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Together with Don Kohn and David Brittenham and several others I helped put KYMC on the air—I believe it was January or February of 1977 or 1978, and the original call letters were K-L-M-A, not KYMC. I think it is possible a few folks from KADI were involved as volunteers in the early days, though I am not quite sure. I was on the air the first night or second.

The KLMA call letters were utilized the first few months until it was realized that they were already assigned elsewhere (small TV station or police radio station something like that) so call letters K Y M C were adopted as the YMCA radio station. The original location was east of Parkway West High School at the old YMCA site on Clayton Road near Henry Road and Clayton Road. There are luxury condos on the site now. The 10-watt transmitter was located at Wildwood Plaza inside Don Kohn’s Wildwood TV Repair Shop. This was CB radio days, so 10 watts without much interruption on FM carried the signal a long way. The antenna was horizontal polarized one bay FM hoop mounted about 40 to 50 feet or so atop Don’s two-way radio service mast, behind the mall/shop. The high ground near Wildwood Plaza—some of the tallest hilltops in St. Louis County—carried the small KYMC signal into most of West County and as far east as Creve Coeur and Ladue, as far north as St. Peters.

Don Kohn was a former engineer at KCFM (Harry Eidelman’s original FM music station), WEW, and several other stations. Some of his assistants at the Wildwood shop became chief engineers at KMJM Magic 108 and created the audio magic (FM sound processing). KYMC had early assistance from Screaming Jay Hawkins of KSLQ (98.1). The last I heard Don was operating a radio station he bought in Excelsior Springs, Missouri.

The real appeal of station at KYMC was to draw dues paying (it was really cheap then) volunteers interested in learning the technical aspects of radio. It was a lot cheaper than Broadcast Center.

KYMC was cobbled together with used hand-me-down equipment from 55 KSD, KSLQ, KCFM, and other places. Originally each broadcast show had a full volunteer on-air and engineering staff like a traditional (union type) big city station, including board operators, program producers, announcers, and news readers. Some fairly good radio people got their start at KYMC, including some national play-by-play people and others (Dan Kelly’s son, etc.).

Eventually some shows were run as combo operations with the deejay running the board (like my show) with one or two on air deejay hosts. KYMC also provided live play-by-play for Parkway and Rockwood high school football games in its early period, 1977 through 1979-80 or 81. Most of the early programming was Top 40 popular music (disco, pop rock, some AOR). At an early YMCA Banquet Downtown at the Top of the Riverfront Hotel, we had the late, great Jack Carney on the air on KYMC as a guest host for nearly an hour. Specialty programs included late night country/rock shows, weekend evening jazz shows and specialty remote broadcasts from various local high schools featuring disco and popular music. KYMC began using the slogan KY-90 (or Y-90,) four years before KSLQ renamed itself KY-98 and later Y-98. Thus, KYMC was the first “Y” FM in St. Louis market. KYMC also featured some early talk shows, and on air guests. Maryville College was also involved with the station in its early years as well.

By the late 1980’s, early 1990’s, I believe partially because of the college’s involvement, the format became less middle-of-the-road and more structured, with introduction of some of St. Louis’ first alternative music programming. In my humble opinion, while the station became popular with the alternative music crowd during most of its last 15 years of existence, it lost touch with its community (meaning varied or mass appeal radio) and I think that is the main reason for its demise, despite its better, stronger signal and better facilities than the old days. In other words, being true to its alternative format gained a following for KYMC with those music fans area-wide, but at the expense of losing listenership interest from most of the listening market in West County.

I feel the station became a place where wealthy West County kids played annoying, loud music, their parents did not want to them to hear. I believe there was a controversy along the way with a fellow who went by the name “Midnight Virus” whose music bordered on the obscene. That’s a long way from the original KYMC where announcers were pulled off the air for telling people to “party hearty”.

by Jeff Johnson

Guy Runnion made a name for himself as a broadcaster in St. Louis reading the news on KMOX, but he had higher aspirations. On January 1, 1947, he left the CBS powerhouse and signed his new radio station, KXLW, on the air. Later he probably wished he had stayed at KMOX.

