Luke Meets Yoda


Besides thriving on the WRSE FM airwaves, meeting rock music business entrepreneur Lee Swanson in the spring of 1982 was a pivotal moment for me. Lee came to a local concert I was emceeing and we were introduced. He was thirty-one at the time and Elmhurst born & bred. Lee owned The Record Gallery record store in town as well as a local bar called The Rock Garden plus he managed a popular bar band called Risk. Often being a mentor to teens and college kids who had interests in music and media, it would take a math genius to total up his far reaches and contacts but Lee was the Chicago suburbs’ answer to legendary concert promoter Bill Graham.

At the time when I met Lee he was mentoring Dave Ross, a former WRSE D.J. who was now interning at rock station WMET FM.  Dave and I would be linked up through Lee and became long term friends as well.

Lee Swanson was Yoda to my Luke Skywalker and a pre-Google era search engine. Got a question on how to make a local show happen or how to promote a radio station event the right way? Lee was the guy to call. Need to rent P.A. equipment for a concert or dance? Talk to Lee. He was a booster rocket who helped get others moving in the right direction much like Hamburg Germany was a catalyst for the Beatles and other British acts who were honing their skills. Those bands played long late hours six nights a week and either got better or went home. Lee helped all his protégés help themselves and he was also a great friend. When I first met Lee, he just completed treatments for thyroid cancer. It was a rough battle that included surgery and radiation. His physical strength was coming back and the good news was the cancer was in remission.

With the exception of his long red hair, Lee was always the guy in a crowd who would stand out in more subtle ways. When most Chicago rock music fans were sporting black WLUP FM “The Loop” T-shirts, Lee wore a white long sleeved T titled “The Poop” which mocked the iconic radio station. He would say while it’s nice to be into what others liked, it’s better to have something going on that’s just a little different. He was generous and considerate. When a mutual friend won a really cool M TV baseball cap in a drawing, he offered it to Lee who told the guy, “Give it to Mick instead, because he’s the one who wears hats and it’ll mean more to him.”

The best thing Lee taught me was to gather as much information and details about any situation you’re involved in and to not go off half cocked until you knew what was what. That may sound like common sense but to a twenty one year old college kid like me this was vital insight and guidance. Lee Swanson showed me it was best to aim to be the smartest person in the room but you didn’t always have to show that off. When explaining his view or ideas on something Lee would often say, “What you have to understand is…” And he would give some background and detail that helped frame the reasoning behind his thoughts. The guy was very smart and we were great loyal friends from the get go. Lee was someone I talked to on the phone or in person just about every day, he was my touchstone.

(L-R, Me, Dave Ross & Lee at Rolling Stones Records Store)

My media reach expanded in the fall of 1982. Rob Dicker, a high school friend and former yearbook photographer was working for the Elmhurst Press newspaper. He thought the paper needed a music column and pitched the idea to an editor. I was asked to submit a sample article and gave a review of The Who’s new album “It’s Hard” which ran in the next issue. The paper called to have me come down for photos that were taken for my byline on the column titled “Rock Scene” by Mick Kayler. I spelled my last name with a ‘Y’ so people wouldn’t pronounce it Collar or Kohler. That drove my Grandpa Kahler nuts but he also understood my reasoning on the importance of name pronunciation. The column was to have an emphasis on local bands. “Rock Scene” ran in the Elmhurst, Villa Park and Lombard editions of the Press publications newspapers. It was a win-win-win all over the place. My pal Lee was a huge help when I needed to make local music contacts. The Rock Scene column was another stop on my media road.

I cannot emphasize enough what Lee Swanson’s friendship and guidance meant to me. His mentorship was this inspiring and never failing catalyst for me. I knew no matter where my career and life took me, we would be very close friends forever.



Welcome to Elmhurst College and you’re on the air!


