a corncob pipe, dark glasses and wearing an S-S uniform.

	“He is the head of the American Nazi Party,” Mr. Ketner explained. “The rabbi at out synagogue has asked to be on-air to counter this programming. They told him he would have to pay to be on and, to top it off the quoted him a price for time that was two times what this insurance guy is paying.”

	“That seems wrong,” Mykel said.

	“It is wrong and a violation of the Fairness Doctrine,” Mr. Ketner stated vehemently, then changed his tone to one of frustration. “The problem is, the way the FCC has things set up, if a radio station complains about a competitor violating the FCC rules. They will not only investigate the reported radio station, but they will give a surprise inspection to the radio station that reported the radio station that broke the rules. It is to keep the radio stations honest and not just reporting people for silly reason.”

	“Because we are considering being involved in reporting the other radio station, I want Lance to go over with you everything the FCC inspectors would ask during an inspection,” Mr. Ketner continued explaining. “You will need to know they FCC regulations, when you take your test to get a operator's license. Do you have any questions?” 

	Mykel was overwhelmed, at that point, but didn't want to admit it. “Not at the moment.” He watched Lance, over Mr. Ketner's shoulder play another jingle on a cart, before starting a 45 of “She's Just My Style” by Gary Lewis and the Playboys on an orange, felt covered turntable, mounted on a marble table.

	“I read the introduction letter you wrote and I chose you over some other students, because you seemed to have a drive and ambition. You mentioned things like creativity, aesthetics, and innovation  being important. I like that. Radio is supposed to be the theater of the mind. We have a problem in this part of the country, in the smaller markets, of people buying radio stations for tax shelters. They don't put any money or effort into creating good radio station. Cheap equipment and wiring which cause the station to sound awful, then they have underpaid talent or business people paying to be on, for what I call a 'dollar per holler.” In the end, they don't make a profit, so they write it off as a loss at tax time. That broadcasting philosophy will be the death radio.”

	Then Mr. Ketner smiled and shook hands with Mykel, “Enough of the boring business talk. I want to welcome you to K-I-double-L and Mary Sue Broadcasting. I hope you enjoy your internship here and learn plenty from Lance, T. R and the others here. Some of the things you will do, as an intern is assist Melinda with the K-I-double-L Teen Club and also help her create the Killer Hit Countdown sheets.” He reached over and picked up a Countdown sheet and handed it to Mykel. “Are you familiar with these?”

	“Yes, I get them at the student union,” Mykel answered, as he looked this weeks chart over and was pleased to see there wasn't anything he didn't like this week.

	“Good. It is important that you keep up with both our charts and the Cash Box and Billboard charts,” Mr. Ketner said. “Well, I hope to see you around, Mykel!” He walked out of the studio.

	“Is he a good boss?” Mykel asked Lance.

	“Yes, he is. He is a stickler about the FCC and FTC stuff. He also goes into some flights of fancy about the image and 'the theater of the mind,' but you're lucky you are not working for Dick Grimm. He was a monster,” Lance explained to Mykel. “Speaking of monsters, if we are lucky, Mr. Ketner will do both the voice of Old Ichabod the Gravedigger and the sound of the monster that got that show canceled.”   

	Lovable Lance reached over to the shelf, where he had the 33 1/3 albums, stored and he pulled out the black and orange Getz/Gilberto LP. “I go this long with out speaking, but I need to instruct you on your duties. Besides the Bob Dylan stuff, if you need a bathroom break, you can use “The Girl From Ipanema” by Stan Getz. I'll play another jingle, since the vocal starts immediately, then I'll have Melinda explain some of the stuff you will be helping her with.” Lance played a jingle off of a cart, with singers cheering about “K-I-DOUBLE-L PLAYS THE HITS YOU LIKE! YIPPEE!” His pushed the lever on the turntable and Joao Gilberto softly sang in Portuguese intro to the song. “Follow me,” Lance said as he lead Mykel out of the studio and down the hall to the lobby, where Melinda sat at the front desk.

