It's still dark at this time of day, and the rain and fog don't help matters any. There is more traffic on Pittsburgh's South Side than one might expect this early in the morning, mostly trucks rolling down East Carson Street on their way to their daily deliveries.
I pass an upscale pool hall, walking beneath the scaffolding on the sidewalk, find the entrance to an office building marked "Pittsburgh Business Times" and punch the code for WYEP into the security system at the door. Joe buzzes to let me in. I take the elevator to the second floor, pass through a hallway lit by neon bars of blue, pink, purple and yellow, turn a corner by a law office and encounter a bright red "On Air" sign, my first clear indication that I am in the right place.
The door to the radio station leads into a corridor which also serves as the music library. Shelves of CD's marked with colorcoded tape and filed by genre line the walls. A red light above a door on the left identifies the location of the studio. I enter the booth where morning host Joe Resch sits behind a U-shaped desk facing a soundboard with ten separate slider controls. Above the board are a computer monitor and a book of underwriting announcements. Immediately to the right of that sits a stack of three CD players. To the left, a couple of cartridge style tape decks precede two boom microphones and chairs for guests. Another microphone hangs directly in front of Joe.
At 6:00 AM Joe puts on headphones, turns off the studio speakers hanging from the heating duct above us, clears his throat and pulls back one slider control to fade out of "Marketplace," a satellite-fed program that is just ending, while pushing forward another to make his own mike live. He sits on the edge of his red swivel chair and leans forward into the mike, his elbows perched against the back of the chair, his feet wrapped around the wheels, his mouth practically touching the foam microphone cover, as he identifies the station and announces the time and weather. At precisely 6:01 he returns to the satellite feed to pick up the "Monitor Radio News Headlines." He repeats this ritual every hour.
The clock on the soundboard is four seconds off, and since accurate timing is crucial, a yellow post-it has been stuck next to it as a reminder to the DJ's to compensate accordingly.
Joe sets up his first two CD's while the news is on and at precisely 6:04 (6:03:56 board time) he again manipulates the controls to enliven his mike. After a brief introduction, he slides the controls again and Fiona Apple begins WYEP's musical broadcasting day.
Legend has it that Pittsburgh's version of independent, public radio was born when some unknown biker ventured into a Harley-Davidson repair shop on Cable Place in Oakland to pick up his motorcycle, a cherry red Sportster, which had been left for some minor repairs. He wheeled the vehicle out to the street, straddled its shiny, chrome-laden body and kicked the starter. The engine turned over and immediately seized, pistons and cylinders welding together in a moment of intense heat and pressure into a twist of useless metal. The repair shop subsequently went out of business and the Pittsburgh Community Broadcasting Company rented the available space for its fledgeling community radio station, WYEP.
It has been over twenty years since then, and WYEP, though it has gone through a lot of changes, including twice relocating its studios and even going off the air for nearly two years, is stronger and more successful than ever. Although the originally all volunteer on-air staff is now supplemented by three full-time professional DJ's, the spirit of volunteerism remains.
Joe, for example, like most staff members, began his relationship with WYEP as a listener. He started volunteering in December 1988 and was hired as the morning host in May 1996. He continues to do free lance graphic design as well. Program Director and afternoon host Rosemary Welsch explains, "People who work at WYEP don't do it for the money. They do it because they share a passion for the music and a passion for what the station is all about. We are lucky to have real people who are enthusiastic about what they do and about where they live. It really is about music that matters."
This passion is shared by the audience as well. Since WYEP is a public radio station, it depends on member contributions for 60% of its budget. Perhaps partially as a result of this direct involvement, listeners feel that they are a part of the station, that they are in on something special, something the rest of the world is missing out on. It is my interest in defining this "something special" that has brought me here. The idea is to be a fly on the wall, a detached observer of WYEP's operations at various points in time, to discover truth through osmosis.
Joe's work day actually starts at 5:00 AM when he comes in to relieve the overnight host. "Monitor Radio" runs from 5:00 to 6:00 and only requires that Joe break in with time and temperature twice during the hour. Joe spends the rest of the hour browsing in the CD library picking out his musical selections for the day. This selection process determines most of the content of his show for the day and requires solitude and concentration.
