Interview for Local Radio Disc Jockey Job

[February 26, 2025]  I was a Sophomore in High School, my first year at Cooper High School in Abilene, Texas, when a good friend, Bingo, suggested that he and I interview for a local radio disc jockey job.

Our school was moving into the radio business and was looking for talent. I figured, at the time, that they wanted someone with a deep, gravelly voice, much like Wolfman Jack (who I would later listen to on Armed Forces Radio).  Maybe I could get to play one of my latest favorite songs such as, Last Train to Clarksville by The Monkees or The Ballad of the Green Berets by Sgt. Barry Sadler.  Wolfman Jack always played the best songs.

I was psyched. Opportunities like this are rare, and Bingo and I went to the interview in one of the English school classrooms. There sat our teacher from that class, at a desk piled with papers. She handed one to Bingo to read. Bingo was not a natural speaker. As soon as he opened his mouth with that high, squeaky voice of his, I knew the jig was up; he didn’t stand a chance. The teacher smiled.  “Next,” she said.

I stepped up to the table, got handed a sheet of paper and told to read it. Now, I will admit it today – denied by me at the time – that my reading comprehension was not up to 10th-grade Texas Education System standards.

I mispronounced words, slurred a few more, and intentionally tried to imitate the Wolfman accent. The teacher smiled, laughing inside her mind, I’m sure. But instead of calling on the next kid in line, she said something I’ll never forget: “Doug, you need to learn how to talk.”  I was crushed.

Neither Bingo nor I got the job that day, and that was okay. We both had done something that required courage. My minor speech impediment, identified in the first or second grade, was gone but still in my thoughts. My Dad would help by making me learn a new word each day, taken from the newspaper. I wasn’t particularly happy about learning this way, but I did it anyway. Dad had seen I was falling behind in school and was trying to help.

That school year was bumpy for my brother, sister, and me. Maybe it was the Southern accent (which I still have today).  Maybe it was the culture shock of moving far from where we’d grown up.  But it was 1966 and Texas was a boon for us and we quickly adopted the state of Texas as our new home. This was the year Dad bought each my brother and me a motorcycle and that would be a real gift that led to many adventures.

Bingo and I would go on short rides while we explored the outer suburbs, farmlands, camping grounds, and abandoned towns south of Abilene. We were often on the road in the summer months while away from school.

One day, we saw our English teacher in the Safeway supermarket parking lot. She was kind and homely looking, like the classic stereotype one would expect to have that job. “Doug, I hope to see you in English class this upcoming school year,” she said with a smile. “Yes ma’am,” I managed to blurt out.

The following school year, this same English teacher became one of my favorites after she introduced us to The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer and other famous literature. And she patiently taught us to read and speak Middle English. It was fascinating. This was the year I learned to read and actually enjoy the experience. Thanks to my high school English teacher.

Oh, my friend Bingo was a good sport. I used to tease him about having a childhood song named after him and a popular game of chance.
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