“Gordon McLendon and Me”
by Don Keyes

Chapter One

“How I Stopped Calling Him Mr. McLendon”

My parents raised me to be polite to not only my elders but anybody in a position of authority. To this day I remain polite with traffic cops. To do otherwise is financial folly. When we moved from New England to Dallas in 1947 I quickly learned in school that male teachers were called “Sir” and females, “Ma’am”. Therefore, while working as the 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM dee-jay at KLIF around 1954 I respectfully referred to our boss as “Mister McLendon”. When he might pass me in the hall he’d usually smile and say “Hey, Big Don”. I’d respond with “Hi, Mr. McLendon”. I felt flattered that he knew my name. This formal relationship ended one Friday evening.

We had been promoting the fact that Gordon would broadcast a play by play recreation of the annual Blue-Gray game at 7:00 PM that Friday evening. Since this was during my air shift I wondered what role I might play if any. Maybe I could go home early! Around 6:45 PM our Chief Engineer Glenn Callison came into the Control Room where I was sitting playing my 78’s (Yes, you do remember 78’s don’t you?) loaded down with ten inch reels of tape containing stadium sound effects which he proceeded to load onto the rack-mounted Ampex 350’s. About five minutes to seven I went down the hall to Mr. McLendon’s office.

He was nursing a bourbon and coke and smoking a cigarette. I said “’Scuse me Mr. McLendon but it’s almost game time.” He smiled a condescending smile and said he’d be right there. So I retreated to the Control Room and cued up my last record of the hour. I asked Callison who would be reading the commercials and he said he didn’t know but thought that it would be me since I was the only announcer on duty. At that point, McLendon came bouncing into the booth that was adjacent to the Control Room and gestured for me to come in with him and for Callison to take over the board operation. Shaking with fear and trying not to show it I entered the booth with The Great Man and sat down at the table which held two microphones.

McLendon had already taken his seat and was wearing the only pair of headphones in the room. He could not only hear himself but could also hear the crowd noise from the tapes. As the sweep second hand on the studio clock hit 7:00 PM, Callison pointed at him, opened his mike and the electrifying words came spilling out in his staccato machine gun delivery. “Hello evuhbody evuhwhere, this is the Old Scotchman Gordon McLendon from high atop the press box way up in the azure skies of Hawaii where tonight..” and on he went.

His resonant baritone rich with the romance of the football game and then rising to a high pitched crescendo of excitement. A Western Union telegrapher was feeding him ticker tape reports of what was happening and that fertile mind with it’s uncanny grasp of our language quickly painted word pictures in the listeners mind. I was entranced by all this but my reverie was quickly shattered when he said “There’s a time-out down on the field and that means it’s time for Don Keyes”

With that, he slid over a manila folder containing all the live commercials, pushed the earphone across the table at me and proceeded to go to the men’s room along with his well-doctored bourbon and coke. I clamped the headphones on tightly and spoke the immortal words “Thanks, Gordon” and waded into a series of 5 or 6 30 second spots all of them little Mom and Pop businesses .

As I neared the end of the stack I kept cutting my eyes toward the door wondering what tha hell I should do if he’s not back on time. But sure enough, with his usual disarming grin he stepped back into the booth. As I breathed a great sigh of relief, he took the earphones just in time for me to say something like “And now, once again, here’s Gordon McLendon. Gordon?” Migawd, I’d called the boss by his first name not once but twice! And I was still gainfully employed! Being terribly smart I sensed somehow that saying “Now, here’s Mr. McLendon!” just wouldn’t sound right.

The rest of the first half went without incident and I was actually getting comfortable in my new role although it was difficult to maintain a feeling of presence without a headset.

As the clock crawled toward half-time I began to wonder what we would do during that time period when there was no athletic activity on the playing field. I skipped out to ask Callison and he didn’t know either. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Just as I entered the booth, McLendon nailed me down with the words, “There’s the gun signaling the end of the first half. I’ll be back shortly but now to describe the colorful half-time activities, here again is Don Keyes!”

I thought I’d have a stroke!. He flipped me a grin along with the solitary headset and left the room, presumably for a Coca Cola refresher. It was on that night when I learned to truly ad lib. The Western Union telegrapher had typed out a line about the card section doing something in red and blue and then apparently, had gone for a hot dog break. I did the only thing I could do (other than crying). I clamped the cans on tightly, shut my eyes and described anything I had ever seen or hoped to see at a half-time.

Not being a real sports fan, especially for this game, I really had no idea who was playing and couldn’t have cared less. I had no idea of the various school colors worn by the bands. I used words like “Brilliant”, “Eye catching” , “resplendent”, “gaudy” always skirting around the real issue of color. Callison’s tapes were still playing under me and every time one of those annoying stadium 3 piece combos replete with Kazoos would strike up a tune I’d say “Let’s go down there and pick up some of that good band music!” while gesturing to Callison to turn up the tape volume.

Then, while the so-called band music was playing I’d sit there and try to figure out what to say next when the music stopped. Oh, I did the usual about the dog on the field trying to get the stick from the bass drummer, I had the neighborhood pigeons flying in formation over the stadium. I had the matronly lady in the flowered hat leaning over the rail trying to get someone’s attention on the bench.

And of course, I could always hide behind those good ol’ 30 second spots which I did as often as possible. To KLIF, this was a chance to show off Gordon’s considerable skill and make a few bucks from what was really an obscure football game. To me, I was center stage at the Super Bowl ! This went on for 22 painful, unending minutes! Twenty two minutes of adlibbing a great work of sheer fiction.

Twenty Two minutes until he hit the door with a fresh drink and a mischievous leer which gave me the opportunity to say, “And now, to continue to describe tonight’s game, here once again is The Old Scotchman, Gordon McLendon!”

And that’s how this wonderful man became “Gordon” instead of “Mr. McLendon”.

As my pal Kent Burkhart would say, “I know because I was there!”

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e-mail don@donkeyesonline.com