Untitled chapter
111.5 FM
by J.M. Savage
“On a hot summer night I was parked by the sea
watching wave motion under the stars.
Drifting like a cork on an ocean of emotion
thinking how you’ve left me with these scars.
Beach was deserted, no couples in the dunes,
low riders or muscle cars.
And I was trying hard to suppress the urge to phone you,
to stop me from taking it too far.”
“Oh, I love that song” Johnny Younger sighed.
He was lying in bed, alone in his apartment on West 53rd street, New York City. It was very late at night...or very early in the morning and he was totally absorbed in his favourite radio station, W.C.S.T. a fairly recent discovery on the far right of the FM band.
It was quite by accident that he’d happened to find it, a few weeks before while off work recuperating from surgery. It was a curious sequence of events that led him to even try the radio.
Since his return home from hospital following the hernia operation, his sleep had been erratic. His girlfriend, Marcella, had stayed over for the first few nights and since then, only some nights. On this particular night she’d left around 11:15 pm and, as he wasn’t yet sleepy, Johnny decided to watch some TV. The remote control was within reach on his bedside table; unfortunately it was no use to him as the main switch on the TV was off. Reluctant to move around too much, he opted for reading and so picked up the Tales of Terror and Suspense anthology he’d recently started. He read ‘The Furnished Room’ and enjoyed it very much, but couldn’t get comfortable enough to go any further. His MP3 player was flat and the stereo was in the living room...what was left? The radio, the little transistor radio he’d found when he moved into the apartment, forgotten by the previous tenant. Salvation for the insomniac.
It was a time in his life, maybe a time that comes to everyone at some point, for reflection. He wasn’t unhappy, it was just one of those periods when you’re wondering what it’s all about; introspection, ‘stock take’. Johnny was 26 years of age and pretty sound – emotionally, a little beat down – physically. His job was tolerable, he had a few friends here in the city and Marcella, his on/off girlfriend of 14 months now. He missed his home and his family, far away in Iowa and, as always, poor sleep and not much of it was clouding his judgement and disturbing his equilibrium.
He needed to touch base, to get back to something familiar and comforting, without going back. It was too late to phone home and so he thought about something he hadn’t done for many years. Johnny picked up the little AM/FM radio and held it to his left ear. He switched it on and began his ritual.
He started at the high end of the AM band and very slowly turned the tuning dial, gradually uncovering the wealth of companionship laid out along its course; sometimes lingering on something he liked, or finding something intriguing that was just a bit too weak to come through and after 10 minutes, reaching the end and flicking the switch to FM. He began again, repeating the ritual as he moved slowly from the low end, occasionally touching the antenna to boost something nice, but finding little of interest.
There was scant hope of hitting something special as he knew he must be nearing the end of the scale, but as the tuning dial came to a stop he heard, very faintly, an old classic trying in vain to come through. Johnny extended the telescopic antenna and The Cadillacs burst forth singing ‘Zoom’.
It grew stronger and louder, forcing him to lower the volume. He listened keenly, allowing himself the fantasy that it was Alan Freed’s show from the late 1950s. As the record finished, Chuck Berry blasted out with ‘Oh baby doll’, another up-tempo classic of the era and then, Little Richard with ‘Keep a knocking’, kindling the fantasy into a healthy flame of ‘a ghost station, with Wolfman Jack, Joe E. Turlock, King Bingham; all these great DJ’s – long dead, but still broadcasting from some other realm’. Johnny was lost in this dream, though still aware of the music, when he was pulled back by the voice.
It wasn’t the words, not at first, just the sound – the texture; like dark velvet, smooth and comforting, like if James Earl Jones was a lady and had a late night radio show.
Misti Riaz was her name and though he couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said that first time he’d heard her, it was something about being ‘your friend on the airwaves, helping you through the night’. And that’s what she was and he was soon hooked.
Johnny listened intently to the audio goldmine he’d uncovered; entertained by every song, thrilled by many and fascinated by the alluring voice in the night. He fell asleep eventually, he didn’t remember when, but it felt like many hours. When he woke up sometime later the radio was still playing quietly and the room still dark. He switched it off and resumed his sleep; the sleep of someone pacified, yet with a barely perceptible undercurrent of disturbance.
