March 30, 1952.

It was my last night at ABC radio as night program manager, and became one of the most memorable nights of my life.  Night program mangers at radio networks had the responsibility for rescheduling staff announcers and even filling in for them when one did not make it to work. That was duty-one, duty-two was to handle any unforeseen emergency that occurred when the night program manager was on duty.

March 30, 1952 was the night ABC radio was moving from Rockefeller Center to new studios further uptown on 66th street near Central Park West.  It was also the day that Harry Truman made the dramatic and surprise announcement that he was not running for another term as President of the United States.  The announcement created an “unforeseen emergency,” because the news department wanted the following day’s broadcast schedule changed to allow for a special program on the President’s announcement.

I was on the phone frantically attempting to find a program to cancel when the movers came in and took the small couch from my office; when I chose a classical quartet program to cancel, they came in and took my desk.  The program to be cancelled was a Chicago “feed,” so the broadcast cable group had to be notified.  The mover’s took my chair.

I sat on the not-to-clean floor confirming the changes and making sure the news department was fully informed.  I kept the phone in my hands, dialing number after number for almost four hours.

Finally, squatting on the floor, I hung up the phone, tired and quite uncomfortable.

The phone rang.  Instead of shouting “what the hell do you want now?”  I muttered a weary “hello.” After all, this was my last night at the network.  A very pleasant female voice asked, “To whom am I speaking, please?” I told her, and she then said, “This is nurse somebody at Queens Hospital.  Congratulations, you are the father of a beautiful girl, born in good health one hour ago. Mother and child are doing quite well”

Faster than a speeding bullet, I dashed to the subterranean chambers below Rock Center to the subways, and took the one to Long Island, connected to a bus and made it to the hospital.

Almost 12 years later—through a strange set of circumstances—I was asked to be press agent for former President Truman when he visited Indiana to speak at a Labor Day celebration. One of my duties was to set up a news conference at the Spencer Hotel in Marion, Indiana. In his room at the hotel, before coming down to face the media, I told him about that night.  I remarked, that if my newborn child had been a boy, I would have named him Truman.

The late great president had an unusual laugh, sort of half chuckle, half guffaw.

I can still hear it.

(Flayed Fox is a history nerd who writes about episodes in North America that never made it to the History Books. To learn about his latest book, Cannibalism, Headhunting and Human Sacrifice in North America, visit historynerds.com).

This isn’t a Jim Hiller Blog.

Jim and I are friends, but our lives have been quite antithetical.  I’m peeking over the hill, sneaking up to 80 years on this planet, and my experience in grocery management and marketing—what little there is—comes from being the CEO and major shareholder of a small national company that made and marketed household cleaning products.  I sold the company a long time ago, and I don’t think Hiller’s was one of our customers.  I didn’t know him in those days, anyhow.

But, let me share a few of my adventures with you.  While at Bosse High School in Evansville, Indiana, I won a few state-wide public speaking contests, and this new-fame got me an offer from a radio station for a job as a part-time announcer.  Years later while announcing and introducing a political program, I came to the attention of one of the participants—U. S. Senator Joseph McCarthy.  After the show, the Senator said “If you will put out that cigarette, young man, I would like to ask you a question.”  Panic-stricken, I grabbed for an ash tray.  The Senator asked me what I would like to do when I finally left this small station in this small town.  Very nervously I told him that I would like to go to New York and work for The Voice of America.  He replied with a very derogatory remark about this section of the United States Department of State, and then, much to my surprise, gave me a card after he boldly printed the name “Mary” on it.  The Senator had a very dominating voice; he used it to tell me to phone Mary, his secretary in Washington.

Less than six months later my wife and I were driving to New York City to accept the position as the first ever 21-year-old program producer at The Voice of America.  If you are old enough to remember Senator Joseph McCarthy and his constant and persistent battle with the State Department, it is not too difficult to understand that many of my co-workers and supervisors at the Voice believed that I was his “spy,” although, of course, they never called me that to my face.  I understood their unspoken suspicion, and I was fearful of losing my first BIG job.  I made one good friend there, Telly Savalas, and I told him of my fear.  Telly said that there was a job vacancy at ABC radio.  The position was Night Program Manager at their studios in Rockefeller Center.  Since the Voice job was in the morning and early afternoon, he suggested that I attempt to get the ABC night job and work them both, that way I would be covered if the suspicious State Department managers fired me.  I got the job.

(Writing this brings back a lot of memories, especially about my friend—now departed—Telly Savalas.  Telly spoke perfect Greek and was an on-the-air voice at the Voice.  He left the Voice and became a TV star with his Kojak series and followed it with a few movies.  Once he took me to one of his favorite bars in NYC. He told me, the naïve Hoosier kid, that it was time to learn about the big city.  We were on bar stools when an absolutely gorgeous red head walked up and greeted Telly.  Telly told her to show his friend (me) what she has.  With both hands she stripped off her blouse and boobly bra-less giggled at me. I damn near fainted.  She began really laughing then, refastened her blouse and walked away.  Her profession was obvious, but Telly told me about it anyway.)

For about a year in the early 1950’s I worked the two jobs, 16 hours a day. That is, until the famous newsman Edward R. Murrow, and a few members of the United States Senate began questioning the veracity of Senator McCarthy’s claims that the State Department was run by communists and communist sympathizers.  Slowly the Senator’s influence and reputation began to slip away.  And it wasn’t long after when the power group at the Voice of America thought it would be safe to terminate his young spy—me.  Of course, they never accused me of being one . . . in fact, it all happened so many years ago that I don’t remember the excuse they gave me, but I wasn’t his spy. I never spoke with Senator McCarthy, his secretary or any of his staff after that day in Evansville when he told me to put out my cigarette.  And I stopped smoking.

It was Jimmy’s blog on cigarettes that brought this all back . . . youthful adventures I had almost forgotten.  Maybe, just maybe, if you can’t buy your cigarettes where you buy your groceries, you might stop too. You could live as long as I have.