96 Rocks. Ron Ph.D Hummer
Hot Tuna, and Commander Cody. But let’s get started with Frank Zappa and Dirty Love at 96 Rocks.
Diane leaned back in her chair, took in the music of Frank Zappa. She looked at her laptop computer, stared at the picture of her and her ex-boyfriend, John Carlton, on her facebook page. He was taller than her, his head shaved, his complexion was nearly the color of brass.
She pressed the space bar and the picture switched to Mary Spellman. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders, framing her blue eyes, aquiline nose, and round face.
Diane tried not to feel jealous standing next to Mary, knowing that Mary would still draw all the looks from men, including Tim Harrelson, the one who was responsible for getting her fired from the station.
Diane heard her cell phone vibrate by her brown pocketbook. She took it out, recognized her mother’s number.
“Hi Mom,” she said as she put the cell phone to her ear.
“Hi. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Thanks.”
“He called, didn’t he?”
She smiled, put her feet on the table as Gina came back into the room. “How did you know?”
“I’m sure you don’t get a lot of requests for Frank Zappa.”
“I guess you got me.”
“And you better not be updating your facebook page.”
“I promised you I wouldn’t do that again.”
“I’m sure you have the computer with you.”
She arched her eyebrows, drew her lips together. “Just looking at some pictures, that’s all.”
“Okay, fine. Get a song cued up for the Dead. This is a short one for Frank Zappa.”
“Okay.”
“And please do not play Truckin or Casey Jones. Jerry Garcia did more songs than those and the other radio stations only play those two songs. You can do something different.”
“Fine.” She typed in Grateful Dead into the computer and came back with a list of their songs. “How about Hell in a Bucket?”
“Sounds good. “You’re just looking at a bunch of titles anyway.”
“Done.”
“Did he choose Jethro Tull?”
“No, that was my idea.”
“You don’t mix Jethro Tull with any of those other bands. Neil Young. Bob Dylan. Eric Clapton. Creedence Clearwater Revival. Not Jethro Tull.”
“Sorry.”
“Play Skating Away. That will be close enough.”
Diane went to her computer again, typed in Jethro Tull and Skating Away, then put that under Hell in a Bucket as that song came on.
“Did he start in with you about that crazy talk about going to California?”
She stared at the ceiling, smiled. “Yes.”
“Are you still considering it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fine. You said you’re playing Commander Cody.”
“Yes. She typed in that name and came up with a list of songs.”
“What are you choosing? Hot Rod Lincoln?”
“No. I like Beat Me Daddy Eight to the Bar.”
“You played that yesterday. How about Smoke. Smoke. Smoke.”
She put Beat Me Daddy, Eight Under the Bar under Skating Away.”
“You didn’t choose Smoke Smoke Smoke.”
“Excuse me,” she said, smiling. “This is still my show.”
“Fine.”
“All right. I’ll let you choose a song from Hot Tuna.”
“Do Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning. That’s a long song.”
Diane typed the song in with Hot Tuna, then put it under Beat Me Daddy, Eight to the Bar. “I don’t need a long song mother. I can put six songs together and sit back.”
“I forgot how easy you have it.”
“Yes, not like Dr. Johnny Fever of WKRP who took a nap when he played Dogs from Pink Floyd.”
“First of all, he was not asleep. That was a TV show. That doesn’t happen.”
“Fine.”
“That show didn’t even reach a third season. Wasn’t that funny.”
“I thought it was.”
“Look at the music you’re playing. I’ll bet Rick Holman is getting stoned right now.”
Diane’s smile grew wider. “Yes, you refer to it as drug music. You seem to know a lot about it though.”
The DJ heard her mother take a deep breath. “Nobody likes a smart aleck. You don’t seem to realize that I knew all these people when I was a DJ. I knew Jerry Garcia, George Frayne, Billy Farlow, Jorma Kaukonen Jr, Lowell George...”
“Wait,” Diane said, laughing. I don’t even know those names after Jerry Garcia.”
“They’re members of Commander Cody, Hot Tuna, and Little Feat.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, look, take what happened today as a setback.”
“I can’t. Mike Jones’s ratings were down for 2 years in the morning drive. They could have given me a try at any time.”
“I know.”
“But they didn’t. It’s like my lawyer said. Now that I’m on a non-compete, I just have a career of indentured servitude.”
“I understand,” she said.
“You know, they just fired Mike like it was nothing. It’s not like he’s getting a severance package. Now he’s out of radio for 3 years. That could be me one day.”
“Maybe you’re right. I think a lot has changed since I was a DJ. I had to work at 4 different stations before I made a name for myself.”
“It’s changed for the worse not only for me but for lots of other people. These non-competes are ruining lives.”
“I can see that.”
“And you know that I haven’t had a raise in 5 years. Actually, no one a the station has had a raise. Can’t live on $50,000 forever.”
“I know.”
“The truth is, Rick’s advice isn’t so crazy. Might be the best thing I could do at this point. I mean, at least I’ll be free in California.”
“You have my support, you know that.”
“I know. Look, I should go.”
“Okay. Look. Just play Thank the Day from Riders of the Purple Sage and Let it Roll from Little Feat.”
“Okay. Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Diane closed the phone, put it back on the table. She stood up angrily, walked over to the water cooler, took a plastic cup from the side. Her mind went to Tim Harrelson, her skin crawled. She recalled the many times that Tim put her hands on her shoulders, hugged her from behind, his breath always close to her ear.
Diane knew it wouldn’t have done any good to report him for sexual harassment. Herman Pearson always covered for him.
She remembered the incident on the booze cruise with