In 1982, when I was working in sales at WWVA-Radio, the stars lined up for the event were first-rate, including Loretta Lynn, Jerry Lee Lewis, and The Oak Ridge Boys. Attendance had grown to the 60,000 range, and to top it off country music was very cool nationwide.
John Travolta and Debra Winger had recently starred in “Urban Cowboy”. Mechanical bulls were in the every other bar and club. Tony Lama boots were a status symbol. Every singer wanted to record a song that could be considered a country crossover. In fact, one of WWVA’s slogans that year was, “We were country before country was cool”. And the WWVA sales staff was right in the middle of it.
We got free VIP backstage passes to "Jambo" for ourselves and our immediate family. In my case that meant two passes. Everyone in West Virginia wanted one of those VIP passes. This pass not only allowed you to hang around the green room with the performers, you got to eat and drink the same things they did for free. By 1982 word had gotten around that the WWVA sales staff got these free VIP passes and we were stars ourselves every July. When the guys went to lunch at the diner next to Ron Small’s Mobile Homes they were stared at and whispered about like the Rat Pack must have been in the ’60s, or like Britney Spears and her entourage would be today.
I thought this was silly. As much as I tried, I never grew to like country music, even crossover, and the idea of listening to country music in the July heat for a couple of days even if I could be eating and drinking the same things as Ronnie Millsap didn't appeal to me. But since admitting you didn't love country music in West Virginia was downright unpatriotic, I tried my best to keep my lack of enthusiasm to myself.
By the summer of 1982, Joe, one of the salesmen who had an unfortunate habit of setting his hair on fire with his cigarette, was at the very bottom of a three-year sales slump. He had a target on his back, or he was on the bubble, or his stock was low, all phrases I’ve heard to describe a salesman who’s under scrutiny for underperforming. Of all the salesman, Joe would take getting fired the hardest. WWVA was his life. He swore if he ever got fired he’d join the service if one of the branches would have him.
Harry, our sales manager, didn’t want to fire Joe. Harry and Joe went way back and had been known to get a little over-exuberant together after a good show at Jamboree USA and a few beers. So when Joe asked him if he could have his tickets early to use as giveaways at a remote broadcast he was trying to sell to Chickie's Used Kitchen Dinettes, Harry made a very special exemption for him and gave him his tickets three weeks ahead of time. All the other sales staff's tickets stayed locked up in his office, in his desk, as they did every year, until the day of the event.
But somehow, soon after Joe got his tickets, they went missing. The details surrounding their disappearance always remained fuzzy. I heard something about a gambling debt. But more than likely Joe sold his tickets and gave the money to one of the club acts he booked on a part-time basis, to help them over a rough patch.
When the remote was a few days away, Joe had to face up to the reality of his situation. He simply had no tickets. So he went to Charlie, our senior salesman, with his problem. Charlie went to Doug, the sales staff's acknowledged voice of reason with the problem, and Doug, surprisingly, went to me.
“If we can get our hands on your VIP passes right away, will you give them to Joe to help him out?”
Doug must have had a hunch I wouldn’t be heartbroken if I didn’t make it to Jamboree in the Hills ‘82 because in West Virginia asking someone to give up backstage passes to this event would be like asking someone to give up a kidney.
“Sure,” I said without hesitation. There was a collective sigh from the rest of the sales staff who were pretending not to listen.
It was decided Doug and I would do the actual taking of the tickets. We all called it “taking” because no one wanted to say “break into Harry’s office, and his desk, and steal the tickets”. Since we all worked for the radio station and went in and out of Harry’s office every day, we really weren’t breaking in. We were just going in his office very quietly after hours. We weren’t stealing the tickets either, because they were going to be mine anyway, eventually. We just wanted them earlier.
The day before Joe’s remote, Doug and I hung around after hours in the announcer’s booth recording and re-recording the one commercial we lent our talent to: Valley Discount Furniture. I was flattered to play the role of Ima Hogg to Doug’s Ura Hogg. I believe the point of the spot was that Valley Discount Furniture’s sofas were sturdy enough to hold the whole Hogg family, Ima, Ura, and little Whatta Hogg.
After we were sure Harry had left his office, and the station was mostly cleared out, Doug and I went directly to the sales department. The door to the bullpen was left open but Harry’s door was locked.
Continued in Chapter 2- "It's not what you think!"
