Playing Black

Prologue

When a white, Manhattan, Kansas, high school junior volunteered as a guinea pig for a university research project, he had no idea he would become caught up in the conflict between old- and new-style basketball, a clash permeated with racism. Ken Tucker failed to make his high school team. But participating in a Kansas State University Athletic Department project to develop a perfect jump shot, he would satisfy his passion for the sport, even if it meant working longer hours at his part-time job and having fewer dates with the most famous girl in Kansas.

The early ‘60s was a pivotal time for basketball, a sport then barely 70 years old. A point-shaving scandal abruptly ended the major influence Jewish players and coaches had on the sport. At the very same time, the game was transitioning from white to black domination. The old, methodical, feet-planted-to-the-floor style was giving way to more entertaining fast breaks, jump shots and slam-dunks.

It wasn’t just basketball being impacted by black athletes. Black artists were also transforming music. There was a common thread running through music and sport, a thread that emerged from deep within the souls of black athletes and musicians. It was a passion for music and sport had been bottled up during more than 240 years of slavery and another 90 years of discriminatory Jim Crow laws, including those in Manhattan, Kansas.

Sexual equality was also in play at Manhattan High School. Girls sought equal treatment and more athletic opportunities like basketball and dance drill. Cheer squads and pep clubs did not suffice. The dance drill rage that had already swept Texas and then California was inching its way into Kansas where Manhattan High formed the Rockettes, the state’s first girl’s drill team.

The first two years of the ‘60s was the lull before a series of storms: the Kennedy assassination, the Civil Rights Acts of 1964 and 1965, the Vietnam War and the British Invasion—the onslaught of British music. But during that calm, Ken Tucker would soon face an unforeseen but simple choice: would he be playing white or playing black.

Note: The Playing Black Soundtrack is listed below and appears in bold type in the book. The music can be downloaded from iTunes or heard on YouTube. Readers who want a better feel for the book’s 1961-1962 timeframe could take a moment to listen to each song in its context and consider how those records influenced the lives of those who listened on radio and jukeboxes—played from 33 and 45 rpm vinyl records—long before there were CDs, iPods, iTunes and smart phones.

The Playing Black Soundtrack

One Hundred Pounds of Clay, Gene McDaniels

Wheels, The String-a-Longs

This is Dedicated to the One I Love, The Shirelles

Only The Lonely, Roy Orbison

Portrait of My Love, Steve Lawrence

Surrender, Elvis. Presley

That Happy Feeling, Bert Kaempfert (Berthold Kämpfert)

Wooden Heart (Muss i denn), Elvis Presley

Town Without Pity, Gene Pitney

Run To Him, Bobby Vee

Big Big World, Johnny Burnette

Don’t Worry, Marty Robbins

Should I Surrender, Doris Day

Let’s Twist Again, Chubby Checker

Travelin’ Man, Ricky Nelson

Bilbao Song, Andy Williams (In Ken’s car)

Moon River, Henry Mancini, Audrey Hepburn and Jerry Butler

The Graduation Song, Adrian Kimberly (Don Everly)

Summertime, Summertime, The Jamies

See You in September, The Tempos, Brian Highland

Sealed with a Kiss, Four Voices, The Happenings, Bobby Vinton

That’s All Right (Mama), Elvis Presley

Walking to New Orleans, Fats Domino

Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles

Stand By Me, Ben E. King

Tonight’s the Night,; Will You Love Me Tomorrow, The Shirelles,

September In The Rain, Dinah Washington

The Boll Weevil Song, Brook Benton

My Claire De Lune, Steve Lawrence

Tell Laura I Love Her, Ray Peterson

Moody River, Pat Boone

Wake Up Little Susie, Everly Brothers

Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley

Erika, (Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein)

Morgen, Ivo Robic

Summertime, Porgy and Bess

Roll Over Beethoven, Chuck Berry

Calcutta, Lawrence Welk, The Four Preps

America, Rita Moreno and others; Stratford High School:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdJh-YrU0vs p. 137