As the summer of 1981 wound down, I decided to transfer from S.I.U. to Elmhurst College, right here in my hometown. Elmhurst College, home of the Blue Jays is a small liberal arts school that had a ten watt radio station WRSE found at 88.7 FM which I tuned into from time to time. After a couple of campus visits it looked like this would be the place for me. I could get my degree in Communications, get on the radio and still be at home so I wouldn’t go too nuts with the partying. Classes began the day after Labor Day and I never looked back. The proximity to home, the small class sizes and the openness of the radio station were a perfect match for me.

A taped audition to host a radio show at WRSE landed me the 9pm to 12 pm slot on Tuesday nights. The first song I played on the air being The Romantics’ “When I Look in Your Eyes.” We could play any of the albums, singles or songs on tape (via single play cartridges or ‘carts’) at the station and were allowed to bring in our own music from home.

Very early on, the students who ran WRSE learned I wanted to get as much air time as possible. and happily obliged. I nabbed two permanent three hour shows per week and would often fill in for those who were sick or couldn’t make a show due to a school or personal commitment. After that first semester, my built in shifts were Tuesday and Saturday nights from 6 til 9 pm. The bottom line is I was FINALLY on the air and loved every minute of it!   The radio road was located and I turned on to the fast lane. All in, that was me, radio boy.

WRSE’s listeners were made up of mostly high school kids from Elmhurst and the surrounding towns of Villa Park, Lombard, Addison and Elk Grove Village. College radio is where you’re supposed to learn what you do well in and what you liked to do in broadcasting. I gobbled it all up, hosting local concerts by young garage bands and interviewing them on the air. At the WRSE studio controls I learned about the alternative bands that were not heard on most radio stations and would play songs by Adam Ant, XTC, Depeche Mode to pre-mega fame Duran Duran, Devo, early Prince, U2 and REM. I liked most of this new music but U2 and REM were my favorites. My musical tastes were expanding at a time when college radio was starting to grow its influence and flex its muscle all over the country. Classes were going well and my GPA got above 3.00 but the true education was happening in the studios of WRSE. I could not wait to see where this “education” was going to take me.

Knowledge in College


After graduating from York High School in June of 1979, my college days began with taking general education classes at the College of Du Page or C.O.D. as it was known, in nearby Glen Ellyn. Going to a commuter community college saved lots of money and also helped me ease into the world of higher learning.

While at C.O.D., the coolest thing I learned was in a 1980 Journalism class from a teacher named Gordon Richmond. He was in his sixties and was an old school guy. Yet what he taught us was anything but “old school.” Mr. Richmond said the day was coming when everything we buy would come through our televisions; clothes, toys, electronics, we’d read news stories, get our music, pay our bills, all through our televisions. We thought he was nuts. How was our TV going to spit out an album of music or the newspaper? Years later I realized he was opening our minds to the concepts of the information super highway itself, the internet. The only thing different being we do our commerce with help of a computer screen and not a TV per se. The beginning of the internet has its roots in the U.S. military dating back to the nineteen fifties and I bet Mr. Richmond had family or friends in the military and they saw the start of these things happening.

In January of 1981 I transferred to Southern Illinois University. S.I.U. had a well regarded Communications curriculum and I visited there twice. My best friend Bobbo and another buddy, Dave Potter went there too and my dorm room was on the same floor as theirs. S.I.U. had a reputation for being a party school and I jumped into that pool head first. I spent too much time drinking, partying and living for the weekends of hitting the bars on the main strip. My first Everclear party ended with me literally crawling out of an elevator and back to my room.

One good thing came out of that ‘lost semester’ in Carbondale. I went to my first ever Bruce Springsteen concert at the S.I.U. arena and met and got an autograph from Bruce before the show when he arrived for his sound check. This was during “The River” tour and seeing the Boss in concert was one of those life-changing moments.

(Bruce Springsteen in concert 1981)

My parents came to take me home in early May and with a semester GPA below a ‘C’ average, I knew I wouldn’t return to S.I.U. in the fall. I wasn’t ready to be on my own and keeping my priorities in order was looking bleak.

