Sat Mar 28 20:36:02 EDT 2009
At 08:29 PM 3/28/2009, Kevin Vahey wrote:
>Larry was so popular at WMEX Time Magazine did a story on him.
Yes, indeed. And here's the portion about him--
the rest was about other late-night d.j.'s and
what they meant to their audience.
TIME magazine, 18 June 1965
It is just before 1 a.m., any 1 a.m. from Monday
through Saturday, and the din from the next-door
Bowladrome has died away when Larry Glick climbs
to the second-floor studio of Boston's WMEX ("the
ever-new Wee-Mex, Home of Modern Radio"), eases
himself into his chair, its torn plastic cushion
oozing sponge rubber. Around him are ashtrays
half-filled with cigarettes left by the daytime
rock 'n' roll D.J.s. Staring at him is the
control panel held together with electrical tape.
On the scarred horseshoe table sits a six-line
beige telephone, equipped with six lights that
will flicker when the telephone calls come in.
But first he relaxes as his taped introduction is
played over the air: "Well, it's night and
everything's all right. Just as right as it can
be. Ladies and gentlemen, you're tuned to the new
WMEX in the new Boston. The station in a growing
Boston, headquarters for the nighttime Glicknics.
A Glicknic is a thing called happiness, and
happiness is a thing called Larry Glick."
This is Glick's signal to turn himself on, and
hunching toward the mike, a big smile spreading
over his face, he greets the great unseen
listening audience in his deep, friendly
baritone: "How do you feel? I really mean it. How
are you getting along with your wife? How are you
getting along with your boy friend? We'll discuss
all these things. CO 2-9600. You call us. You're
the star of this show." And before he is done,
the lights do go on. The fans are calling in, and
Larry Glick's all-night hot-line show is in business.
2 1/2 Years on the Bottle. Glick's telephone
call-in program is just one of dozens that are
proliferating across the U.S., giving the platter
parades and baseball broadcasts a run for the
ratings. Glick, 43, now with his eighth radio
station since 1953, has become a glib, gemütlich
master of the new formula. All he has to defend
himself against his telephone callers is a
tape-delay device, which gives him a four-second
time lag in which to erase obscenities from the
air. To ease the strain, there is an occasional
celebrity visitor such as Songstress Edie Adams or Rocky Marciano.
The rest is up to the listeners, and for Glick's
fans it provides nighttime fare that combines all
the appeal of a stormy town meeting with the
piquancy of listening in on the party line to
real-life drama. "Oh Larry," begins one mother's
voice, "my boy's been on the bottle for the last
2½ years; what am I going to do?" Another caller
wants to wipe up the Viet Cong, the next
discusses self-hypnotism, a third knocks himself
out with his own imitation of Bobby Kennedy, and
then along in the wee small hours comes a dope
addict, who swears he would have committed
suicide long ago if Larry had not made him feel
that he "belonged to a family." [snip]
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