Lies, intrigue, illicit affairs, kidnapping, snitches, drug use.
Sound like the stuff of a daytime TV soap opera? The soap dishers should be so creative.
Those happen to be some of the elements in The PD Chronicles, a behind-the-scenes account of what goes on at a radio station in Anytown, U.S.A., as told by Jack James, a living, breathing, working program director. For obvious reasons, this current major market PD uses a pseudonym, though one would have to think that sooner or later, a savvy boss would realize the characters populating these chronicles were his very own employees.
The matter-of-fact, often cynical and mostly hilarious deadpan diary entries give readers a glimpse of what really goes on behind the curtain of an everyday radio station. This PD takes you into the hallways, the general manager’s office, the sales department, the control room and on-air studio, the lobby and the bathroom (how Ally McBeal!) of the radio stations where he’s worked. It’s WKRP, only the real deal.
Among other entries, we learn that the promotions director tried conducting a hate campaign against the new morning man, including posting nasty comments to the station’s Web site bulletin board. And talked the night deejay into disparaging his embattled A.M. counterpart. Her cover was cracked, though, and needless to say, she’s out.
Then there’s the case of the kidnapped T-shirts. They were lifted by a competitor while one young promotions helper was in the process of giving them away before a stadium concert.
Turns out the thief hadn’t realized he was stealing from a beefy former University of Minnesota football player. (A possible clue to the PD’s whereabouts? But we digress).
In front of a stadium full of concertgoers, the jock tackles the hapless absconder, giving himself legend status in the process.
Also in The PD Chronicles, we get the “I can’t make it for my shift” job excuse du jour. Among them: a late night jock who claimed he knocked out his front teeth in a bathroom fall. Those sibilant sounds just don’t cut it on the air. Excuse accepted.
Until we learn he real reason for the dental disturbance was a drug deal gone bad, and that our troubled deejay has had a problem with amphetamine-type substances since his teens. Turned over to the police by his own grandmother, the young addict was headed for a rehab center—and a job somewhere else. (This poor PD seems to have more employee turnover than the Yankees under George Steinbrenner).
When this PD is discovered and loses his own job, he’ll have a bright future as a writer. Maybe then his relatives, who keep asking “When are you gonna get a real job?” will be proud of him.