The following morning he’d woke up late, almost noon, but had nothing major going on and felt more relaxed than he had in several months. He remembered the strange radio station and the unusual feelings it had stirred in him. He looked forward to listening again that night and then remembered that Marcella was coming over to have dinner and stay the night, and Marcella wouldn’t appreciate the radio being on while they were in bed. Anything other than quiet bugged her.
‘Damn it’ he thought, already feeling like he was going to be denied something he needed.
A few times that afternoon he tried to listen in but there was nothing. Each time he checked the tuning dial; still hard right where he’d left it, but no signal. ‘Perhaps it’s only a night-time operation’ he thought.
Marcella came over as planned, they had a really nice evening and he was glad to have her around, although he was preoccupied. She was tired after a hard day and after extracting a promise from Johnny that they would go out for a walk tomorrow, it was bedtime. As he lay there waiting for Marcella to be done in the bathroom, Johnny reached for the radio once more; it was 10:50 p.m. ‘They should be on by now’ he thought. With the much loved item held close he carefully turned the switch and waited eagerly, hoping to hear something good.
Hiss...
...no music, no voice, Johnny extended the aerial and listened closer, nothing but hiss. He adjusted the tuning a little left and then slowly back, hard to right...nothing. Johnny was very disappointed, but as he heard the toilet flush and water running, he knew the time had come to give it up. He quickly switched off, collapsed and folded the aerial and returned the radio to the bedside table.
When Marcella entered the room less than a minute later he was ‘almost asleep’, she set the alarm on her phone and put it on the floor. As she turned out the light, Johnny carefully adjusted his position. He lay on his back and gently shuffled down, the healing wound to his core throbbed and reminded him not to risk anything too physical. Marcella was very attractive; brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin covering her slim sexy body, her natural gothic look and normally they would have tired each other out for a while. But right now he was very wary of any vigorous activity – however pleasurable it might be.
“8 o’ clock okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Johnny answered.
Marcella rolled closer, kissed him on the lips and then seemed to fall asleep, instantly. He envied that and wished he were capable, maybe not every night, but most nights, to have that ability to lie down, get comfortable and just sleep as though flicking a switch. That would be a beautiful thing. Quite often it was a waiting game for Johnny Younger when it came to sleep. Even after a tiring day at work, if the events of the day or more likely some wistful thought entered his mind, it could be 15, 30 minutes, maybe an hour before his brain would shut down and allow him the rest he needed. This was how he’d got into the radio as a child and how he’d formed the habit of scouring the entire bandwidths, searching for that certain something; the right sounds to soothe him. And it usually worked.
But right now his mind was turbulent, ruffled by the absence of his new discovery... stuff like that bugged him!
He went somewhere else...a long road beside an endless cornfield in Iowa. He was walking, he smelled grass and clean air. He walked a little slower than he did in New York and he heard different sounds; wind moving through the waves of corn, an evening freight train in the distance, a few nuisance crows circling above, calling to each other as they surveyed the bounty of food below. Food...his belly was full and it was a warm September evening, soon to be harvest time, a nice walk before bed...he was sleepy.
It worked, Johnny Younger was sound asleep.
He woke up some hours later and immediately his thoughts returned to the radio...he had to know. Johnny slid gently out of bed, picked up the little transistor set and froze as Marcella said “I don’t know, damn it.” before rolling over and resuming normal slumber. He crept into the living room, sat in his easy chair and got comfortable. With the radio pressed to his ear he switched on and carefully rolled the volume to a minimum level.
Hiss...again nothing but hiss; no music, no voice, just hiss.
“Damn” he whispered and wondered where it could’ve gone. He considered the possibility that he may have just dreamt it...but wasn’t willing to accept that. ‘Maybe they only broadcast on certain nights...but what would be the reason for that?’ he thought. Johnny searched for an explanation that would satisfy him and as he leaned back in the chair he felt the folded up antenna poke him in the left palm; he’d forgotten the aerial. He shook his head and then smiled as he extended the metal rod and the sound came through...‘Night-time’ by The Strangeloves.