A window to Joe's right looks into the performance area, currently undergoing renovation. A light comes on in the room and a pair of construction workers nod to Joe as they pass through. On the opposite wall, a row of windows gaze out towards the Monongahela and the city beyond. It is starting to get light, though still a long way from bright. Joe announces that the fog is starting to lift, revealing the bottom of the Cathedral of Learning, though the top remains enveloped in the mist.
Over by the door, in front of the DJ's desk, are the mailboxes and bulletin board. Along with memos from various staff members, the board features letters from the Mellon Jazz Festival, YWCA Week Without Violence, Greater Pittsburgh Community Food Bank, Pittsburgh AIDS Walk, Carnegie Museum Summer Concert Series and Allegheny County¹s Hartwood Acres Music Series thanking WYEP for its participation in and support of each organization's activities.
Music Director and midday host Greg Meitus arrives around 8:00, carrying an appointment book and microphone cover, and passes through the booth intermittently over the next two hours. Besides selecting music for his own upcoming shift, he completes and posts the week's new playlist, the 60 new releases chosen for regular rotation on the station's Music Mix programs.
The playlist selections are kept on a shelf at the back of the studio behind the DJ. Each CD is colorcoded, red for heavy, yellow for medium and green for light rotation, and labeled with 4-5 recommended cuts. DJ's are required to include two plays from each rotation list in each hour of the Music Mix. The remainder of the selections comes from the catalog of older material and provides the DJ with an opportunity to express his own creativity and personality. About three quarters of the music played is in the Album Adult Alternative (Triple A) category, although each hour also contains one or two modern rock plays, one or two blues cuts, and an occasional "spice" element, such as international music, reggae, jazz or folk. Except for special features, the same artist is not repeated in a four hour period and the same song, theoretically, is not repeated in the same day.
It was Rosemary Welsch, along with former Program Director Mikel Ellcessor, who pioneered WYEP's current format. When the station decided to drop jazz programming, it needed something to fill the morning slot and Mike suggested that Rosemary do a show called "Kaleidoscope" which brought together some of the diverse elements the station was already playing. "I was doing both a rock show and a folk show at the time," she explains, "so I just took the more mellow parts of the rock music and mixed it up with the more contemporary folk material. As time went on, we gradually took out the more extreme elements and started introducing some other types of music." It was this combination that evolved into today's Music Mix that now dominates WYEP's weekday programming and has been largely responsible for the growth in popularity of WYEP.
After 9:00, when most listeners have already arrived at work, it is not necessary to do as many time and temperature breaks, so Joe begins the hour with an extended set of music from Crowded House, Jim Lauderdale, Dave Matthews Band and Ani DeFranco. In the ensuing break he reads an underwriting message, updates the weather and reminds listeners that WYEP is member-supported and that their pledges of support are needed to keep it running. As Robert Bradley's Blackwater Surprise begins the next set, the phone rings.
"WYEP," answers Joe. There is a pause, then he laughs. "We try to get in as much music as we can," he says. "Usually, we play 12 or 13 songs an hour. That's probably 20% more than most stations." He pauses again. "Thanks for your call," he adds before hanging up.
"What was that last set, 20 minutes of uninterrupted music?" he asks me. "That guy was complaining that I talk too much. I guess he didn't like me asking for members."
One of the calls Joe receives during his show is from Marketing Director Bob Addleman, who often starts his day making some phone calls from home before he actually comes into the station. He arrives at about 11:30 and heads for his desk where he hangs his Pirates jacket on the back of his chair, checks his voice mail and returns his calls, in many cases leaving a message on someone else's voice mail. At Joe's request, he begins work on a form to be used for ticket giveaways that includes all pertinent information and avoids questions the DJ can't answer. He wears jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt and sports a full, black beard. The pattern of argyle socks peeks out above his black athletic shoes. His desk is clear enough to work on, though the area around it is cluttered with promotional materials, family pictures and a plaque proclaiming "I am a volunteer at the Greater Pittsburgh Community Food Bank."