My summers away from college classes were spent earning money to help forward my radio dreams. One summer I was sitting on a factory assembly line sticking caps on bottles of Musk cologne for the Jovan Perfume Company. The pay was good but it was mind numbing work. Then I did time working for the Elmhurst Park District. For four straight winter vacations I helped freeze the parks’ ice rinks. While Chicago winters are ridiculously cold, you don’t know cold until you and a partner are holding huge fire hoses at ten at night spraying water from a hydrant as a sub zero wind blows some of the water back in your face. In the summer months of ‘81, ‘82 and ‘83 I earned my pay with the Park District on the lawn mowing, baseball diamond maintenance and garbage crews. It was great to be outdoors and get a nice tan but it was also hot and sweaty work.

The park district’s maintenance garage had a radio tuned to 103.5 FM, WFYR. Each day as we got ready to pull out of the garage, I would hear their morning show starring a host named Bill Gardner go through the news, weather and play adult contemporary music. That job sounded a hell of a lot better than filling up a truck with ‘Diamond Dry’ and shovels to prep ball fields for softball teams to play on. I felt my radio days were coming soon. Actually, I HOPED my radio days were coming soon.


The Swain-Mitchell Boys and Other Friends


“…With a friend at hand you will see the light, if your friends are there, then everything’s all right..”  (Bernie Taupin)

A key part of my formative years was growing up in Elmhurst with neighborhood friends we referred to as the Swain and Mitchell boys. Swain is the street that I and some others lived on and the next street over was where the Mitchell boys were housed. I was the youngest of the guys by one year and some were as much as ten years older than me. The Swain-Mitchell boys were a constant in my life for a long time. There were the Hassler brothers, Tom and Pete, Steve Bouse, Spicer brothers Andy, Bill and Mark, Jerry Dhamer, Steve ‘Harvey’ Charvat and Dennis ‘Rudy’ Rudolph. Rudy was a speedy guy who while playing running bases in the street could slide on the asphalt and not rip his jeans or slice up his knees or elbows. Playing sports together, all major sports, was what the Swain-Mitchell boys did almost daily. It was a constant for all of us. We swam in the summer, played wiffle ball, off the wall, watched sports on TV in the Spicer basement and went to Cubs, Bulls & Blackhawks games as a group. We also did everything from play ding-dong ditch at night to skitching on car bumpers in the snow-filled winters.

All the Swain-Mitchell boys were often jabbing fun at someone else in the group. It wasn’t what is now referred to as bullying, it was good natured joking. Slow runners had to “get the piano off their backs” and somebody who was all sweaty and smelly “could wake the dead.” If you couldn’t keep up with the joking the others did, then you got eaten alive and we all took part and laughed through it all. Steve ‘Harvey’ Charvat was the funniest of the bunch. During rounds of all of us ranking on each other, Harvey would lay low, stay quiet and then come up with some perfectly worded zinger that would bust up everyone. Harvey was like a sniper, one shot and someone was slain. I picked up a lot from him about being clever with my comments.

The Swain – Mitchell boys still stay in regular touch despite moving away years ago. The down note being Jerry Dhamer was the victim of what remains an unsolved murder. Jerry ran his older brother Jim’s successful plumbing business. One morning in November of 2006 as he was leaving the house and walking to his car, some unknown person shot Jerry dead with shotgun blasts. Jerry by all reports and for all we knew did not have an enemy in the world. His death remains a mystery. Jerry Dhamer’s wife and family hold out hope for a resolution to this awful tragedy some day. The Swain and Mitchell boys do too.

Come seventh grade, which was the first year of Junior High or Middle School, I met a guy named Bob Ciciora. We had classes together and Bob or as he came to be known later ‘Bobbo’, would become my very closest friend and still is. We shared a common bond in humor, joking about our teachers and impersonating their voices and characteristics. That was more than enough to lock us like super glued Lego bricks. Bobbo and I remain close like that to this very day. He’s pretty much the brother I never had.

To borrow a line from the end of the movie “Stand by Me”, “I never had friends like I did when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?


At the time of 9/11/01 I was working as the morning show producer at US*99 radio in Chicago.  Big John Howell & Trish Biondo were co-hosting the show.

