The Unofficial Duke&Banner Autobiography

"CRIMINALS"

In the last chapter, we left you with Bob being admitted to the L.A. General Hospital after being rejected from the local Christian hospital for not having enough dough. It should be noted that en route, his Appendix actually did burst! Docs will tell ya that a patient rarely lives more than a few hours under this condition, and for a hospital to reject a person when he's on death's doorstep is nothing less than a criminal act!!

We open this next chapter from a bed on the 5th floor of L.A. General Hospital.

Bob was gone. No, not "gone" as in dead, "gone" as in knocked out...ain't nobody home...a vegetable state. What a terrible host! There was his entire family at the foot of the bed, staring at the white patch over his gut. IV tubes dribbling high doses of antibiotics into his arm. But just like a stupid Taurus, Bob didn't move a damn muscle! Then the Doc waltzed in:

The news couldn't be better as Bob's parents waltzed out of the hospital and toward the ailing antique Hudson. Then it dawned on Pa: "Hun, do you think we could afford a bottle?" "Oh...a Red Mountain night!" Ma gushed.

As it turns out, the hospital was located in a seedy part of town, home to derelicts, bums, and drunks who drink. And what should be within viewing distance as he reached the Hud, but a corner store with a bright red flashing neon sign. It uttered the most perfect words: "Johnny's Discount Liquors."

Cigarette smoke hung low as Ma and Pa entered the store. A small black and white TV displayed partial images of The Lucy Show re-re-runs on Channel 13, KCOP. (A Chris Craft Station.)(They had floating assets) The bottom of the screen was blank, due to a weak tube. And it flickered alot, in syncopation with Johnny's dilapidated neon sign.

Upon entering the store, Pa's eyes lit up. A bargain! Genuine quality Raylube recycled oil, 40 weight, perfect for the Hudson. Normally selling for 85 cents a quart, here at Johnny's Discount Liquors, only 65 cents! The cans were a little dented, and a sticky brown ooze was all over the shelf, but who cares? At 20 cents per can savings, Pa grabbed a case. He grabbed two!

Aaah! Another bargain! Gallon jugs of Red Mountain Vin Rose normally sold for $2.75 at both of Duarte's supermarkets: Alpha Beta and The Pantry. But here at Johnny's Discount Liquors in Low Overhead Los Angeles, it's a steal at only $2.25! How does Johnny do it? How can he discount both the oil and the booze? It must be VOLUME, VOLUME, VOLUME!

How did a small company in Modesto called Red Mountain make a gallon bottle of Vin Rose so inexpensive? The answer lies in the bottle itself: It's a former pesticide bottle that Red Mountain got for free. They got thousands of them for free. Then they wash the bottles thoroughly before filling it with wine (at least we hope they do) and pass the savings on to you. Sorta like the "Trickle Down Method" that Republicans enjoy.

Pa backed the Hud near Johnny's front door. Two cases of oil; two cases of Red Mountain...right in the trunk. The rear suspension of the Hud sagged a little, as did its one (1) bald tire. But the cases of oil would be gone way before the wine. Yep, there's one important thing you could say about the Hud: It's like a dog (Or a Harley). Wherever it goes, it marks its territory! Yes, just like the Exxon Valdez, they left a trail of black oil as they happilly made their way back home on the Scenic (But Sticky) Route 66.

It wasn't easy standing in front of Mr. Goldstein's Social Studies class just before Halloween, and draw directions on the blackboard for the class on how to tune in KDHS-1620. I was very pleased that Goldstein allowed me to make a free-speech message. But I had never stood before a crowd before, and Goldstein made it ever harder when he asked the obvious question: "Hey, isn't this against the law?"

The payback came as I was walking to class, just after lunch. I wasn't expecting anything, but I overheard 2 girls walking in the opposite direction: "Did you get it?" "Yes, it came in clear. It was great!" Then just as I was about to enter the classroom, 2 guys emoted: "Oh, man...that Bobby Rydell song really sucked." "Oh, but the Jeepers Creepers thing was good. I watch him on TV every week." Yup, people who I didn't even know were talking about it. Then, halfway through Social Studies class, people who I did know were talking about it. It was Mr. Goldstein, unhappy that a few in the class did not do their homework: "This is KDHS...you will do your homework tonite, or else." He did it in deadpan humor, then looked at me for approval. A few students laughed, and my face turned beet red from embarrassment. Being the center of attention was fine, as long as I was anonymously behind a microphone.

