Chapter 3: [part of] California Love

One unforgettable moment came while I was walking past the Disneyland Hotel—part of Walt’s kingdom of magic and imagination. Behind a glass window, a KEZY-AM radio jock was broadcasting live. I stood there, spellbound. He read live commercials, interviewed celebrities, and played the latest hits while waving to passersby like an old friend. Something about it ignited my passion. That single moment seemed like a sunburst breaking through clouds. I watched the entire four-hour broadcast and couldn’t wait to tell my friend Max: “Man, you won’t believe what I just saw!”
KEZY wasn’t the only place that stirred my imagination. I used to cruise past the KFI studios on Vermont Avenue, soaking up their energy. I couldn’t see the DJs behind the glass, but the signal pulsed through my speakers as if welcoming me into their world. 
KROY in Sacramento let fans see it all. With a sidewalk-facing window and an old drive-in speaker for two-way communication, KROY brought radio into the streets. KTBT in San Bernardino and KOWN in Escondido had similar setups. Those experiences were surreal—akin to entering a Marvel comic and having Iron Man and Black Panther shake my hand.
When visiting my Alabama friends in Pasadena, I always made a detour to the KRLA studio inside the Huntington Hotel. Its glass-front design invited passersby to step in and meet the DJs—the legendary “Eleven-Ten Men,” named for KRLA’s position on the AM dial: 1110.
Those stations showed what radio was—close, personal, and human. Their studios invited everyday people right into the magic behind the microphone.
Whenever I witnessed a live on-air personality in action, it recharged me. It was more than just excitement—it was therapy. In moments of doubt, I replayed those mental movie reels from KEZY, KFI, KROY, and KRLA. They reminded me of why I’d chosen this path.
Later, college professors taught me the power of visualization. I took it to heart—seeing myself on air, hearing my voice, and moving in sync with the rhythm of a broadcast. My mind became my training ground. Imagery, focus, and inner calm were essential tools. When setbacks came, I reminded myself to stay grounded, avoid snap judgments, and move forward with quiet focus.
While other students covered their dorm walls with posters of athletes or activists, my apartment told a different story. I hung photos of broadcast tower sites, studios, and the broadcasters I admired—people like Bruce “The Roos,” Larry McCormick, Robert W. Morgan, “Magnificent” Montague, and Shelly “The Playboy” Pope. Some friends joked that I should have chosen Judy Pace or Raquel Welch. Maybe so—but my heart was already in the studio.
At a certain point, I realized those images weren’t just decorations. They reflected my journey and ambition. Life, I learned, is about writing your melody. Like each note, each memory adds richness and harmony to the score.

. . .