I attended a family wedding on Sunday September 9th 2001 and had Monday September 10th off from work. On Tuesday 9/11 we were having a regular morning show when Trish Biondo came into my studio a few minutes before eight a.m. to tell me to tune my TV to the Today Show. I switched channels to see an airplane lodged into the side of the north tower of the World Trade Center. I wasn’t even sure if it was an airliner or a small private plane. Big John Howell told listeners about what was on TV but nobody knew what was happening. I stayed in my studio to screen calls and monitor my TV.

Less than twenty minutes later, while on the phone with a listener, I kept one eye on my TV screen and saw a second hijacked plane hitting the south tower of the World Trade Center. I was numb with shock seeing this go down live! John went on to announce what just happened and that we were under attack. I wondered to myself if there was some computer hacking that took over the airliners’ controls and steered them into the towers. All of our phone lines were lit up, pulsing fast like my heart rate and I answered them all. Many questions and updates from listeners kept coming in and it was a crazy situation.

About half an hour after the south tower was hit, there came word that a jet crashed into the Pentagon in D.C. A caller told me this and I flipped TV channels to get confirmation. With the Pentagon attacked the first words that came to my mind were what Governor Connelly’s wife said when JFK’s motorcade was being fired on in Dallas in 1963, “My God they’re going to kill us all!” I truly remember thinking this. My rationale was if the Pentagon is our country’s base for military operations/defense and it’s under siege, who the hell makes calls on how our country defends us? We were in a world of shit. I was never more scared in my life than when the Pentagon got crashed into. Was this the end? Was this OUR end?

Next was a local news report that a threat had been phoned into Chicago’s Sears Tower (now called the Willis Tower) and they were evacuating the entire building. I picked up a hotline call from our GM Steve Ennen. He said if the Hancock received the same ‘get out’ order we were to switch our radio transmission to simulcast sister station WBBM AM, Newsradio 78, then get out of the building ASAP. I relayed this information on the air to Big John and noted that since the Hancock is considered to be one of the most recognized buildings in the world, I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a similar threat.

As I left the air studio, an announcement blared out of a hall speaker from the Hancock Security people ordering everyone out of the building immediately. I told Big John this news as Trish left the control room, grabbed her purse from her office and was out the door. John and I were talking about the Hancock evacuation and he wanted to stay. I said, “John, we HAVE to go!” He grudgingly agreed, signed off then switched our broadcast transmission to Newsradio 780.

The John Hancock Building

Hustling to our morning show office I scooped up my briefcase and put in a quick call to my mother. I told her I was O.K. , on my way out of here and that I loved her. Mom was puzzled. “What are you talking about?” Turns out she was in her garden tending to flowers and tomatoes and just got back in the house when I called.   She knew nothing about the planes crashing into the World Trade Center and the unfolding chaos. My mom told me to be careful getting out of there and said she loved me too. In just about an hour’s time we went from a plane has struck one of the World Trade Center buildings to evacuating our building because the world went nuts.

Before leaving the 13th floor, I needed a quick bathroom break. When I got to the men’s room, the fear I had over the Pentagon getting hit suddenly lifted. I thought, “If this is it, and it’s my last day on this earth, I’m O.K. with that. I had a good life and if the worst happened, I’m ready for what’s next.” Washing my hands I smiled thinking if the Hancock got slammed by a jet right at this very moment, I could die like Elvis did, in the bathroom.

John and I met up at the elevators and headed down to the Hancock lobby. The doors opened and I pivoted toward the parking garage elevators so I could get my car. John walked to the street exit and saw I wasn’t with him. He called out and asked if I was going to stay downtown and wait out the building’s evacuation. I told John this might be the end of everything and I was going to be with those I love. With that, my elevator door opened and I was on my way to fetch my car to get out of Dodge. It was very spooky to see a totally abandoned parking garage and my car was one of the last around.

Minutes later while crossing Michigan Avenue en route to the hopefully safe suburbs, I had the radio on the all news station and saw so many people on the sidewalks on their cell-phones. Nobody knew what to say or what to make of anything. A couple months later Alan Jackson would come up with the best words to describe 9/11 with the song “Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?” Alan nailed the mood and the feeling in ways that can still be felt today.