There was plenty of publicity prior to sign-on, thanks to Runnion’s second-in-command, Edgar Mothershead, who is listed as the company’s vice president. Mothershead had been an editorial writer for the Watchman-Advocate, and his contacts in the city’s print media allowed him to get plenty of exposure. The Globe-Democrat, on the day of sign-on, wrote, “The station will present a varied program of music, news, sports, food talks, fashion hints, agricultural and outdoors information.”

The first day’s broadcast was similar to many other inaugural broadcasts here. After an invocation by Rev. Dr. Frank Hall of Central Presbyterian Church, Clayton’s mayor Kenneth Thies welcomed KXLW to the airwaves. Studios were located in the brand new Plaza Building at 8135 Forsythe (the “e” was later dropped from the street name).

The station was limited in its coverage, having been assigned 1,000 watts of power at a frequency of 1320 Kc. Programming began at 6 in the morning with a farm almanac show. At 10:00 KXLW had a show for women, and there was an hour of news and sports at noon. Runnion quickly found that disc jockeys were popular with his listeners, and, since he had no network to provide programs and the production of local dramatic and live music shows was expensive, he took the inexpensive, easy way out.

There were stories of a pending move to new studios, but that never happened. Runnion was served with notice that he could no longer broadcast from the tower he had erected without a permit at the corner of Warson and Old Bonhomme in Olivette. He had spent $6,000 to put it up. The case would be tied up in court for the next several years.

On December 6, 1948, members of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers set up pickets at the KXLW studios and at a new tower site in Brentwood in a wage dispute. Just over a month later, the station was silenced, and Runnion accused the engineers of sabotaging the transmitter. “Two wires on the lightning arrester were grounded out sometime Saturday night…causing some of our equipment to burn out,” he was quoted as saying. “The damage could have been done only by someone familiar with such installations generally and with KXLW facilities in particular.” The Post-Dispatch quoted IBEW spokesman Robert Stetson: “Any inference that our men caused this damage is ridiculous. Our men prize their Federal Communications Commission licenses too highly to risk them in any such undertaking as this.”

The new tower finally arrived at the Brentwood site, but steelworkers who were hired to erect it refused to cross the engineers’ picket line. Olivette officials continued to pressure Runnion, and things came to a head there when County Police arrested him and two of his remaining engineers just as he was about to make a broadcast from his Clayton studio. He was charged with violating an Olivette ordinance regarding the tower. There were more arrests. In another episode, five staffers were arrested as they tried to enter the tower facility for a broadcast. Runnion told a Globe-Democrat reporter, “The malicious series of arrests seems to indicate pretty clearly that the officials of Olivette are trying to silence the station permanently, rather than simply trying to enforce zoning ordinance covering the 16-acre hog farm where the transmitter was put.”

There was obviously pressure from his co-owners as well. A shareholder filed suit in February of 1949 asking that the station be placed in receivership, alleging Runnion had “grossly mismanaged” KXLW. Runnion, meanwhile, filed a legal complaint against two marshals, charging them with trespassing and willful and malicious oppression in connection with the recent staff arrests.

In April of 1949, Runnion threw in the towel and an agreement was announced that would allow him to save face. His controlling interest in KXLW, along with the shares held by his wife Gladys, was sold to Lee, Silas and T. Virgil Sloan. Runnion would stay on as general manager, they said, and all other employees would keep their jobs. The marshals were found not guilty of the charges he had filed. In August of 1949, Runnion resigned after having reached agreements to settle the strike and completing construction of the new tower on Bomparte Avenue in Brentwood.

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 07/02)

 

Early fans of radio marveled at its ability to create a theater of the mind in which listeners were able to “see” the things they were hearing on the radio. The performers and sound effects people prided themselves in their ability to create this vision of unreality. As the medium matured, at least one St. Louis station used the same concept in a promotional brochure.

When KXLW signed on January 2, 1947, general manager Guy Runnion had visions of his little 1,000 watt daytime station becoming a major player in the market. He’d been a newsman on KMOX in the early ‘40s, and now he and his wife Gladys had controlling interest in their own station.