Bob is the only member of WYEP's staff with a background in commercial radio. He is also one of the few staff members who did not start as a volunteer, though he was a listener and member even while working for other stations. Although the money is better in commercial radio, Bob generally prefers public, especially WYEP.
"I am into doing good radio," he explains, sitting back in his chair and speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "I have a firm belief that radio, above all things, should be fun. Even an all news station can be fun and entertaining if it is done the right way. Some public stations are not good radio. That includes some large stations with lots of resources and high-priced talent. Sometimes they come across as stuffy and boring."
Commercial radio also has a tendency, complains Bob, to take the fun out it. Commercial stations are driven by research and demographics and there is very little room for creativity. Program directors don't necessarily have an ear for music, concentrating instead on data that comes out of computers. "When you play it safe all the time, it is less fun."
WYEP is in business just like commercial radio, but has different needs. It only needs to be compelling enough to enough people to keep it going. It tries to serve as many people as it can as opposed to pleasing advertisers.
The primary difference between commercial and public radio, according to Bob, is that while public radio delivers a service to an audience, commercial radio delivers an audience to its advertisers. The advertisers are the customers and the audience is the product. As a result, advertisers carry an undue influence over programming. That doesn't happen at WYEP. Although the station receives about 20% of its revenues from commercial underwriting, Bob does not actively solicit underwriters, preferring that businesses who wish to contribute in exchange for announcements do so entirely on their own volition. "Underwriting," he says, "is just an extension of membership."
Bob completes and prints the new giveaway form and leaves a copy on Joe's desk for his perusal. As he gets ready to go to lunch, the screen on his computer is replaced with a banner proclaiming "Shared vision makes all things possible."
While others prepare for their midday meal, Rosemary needs to prepare for her upcoming show. As she strolls through the library, picking out CD's, I sit at a small desk trying to remember and jot down everything that has occurred in the last hour or so. "Are you really writing or are you eavesdropping?" she asks, mischief dancing in her Clinique-free eyes.
The conference room, which also serves as the kitchen, stands directly in front of me, separated from the rest of the office by a frosted Plexiglas room divider. One end of the room holds a mini-refrigerator, microwave, coffee pot and various foodstuffs. During the station's recent membership campaign, this room served as the phone center. A table in the middle of the room held four telephones, a cup full of pens and several piles of pledge forms, premium lists, instructions and notepads for use by volunteers in taking pledges. Shelves along the far wall overflowed with envelopes, invoices, CD's, T-shirts and coffee mugs.
Now that the campaign has ended, however, the station is in the process of expansion, and the conference room is being moved. The table and chairs have already been removed and the floor is cluttered with assorted boxes and disconnected computer components, which have yet to be relocated.
Kate Grannemann prepares her lunch in the kitchen, warming her tea in the microwave. Since there is no place to sit, she stands as she eats. She has been involved with WYEP almost since it began, mostly as a volunteer. She previously worked as a therapist but says she never liked it much. When her husband, also a WYEP volunteer, died several years ago in a car accident, Kate came to realize the importance of doing what really matters, and when an opportunity came along for a full-time position at WYEP, she took advantage. "I love working at WYEP," she says.
A tall man with long black hair carrying a guitar case enters the station, approaches me and asks for Greg. Surmising that he is Billy Mann, a touring singer-songwriter who will be doing a show later this evening at a local club and is stopping by WYEP for an interview and live performance, I escort him to the performance area, show him where to set up and go into the booth to let Greg know he is here.
Mary Pam, the station's engineer, fetches Billy a cup of hot water to clear his throat, before returning to the control room to operate the equipment that only she understands. Billy's cousin and traveling companion Jake, who wears a black polyester suit and red and blue plaid shirt and sports a buzz cut which makes him look like a young version of Curly Joe, informs me they just arrived in Pittsburgh at 7:00 AM after driving all night following a show in Ithaca, New York and are not quite awake. I take Jake into the booth so he can watch through the window as Greg joins Billy in the performance area to conduct the interview.