Once the Hancock evacuation was lifted, John Howell did make it back on the US*99 airwaves and did a stellar job updating listeners on the insanity of the terrorist attacks. He took calls and provided a smart, calm and measured voice of sanity during an insane day. I admired what John did but at the same time was fine with getting the hell out of the city and taking everything in from the network TV reports at home.

We all knew 9/11 would change millions of lives forever. However the depth and scope of those changes was way beyond what anyone ever anticipated. To this day it’s pretty scary to think nineteen hi-jacking assholes could have such an effect on the world. Alan Jackson’s song was a profound moment to come out of 9/11 and while the world turns in a different way these days, I’m just glad to still be here to live in it.

“Welcome to White Castle May I Take Your Order?”


At age sixteen, I began working part time in nearby Lombard at White Castle, home of the greasy bite sized ‘sliders.’  Most of my friends had similar jobs and they were not hard to find. Back then, it wasn’t IF you were going to work, it was WHERE.  My pals Bobbo Ciciora and Todd Beja ended up working with me at the castle for a time. Pay started at $3.30 an hour.  Considering the minimum wage at the time was $2.30 an hour, it was a decent job. This was 1977 when a movie ticket would cost no more than $2.50 and gasoline was around sixty cents a gallon.  White Castle took good care of their employees with even part timers getting a week’s paid vacation after working there a year.  Working on holidays like Thanksgiving, New Year’s Day and Easter we earned double pay.

One weekday afternoon a wedding reception took place in the White Castle dining room.  About thirty people bounced in, the bride in her gown, groom in his suit and everyone else dressed like they just came from church. They even brought in a wedding cake and champagne.  I recall the bride telling her new husband in a half-joking manner, “I’ll never marry you again.”  We burger makers posed in some of the photos the wedding party took.  I sometimes wonder if that couple is still married today, probably not.

Working the occasional weekend late hours of 11pm til 7am I got a glimpse of what adult party life was like. White Castle was open 24/7 and the bars would stop serving booze by 2:00 a.m. so we’d have lines out the door til about 5 a.m. I mean just ask Harold & Kumar about the joys of late night sliders when you’re all high or liquored up. Working those graveyard shifts exposed me to a heavy stream of drinkers and stoners. Customers’ slurred words and laughing loud at just about anything said were the norm for those hours.  Cleaning the men’s room on that shift was the worst. Drunks pissed in the sink, on the floor, walls, toilet paper roll and every once in while they managed to squirt a little in the toilet bowl.

I can’t count how many times on the graveyard shift I went to take garbage to the parking lot dumpsters and found drunken Castle patrons passed out in their idling cars. Often they had a door open and their bagged food still sitting on the hood or roof. Usually I would reach in, turn off the ignitions and let the pooped partiers sleep it off.  I could’ve always dumped out the drunks’ food but that would have meant that at some point they’d wake up and come in and want more.  Some of the partiers were pretty funny and we used to take quiet notice of who came through our doors with the worst case of bloodshot eyes.

In the summer of 1979 I was planning to quit White Castle in August because full time college classes were coming but was shown the door a few weeks early. On a slow overnight shift, a  man was giving me his order a bit quick and I told him to slow down so I could get things right.  He raised his voice to me and was in as crabby a mood as I was.  I looked the guy in the eye and said “If you ever yell at me like that again, I’ll knock you on your ass.”  Well he screamed for my supervisor to come out and deal with this hassle.  The night manager was given the story of what went down, I admitted to my part and was sent home for the night.  Two days later I was summoned to meet with my head supervisor to be let go.

Three years later a similar customer/fast food employee confrontation played out on the big screen in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.”  Judge Reinhold played the role of me as he told his irritated patron, “Mr., if you don’t shut up I’m gonna kick 100 percent of your ass!”   Cameron Crowe wrote the ‘Fast Times’ book and screenplay and it was almost as if he was in White Castle that late July night.

