WCFR in Springfield, Vermont was my first regular airshift at a commercial radio station. I was the Sunday air personality from 3:00 to 9:30 pm for a couple of months in the winter of early 1975, and it's safe to say my level of personality was still in a very formative stage. Although a small market station emanating from a fallout shelter on top of a long hill outside of town, the guys who ran it had this high energy Top 40 AM & FM simulcast sounding pretty big time. The AM side (complete with highly pumped up audio) would sign off at sunset and the FM was still in glorious mono. At the interview, the general manager asked me, "Do you believe in WCFR?" After my first show, the program director asked if I enjoyed it. How many bosses ask those questions? I remember the control room had a very imposing microphone suspended from the ceiling. There were these big handles on each side of the board which I grabbed onto for dear life as I screamed into the mic trying to get into the whole Top 40 thing. The PD told me it wasn't necessary to shout. What really left an impression on me was the solitude of that long weekend shift that included running tapes after 9:30 for the King Biscuit Flour Hour and then a slightly hip religious tape called "Scan." No sooner did I get some comfort level at this frozen fortress of solitude when I came to the realization that my studying for Monday Psych 101 quizzes at Keene State College was conflicting with the show. That and a few commuting experiences up that hill in my less than snow worthy '67 Plymouth Satellite sealed the deal. I had to give my notice the same day I had been given my own customized jock shout. The PD was disappointed, but radio hadn't yet become a central tenet of my life. That would change. I still can't hear "Kung Fu Fighting" or "Lady Marmalade" without thinking about that isolated radio outpost making my $2.10 an hour.
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