When we (thought we) was fab

I was a teen-ager in the 1960s, having come into this world in the Year of Our Lord, 1961.

Those of you who are not now or never have been journalism majors are thinking, "That does not compute."

I'm from Baton Rouge.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh . . . OK. Yeah, that makes sense."

I knew you would understand. Time moves at a leisurely pace in my hometown, and if I'm remembering correctly, 1967 hit Baton Rouge about 1974. Roughly.

Before the '60s hit Baton Rouge, I had heard of its appearance elsewhere on TV. One time, a long-haired Canadian nephew of my British aunt rode his motorcycle to Baton Rouge for a visit, and I recall that we treated him politely enough.

But there was just the one of him, he didn't seem to be plotting the violent overthrow of Separate but Equal and, besides, he'd already gotten hauled in for being foreign (and a "beatnik") somewhere in Tennessee.

Overall, though, it seemed that rednecks and old money held sway over my hometown, and "the revolution" would have to wait for another day. And the closest we came to the counterculture were star-spangled bell bottoms and the end of legally segregated schools . . . in 1970.

But the '60s did arrive by the mid-'70s, and to a teen-ager, Baton Rouge was starting to look like a happening place. Kind of.

BY THE TIME I was in high school, all that was symbolized by the existence of the city's only "alternative" newsweekly, Gris Gris. Gris Gris was what you read from cover to cover if you wanted to be hip and in the know.

Gris Gris opened young minds to a strange and enticing world -- side by side with yet light years removed from petrochemical row, hard hats, pick-up trucks and work shirts with your name embroidered above the pocket. It was a world of progressive rock, civil rights, head shops and laughing at The Man.

It was where you learned what a head shop was, along with some of the best (and snarkiest) political coverage in the state.

At my high school, there was a group of us journalism types who wanted to BE Gris Gris. Looking back at a bunch of old issues I've saved over the decades, I've come to the conclusion that Gris Gris was good, but not that good.

It was a little pretentious, in that way that young people in a redneck burg are when they realize what they are and are horrified by the revelation. It wasn't as slick as what you would have found in the Big City, but it also was a hell of a lot more down home.

In that way young people are when they realize they're somewhat embarrassed at living in a redneck burg but like it too much to just up and haul ass. And realized they weren't so cool that they stopped saying "Hey, how ya doin' today?" to folks at the grocery store.

Kind of the Baton Rouge version of New Orleans' "Hey, cap! Where y'at?" Which, of course, is never said to yo' mama an dem, because you respect your elders.

ANYWAY, we thought we were hip when the '60s hit Baton Rouge -- as I said -- sometime around 1974. We thought that everything we were just "discovering" was hip, happenin' and now.

We had no idea that, yes, our discoveries were all that. On the coasts. In 1967 -- if not earlier.

Here's a small example, some of a Gris Gris item from the issue of Aug. 31-Sept. 5, 1977:

Making Waves at WAIL

Growing pains are far from over and personality composition definitely a variable factor at BR's "AM alternative," WAIL. As we were going to press with our back-to-school issue last week, researchers were already compiling material for this Gris Gris. One of the lead stories in "After Dark" was to be the apparent success of sound in the "alternative" format at WAIL, and in particular the avid following of one Becky [Y]ates, who had developed the "Mother Nature" air character into one of the more positive forces that station has seen in some time. She was also Music Director, with responsibilities for the station's playlist.

You recall the "was" tense in that sentence. [Y]ates and Program Director/Station Manager Bonnie Hagstrom were in the process of resigning as we called to confirm photo dates. They are no longer with the station.

(snip)

WAIL, on the bottom of the Baton Rouge ARB ratings the last year, had shown some gains under the FM-style programming combination of Hagstrom and [Y]ates. They had developed five personalities, or named characters, rotating through the day's shifts as DJ, and in that way assuring continuity of the character, if not the person behind the character.

[Y]ates "Mother Earth" [sic] was the longest-lived of the experiment. She had originally been assigned duties as a weatherperson and part-time news announcer, but the character developed such an audience that she finally became the mainstay of the prime drive-time slots. The only other jock to maintain his position for any length of time is ex-English major Darrell Ardison, known on the air as "Scratch."

Hagstrom is now Media Director for the Rub Group, an advertising agency. [Y]ates was unavailable for comment last week.

At WAIL life goes on. Both sides go to lengths to make the break an easy one, at least for the public. The actual dispute that caused the eruption is rapidly becoming only a faint murmur in the reverb coil of time . . . time . . . "Time? 4:57, here in Boss Rouge on Boss Radio."

Those changes.

BOSS ROUGE? BOSS RADIO? Just think, it only took 12 years for the Big BR to become "boss" -- with its own "Boss Radio" -- after KHJ created a nationwide splash by becoming "Boss Radio in Boss Angeles" . . . one fine spring day in 1965.

Those changes, indeed.