Their 28-page brochure, “Going Forward With Radio, as presented by KXLW,” promoted the image of KXLW as “your Neighborly Golden Circle Station.” It was distributed 10 months after the station’s sign-on. The brochure, representing the best work of public relations director Edgar Mothershead, showed a station filled with men and women in an exciting environment. But if you read between the lines, you see some cracks in the façade.

There’s the story of Director of Programs Blaine Cornwell. He’s shown interviewing visiting musical artists, hosting two daily disc jockey shows and hosting a morning quiz program, lots of responsibility for one man. General manager Runnion appears in photos interviewing a guest on the air, which wasn’t a common function for many station managers in those days. One of the station’s sales people, Pat Kendall, is identified as “one of the few women possessing a degree in architectural engineering,” a somewhat dubious honor for a radio time salesperson.

Spider Burks, St. Louis’ legendary jazz disc jockey, has his name spelled two different ways under two different photos, and does Reid Brooks, the station’s news announcer. One photo of Blaine Cornwell posing with a music group is printed backwards, resulting in the station call letters on the mike flag showing up backwards.

There’s a picture of a man dressed in the full regalia of an Indian chief, standing in front of a microphone with a tom-tom. The cut line reads, “Little Beaver, editor of the ‘Outdoor Magazine of the Air’, presents news and comments of interest to the sportsmen.” One can only imagine how this program must have sounded on the air.
The brochure contains two photos showing the crowded, bustling news rooms of the Associated Press in New York City, which, of course, did nothing more than provide the station with wire copy.

The biggest mystery is the “Golden Circle” referenced throughout the booklet. KXLW is called the “Golden Circle Station” and there are other notes giving the impression that a specific geographical area is the “Golden Circle,” but there is never a definition provided. The brochure’s crimson back cover has a gold circle in the middle around the words, “KXLW Serves the Golden Circle.”

In short, it must have seemed like an excellent promotional idea, but the reality portrayed in “Going Forward with Radio” probably didn’t venture far from the truth. KXLW, at its inception, was doomed to be nothing more than a second-tier St. Louis radio station.

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 10/05).

In 1946, GIs who served on both war fronts were being assimilated back into society, and they were spending money freely, priming the nation’s economic pumps. Radio was in the final years of its golden age, and here in St. Louis, many well established broadcasters were enjoying an economic boom of sorts.

KWK, owned by the heirs of long-time owner Thomas Patrick Convey, had its studios on the ninth floor of the Chase Hotel on North Kingshighway. In 1937 the station became part of the Mutual Radio Network, which was formed when Chicago’s WGN decided to loosely affiliate with several other stations to provide an attractive national sales package to advertisers.

While Mutual never gained the status of the other radio networks, they nonetheless provided some programming to affiliates, and one of those shows originated from St. Louis. The rest of the broadcast day for those stations was filled by local programs.

A study of production reports written by Thad Shore of KWK provides some insight into the problems encountered in those days as stations produced daily, live shows. On March 26, 1946, Shore expressed his dissatisfaction with the 7:00 a.m. “Rich Hayes” show: “Am recommending to continuity department that [a] more interesting ‘build-up’ be incorporated in opening over theme.” That day in the local “Shady Valley” show: “Joe Randall was a bit under the weather and did not come up to his usual standards.”

Thad Shore was obviously a senior staffer in that he was given production responsibility for many of the station’s programs, sometimes spanning a 12 hour period in one day. On March 26 he was generous with his comments: “The commercial delivery on this show is improving as Billy Knight avoids straining his voice and cracking in shouting the commercials.”

Nowadays, disc jockeys take their amenities for granted, but in the year following the war, things were different. On April 3, Shore began work at 7:30 in the morning and finished at 10 that night. His notes from two of the shows indicate it might not have been a pleasant day: “The general spirit and life we usually have was lacking. This I attribute to the closeness and heat of the studio… the entire company is to be commended for their efforts and cooperation in spite of the adverse temperature and humidity of the studio.”

And talent often had to be handled: “A passable show but Jackie [Hill] was not in as good form as usual. He arrived precisely at rehearsal time, ten minutes before the show, and apparently had not settled himself after hurrying to make it.”