Bob's parents got the news, and it was good. Bob was awake and eating. The antibiotics had killed most of the disease from his ruptured Appendix, his fever was gone and he was eating regular food. Of course "regular food" for Bob means a box of Cheerios: Dry, and without milk. The hospital wasn't hearing his requests though, and continued to serve him real food, like mayonnaise-laced tuna fish sandwiches. Bob grumbled at every bite.

After the visit, Ma and Pa couldn't resist backing up the Hudson into Johnny's Liquor parking lot. They bought another sticky case of Ray Lube. Only the best for the engine's leaky main bearings. Eventually, the entire case ended up on the road, one dribble at a time.

Bad News Travels Fast: It took about 2 weeks, but by then information about something called KDHS had spread all over campus. It should be noted that Electronics Whiz Jim Pearce was born in England, while his Pa was stationed in the US Air Force. London is the birthplace of Sherlock Holmes, and Pearce seemed to be following in his footsteps.

Thanks, Jim! We should say here that Pearce's Ham license, issued by the FCC, requires him to turn in to the commission, any knowledge that he has about unlicensed stations, whether they interfere or not. It must have been hard for him to look the other way. He decided either on the side of good, or evil, depending on your point of view.

Saved By The Bell: With that the tardy bell rang and we rushed to our desks. Mr. Bassemier was pleased as he noted the 2 leaders of his crystal radio experiment were trading notes, and announced the next chapter: "This week we're going to learn about RF Oscillators. We learned how to receive, now we're going to learn how it gets transmitted."

Damn! Was Bassemier on a psychic level with me? Did he subscribe to Dionne Warwick Psychic Friends Hotline? As Bassemier thumbed through the pages, I glanced back at Pearce and grinned. Pearce's eyes closed and his head shook from side to side in total disbelief.

As it turns out, I already knew most everything our text book had to say about oscillators. Pappy Dow of Duarte Electronics had provided me with a used copy of The Radio Amateur's Handbook. It pretty much showed me how to build the best oscillator with the least amount of parts. And so, at the conclusion of the day, Bassemier asked the magic question: "Can anybody tell me which is the best oscillator to use for radio purposes?" I, of course, immediately raised my hand, and uttered: "I really like the Hartley. A capacitor, a resistor, a tube and you're radiating all sorts of power!" Schultz snickered in the back; Pearce buried his head.

And so as Thanksgiving rapidly approached, I began having visions of family gatherings and maybe even a broadcast. Bob was home from his ordeal. He had lost quite a few pounds and was making up for lost time. When I went to visit, I discovered many boxes of Cheerios surrounding his bed. Some were even unopened. I think he was in Nirvana. He got to lie in his bed all day, listen to the radio, wear pajamas, and munch on dry Cheerios. I mean, what more could a growing boy want?

I did, however, manage to ruin his day with the suggestion that at some point he needed to get vertical and give me some help. He pulled the covers over his head at the thought of work, but the fact of the matter was, I was going to need a poster, and he was an artist.

I began to realize that if KDHS were to be a success, it must have more input from students. One person does not a station make. I found the first draftee in my Gym class. Jim Salamone was an interesting character. He was dark. Real dark. His Italian heritage gave him fur beyond control. So much that you couldn't see his body. He was a human teddy bear, which made him the center of negative attention from many of the other students. His five o'clock shadow started at noon. And he talked weird. Perfect for my first DJ draftee.

The first words out of Jim's mouth: "Will it help me find girls?" Unfortunately the answer to that lies in his mammoth 5'5" frame and his amazing ability (Just like me and Bob) to get picked last for any sports team at school. That's why I answered: "Yes!" Hey, look...it got me a DJ! What's a Little White Lie between friends?