Some High School Shenanigans


(York High School’s Official Crest) 

Going to York High school was when things started to take shape for me. I knew a lot about York since my sister Mary just graduated the semester before I began my time there. I made the yearbook staff as a writer and pitched for the York Dukes baseball team from sophomore year on. Bobbo Ciciora also made those teams which made that time on the ball field even better. I had several circles of friends to hang out with at York thanks to knowing people from grammar school, little league, house league hockey and other places. One P.E. teacher, Mr. Trayser who was my sophomore baseball coach, assessed my reputation this way:  He once told me he heard two guys talking about a third person. One student said, “You know the dude, he’s a friend of Mick Kahler’s. “ The other guy said, “Well EVERYONE’s a friend of Mick Kahler’s!”

Several times I joined some fellow athletes and dressed as female cheerleaders for charity basketball games at York. Once we even did a full dance routine choreographed by the York Pom Pom girls. Another game, the Chicago Bears came in to play the York faculty and we saw five foot ten star running back Walter Payton dunk a basketball. Then later in the game he did it again!

(This was our graduating class’ yearbook)

My senior statistics math class was taught by Mr. Aggen, who also coached baseball. Me and one of my teammates Bubba Mc Carthy would take up lots of time talking sports, so Mr. Aggen let us do a three minute sports update at the start of every class. I brought in a couple of paper hats from White Castle for us to wear and called it The White Castle Sports Gossip Update. We did it like a radio sportscast and after getting our yuks out, it was time for learning. At the end of the semester we had a White Castle party with my mom making a burger run and delivering bags of burgers to our class.

Friends and I gravitated towards the humor of the old “Honeymooner’s” reruns. The so called “Original thirty nine episodes” were the best. I knew the dialog of every episode by heart. We were also big watchers of Monty Python, Saturday Night Live in its beginning years and Second City TV which was goofier and more ‘out there’ than SNL.

There were stupid pranks too. One time my friend Willie C mooned the kids in the York High School courtyard from a 2nd story hallway window. A teacher spotted him in mid-moon so Willie yanked up his jeans and bolted out of the building. He escaped free and clear after the moon shot. One problem, schoolbooks with his name in them were left at the crime scene. Willie came home that day to learn his mom had been called by the school dean. This mooning incident happened near the end of school year and he was grounded for most of our summer break.

After college, Willie C learned another way of getting exposure called doing a “Shorty Ballwalker.” You go to the bathroom, open your zipper, move your penis to the side and hang your balls out of the opening of your pants. No twig out, just the berries. Then you walk back into the party, bar, wherever you may be and wait until someone notices. One post-college night when a bunch of us were drinking at The Beaumont, a Halsted street bar in Chicago, Willie came out of the bathroom to proudly announce, “Shorty Ballwalker is here.”   Looking down I saw his nut-sack propped out of his opened zipper for anyone to see, so I laughed my ass off! It was a crowded place but nobody else in the Beaumont noticed the presence of one Mr. Ballwalker.

(Shorty Ballwalker, is that you?)

Behind the Radio Curtain: “To Live Any Other Way Was Nuts!”


Over the years I was often asked, “What’s it like to work in radio?” Well it’s an unusual job and one not many folks have. It was more complicated than it looked or sounded. Booking guests, thinking up ideas for show bits and finding content the listeners want to hear takes a hell of a lot of work. It’s like a duck swimming on a pond; you see it gliding along the water, smooth and easy yet below the surface that duck’s two webbed feet are paddling away like crazy. You don’t just pop on a microphone at 5 a.m. and start goofing off and improvising. Maybe some people do, but I never worked with any of them.

Still, I never minded the work because radio was a labor of love that never felt like labor. It’s fair to say that 95% of the time I woke up on show days thinking “We’ve got this guest coming in today and I have great audio from TV last night, plus there’s our contest that’s going well, I have an idea for a listener call-in segment, and I haven’t even opened a newspaper yet.” In other words I COULD NOT WAIT to get to the radio station and make things happen.