‘Perfect’ he thought and as the record faded, 2 seconds of silence hung heavily before Reparata and the Delrons burst through with ‘Panic’. It was exhilarating. Johnny was almost breathless as the track was fading. A voice came on...
...“W-C-S-T...the sound of the moment”, but it wasn’t the lady, it was some announcer dude, or a jingle/call sign. “W-C-S-T” again, followed by The Sparkles ‘Ain’t no friend of mine’ and finally, as this song faded, the sweet and seductive voice of Misti Riaz telling him “That’s right, friends, you’re listening to W.C.S.T. one eleven point five F.M. the sound of the moment, broadcasting from the heart of New York City...with a little something for the night owls...because you’re my kind of people.” She faded in the song over her last few words but Johnny wasn’t really listening to that, he was still hearing her voice and wanting more.
‘Just let me hear her once more...then I’ll put it down and go to bed.’ he thought.
He had to wait two more songs before she came back with “Now, some of you are just joining me, welcome along folks. And for those of you just going to bed, sweet dreams, come back tomorrow night.”
Johnny didn’t hear the next song. She’d spoken to him. He switched off and got back in bed, Marcella was still lying on her side as she had been when he’d left. He felt like everything was all right. He slept well.
The following morning Johnny and Marcella woke with the 8 o’ clock alarm. They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, checked on the weather and, after getting dressed, they headed out. It was a glorious spring morning, with more of the same promised for the afternoon. They walked to the river and sat for a while, the mid morning sun was very warm on their backs as they watched the various boats passing in both directions. It seemed busier than usual.
They talked, Johnny told Marcella he was going to ask the boss to change his shifts when he returned to work. He was tired of getting up early and wanted a change like 2-10 p.m. He liked the thought of some late night/early a.m. leisure time. Marcella seemed okay with that, she had some flexibility at work so it wouldn’t affect their hanging out. She then told him that she had to go out of town the following week to visit her mother in Albany. Johnny was okay with that, mostly, he would miss having her around, but there were also some advantages.
They walked down along the waterfront, across 44th street and back up town by 9th Avenue; browsing a few shop windows, buying a couple of books and stopping for lunch at Blue Cafe.
“So, how are you feeling?” Marcella asked.
“Not too bad. Not as sore as it was...okay I guess.”
“See, I told you, you just can’t stay cooped up at home...you’ve got to get out and do stuff. That helps you get better, too!”
“Yeah, you were right, Marcie.” Johnny said with a smile.
“Of course I’m right...and don’t call me Marcie, Sir!”
They laughed, they had a nice time. Johnny was feeling good, optimistic about the future. He wasn’t even dreading the stifling summer heat of the city. He and Marcella walked the remaining few blocks to his apartment. They did some laundry, some cleaning and then spent the evening on a couple of favourite films and some take away food. It had been the busiest, most active day he’d had for a few weeks and he felt it. By 10:55 p.m. he was in bed, sound asleep and remained there till the following morning. Marcella woke him as she was leaving for work. She kissed him and said she’d see him tomorrow evening. Johnny fell asleep again.
Late in the morning he woke with a deep slumber hangover, he had coffee and carefully got dressed, stretching and feeling like he was healing. The day was filled with mundane tasks, tolerable necessities and enjoyable online browsing. There was enough to occupy him and he was starting to feel like himself again. It was only after supper, as midnight was approaching, that his thoughts returned to the radio and it was like a sudden onset of hunger.
Johnny lay on his bed with only Marcella’s night light providing a glow. He switched on the radio at 12 midnight, confident of hearing some good music and soothing talk, but he was to be disappointed, there was nothing. There was life in the batteries, he’d remembered the antenna and it was very late...but no station! Not even any hiss, just dead air.
He waited 10 minutes and tried again with the same result.
He tried once more in another 10 minutes and struck out a third time.
Very disheartened, Johnny put the radio on his bedside table and thought about what he was missing. He wondered why and concluded that they must start very late! He didn’t notice himself getting drowsy...
...“W-C-S-T one eleven point five F.M. the sound of the moment.” The call sign jingle startled him awake. He’d left it switched on and not noticed; the dead air preceded the start up of the broadcast.