I found it easier and better to pre-record these broadcasts. This let the DJ hear his program with the girl he loved, or in Jim's case, at home...with his brothers.

Hey, look. I happen to think furry guys are great! They're like human teddy bears. Its the corporate entertainment industry that tells you ya gotta shave. When the Summer Of Love told the Gillette Shaver Comporation to get lost, Jim was probably well ahead of everybody else, maybe even up to his head in girls.

Other kids were already interested in joining, and didn't need to be coaxed. Dan McNulty was a new freshman, and his Irish heritage made him a Talk-O-Matic. Most of his talk came in the form of negative jokes, with you on the receiving end. At the time, Don Rickles was making big bucks sharing the stage with Frank Sinatra, using those kinds of jokes. Once you realized that the real McNulty was a kindhearted soul, the jokes became funnier. He didn't make a good DJ. The moment the mike was on, he froze up with not much to say. McNulty turned out to be more of a KDHS groupie.

It was McNulty who championed the name: Bald Eagle Wilkinson. In fact, he wrote it in my copy of the beautiful Duarte High School Annual, The Halconado, where we're getting some of these old pictures from. He also left a permanent joke on my "Reserved for Special Students" page, suggesting the length of my nose to be Jewish and not necessarily Italian/Polish. Thanks, Dan.

McNulty was friends with another freshman named Don Pritchard. Don will later go down in history as the single person who changed the direction of KDHS. Don's main interest was in journalism. He was so good he won an award, and became a published poet before he graduated.

Today he's a newsman on a Major Metropolitan Radio Station, and we're pretty sure doesn't mention his first news story on KDHS as a part of his resume. We will get to that in later chapters.

On Thanksgiving Day, I fired up my rig in the morning, put some 45's on the changer, and called up Bob to get signal reports. I'm going to quote him here, because I think he captured the sentiment very well in a recent e-mail: I scanned the dial carefully past KWOW-1600, listening for that thin little signal. I was finally able to hear it regularly! It didn't deflect the eye tube, and was barely above the static, but it was there! That great day when KDHS massaged my input coil on that old Greeneye for the first time is a day I'll never forget. I remember we were both thrilled!

I was happy to discover that the signal did not deteriorate, although I decided to keep pushing myself to discover a way to make it stronger. Quickly however, my thoughts changed. It was time for our family's Thanksgiving festivities. I really liked going to my cousin Jim's house. He was my age and I could relate to him. His folks were much better off than my family. They owned their sprawling house in Alhambra. It came with a basement, a big 2-car garage, and a separate detached patio/playroom. Our tiny rented house was OK, but nothing compared to theirs.

Jim had some really good stuff to hear music on. An old Zenith TV/Turntable Console. It had a tone arm shaped like a Cobra Snake, complete with beady white eyes, and massive 12" woofer for good bass response on my Paul Anka records. To show its age, the console also had a huge 12" round-tube TV. The focus was fuzzy at best, and the tuner was odd: It first tuned through the even-numbered channels, then the odd-numbered channels.

Cousin Jim also had a "portable" Delco battery-operated hi-fi radio that used really, really old vacuum tubes with grid caps. The tubes were almost as big as lightbulbs. The battery was a rechargeable lead-acid type, about 1/2 size of the average car battery of today, and almost as heavy. It used a vibrator to up the voltage, just like an old car radio, and lugging it into a park was a real chore! But it played back KFWB and KRLA in glorious hi-fidelity. You didn't have to worry about somebody trying to steal it...They'd die from a Hernia first!

Jim was all ears when I told him about my proclivities. I made a mental note to include him in my next broadcast.

I found new sources for records. One came in the form of a boy named Ron Higgs. His Pa was the owner of a wholesale record distributing company, and was grooming his son to eventually take over. The company also sold singles to major jukebox wholesalers. The moment Higgs heard of a radio station, he took it upon him to become a promoter. He offered me selected singles at the wholesale price of 75 cents. They were all "quality" [we use that term loosely] mass-produced by Monarch on junk plastic. I had him sign each one, and occasionally I come across my worn out autographed copy of "Good Lovin'" by The Olympics (mentioned in the last chapter) Interesting to note that The Olympic's Charles Fizer died at the hands of LAPD a month before I bought the record. No broadcast or print news service even bothered to mention that.