Soon after the performance, Greg wraps up his show and relinquishes the chair to Rosemary for the Afternoon Mix. She seems comfortable in the chair as she arranges her CD's into neat stacks. "We all have our own anal way of setting things up," she says. She is apparently at home.
As the news ends, she puts on the headphones and rolls over to the soundboard. She sits back in her chair but pulls it all the way forward so her face is right on top of the mike. She slides the controls quickly but smoothly with no effort or hesitation and announces the beginning of her show. All three CD players are already loaded and ready to go.
Rosemary says the afternoon show is easier to do and requires less preparation than the morning show. Since you usually get more requests, the mix is looser and not as fully planned out in advance. Rosemary believes that radio has to be spontaneous and willing to take risks and she takes that belief with her every time she goes on the air. Though she prefers to at least have an idea what she is going to say ahead of time, she is likely to say just about anything that comes into her head. "People don't tune in just for music," she says, "they are also looking for entertainment. I try to give them that. For the most part, I have a license to do whatever I want. The show is as good and creative as I make it."
Heather stops in, looks around and says, "There is something different in here." "The sun finally came out," replies Rosemary.
"Is that what that is?"
Rosemary puts on the headphones and, when the song that is playing ends, goes on the air and updates the weather, being sure to comment that it is finally sunny after four days of rain.
"One time I walked over to my desk while the music was playing and saw somebody sitting at his desk playing solitaire, so when I went back on air I said 'You! At your desk! Stop playing solitaire!' Somebody listening at that moment probably looked up from his computer game and said 'How'd she know?'"
"You try to find things people can identify with. People are impressed by what they are familiar with.
"If you are in the business of communication, you have to listen to what people say and what they think. I can't see my audience, so I talk to one person. That's the way people listen. They listen for themselves."
Kevin calls to make a request. "Be nice to me and I'll see if I can get it on," she tells him. "Nobody is beyond my harassment," she tells me.
Although Rosemary tries to honor as many requests as she can, it is not always possible. "The name of the band is Sublime?" she asks a caller, "I'm not familiar with them, but I'll see if we have it. The only thing is I'll have to listen to it first. If I don't get to it today, I'll keep it in mind for tomorrow."
"I've learned," she explains to me "that you have to prescreen the song that's requested if you don't know it to make sure it's appropriate. When Jane Siberry's Bound by the Beauty album first came out, some guy called me everyday to request a song in which she clearly says, 'fucking honky nigger jew wasp jap dag fag, fucking homeless preacher dike cabbie fucking union scab.' I kept telling him we couldn't play it and offered to play something else, but he kept calling back and arguing with me. I finally had to tell him to quit calling - I wasn't going to lose my job because he disagreed with the policy.
"Sometimes you have to be blunt without being rude. I've learned how to do that. You have to be all things to all people and it's just not possible. When I was doing the morning show some guy called about an REM song I was playing, saying it was too loud for early in the morning. I had to put him on hold when another call came in. The woman on the other line complained about the same song, saying it was putting her to sleep. I wanted to connect them to each other and say, 'Here. You two work this out.'" Rosemary readily admits that by stressing diversity she risks alienating some listeners. She gets phone calls all the time complaining about one thing or another. "If anybody said to me they like everything we play," she says, "I would have to say they have absolutely no taste."
On the other hand, she adds, "If I were programming according to my taste it would be so esoteric, no one would listen. When I go home and put on a CD, I tend to go for the more extreme stuff that we don't play. It's not that I don't like what we play here, it's just that I've already heard it."
Rosemary began her own career as a volunteer at WYEP fifteen years ago when she was 22. In June, 1990 she became the station's first full-time, paid DJ. In between, she worked a lot of different jobs - waitress, office clerk, etc. - but from the moment she began volunteering, she knew that it was working at WYEP that she really wanted. "I love what I do. There are times when I hear people talking about their jobs, and I realize how lucky I am to be in the position I am in. I am proud to tell people I work for WYEP. I have not always felt that way about other jobs I have had."
