by albertaboy4life » Fri Jun 04, 2010 9:13 am
I suspect the unnamed consultant in Bob Blakey's article to be Dennis Corie but I have no proof just a hunch.
To add to NS' comments -
Glory days of radio: The standard for a generation is leaving the AM dial; [FINAL Edition]
Bob Blakey, Calgary Herald. Calgary Herald. Calgary, Alta.: Mar 20, 1996. pg. C.1
(Copyright The Calgary Herald)
Call it a golden era in radio or one long party. Veterans of CKXL Radio in its heyday have such memories, and more. As the Calgary station prepares to close its doors forever, at least one former XL staffer knows what he wants:
``We should have a wake,'' says Murray Dale, now a TV reporter on Channel 3.
Some time this summer, the station will give up its AM licence, which will be swapped for an FM one with a new name and format.
A generation of Calgarians grew up listening to CKXL. They slapped its gaudy yellow stickers on car windows and bumpers, latched on to its promotions and followed the big yellow ``Fun Bus'' trail like it was some enchanting road to Oz.
``Those were the glory days of radio,'' says former XL announcer Bill Powers.
``You'll never see numbers like that again,'' referring to a local market domination by a few stations.
``I was such a nut for CKXL,'' recalls Mary-Lynn McEwen, 33, who was raised in this city. ``I'm technically a Generation Xer but I love baby boom music. The reason is XL.''
Near its peak, the station drew 220,000 listeners weekly in the 18-to-34 age group, 67,000 ahead of the nearest rival, CFAC.
CKXL had personality and personalities. Two of the big names were Norm Edwards, a witty, irreverent morning man, and Powers, another funny guy who is now at QR 77.
Edwards, who died in 1991 of lung cancer, epitomized the station's late-1970s verve and confidence.
However, the phenomenon began a decade earlier. Bob Robertson, these days half of the CBC comedy duo Double Exposure, joined XL in 1968, about a year after station boss Bill Pryor charted a legendary course. In the early and mid-1960s, CFAC had been the dominant rock station, then walked away from the teen listeners.
``At that point there was a vacuum in the market as far as rock music went,'' says Robertson, who hired sports writer Powers away from the daily Albertan.
``That's when CKXL stepped in and became a rock station.''
Suddenly, more and more kids were tuning in to 1140.
Nobody cared that the station had signed on in 1926 and once aired everything in the can, including religious shows. CKXL was now.
XL started hiring people with a sense of the outlandish.
Robertson remembers an American-born DJ named Michael James Anthony O'Brien who, in 1970, liked to phone people and have fun with them, using a tape recorder. One time he claimed to be Waldo the Great and almost convinced a Calgary Tower maintenance man to join him on a walk, using suction cups, up the tower.
In another instance O'Brien phoned a broadcasting school, pretending to be a novice. The co-owner said he needed a course, and later pressed charges because O'Brien didn't say he was taping, which was illegal then.
CKXL had to pay $27, Robertson says.
``We couldn't have bought that publicity anywhere.''
Dale O'Hara, currently the news boss at Channel 3 TV, ran news for XL from 1968-'73.
``We had more fun than the average bear,'' he says, stealing a Yogi Bear line. ``We were a dominant force as far as the teens were concerned.''
There was also DJ Johnny Walker, who carefully rotated hit singles so they weren't repeated too often, assisted by a computer program that won, in 1974, a broadcaster's award for innovation.
Powers remembers being prominently featured in a local newspaper piece and being praised by his boss, who wanted to give him a raise but couldn't. He told Powers to start submitting fat expenses and be creative.
Meanwhile, Powers had a fridge in his office. He kept beer in it. He could sip whenever he wanted, but other staffers had to wait till 4:30 p.m. each day, and he charged them a buck a bottle.
Even so, the station was professionally run, and serious about ratings.
``It was programmed well. It was managed well,'' says Jim Jackson, the only announcer still at XL (since 1976).
Also, it had a strong news department, better than any station today, says O'Hara.
He remembers his news team leading a raid on traffic barriers in Mount Royal and smashing them with sledge hammers. CFCN-TV reporter Ralph Klein interviewed the radio guys.
Each morning at 8:10, an editorial was broadcast, firing shots at some politician or business or whatever, and news stories sometimes resembled editorials.
In 1974, about 100 high school students petitioned against the ``free-wheeling style'' of XL's journalism, but most listeners liked it.
``Dale (O'Hara) took a run at a towing operator, calling him a crook, and he sued for a zillion dollars,'' says Powers.
It was settled out of court.
On another occasion, Murray Dale was sent to Europe to follow an Alberta politician suspected of going on a boondoggle trip at taxpayers' expense.
``They were willing to spend a couple of bucks in those days,'' Dale recalls. ``I guess because they had the bucks.''
The station's slow demise probably started about the time that Edwards jumped ship to CHQR in 1985. CFCN Radio became AM 106 and targeted the rock crowd, as did CFR and the FM outlets, all stealing XL's audience. By 1987 the unrelenting decline was picking up speed.
As for the former XL premises upstairs at 804 16th Ave. S.W., they're not a cobwebby collection of rooms, but the home of a thriving young company: Midnight HWY Films.
Today, XL radio is still at 1140, broadcasting out of High River until it signs off for good.
It airs a bit of everything musically for a while each day. Then it switches to religious programming in the afternoon, a strange reminder of long-ago times.
It Was A Blast
Wendy Derennger, who now lives in Vancouver, did promotions work at XL from 1978-'81.
``We had a blast,'' she says, especially on the Fun Bus, which went to every county fair it could find. There were dunk-tanks, kissing booths and baseball games.
Promotions boss Bruce Davidson would dream up a publicity campaign and an hour later it was on the air.
``It was like improv theatre,'' says Derennger.
Greg Haraldson, who was there from 1970-'84, remembers, ``It was a lot of fun, but it was intense.
``We wanted to win, and we won big,'' says Haraldson, now program director at Country 105.
One winner was announcer Keith James's famous ``Drive Decent'' campaign, involving car stickers with that message.
It drew the ire of the police chief, who knew a crime of grammar when he saw one. Yet virtually the whole city embraced it or at least talked about it.
You still occasionally see rusted, 1970s cars toting that Drive Decent sticker.
***
Now about those aircheck tapes . . .
Faster cars, younger women, older cheese, more money . . .