Seeing movies, concerts, ballgames and being out at local clubs was how my time  away from the station was spent. Since we talked about these things on the air, I was able to deduct lots of expenses on my income tax forms. Also, newspapers, books, magazines, cable TV and cell-phone bills, all got written off as I carefully tracked my expenditures. I used to joke that my whole life was a giant tax write-off. Cost free concert tickets were a great perk. I got friends of mine and ladies I dated into plenty of shows and special events. The “He’s So Cool” factor might be the kick for some but I enjoyed the convenience. No standing in line for anything plus VIP parking made life easier. If a freebie that I wanted wasn’t offered, a quick phone call would be made and usually it was, “Yes, we can put you on that guest list. No problem.” Looking back on all the extras that were there for the taking, I think of Ray Liotta talking about the gangster life in “GoodFellas” when he said, “For us, to live any other way was nuts.”


I didn’t clash with air personalities often. Some could have overstated egos but I tried to avoid making a big deal out of that in the interest of harmony and getting the best product on the air. It’s a business. Like Jay Mohr, playing agent Bob Sugar said in “Jerry Maguire”, “It’s not show friends, its show business.” Radio people, like musicians, are a different breed of species. If you ever get radio show hosts, producers and programmers together at a bar or restaurant, that gathering is guaranteed to be a marathon of laughs and tight camaraderie. It’s usually a combination of the opening scene in “Reservoir Dogs” where the conversation ran from the meaning of the song “Like a Virgin” to the merits of tipping or not tipping waitresses and the opening scene of “Broadway Danny Rose” with all the veteran comedians commiserating about their careers. Call it “Reservoir Broadway Dogs.”

Big John Howell and I used to sum up having a career in radio by saying, “There’s no heavy lifting.” True enough. To put it in ‘prepare to use the seven second delay button language’, WORKING IN BIG CITY RADIO WAS A FUCKING BLAST!   The best comparison I can give you is it was exactly like “The Larry Sanders Show” except we weren’t on TV. THAT is it in a nutshell. You get heat from bosses to boost ratings, consultants tell you what things you do that are good and what sucks, you deal with sales people and their pitches and hair brained promotions, there’s the battle for guests, creative bits that are hopefully entertaining and the fragile egos and insecurities of the talent.   So if you never work in radio but want to know what it’s really like, just think of the onstage and backstage happenings of “The Larry Sanders Show.” Hey now!


The Glowing Green Crystal


Christmas time at age eight is when I saw TV commercials advertising the ‘Say It-Play-It’ tape recorder. The ads showed you could record your voice or a song on a weird looking yellow plastic cartridge stuck in a small red console and listen back to it. I had to have this! In 1969, this was mind blowing technology. The tape cartridge was smaller and shaped different than traditional cassette tapes. Once it was in my hands I couldn’t get enough of my tape recorder. I’d record conversations at the dinner table, tell jokes into it, sing along to records, track audio of TV shows, you name it, I taped it and played it back.

(pictured above- The Say-It Play-It Tape Recorder) 

 That recording magic in the “Say-It Play It” was the genesis of my love and quest to work in media. To me it was what the glowing green crystal was to a young Clark Kent in the “Superman” movies. You know the story, a teenage Clark finds a green crystal that appeared to call out to him and it starts him on the journey to find out who he is and why he’s on the planet Earth.

My recording devices progressed from the Say-It-Play-It to a small reel to reel tape recorder with hand held microphone and then a basic cassette tape recorder. I also had free reign of my sister’s stereo and by age twelve tuned into and recorded radio shows hosted by a sarcastic sounding afternoon disc jockey named Larry Lujack on WCFL AM 1000.


Larry Lujack didn’t sound like your typical every day radio host. If he didn’t like a record, he’d say so. When he thought some celebrity was a nitwit, he nailed them or when a listener wrote a silly letter to him, he’d mock it with his “Clunk Letter of the Day.” I liked Larry’s sarcasm and found his bemused attitude aligned with mine. Larry’s name and face was all over Chicago for many years during his stints at WCFL and WLS AM 890. Billboards, newspaper ads, TV commercials, movie theatre public service advertisements helped make Larry a major presence. Most everyone in the Chicago area, age forty and under woke up to Larry Lujack and knew him well. He was smart enough to trademark his moniker of “Super Jock” so that no other radio host could use it. (Stealing names and bits is commonplace in the radio business.) Larry even released a book about his life aptly titled “Super Jock” which was co-written by local newspaper columnist Dan Jedlicka.

