Smashing Pumpkins "Disarm" (part 2)

(This is Part 2.  You can read Part 1, here)

WABN was going off the air.  It was our last day.  Goodbye.  Gone.  Kaput.

I'd been on the air for 6 years, from 1994 to 2000.  Sometimes for 10 hours a day.  I worked and lived with a close knit group of friends who'd become family.  We'd fought for the station.  But the fight was over and it was time to say goodbye.

I helped orchestrate the final run-up, giving every DJ and friend of the station one last chance to step up to the mic, say something that mattered, and play one last song.

I rehearsed, in my head, what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to leave the airwaves.


Six years earlier, I'd quit my job in television in a power struggle with the boss.  He demanded that I leave my part-time job at WABN.  I told him he couldn't tell me how to conduct my private life.  My check-mate move, was to quit.

"Bold move," said Rita later that afternoon.  "Now what?"

Rita and her husband Craig owned WABN, an AM/FM combo in Abingdon, Virginia.  They literally did everything related to the station---sales, billing, maintenance, Craig went on-air, called local sports games.  This was true DIY independent radio.

Part of the reason they were so fiercely independent, had to do with the mess they'd just come out of.

They had purchased the station several years prior, with a partner (a relative).  After only a few years in, the partner tried to sell the station without their input or consultation.  He had controlling interest.  He fired Craig and Rita, and expected them to quietly hand over their stock.  Craig and Rita were doing no such thing.  What's more, the partner incorrectly thought he could sell the station without their consent.  He was wrong.

A protracted legal battle began, for control of the station.  Craig and Rita were barred from even entering the building.  Two years passed.  The station suffered from inattention, the partner tired of the fight, and finally, he turned control of the station over to Craig and Rita.

And that's when their troubles really began.

The damage had been done to the station's billing.  They were deep in the red.  The creditors were lining up.

When Rita said to me, "Bold move," she knew what might be on the horizon.

Shortly after I went to work full time at WABN, the station filed for bankruptcy.

Let me tell you this---I learned more than I ever care to know about bankruptcy court in the years that followed.

Craig and Rita scraped and fought to bring in enough billing to keep the station alive, while working tirelessly to come up with a plan they could present to the bankruptcy court for a way to emerge and go forward.

The partner, meanwhile, because he was a creditor, re-entered the picture to resume his efforts to sell the station to another party.

 . . . Let me stop right here and say that the story of the 6 years of bankruptcy court is a long and complicated journey, that I hope Craig and Rita publish some day.  Suffice it to say, that despite community support, a fight at the FCC level, arguments before the 4th Circuit Court of Appeals and a truckload of craft, smarts and passion, we lost this fight.  The station, which had been an award winning community radio outpost, would land in the hands of a large radio group who would use the FM signal to rebroadcast their syndicated Talk Radio station.  They would simply turn the AM off.

I could have walked out the door of WABN the day Craig and Rita told me they were filing for bankruptcy.  But I didn't.

I believed in them, and I believed in their mission.  I believed in a radio station that let teenagers call in and have their voice heard.  I believed in a station that let the DJs pick the music.  I believed in a station that talked to you, not at you.  And I believed in Craig and Rita themselves---that their fight was right and that it was worth fighting.


We were winding through the final day at WABN.  Friends of the station had a chance to pop on air and pick a last song.  The part-timers were on now, with their last words.  Craig and Rita's adult children (who made up the rest of the full time staff) would have their say, followed by Craig and Rita themselves.  Then the transmitter would be shut off.  Right before the family spoke, I would have my turn.

I had written out my speech.  I wanted it to be good.  I didn't want to cry.

I talked about how I had come to be at WABN.  About what I had learned by living in the presence of people with dedication, passion and conviction.

I said that I learned the importance of fighting for something you believe it.  The point is not to ask whether you can win, it's to stick with it if you are right.

And I ended my 6 years of independent radio the way it started.  I played "Disarm."


That was 12 years ago, and it's still painful to write about.  In fact, when I started this blog I knew that the "Disarm" stories were on the top of the list of posts I needed to write.  I've been putting them off for 3 years.

Twelve years later, WABN FM still rebroadcasts Talk Radio.  WABN AM is still silent.  And the building where Craig and Rita and their kids and I worked for all those years, remains empty and unused, the fields around the brick building are overgrown, the whole thing abandoned.

Nothing has come to Abingdon to replace WABN  (the Talk Radio station is located 20 miles away).  No station does high school sports.  No station has a request radio program.  No station shows up at the American Cancer Society's Relay For Life or any of the other dozens of charitable events that WABN supported.

I don't live in Abingdon anymore, but I am certain that the community is less, for not having WABN.

But because of it, because of them, I am much more.  And I am thankful for that . . .


Hear the song on Youtube.

Smashing Pumpkins "Disarm"

There are songs that influenced my life, and there are songs that are a part of great memories, and there are songs that evoke emotions, but very, very few songs can be credited with changing the course of my life.

"What is this station?" I asked, surprised to hear a band like this on local radio.

