Talk (9 page)

These interviews became a signature of my program. Now “Getting Stanned” meant hearing music that would make you chug and interviews that would make you listen.

I had just turned 40 and I had money in my pocket, some local fame and more ass than a toilet seat, and I was doing something for a living that I was good at and truly enjoyed. Even my parents were proud, although my father couldn't understand why Stanislaw Pawlowski wouldn't fly as my on-air moniker.

“Why are you so embarrassed about your heritage?” he'd say. “If your grandfather Stanislaw hadn't got on a boat, you wouldn't have the ability to sit and play records and get paid.”

Dad figured it was some anti-Pole conspiracy, no matter how many times I told him that last names were out, no matter what they were.

“You're selling us out like FDR did at Potsdam,” he'd say. I didn't understand the historical reference then, nor have I taken the time since to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

“And another thing. Why do you say ‘
Stanned
. Getting
Stanned
'? It sounds like you have a speech impediment like your cousin Vodge.”

I figured he wasn't ready for an answer to that. I felt guilty enough about what I'd put him and my mother through during high school, and I wanted them to enjoy my success. Strangely enough, their pride made me miss Florida in a way I never would have expected when I first packed up to leave.

Which was one reason why I was willing to listen when I received a call from Jules DelGado informing me that he'd been contacted by Steve Bernson, VP of programming for all of Star Channel Radio which owned Buxom FM, asking if I would ever consider moving to Tampa. Pittsburgh and Tampa were comparable markets in terms of size; I couldn't claim to be taking a giant step up the radio ladder by moving from one to the other. But this call was for prime time—morning
drive—on a 50,000 watt flamethrower called “The Rock.” Star Channel also owned The Rock (and, so it seemed, every other station in America) so Bernson could call my agent and sound me out while I was still under contract in Pittsburgh. Doing afternoon drive at Buxom FM, I was making $100k per year. For mornings in Tampa, I was being offered $300k plus incentives with an ironclad three-year deal. I wouldn't exactly be going home, but it was close: One market removed from where I'd grown up and where my parents were still living in the house where I was raised. Not to mention the warmer weather. And just maybe, spinning vinyl for an audience that included an ex-flame.

So was I interested in morning drive in Tampa? Hell yes.

And just like that, I was packing and heading south.

•  •  •

I arrived in Tampa/St. Pete about ten days before my start date, moved into a one-bedroom rental, and had yet to even see the new studio when a second surprising call came from Jules.

“This is one of those radio good news, bad news calls,” was how he put it, before blowing his nose into the phone and making me wait another minute or so to hear what he had to say because he was juggling two calls at once.

“Star Channel has just sold ten of its stations to MML&J Media, which is a bunch of holy rollers based in Atlanta,” he said. “They publish Bibles, but have decided to branch out into radio with an eye toward owning an imprint in talk.”

One of the stations they'd acquired was The Rock in Tampa. In other words, they were my new employers and they were flipping the format. I was now working for a bunch of fundamentalist Christians from Georgia.

“I'm still waiting for the good news,” I told Jules.

“Your new deal guarantees that MML&J will assume Star Channel's contract and pay you three bills for three years,” he told me. “And if the format is gone, they have to pay you to sit on the beach. You don't have to work, Stan.” He went on to explain that I was under no obligation to provide any other services. They'd have to pay me $900,000 over three years and all I would lose would be the opportunity to make bonus money that would have come from hitting the top five in the ratings among men 25-54. It was the kind of news I would have welcomed a decade earlier, sort of like I'd hit the lottery. Funny thing was, now I wasn't so psyched. In fact, I was immediately concerned about becoming irrelevant.

Jules said Steve Bernson wished to speak to me directly to “explain some other developments and ideas.” Jules usually found a way to make himself a part of any conversation that might result in a deal, but in this case said he had no problem with me speaking to Bernson directly, so I called him at Star Channel headquarters in New York City, where he immediately took my call. Bernson was the classic corporate media guy, more TV than radio in his appearance. Nice tan even in winter. A perfectly styled, expensively cut head of dark hair. Nattily dressed in a suit. French cuffs. Tasteful tie. He always seemed to me like he could deliver the weather for a TV network affiliate in a top 10 TV market.

He said, “Buxom FM was not one of the stations that was sold, Stan. But they've already hired your replacement in Pittsburgh.”

I told him I didn't understand.

“Well, if you are dead set on returning to Pittsburgh and WBXM, I suspect we can find you another time slot. You're well regarded within Star Channel, so there's also the chance we can find a suitable shift for you on one of our other stations.”

If, however, I worked for the “old company,” as he put it, I would not get the guaranteed money. And he repeated what
Jules said, that I could sit and do nothing for the next three years and collect a fat check.

But he had an alternative. I was all ears.

“Stan, I'm part of the Star Channel/MML&J deal myself. I'm leaving Star Channel and joining MML&J Media as their VP of Programming, and I would like you to consider coming with me. I, too, will be based in Tampa.”

I still didn't understand.

“As Jules probably told you, The Rock is flipping formats but it's all happened so suddenly that I don't have the talent assembled yet. Will you consider doing mornings for a few weeks until I can field my team?”

He told me he'd already recruited both a midday guy and someone for afternoon drive. He said he'd picked up an old-timer with some talk experience in the market to cover overnights. But the morning man with whom he was negotiating had not yet come to terms, and in a best case, could not arrive until 30 days after the change in format.

I couldn't believe my ears. He was both confirming that I was about to get paid nearly a million dollars for sitting on my ass, and asking me to come try my hand as a talk radio host for a month.

So I asked the obvious.