She goes out to the library to search for some requests. When she comes back she is accompanied by two members of the performance art group Squonk Opera who are coming in for a live interview promoting their new show. Supporting the local arts community, especially the offbeat arts community that doesn't usually get much public exposure, is, after all, a large part of what WYEP is all about.
By the time the Evening Mix begins, it is again dark outside, and the view from the studio has changed to a sheet of black glass punctuated by distant points of light. As usual, John Walker has picked out more CD's than he can possibly play in a 4 1/2 hour shift. Dressed in a T-shirt and baseball cap, he sits in the dimly lit booth surrounded by them, the chaos of their placement providing a marked contrast to the neatness and organization of the daytime DJ's. As the night goes on, the confusion will grow as listener's requests send him running back and forth to the library.
"I'm not really a DJ, but I play one on the radio," says John, describing his volunteer status. At midnight, when his shift is over, he will have to put all these CD's away before embarking on the long drive back to his Beaver County home. Still, he will show up on time for his day job in a warehouse in the morning.
"Guys I work with think I'm a little weird," he says, "but I don't care. Working here is the most fun you can have with your pants on."
John had been an avid listener for several years before beginning his volunteer work at WYEP in 1992. He started out stuffing envelopes, and when he was offered a regular on-air shift, he jumped at the chance.
"People ask me why I do this without getting paid," he says, "but, I'm just glad I don't have to pay them."
Back in the office side of the station, it is business as usual. I find myself wandering through what used to be the conference room. Autographed posters from the Cowboy Junkies, Ben Harper, Massive Attack, and Rusted Root adorn the walls, as well as a framed brochure from July 1972 when the concept of WYEP was first proposed. The brochure includes a sample program guide which suggests programming ranging from Brahms to Chuck Berry, and from Ralph Nader to the Young Republicans, all mixed together in half-hour allotments in an order that defies transitions. WYEP has come a long way since then.
"I hear people say they miss the good old days," Rosemary says. "Well, I was there in the good old days and they weren't so good. We had water leaking through the ceiling, mushrooms growing in the corners. You can't do good radio under those circumstances. There were bits of really good stuff, but it was inconsistent. "What WYEP offers now is a very nice balance. We are diverse but we are consistent."
I sit on the floor, my back leaning fly-like against the wall, maintaining a vantage point where I can keep an eye on things while scribbling in my notebook‹something about spontaneity and structure, enthusiasm and expertise, imagination and cold, hard fact. People come and go, acknowledging me as they pass, but not apparently finding my presence there particularly unusual.
Suddenly, though, I feel terribly silly and out of place. I glance around at the activity surrounding me and realize that there is simply no room here for detachment. There are no secrets in the shadows. There are no flies on these walls.
I never really thought of radio as a participatory medium, but it is. A DJ sits alone in a studio playing music in a vacuum and speaking into a microphone, and the sound of that music and that speech is turned into electrical impulses which travel mysteriously through telephone lines to remote transmitters where they are converted into electromagnetic waves which radiate silently for miles around until the sound magically reappears in the isolation of automobiles, office cubicles and walkmans and becomes part of peoples lives. Radio is communication. And good radio finds a way to make a connection between two points of loneliness and turn it into a shared experience. WYEP is good radio.
What makes WYEP special is, as Rosemary says, the passion - not only the passion for the music, but the passion for what is spontaneous and real, for exploring possibilities and taking risks, and for involvement and participation, as well. This passion is the common thread that unites professional and volunteer, young and old, male and female, black and white, folk and funk, bluegrass and blues, DJ and audience. It is the spirit of WYEP and it permeates and drives every aspect of the station's existence.
Laura comes into the room. She is a volunteer who has donated her day to help Kate with some things that need to be done around the station. The phone rings and she picks it up. "Good afternoon, WYEP," she says as if she works here.
Laura has finished the last task Kate gave her and is now in the process of moving some boxes of material from this room into the new conference room. I put down my pen and give her a hand.
Copyright © 1996 by Bruce Hoffman
This story also appears in the print version of The Pittsburgh Quarterly, Spring 1997.