Chicken Fat: The Youth Fitness Song, Robert Preston

Barbara Ann, The Regents

It’s Now or Never, (O Sol Mio) Elvis Presley

That’s Old Fashioned, The Everly Brothers

I Can’t Stop Loving You, Ray Charles

Raindrops, Dee Clark

"Gee Whiz (Look At His Eyes), Carla Thomas

Stranger On The Shore, Acker Bilk

Johnny Angel, Shelley Fabares

Pretty Little Angel Eyes, Curtis Lee

La Bamba, Ritchie Valens

Raunchy," Bill Justis, Billy Vaughn, Ventures, Beatles

God, Country and My Baby, Johnny Burnette

Runaway, Del Shannon and Lawrence Welk

Can't Help Fallin' In Love, Elvis Presley

Save The Last Dance for Me, The Drifters

Palisades Park, Freddy Boom Boom Cannon

Strange Fruit, Billie Holliday

Green Leaves of Summer, The Brothers Four

Michael, The Highwaymen

Venus, Frankie Avalon, Johnny Mathis, Lettermen

Over The Rainbow. Judy Garland

Chapter 1

Manhattan, Kansas

THE SECRET PROJECT

March 30, 1961

Three jackets were lying on the grass next to Manhattan, Kansas’s City Park tennis court near the intersection of Leavenworth and North 14th Street. The jackets revealed clues about their wearers’ identities: a leather and wool, blue and white letterman’s jacket with small football and basketball patches sewn next to the large M with Class of 1962 embroidered underneath; a well-worn Levi jacket with a round Texaco Oil patch roughly stitched opposite the single breast pocket; and a tan cashmere sport coat with a gold KMAN Radio lapel pin.

A basketball goal was a few feet from the jackets with a sign attached to the pole: NO BASKETBALL WHEN TENNIS COURT IS IN USE!

Frank Taylor, stout and six foot five, dribbled a basketball three times—boing, boing, boing—then attempted a hook shot about ten feet from the goal. It clanked off the rim.

"That makes you H Frank," Bob Valli said, taking great delight that he had made a shot that one of Manhattan High School’s basketball stars then missed. Bob usually missed most of his shots but loved playing HORSE with his buddies nonetheless.

Ken Tucker, proprietor of the Levi jacket, updated the scores, "Bob you’re still H-O-R-S and I’m H-O-R.

Damned, crappy ball, Frank said blaming his miss on Ken’s cheapo Voit basketball. "I hate your ball. It twoinks rather than thumps when you dribble it. It bounces off the rim like a pogo stick. My shot would have gone in with a leather ball."

Frank dribbled the ball a couple more times to demonstrate his point.

The ball was a rubber Voit. It had cost Ken $2.99, and, although advertised as official size and weight, it was little more than a heavy-duty balloon. Terrible sound. Appalling bounce. Awful feel, especially for Frank. The high school team used regulation, leather, Spalding Top-Flite 100s. But a Voit was all Ken could afford working part time after school and summers at his Dad’s Texaco station.

The three friends would play games of HORSE or 21 whenever they could, mostly for old times sake. They had played together more often during grade school and junior high. Frank Taylor made both the high school football and basketball teams the year before as a sophomore. Ken Tucker was cut from basketball trying out as a freshman and never tried again. And, in truth, Bob Valli didn’t give a rat’s ass about competitive sports. He just liked shooting hoops with his friends and supporting the team as a drummer in the pep band.

Frank wore his hair short because many of the football players did. Ken wore his short because Frank did. Most girls would have found Frank better looking than Ken, large brown eyes, a square jaw, darker almost black hair and a more muscular build. His pudgy nose was not so flat that girls didn't consider it cute. And even though his ears stood out a bit it was more in the manner of a Clark Gable than a Dumbo.

Ken, at six one, was three inches shorter than Frank, 20 pounds lighter and had blue eyes set into slits, like Roy Rogers'. In fact he looked like a skinnier, taller Roy Rogers.

Bob Valli, on the on the other hand, was flat out handsome. And better groomed. And better dressed, hence his sport coat with the KMAN pin, the radio station he worked at on Saturday afternoons. Unlike Ken and Frank Bob wore his blond hair long. Even so, he no longer combed his hair into wings on the sides or into a ducktail in the back.

Bob was also flat-out talented. He would have had little time for football or basketball practice anyway. The drums he played for Manhattan High School’s pep band was just for fun. He played the trumpet for the school orchestra and the sax for MHS’s Blue Notes stage band. He also was among just a couple of high schoolers who played with Matt Betton’s jazz band that had gigs all over Kansas. Bob, however, was best known among his fellow high school students for his Saturday afternoon Top 40 radio show.