“What the fuck do I know about talk?”

Followed by the essential.

“What's in it for me if I don't have to work?”

He answered by first asking if I'd ever heard of Phil Dean.

“Of course, I have. In the same way that any kid pitcher has heard of Nolan Ryan,” I said.

“Well, he's heard of you” Bernson said. “In fact, more than hearing
of
you, he has actually
heard
you. And he was very impressed with your delivery.”

I still didn't understand.

Bernson told me that Phil Dean was about to come aboard with MML&J to advise them on their acquisitions from Star Channel. He said it was Phil who suggested that I try my hand at talk when he heard that I'd just signed a contract for which I would not have to perform.

“Phil says that your formatics are great, and he can school you on what you need to develop for content. He also likes your interview style and that's a key part of doing good talk.”

Bernson went on, “He said that you know how to play the hits and that is all talk will require of you. You'll still be playing the hits, but instead of playing the usual songs, you'll be offering the tried and tested sound bytes. Same formula, just different material. And he will personally guide you once he's on board.”

It was intriguing, but I still wasn't convinced. “Why would I take that gamble?”

“Because it's a ‘no risk' experiment. If you suck, then Stan Powers gets retired and you sit back and collect your pay anyway.”

“Who the hell is Stan Powers?”

“You are. And your new program is called
Morning Power
on WRGT.”

“WRGT?”

“That's the new name for The Rock. I told you. The plan is for the station, all the MML&J stations, to become right wing, conservative talk.”

I didn't reply. While I wasn't entirely sure what a conservative was, I was pretty certain I wasn't one.

“Chances are you will only do this for 30 days. But if it works, you can be bigger than any DJ could ever be. Look at what Limbaugh is making.”

The prospect of making that kind of dough might make my decision easier to swallow. Pittsburgh was great, but if I couldn't have my old time slot, I wasn't going back to my old employer for one-third the money of what I was about to make in Florida. I felt that I'd already peaked in that market and wanted a new challenge. I knew and liked Tampa. Plus, the idea of returning to my home state and earning big bucks for a career that began there in a dive bar gave me a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of closure and self-worth that I very much wanted to experience. Still, the new format was intimidating, and I wasn't sure I could—or wanted to—make such a drastic transition.

Mulling over the decision while hanging in my new, tiny apartment, I decided to pour myself a cold one. Then I grabbed a “welcome to the neighborhood” package left by my rental agent, and moved out onto the deck, which had a view of the water only if I craned my neck. Inside the envelope was an assortment of coupons for free car washes, pizza discounts and maid service, as well as the latest issue of
Tampa Bay Magazine
. On the cover, smiling and looking radiant, was Susan Miller. It was then that I called Jules and told him I'd give it a shot.

After hanging up, I sipped my beer and said out loud, “This is Stan Powers and you're turned to WRGT.” Funny, it didn't feel right from the first time.

Governor Bob Tobias, former football hero, husband to Susan Miller, and rising Democratic star, had been my radio guest on two prior occasions. Both were short phoners about local Florida politics. This time, Phil was insistent that I bring him into the studio for a face-to-face interview so that cameras would capture the two of us together. He wanted the interview to lead the cable TV news and said that audio alone would not suffice for what we needed. It was essential that we both be in the same video frame.

“Preferably with him leaving pissed,” was how he put it.

This was easier said than done. First off, I didn't often have many radio guests who were Democrats. Tobias had previously been a big exception because it had suited both our interests. Like every other politician running statewide in Florida, he needed to remain in good stead in the I-4 corridor, and while he was never going to win over my P1s, it enhanced his appeal with independent types if he could tame the otherwise irascible Stan Powers. Meanwhile, I'd had my own reasons for wanting
to keep the prior exchanges civil. First, there was a certain prestige that came with having a rapport with the state's sitting governor, even if he was from the other side of the aisle. That's because while the mainstays of talk radio are usually heated national issues like illegal immigration, terrorism or federal spending, the state stuff is important for what it means to people's daily lives. School vouchers, auto insurance, and fishing rights are but a few of the things that come up routinely where the governor gets a major say. Being able to present Tobias to my audience, particularly where he had taken listener phone calls, was important to the brand of the program which billed itself as a news format based on talk. Having him on from time to time made me credible and relevant.

Secondly—never to be uttered on air—I personally liked the guy's politics. Tobias was a moderate Democrat not tied to the Northeastern, liberal establishment. He hadn't raised taxes, had opposed giving driver's licenses to illegal immigrants, and had signed a bill that legalized marijuana for medicinal purposes—three things that made sense to me. And finally, I didn't want him going home to the governor's mansion in Tallahassee and complaining to Susan Miller about some asshole on the radio named Stan Powers, even if the name didn't mean anything to her.

But now, with President Summers suddenly packing it in, things had just gotten a bit more complicated. Preserving the status quo was no longer the aim. Tobias wanted to be president. I wanted a bigger platform. And whether we could serve one another's goals as we had in the past was now considerably less likely. Nothing would further my career more than thwarting his, or so said Phil.

When Alex had initially invited Tobias onto the program more than three years prior, she'd had to swear a blood oath that
I would not be a douche bag. His staff was so concerned about how the appearance would go that they'd wanted to know my questions in advance. I refused to submit a list, but did participate in a call with one of his staffers where I shared the broad strokes of what we would cover. Like I said, things had gone well, but that was before his national star took off like a rocket. This time, as Alex tried to work her magic to make it an in-studio interview, Phil was breathing down my neck and ranting about how I needed to lead the insurgency against Tobias' budding presidential campaign from within his own state.