"It's WABN."

"Man, if I ever worked in radio, it would be for a station like this."

Two years prior, in 1991, my college girlfriend and I graduated, and we ran off to Florida to start our lives.  I pursued a career in TV production, making low-budget TV commercials.  That turned out to be a flame-out for me.  The girl and I broke up.  I was unhappy.  Lonely.  Hated Florida.  I was this close to moving back home with my family---I had a job lined up and everything---when I received a offer to join the creative services department of an NBC affiliate in Bristol Virginia.  I took it. 

Where is Bristol Virginia?  I had no idea.

Bristol is in the most Western part of the state of Virginia.  NASCAR is big.  It is the birthplace of country music.  It is far, far, far from any major city.  Growing up in New England, having Boston within our reach, I was used to certain kinds of cultural access that did not exist in this part of the world

No Professional sports teams.  No Dunkin' Donuts.  And no modern rock radio.

I was riding with Brian, one of the NBC-TV station's salespeople.  We'd just gone to meet with a client, and were cruising back to the office.

He was flipping through the dial when Smashing Pumpkins "Disarm" came on.

"What is this station?" I asked, surprised to hear a band like this on local radio.  I'd been in Bristol for several months, and had only found Country, Classic Rock and Gospel on the airwaves.

"It's WABN."

"Man, if I ever worked in radio, it would be for a station like this."

"Huh.  You know, they are one of my clients.  And I know they need some part-time help."

In a few short days, I was in the office of WABN, a family-owned, independent AM/FM combo.  They were looking for someone to host their 2 hour Request Radio program, 4 nights a week.  I asked them if they had any interest in having me create a modern rock radio show---as this burgeoning genre (it was 1994) seemed to be gaining traction with young folks ever since Nirvana arrived.  They were open to the idea, if I was willing to take on Request Radio.

I had never done radio before, but they were warm and welcoming and encouraging.  I said Yes.

I'll write another post about the beginnings of my on-air career, but let's cut to a few days later.

At the TV station, my manager had poked his head in my office to ask me something, and before he left I said, "Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I picked up a part-time job for a few hours a week."

"Okay," he smiled.  "I'll let the boss know."

The GM of the TV station was notoriously unpopular with the staff, but I hadn't had any run-ins with him in the 6 months I was on the job.

Until the next day.

He was passing me in the hall when he said brightly, "Hey, I heard you picked up a part-time job! What'cha doing?"

"Oh, I'm going to do airshifts a couple nights a week on WABN."

"Oh . . ." His mood turned instantly dark, and he walked away.

Later that day, my manager called me in to his office, to tell me that the GM did not approve of my new job and that I would have to quit.

"He thought you'd be doing some weekend work.  He doesn't want you working on weeknights.  He feels that you'd be wearing yourself out, and would be tired when you came to work here."

I calmly but quickly rattled off a bunch of reasons why this was ridiculous.  Most notably, that adding 8 hours to my work week would still mean I was working fewer hours than the GM normally did---and I was half his age.  But I was also accommodating.  I said that I would we willing to do a 3 month trial---if my television work faltered due to my part-time job, I would quit.

The manager took this to the GM.  The answer came back with another, No.

I asked for a meeting with the GM.  I was told to come to his office at 3pm.

I walked into his office, promptly at 3.  He acted surprised to see me, and said he didn't know I was coming.  He asked me to wait outside his office.  He kept me waiting for a while.  I was young, but smart enough to know this was a bullshit power move.

We had a brief but friendly conversation where I reiterated my arguments, and my offer of a review.  I told him it wasn't really his business what I did with my off-work time, as long as it did my work, and that I had respected the company enough to tell them about the job---something that deserved respect in return.  He was resistant, but finally, he said he'd think about it.

I knew how this was going to go.

The next day I waited in my office.  My manager came in.  Not the GM.  He said the GM had decided, I couldn't work both jobs and I would have to quit.

And that's what I did.

"Here's my key."

I had already cleaned out my desk and had my office key off its chain.  If they were making me choose, I was not going to be bullied into that choice.

Was I nuts to quit a full-time, stepping stone job, with a national company, so I could make minimum wage for 8 hours a week?

Yes.

But I felt like I was in a power struggle where the struggle wasn't over the thing (meaning, could I have the job or not), but over who got to decided.  The GM felt like he was in the ultimate power position, because he controlled my salary and my livelihood, and considered that his "checkmate."  What he didn't count on, was that the ultimate checkmate move is to walk away from the game.

At 25 I was wise enough to know that there are only a few times in your life where you are offered the opportunity to make such a statement, to make such a stand.  Today, at 43, there is absolutely no way I could do the same thing, because of the responsibility I have to my family, my mortgage, my creditors, etc.

That moment formed much of who I became.  That choice to make a stand.  To do the stupid thing, because I thought it was the right thing.

And it set the stage for the next 6 years.

All because I heard a song on the radio.

To be continued . . ."Disarm" Part 2 and what happened next, coming soon.


Hear the song on Youtube.