	“Melinda, could you show Mykel what how you make the Killer Hit Countdown sheets?” Lance asked the receptionist.

	“I would be happy too,” Melinda obliged. “Let me get the paste up and show him.”

	Mykel sat down in a chair and waited patiently for Melinda to find whatever she was supposed to show him. Lance walked over to a coffee urn and drew a cup of coffee. Mathew and T. R. were getting coffee as well. They were talking about the account that Mathew had secured and T. R began telling Mathew everything he knew about the Studebakers. With a cup of coffee in one hand and a smoldering Dutch Master in the other hand, T. R closed his eyes, like he was bringing up the information from a secluded file cabinet in his brain.

	“They started off, around the turn of the century, producing electric cars that ran on batteries, before they made gasoline powered cars,”  T. R regaled Mathew with a quick bit of obscure information about the soon-to-be-defunct motor company.

	“I didn't know we ever had electric cars on the road, especially not back that far,” Mathew said. “I don't think we will ever have electric cars again. I thought the company was in trouble, a few years back, when they went into business with the Packard Company.”

	T. R agreed and then walked back into the bullpen. He met Melinda, who was carrying a large piece of cardboard with writing and pictures on pasted on it.  

	“Mykel, I type up the countdown chart. We paste it on the boards with rubber cement. We do the same with the coupons and the ads,” Melinda explained to the wide-eyed young man. “Those are on separate sheets, we get from the advertisers. I also type up the biographies of the Teenagers of the Week. You will also help me with the K-I-DOUBLE-L Teen Club. Those are a group of kids, who help us decide what music we play and other events to sponsor. We get pizza and snacks for them. We do that once a month.”

	Mykel listened intently to what Melinda was explaining about the things he would be doing, but he could not help but notice a man, in his early sixties with an extremely red face and bad toupee, staggering through the radio station's glass doors. He took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack in the corner in a rather sloppy manner. He also noticed that Melinda was anxious by the man's presence and Mathew gave the man a disapproving look. As he approached the receptionist's desk, Mykel to detect the smell of alcohol on this man. 

	“Good afternoon, Bud!” Melinda greeted him. “Do you have any contracts for me to type up?” 

	“Are you kidding? Who wants to buy time on a radio station that plays those stupid Beatles and the announcers scream? The only people that listen are teenyboppers and probably retarded people,” Bud slurred, as he inched himself closer to Melinda. He then leaned over her and began patting her chest. “How's the boys today?”

	“I'm trying to show our new intern, Mykel, how we put together the Killer Hit Countdown,” Melinda retorted with a perturbed look on her face, which caused Bud to back away.

	“Is it a boy or a girl?” Bud belched, as he insulted Mykel to his face.

	“I'm a boy!” Mykel asserted. 

	“Pay no attention to him,” Melinda whispered.

	“If this place is so hard to sell, how come I landed a major account today,” Mathew asked the inebriated salesman.

	“Who would buy time on this station and from you?” Bud snarled. 

	“Bob Curtis Volkswagen.”

	“Shows how much you know, boy! Bob Curtis sells Studebakers and he won't advertise with us,” Bud claimed in the condescending voice of a older, white male, who had spent most of the day drinking.


	“That is why he bought ads. He wants to get the word out that he is going to sell Volkswagens from now on, because Studebaker is going out of business,” Mathew proclaimed with pride. “He also is a big fan of my show, The Nightcap with Matt Moonlight. He also said that I was the FIRST salesman from this radio station to come and talk to him.”

	“So does getting that big account make you a ty-coon or nigger rich?” Bud howled in laughter at his bad attempt at humor. “I got go to the men's room and drain the main vain now.” 

	“If you say so, Bud,” Mathew growled as Bud walked down the hall. Mathew noticed Mykel looking kind of stunned by the incident. Melinda was shaking her head in disgust. “Son, don't be a jackass like Bud when you grow up,” Mathew advised Mykel as he lit up a Salem. 