If I loved radio by listening at home or in the car and got hooked on the line by watching shows unfold in the WLS studio viewing area, then hearing Larry Lujack say on the air, “Here’s a story sent to us by Mick Kahler” had me reeled on the boat, in the bucket and over to the skillet, hot to make a career in broadcasting. Most people who work in radio can attest to the draw of that first time their name is said on the air or they actually get to speak on air via a phone call with an on air jock. It’s an acknowledgement of you and your contribution to a show. Forget about it! I heard the siren’s song and was a radio goner.

Larry Lujack, the king of morning rock n roll radio in Chicago

I sent Larry a great “Police Beat” item from my local paper about a guy who was arrested for sniffing other people’s toes. Lujack tried to be serious when reporting the police blotter stories but my toe sniffing tale cracked him up big time. Another time Larry read a letter from me inviting him to join Willie C and me at a Ramones concert. I sent the offer because he said he liked the punk band. I knew Larry would never say yes but thought he might read the invite on the air. He did. I managed to catch some of my on air mentions on tape and with each hit of recognition I got, I could feel myself getting closer to finding my own version of radio nirvana.

Parental Guidance



Personality-wise, I was more like my mother, social and outgoing. She was a patient and excellent listener who people trusted and often came to for counsel and advice. Dorie Kahler became an Elmhurst City Council Alderman in the mid 70’s. She was asked to run for higher county office but four years of small time politics was more than enough for her. My mom once won a large thermal cooler at a Drive-In movie theatre for being the fastest to melt a snowball by rolling it up and down her arms and legs. She found herself in situations like that and just rolled with them; sometimes literally. The sass in Dorie Kahler was inherited from her father as an occasional yell of “Asshole!” to a bad driver on the road was part of her repertoire, sometimes doing so with my friends in the car, we loved it!

My favorite “mom story” comes from my teen years when I told her an off color joke that she passed on to co-workers at Good Samaritan Hospital where she was a secretary in the psychiatric ward. A few days later mom learned the joke went ‘viral’ all over the hospital, on all shifts with everybody cracking up laughing.

Alright, I’ll give you the joke. A mom bakes a cake for her three young sons and decorates it with those little silver balls, smaller than a BB that you can digest. After eating some of the cake, her first son goes to pee and comes out of the bathroom screaming “Mommy, mommy! I wee-weed a BB!” She asks, “Are you O.K.?” “Yeah” he answers. “I guess it just scared me coming out like that.”   The second son goes to the bathroom, comes running out, “Mommy Mommy! I wee weed a BB!” She asks “Are you O.K?” Yeah, I guess it just scared me coming out like that.” Ten minutes later her third son comes running out of the bathroom, “Mommy! Mommy!” She nods her head and says, “Yeah yeah, I know. You wee weed a BB.” He says, “No, I was playing with myself and I shot the dog!”   Mom tells fellow staffers that joke at the hospital and the whole place is rolling on the floor.

My father had a dry wit but it wasn’t something he shared with many outside the family. My passion for movies came from him. Pop had an encyclopedic knowledge of films dating back to when he was a teenager. He knew the stars featured in any major film released to theatres and his taste in quality movies was impeccable.

The most valued trait I got from my family was their ability to do extra special things for others. When a birthday came up, it wasn’t “Do we get our son/brother, another shirt or some money?” It was more like “What can we do that’s REALLY outstanding?” Mom, dad and my sister Mary lived for bringing out cool gifts that were extra special and I was often on the receiving end of these. An example would be when I was seventeen and dad surprised me with tickets to see comedian George Carlin. He knew I listened to Carlin’s albums, found out about a Chicago area appearance Carlin was making and took me out for a night of hilarity. Seeing George Carlin in concert when I was still in high school, how many teens can say their father treated them to something so cool?