Manhattan City Park, where the boys were shooting baskets, defined the city, geographically. The park’s southern border was Poyntz Avenue the city’s main street which began downtown near the Kansas River and proceeded due west for 18 blocks to the high school. City Hall was located on Poyntz south across from the park. Manhattan’s city hall building enclosed a full-size basketball court/ballroom that staged teenage dances every Friday night.

Manhattan had both a downtown and uptown. Aggieville, near the park’s northwest corner, was a collection of businesses and shops at the southeast edge of Kansas State University.

The Tucker’s lived across the street from the park’s tennis court. Ron Tucker Texaco, where Ken was about to head to work, was just north of the park on North Manhattan Avenue at the edge of Aggieville.

It was Ken’s turn to shoot. If he made his shot and Bob missed then Bob would be H-O-R-S-E and out of the game. As Ken contemplated a 20-foot, two-handed set shot from side court, Frank looked over toward 14th Street.

Isn’t that Johnny Cecotto’s car? Frank asked.

Ken and Bob turned toward the street and looked as well. They could make out someone sitting in the driver’s seat of a car parked about fifty feet away. Apparently the person was watching them.

Parked at the curb, facing north, just behind Ken’s 1956 Chevrolet was a 1955 Ford Fairlane Crown Victoria. The car was hard to miss. In 1955 and 1956 Ford built a special, sporty, two-door coupe that had a stainless steel band wrapped over the roof, the front half of which was see-through Plexiglas.

That’s Johnny’s for sure, Ken said. A couple weeks ago he was in the station getting his radio fixed. I replaced the vibrator, that’s all it was.

The paint on Johnny’s car was badly faded, the right-front door was dented and the white-wall tires were so dirty and yellowed they almost looked like blackwalls. The left-rear fender skirt was missing.

Ken, maybe you know, Frank asked, is it true he got that car, under the table, when he signed with KU?

I don’t know. But how else could a kid just out of high school afford a new car? Maybe it was a rumor started by K-State fans who thought Manhattan High stars should stay here any play for the Wildcats.

The Ford’s left door swung open. A man stepped out and leaned across the glass top, looking in their direction. It was, in fact, Johnny Cecotto.

Hey Ken, can you talk for a minute? Johnny yelled, signaling with his hand for Ken to come to him.

Bob looked at Ken and wondered out loud what that could be about.

As Ken approached the car Johnny asked him to get in. Between the doors being shut and the distance, Frank and Bob couldn’t hear any of the chatter. But it appeared to be a lively conversion. Johnny was rather animated, his arms and hand moving in synch with his mouth.

Bob and Frank quit playing HORSE, and just tossed up an odd shot or two while they watched Cecotto explaining something to Ken. Ken nodded once in a while.

After about ten minutes Ken got out of the car. As Johnny started the engine it produced a puff of blue smoke that exited the tail pipe. He shifted into reverse and backed up far enough to clear Ken’s Chevy, pulled the column-mounted shift lever down into first and drove off.

Bob expected an explanation.

What was that all about?

Actually, it’s a secret, Ken said. Johnny is over at K-State, working on his masters and wants some help with his thesis, but he wants it confidential.

Frank could not conceal his flash of envy.

It must have something to do with basketball. He can’t be getting his masters in quantum physics. Why wouldn’t he ask someone who actually plays high school ball to help?

Translated: Why didn’t he ask me to help?

I’m not saying what it’s about, but it’s a project that could go a year, perhaps longer. It would be every day, after school, maybe a couple of hours Saturdays. It can’t be anyone who is in sports or works after school. But he did say he could pull some strings, get me high school credit so I can begin each day during 7th hour athletics.

But you work after school, Bob said.

I know. But I want to do it. I’ll have to see if I can work a later night shift at the station. I have to ask mom and dad.

What about homework? Bob asked. What about studying at the library like you’ve been doing with Susan Rogers? How does she fit in?

Johnny knows I’ve been dating Susan. He called her the most famous girl in Kansas. Which I guess she is. He said this could affect what he called my ‘love life’ to some extent. That’s how he put it. Love life. As if we were going steady or planning to marry.