As for the assumption that things in a large market like St. Louis were somehow better than in smaller stations: “The engineer informs me that the microphone which went bad [during the show] had apparently been bumped or knocked over the night before. Preliminary tests had indicated that the microphone was working but it did not prove to be of broadcast quality when we went on the air. We were able to shift to a working microphone in time to preserve the commercial quality of the show.”

And there were days when a staffer wasn’t happy with his assignment. In some cases the staff member was correct: “Announcer Bruce Hayward desired to substitute third person pronouns in copy that he thought appeared to lend personal endorsement in the first person.”

Again on April 22, the weather caused problems: “With outside temperature in the 80s the cast found it a bit hard to keep on their toes in the heat of Studio A.”

In the following days, it appears nerves were a bit on edge. Shore wrote that the “Coon Creek” hillbilly music show suffered from “a pointless script that was not funny… Too much copy was spent on setting the locale of the situation and not enough on comedy development. This, I believe, stems from the tendency to burlesque situation and character rather than use the situation as the basis for pointed comedy, satire, wit, or frustration comedy.”

By May of 1946, Mr. Shore knew there was a problem with the Shady Valley show that was fed live on the Mutual Network each morning at 8:15. “We find ourselves using more and more of the material as written. However, while we retain the comedy material we often continue to revise or substitute for the musical introductions. Often we do not use the written material simply because an ad lib sequence has developed of which we take the best advantage. Of course, in this case it’s a matter of time that eliminates the material. We also eliminate gags that reflect adversely on the character of the performers. On the whole we find it an advantage to have the script to follow but take many liberties with it to keep the show alive.”

Things did not get better. On May 14: “Script, which can make this [‘Rich Hayes Plays’] more than just a pop organ recital is lagging again after a short trend toward improvement.” His next show that day, ‘Shady Valley,’ was a bit rough. “Jackie Hill was absent because of illness. His mother called. Texie Hollie missed this broadcast. He called in at 8:05 (The show began at 8:15 a.m.) and reported that his car had broken down on the way from Alton.”

And as the day wore on, Shore’s frustration grew. “[Script] Revisions [from continuity] were not satisfactory so I rewrote the opening and following introductions. These were not gems of creation but improved on the continuity provided. In both this show and in ‘Rich Hayes Plays,’ the writer, Dave Chopin, seems to fail to see the creative possibilities inherent therein.”

July was also a rough month at KWK. On Saturday, July 20: “Regarding the reported noise in the speech portions of ‘Easy Listening’ noted in Mr. Traxler’s report, microphone changes have been made to correct this condition somewhat. The noise is, of course, from the street since this program originates in the announcers’ booth because of tight studio scheduling.” On July 25: “For the second morning, during the program, moving of furniture or floor trucks above the studio was audible.”

Within a couple years, KWK began going a different direction in its programming. A young man named Gil Newsome became one of the market’s most popular radio personalities, and he did it by sitting in a studio and playing records for St. Louis’ younger generation.

Listen to Shady Valley Gang on KWK, in 1945

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 02/01)

In the 1930s, KWK was doing pretty well as a local radio station. Under the guidance of founder Thomas Patrick Convey, the station had managed to survive against such moneyed competition as Pulitzer’s KSD and CBS’ KMOX. But his leadership came to an abrupt end on May 18, 1934, when he died a short seven years after putting the station on the air. The leadership task was then assumed by his son, who was known by his air name, “Robert Thomas” Convey. He was 21.

Bob was no stranger to radio. He’d been heard on the air since he was 15, performing, announcing and occasionally singing as part of his father’s effort to keep personnel costs to a minimum. He apparently moved easily into the management role.

After World War II, Bob Convey saw the need to expand and sought a site that would provide more space than the station had in the Chase Hotel. Two big money investors were brought on board: Arnold Stifel, a former partner in Stifel, Nicolaus, and Anthony Buford, the general attorney at Anheuser-Busch. Announcement was made of the acquisition, for $100,000, of the former Mississippi Valley Trust Company Building at Fourth and Pine downtown. The actual move was delayed because of a post-war supply shortage, and for unexplained reasons, KWK stayed in the Chase Hotel. But Convey was still able to expand because of the failure on another local FM station.