Unfortunately, when Ron's Pa found out what he was doing, he quickly curtailed the record sales. Ron, as it turns out, was actually breaking the law by selling: "Individual records, at wholesale prices, to an individual without a wholesalers permit." Hey, Ron was a MAJOR CRIMINAL, just like me! Way to go Ron!! As a footnote, I think I still owe the State of California 48 cents in uncollected taxes. What should I do?

Another avenue opened up 2 doors down the street from me, in the form of a blind girl. She remembered watching blurry TV images as a toddler, but the disease she was born with eventually took all of her sight away. Cathy was now 17, and entertainment for her consisted mostly of what she could pick up on the radio, and the talking books that the National Center For The Blind supplier her.

As a nonprofit group, NCFTB was able to get lots of free stuff from corporations, including left-over promotional records from most major labels, and a few fly-by-night ones. Cathy's parents would make the trek to the center about once a month, and would occasionally come back with a few records. Totally in love with KDHS, Cathy made the supreme sacrifice, and willed me a whole box of records. Most were almost new, but many of the Monarch pressings were dead, thanks to that wonderful plastic they used and Cathy's low end Airline (sold by Montgomery Wards) record player, which had some problems. I quickly decided to fix it for her, before she managed to tear up any more 45's.

One afternoon, Cathy scored a huge find: 5 boxes of 45's. According to her, the boss heard about KDHS, and felt they would be more appreciated at "a high school radio station." Gee, thanks, guys!

Of the ones I remember, a few stood out, which we still play today. "True True Love" by the Corvairs was produced by Dave "Baby" Cortez on his own label, Comet. It's a spin-off of the Doo Wop group The Marcels, and never scored. It's probably worth a cool $25 now.

A new group called The Whispers had released their first record on Herb Alpert's Dore label. Unfortunately without enough payola, it got no airplay. "The Dip" is one of the best soul songs to ever be recorded, however. The title will go on to have a hidden message for me in later chapters.

Then there's Adrienne Poster. (Who?) Yeah, that's her name: Poster. "When A Girl Really Loves You" was an instant hit on the air, with listeners calling in to hear it again. No other station in the country came within 6 feet of it. Mass produced by Monarch on low-quality polystyrene, it's not in the best of shape today. And whenever I ask about a new copy I always get the same response: "Who?" So last year we did our best to digitally restore it. It cleaned up fairly well and sounds good, as long as you're not trying to hear the cymbals.

When I was a kid, the back of various electronics and hobby magazines like Popular Mechanics and Electronics Illustrated carried this personal ad. It cost you $5.00 for plans and schematics on how to do the above. The mailing address had different variations for each magazine in secret code, to tell them where you saw the ad. So the EI address would be PO BOX 1100-24 and the PM address would be PO BOX 1100-38. Why the code, I'll never understand.

I can hear you all yellin' in unison: "Hey, Bro Duke, what in the hell is an oscilloscope?" Have you seen them old monster movies from the 30's? Usually near the Jacob's Ladder Machine, which sends an arc upward, you'll see the 'scope, which usually had a small 5" round tube. What it does is display the form of an electronic wave or pulse. It's helpful when you're trying to fix something. It's not very helpful when you're trying to soup up your radio station.

The oscilloscope cathode ray tube is a cousin to the eye tube mentioned in previous chapters. Most use a phosphor that glows green, although the air force uses orange ones. At one point, you could even buy cute blue-colored ones.

At any rate, 5 smackolas was too much for a kid, so I decided to experiment. I had a plethora of used B&W TV sets people were now donating to me, and I was cannibalizing them, so why not try to convert one?

A voice entered my head: "Is this illegal? Do I need to get a license from the feds before I do this? Fortunately for me, the politicians hadn't figured how to regulate oscilloscopes yet.

