Get It

5/26/1995

It’s been a strange week in L.A. And trust me, bud, when it’s a strange week in Los Angeles, it’s got to be totally out of whack everywhere else. Because here in never-never land, we thrive on strange, but this week, we could be setting a new curve.

Maybe it’s because I bought a house today, a house located in a restricted zip code (meaning it doesn’t qualify for home insurance because it’s right on the fault line). I did that after reading the headline in the L.A. Times that said housing in Southern California hadn’t rebounded as expected and was now expected to fall to a new, all-time low. But I’ve lived my life betting against the house and it seemed fitting to continue to buck the odds…by betting on one.

I mean, anyone can play it safe, but it takes a true rebel to cut against the grain…every time out. Why take the chalk at this late date?

It started with a  conversation this morning with one of the most important women in our business. She called me to help her construct a quote for a magazine that is doing a story on the success of women in our industry. Why me? It wasn’t sol long ago that this same person was crucifying me for running unflattering pictures of half-naked women on Page 6. She was instrumental in forever banning said pictures, much to the dismay of the swine among our subscription base who foraged for my home number and continue to call me at all hours of the night demanding more skin. Yet she asked for, no, demanded my help in preparing a quote for her article.

When I questioned her about my qualifications, based on her earlier castigations of my editorial acumen, she mumbled some vague yet poignant comment about how she really knew the real me and was positive my true beliefs outshadowed my cheap attempts at gaining new, albeit low-life, subscribers. (It is possible that I am not really who I pretend to be, but live in the eyes of those who can actually see through the shoddy veneer with which I’ve covered my real personality so I can run one day for public office? Nope. I’ve already done that.) So I helped her and discounted the brief ripple in the force as a one-in-a-blue-moon long shot.

Shortly thereafter, I was approached by one of the format editors of Network 40 who asked permission to run a picture in her section featuring a nearly naked man. This editor was one of the most vocal about the aforementioned pictures of semi-nude women on Page 6. When I questioned the dichotomy of her actions, I found myself on the opposite side of the argument she had so vigorously pursued only a few months ago. The difference, she explained so eloquently, between the pictures of naked men and named women, was a matter of class.

So I was faced with a dilemma. If I run a picture of naked men, will my phones be ringing off the hook from the male readers who will tell me that I’m using naked men in a demeaning manner to further the success of the magazine?

It’s a question for the ages…one that I am neither able, nor willing, to answer in this century. Whether or not the picture runs, I feel, will be more a matter of the will of the editor rather than being based on some momentous, philosophical decision on my part. Arguing with a woman who is more intelligent than you is Chinese water torture at best and bamboo shoots under the fingernails at worst, and when it comes down to the short strokes, I know I’ll lose this one…if for all the wrong reasons.

So I excused myself from the argument, put off the inevitable and retired to the dark recesses of a local bar to have a few cocktails with my second-favorite person in the record business. Who’s number one? Everybody else. Okay, it’s a lame joke, but I’ve ridden it this far and the finish line is drawing closer so I’ll just keep beating it.

One of the reasons this guy is really one of my favorite people is that he recognized that he is one of the smarter people in the room, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. We talked about the out-of-control egos that dominate our business and laughed about those who believe in the hype when they are only setting themselves up for the big fall.

Of course, we were quick to assure each other that we were not part of this pack of dogs, that we know who we are and can avoid the pitfalls and traps set for the others. Neither of us noticed the distinct “clank” as the cage shut.

I like this person because he boils everything down into one expression: “You get it.” It’s really that simple, yet totally unexplainable. We can talk for hours and he sums up the entire conversation with this phrase. The words get in the way because both of us “get it.”

It reminds me of the years I spent working with the absolute, positive best general manger in the history of radio: the late Pat Norman, who captained the legendary KFRC San Francisco through the likes of Hal Martin, Les Garland and yours truly. Pat loved to have a cocktail or two and, as all of us do, tended to pontificate about almost anything and everything under the warmth from the golden hue of the nectar of the vine.

Pat talked in what I like to call “strobe talk.” He seldom completed a thought and never quite ended a sentence. I would sit and act as if I knew exactly what he was saying. He always ended these rambling with the phrase, “Do you get it?”

Not wanting to expose my complete ignorance or embarrass him, I always answered in the positive.

After working with the man for nearly five years, we went out for a night of celebration and since I was feeling more confident than usual, I actually drank more “intelligent” medicine than he did. I was primed and ready when he ended one of his philosophical lectures with his usual hypothetical question: “Do you get it?”

I gathered myself, took a deep breath (and another shot of courage) and said, “I’ve been working with you for five years. Nearly every day, you asked me if I got it and I always answered affirmative. I must tell you that not only tonight, but never have I answered truthfully. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, nor have I ever. I do not get it.”

A long, yet not uncomfortable silence followed. I bit my lip and held his gaze, positive that I had made a grave error, totally unaware that I had made a major breakthrough. He stared at me across the table for a few moments, smiled and knocked back the rest of his drink. “Then you get it,” he said quietly.

And I did. The question is: Do you?