When the St. Louis Globe-Democrat’s station, KWGD, went under, Convey entered into an agreement with the paper to take over the state-of-the-art studio facility at 12th and Cole. The move took place in late April, 1949, and KWK-AM and FM were simulcasting from the studios May 9, about four weeks after KWGD went dark. The Globe-Democrat was given minority interest in the stations. Listeners on that first morning heard disc jockey Ed Wilson greeting the station’s 75 staffers as they entered the building.

Convey made a big splash with advertisers when he threw a big dedication party June 16 of that year. Commerce Magazine reported the station “entertained 1,000 clients, local agency people, businessmen, and local and state dignitaries at a cocktail party commemorating the formal opening of the new KWK offices and studios.” Two weeks later the station was opened for guided tours for the general public.

The next year Bob Convey continued a tradition by bringing his son to KWK and giving him a job. Robert T. Convey, Jr., was 13 years old. He remembers, “During that summer I primarily delivered the mail, including ‘off-air’ deliveries to Ed Wilson in his studio. Ed would often hold me through a commercial so I was trapped when he went back on the air. And, he frequently used these opportunities to give me a hard time – ‘Well, well, little Bobbie, the son of the boss. Isn’t that uniform cute?’ and ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

“When I returned the following summer, I was given the additional duty of escorting tours of the public through the building…When we got to Ed Wilson’s studio, I found that many people didn’t think Ed should pick on me, and they thought I should stand up to him. As I made my rounds through the building, I began to realize that many of the secretaries felt the same way, so I decided to act. When Ed sent me out to buy his favorite cigar, I loaded it with a novelty exploding device. As luck would have it, it went off on the air.”

There were also vivid memories of the facility: “Its two big studios were actually suspended by cables to dampen the rumble of nearby underground trains and other noise such as traffic and thunder that might compromise the quality of the superior FM signal. The facility was designed with a central control room with four studios around it – two larger ones for audience participation shows and two smaller ones used by Ed Wilson, Gil Newsome and the news department.” They were also air-conditioned.

Robert Thomas Convey, Jr., ran into a legal problem when his father died in 1970, and it could be traced back to his dad’s early radio days. “Early in his career, my father used the stage name of ‘Robert Thomas.’ His given name was Thomas Robert Convey, Eventually he was using the stage name everywhere (Robert Thomas Convey on driver’s license, contracts, etc.), even though he had never changed it legally. When I was born in 1937, I was given that name with a ‘Jr.’ after it, and it was not until my father’s death in 1970 that I learned I had been a junior under false pretenses!”

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 10/2002)

Although KWK with Thomas Patrick Convey at its helm was started with the proverbial shoestring, the credit does not belong solely to him.

Correlative to his ceaseless efforts to bring the little station out of troubled waters into being one of the finest of the city are those of Mrs. Convey who has been at the station ever since the first six months of its existence.

With its beginning back in 1927, KWK occupied but one small room on the top of the Hotel Chase with Thomas Patrick as the chief and sole announcer. Because he was working too hard and because the two had always been accustomed to sharing the same interests, Mrs. Convey volunteered to lend her musical training and capabilities to the cause. Like most men, he demurred at her working but she won out and came down there as program director, assistant announcer and performer all in one.

Mrs. Convey, whose home is in Chicago, is a graduate of the Chicago Conservatory of Music, and it is with this musical background as well as with the years of experience that she is able to choose and direct the program of the station. She is known to the audience as Peggy Austin.

When the station was first started, Mr. Convey came to work at 6 o’clock in the morning – announcing and directing programs. Mrs. Convey was the accompanist – part time announcer and kept things running smoothly. During the baseball season, Thomas Patrick would announce until time to go to the game, then Mrs. Convey played records announcing them as they went on until he got to the ballpark. Until he returned from the park she would keep the ball rolling in the same manner.

“Mr. Convey and I have always worked together on things and exchanged our ideas,” she said. “There are many things about the programs and the artists for which he has to depend on me and of course I know very little about the mechanics of the station. So we are dependent upon each other.

“Radio grows more and more interesting and so I could not leave off my work as program director if I wanted to, for to me it is the most absorbing interest that I have ever known. It is constantly changing and ever new.”

Radio and Entertainment Magazine May 28, 1932 (unsigned)