Cool! Within a few hours, I was the first on the block to have a giant 21" oscilloscope! I had my latest acquisition: a Pacemaker 20 Watt PA Amplifier, feeding a bassy R&B Barbara George record directly into the vertical deflection coils of the TV set. The bass notes would span the entire 21 inches, while the higher voice range would make hundreds of little peaks and valleys in the course of getting across the screen. I kept it around for a few months, but eventually grew tired of it and finished the cannibalization.

Ahh, but what to do with that giant 21" cathode ray TV picture tube? Living next to the San Gabriel River had its perks. On foot, before you got to the river, you had to pass a small patch of desert called No Man's Land. You took your life in your own hands when you did, as you had to pass under Southern California Edison's 100,000 volt main feed line. On good days, the buzzing & arcing would be loud enough to drown out your voice. If a line were to fall, you were dead. But it always worried me. If the humidity was right, it would probably turn me into a glowing ember.

At any rate, since there were numerous broken beer bottles all over the place from other people's parties, I thought I should join in too, so I forced Bob to be vertical and bring over his little red waggie. Little Red Waggie (Lil' Red Waggie in Eubonics) is my term for Bob's home made unpainted wooden wagon. It's his version of a Radio Flyer wagon. He built it extra sturdy to haul numerous gallon cartons of Red Mountain Wine back home, as well as his dogs. (We'll get to that fiasco in the next chapter)

In this case, however, we fit 2 tubes on and headed for the party spot. Aiming a rock, I was amazed at how much of a noise these babies could make! Bob, being Bob...couldn't wait to get back home and lay horizontal. What a Party Poop!

Allright, so we looked and looked in old mags, but couldn't find the Giant Oscilloscope ad. What we did find is this exceptional buy! For only $19.95 + Shipping, you get a 1956 state-o'-the-art Motor Driven Mechanical Computer. Why, this hi-tech unit is so smart, it can play tic-tac-toe; it will add, multiply, divide; it will even solve complicated Boolean Algebra problems! Order now before it's too late. Oooh! Check out the hi-tech flashlight battery and knife switch on the right.

I tried to put a positive spin on Christmas '65. My Dad was gone, so it was up to me to carry on in our tradition or supporting Southern California Edison. Yes, like Johnny Appleseed, my dad's outdoor Christmas decorations grew bigger every year. Prominent was a 25 foot shooting star on the roof with a whopping 250 light bulbs. Plugging it in meant every other light in the house would dim slightly (I'm not making this up!) The rays were made from 12 foot long Bamboo shoots that my dad dumpster-dived to get. Back then, carpet stores used Bamboo to wrap new rugs around. When the rug sold, they tossed the Bamboo. My Dad painted and lighted each ray a different color, which then sorta resembled a subliminal display of the 1959 Imperial Records Logo. This sometimes made neighbors ask to hear their fave Fats Domino and/or Ricky Nelson selections, but we declined.

My Dad's Christmas Cartoon Characters gone. He meticulously transferred Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, and Bugs Bunny and others onto plywood, about 4 feet square, then displayed them on the front lawn. It mushroomed from there! (pun intended) The local paper came out and took pictures. At night, families loaded busloads of kids; they would drive by and cheer. At out first house, the City of Huntington Park issued a trophy. At our second house, the City Of Duarte issued a trophy.

Ahh, but then it crashed. With the divorce looming, he needed the bucks. The manager of the Sav-on Drugstore in Azusa was more than happy to buy them up and display them around the store. Ahh...that is, until Warner Bros. Found out. The conversation went something like: "You're using Our Precious Copywrited Images to sell your stupid lousy ice cream?!"

Needless to say, the cartoon characters came down before another angry call from Disney's lawyers. The ice cream, however continued as a wonderful loss leader. Even through the 70's a single scoop on a cone cost a measly 25 cents, with no help whatsoever from Disney.

I have no idea what happened to the plywood characters. Maybe Warner Bros. took them away and burned them. Who knows? Maybe someday they'll show up on e-bay!

A picture here of me in 1957, staring at one of my Dad's plywood copies of a Walt Disney copyrighted image of: Dumbo, The flying Elephant. The color has faded. It's the LA smog eating away at the fine copywrited Kodak chemicals in the photo.