The record was fading in under the DJ’s voice, “Hi, folks, this is Misti Riaz, glad to have you along for a little night music. This is Miss Toni Fisher with ‘The big hurt’”
Johnny lay there, basking in the music, comforted by that beautiful voice; unmistakably Latino. Song after song, classic after classic; records he loved, many not heard for so long and between every 2 or 3, this intriguing lady with her delightful monologue, holding it all together and floating it along. This was like no other radio station he’d heard before and lying there in that room, comfortable in his bed with minimal light and no distractions, it was hypnotic and began to absorb him. He imagined the station being located in the Chrysler Building, right at the top, with the big metal spike sending out the sound for a thousand miles. It might have been an hour or two, maybe even three or four, it didn’t matter, Johnny was in a nocturnal world of wonder.
Despite being very comfortable and perfectly content, he suddenly realised he could tune in this great entertainment on his stereo and store it as a preset. He couldn’t blast it out of the speakers – it was after all a night station and he did have neighbours – but he could have a good headphone listen on a decent system. He got up from the warm haven of his bed and, taking the transistor radio along, went to the living room.
The apartment was cold so he pulled on a spare shirt that was folded on the sofa. Getting straight to work he switched on his hi-fi system, selected radio/F.M. and then auto tune, confident of finding W.C.S.T. and continuing the night’s entertainment from a new vantage point.
It had been a while since he’d gone through the process but he remembered it well enough; just let the auto tune do its thing, ignore the discovered station and it will move on to the next, till you find what you’re searching for. Johnny sat on the sofa wrapped in a blanket waiting for the result.
After a few minutes had gone by without any satisfaction, he realised he would have to try and tune it manually. So, sitting on the floor and still wrapped in the blanket he began at his highest preset station W.O.N.D. 105 MHz and carefully advanced, still confident of success. There were a couple more stations along the way, they sounded okay but weren’t what he was looking for and, as he slowly increased the frequency, Johnny was caught by surprise as the digital display went from 108 MHz right back down to 87 MHz at the opposite end.
“What the heck?” he whispered.
Completely puzzled he repeated the search in exactly the same way and got exactly the same result; 108 and back down to 87.
“How can this be” he wondered “where’s 111.5?”
He went the opposite way, starting low and pressing the minus button and this time skipped from 87 MHz all the way to 108 MHz
“Well I’ll be dipped in hog fat!” he muttered, expressing his disbelief in the style of his grandfather.
Johnny picked up the old transistor radio and examined the analogue waveband for the first time. Finding the same range, 87 – 108 MHz, he shook his head and began to wonder.
He listened to W.C.S.T. for a little while, enjoying the music, of course, but mainly he was waiting for something.
After 15 minutes, it came to him.
“One eleven point five FM – the sound of the moment.”
‘There it is’ he thought ’111.5 FM, that’s what the man said.’ But there was no 111.5 FM. So what was going on?
His head began to spin with confusion and for maybe 10 seconds he questioned his sanity, but 10 seconds of that is about the limit for a down to earth farm boy from Iowa. So he gave it some more thought and came up with two possibilities. Either this station is broadcasting at a lower frequency and claiming to be on 111.5 MHz, or they actually are on 111.5 MHz and the newer digital tuners can’t reach it, but the old transistor has a broken dial and can. ‘Either way’ he thought ‘I’m no expert, but they must be risking federal prison doing that.’ A third option then occurred to him; a vague notion of something more sinister, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.
He continued to listen for a while, soon returning to his normal level of enjoyment and though he couldn’t see a clock, he was getting tired and guessed it must be around 4 a.m. ‘One more song’ he thought.
A delightful instrumental came to a stop and the DJ spoke. “Hey folks, this is Misti Riaz playing some ‘cool out music’ for the early a.m. You just heard ‘Girl in a sports-car’ and now, for all you west coast girls and guys who are missing home, here’s a New York City girl with something to make you feel better...this is Lesley Gore with California Nights”.
It was beautiful, one he’d never heard before. It made him want to go there. The song faded... “W-C-S-T” It was time for bed.