 	  “I won't,” Mykel promised. “Is he always like that?”

	“Drunk and vulgar...yes, he is always like that,” Melinda said. 

	Another man came through the glass doors in a hurry. This guy was not as old as the offensive Bud, but he was the about the same height as Mykel, only chubby and had a mustache. 

	“Melinda, is Mr. K in his office? I need to talk to him!” the short, plump fellow with the mustache asked in a high pitched voice. “The good Lord has blessed me with three contracts and a fourth one is pending, but it needs his approval.”

	“I believe he is, Lymon. I'll buzz his office.” Melinda handed the paste up board to Mykel to peruse, while she called Mr. Ketner's office on the intercom.

	On the monitor, Lovable Lance was back at the microphone after the somewhat lengthy song. “THE BIG THIRTEEN-HUNDRED – K-I-DOUBLE-L I'm LOVABLE LANCE POWERS WITH SOMETHING TO WARM YOU UP ON A COLD DAY IN SPRING VALLEY. THAT WAS 'THE GIRL FROM IPANEMA' BY STAN GETZ AND HIS BRAZILIAN FRIENDS. IT IS STILL THIRTEEN DEGREES OUTSIDE ON THE SEDGWICK FURNITURE AND APPLIANCE TEMPERATURE SCALE (Beep-Beep). I'M LOVABLE LANCE POWERS AND HERE IS LEN BARRY WHO IS GOING TO COUNT FOR US 1-2-3 ON THE BIG THIRTEEN-HUNDRED – K-I-DOUBLE-L!!! 

	Bud staggered back from the men's room and went to get a cup of coffee from the urn.

	Mathew saw an opportunity to get Bud's goat. “That's interesting Lymon, because Bud here was just telling us how hard it is to sell time on this radio station, yet I sold time to Bob Curtis Volkswagen and you sold to...”

	“Dinky Donuts, Lad and Lassie Children's Clothes and Montgomery Ward. They want us to run a co-op ad for a sale on color TVs,” Lymon explained. “Winkler Farm and Home wants to do a remote, where Lance or Wally rides a lawn mower.” 
	     
	 “See there, Bud! You can sell this radio station, when you don't spend all of your time with Jack Daniels,” Mathew joked.

	“Why are they promoting lawn mowers,” Bud slurred. “There is a blizzard on the East Coast and we are supposed to get a snow storm by the end of the week.”

	“But Spring is just around the corner,” Lymon chirped. “It will be here before we know it.” Mykel was beginning to like Lymon, because he talked like a commercial. “By the way, how did you snag Bob Curtis.” 

	“He listens to Matt Moonlight, so I gave his a sample...” Mathew slipped into his Matt Moonlight voice. “Of your guide through the ether toward the stars. It shocks people every time I do that because they think Matt Moonlight is a white, beatnik guy.”

	“How are you, young man?” Lymon asked Mykel. 

	“I'm fine,” Mykel answered. 

	“I should introduce you two,” Melinda said. “Mykel Daring this is Lymon Brush, he is our top salesman. Mykel is our new college intern.”

	Lymon shook Mykel's hand. “Nice to meet you, Son. Do you have a girlfriend?”

	“Kinda...”

	Lymon laughed, “How about a roommate?” 

	“Yes, he is on the Wolves basketball team.”

	“Then I'm going to give you something,” Lymon told Mykel. “I'm sure Mr. Ketner won't mind too much...” He pulled out some coupons. “There is a new restaurant in Spring Valley called Kentucky Fried Chicken,”  Lymon gave Mykel two of the coupons. “These are both for two free Kentucky Fried Chicken box dinners. You and your roommate or your 'kinda girlfriend' can have dinner on me.”

	“Wow! Thanks!” Mykel said.

	He left the radio station. Later, he and Clint went and each got a box of chicken and ate it in their dorm room while watching TV.