* * * * *

Kenny, do you want seconds?

Dumb question. Of course he did.

Jean Tucker used a spoon to get the last of the stew out of a cast iron pot on her mint green Kelvinator range. The stove matched her Foodarama refrigerator. The appliances came with the two-story house the Tuckers bought three years earlier, in 1958, just before the recession hit.

It’s why Ken had to approach any matter involving his work after school, any change in that schedule, very carefully.

Mrs. Tucker wore a full apron over a print dress, which, she thought, helped conceal the extra 30 pounds she picked up after two births and 17 years of homemaking. Her husband Ron was among many boys she dated in high school. They married shortly after graduation. Ken learned only later she got pregnant after their fourth date.

Jean and Ron Tucker had big plans in 1957. Their little Texaco station at the edge of Aggieville looked like it could become a license to print money. Ron bought the lot behind the station to store wrecked and impound cars and then won the city’s impound car business. He and his brother Al built new bays to the side and back of the station. They refurbished a used, Dodge wrecker and proceeded to get the lion’s share of law enforcement calls to tow wrecks.

And then there was their two-story house across from Manhattan City Park on 14th Street. It was among a group of Queen Anne homes with full-width front porches, located on brick streets lined with Sycamore trees. They bought it to be closer to the station just a few blocks to the north. And to provide more room than the two-bedroom apartment they’d been living in downtown.

When the recession hit in ’58 it was the first big economic downturn since the boom at the end of the war. New car sales plummeted, which Ron initially thought would be a good thing and spur repair business. It did. But much of it was done on credit, IOUs that had piled up to more than $8,000. Not to mention the impact of three gas wars in two years cutting gasoline sales profits to the bone.

The station had teetered on bankruptcy. A second mortgage on the house, a slowly rebounding economy and money Ken was bringing in gave reason for hope. Food was still making it to the table and a roof remained over the Tucker family’s heads.

The Tucker’s cocker spaniel, Rusty, waited patiently to see if anyone at the table would offer him their scraps. Ken’s sister Debbie skipped desert and excused herself from the table to start on homework. That’s what Ken counted on. He did not want her in on the conversation about secret projects and his shift-change proposal.

Although almost two years younger than Ken, Debbie was a sophomore at Manhattan High, just a year behind in school. She had just started dating when she turned 15. Where Ken might be considered okay-looking Debbie was decidedly attractive. Blonde. Already well endowed.

Debbie Tucker was a blessing and a curse to Ken. Just a school year behind Ken she had been elected sophomore class secretary. That gave Ken some credibility. He‘d never been elected to anything. Maybe his sister’s popularity was one reason Susan Rogers wanted to go out with him. He’d gotten the message Susan wanted to be asked out through Debbie who was, in a way, a go-between for girls who wanted to get messages to guys: tell Debbie, she’ll tell Ken and get a message through that so and so would like to be asked out by so and so to homecoming or whatever.

But ever since grade school she was also a tattletale. Like when he got called into the principal’s office in sixth grade for running in the halls and hoped his parents would not catch wind of it. So better she not participate in any conversation about changing schedules at work. She might take the wrong side if sides were taken.

Yes, mom, please, Ken said, answering his mother’s question about desert. It was cooked Jell-O chocolate pudding not the less-tasty instant version being heavily advertised on TV, a pudding that did not require cooking and would set up in less time.

Mom, Dad, if you have a second I’d like to talk about something.

Ron Tucker peeked over the local section of The Manhattan Mercury. What’s it about.

It was rare Ken ever initiated a discussion that sounded like it might be personal or important. Immediately his mother loosened her apron strings and removed it while taking a chair, all in one continuous motion.

Sure, Ron said. But let me grab a cup of coffee before you start.

Spurts of coffee had just begun burbling up in the glass knob on the percolator lid; Ron Tucker always liked coffee with his desert. A can of Maxwell House coffee sat next to the percolator. The Tuckers had long been Folgers drinkers but succumbed to Maxwell House’s constant barrage of TV commercials with the percolating coffee soundtrack jingle and Good to the last drop tagline.

Today right after school we were shooting some baskets across the street and Johnny Cecotto dropped by. You know him, right?

Of course we do, Ron said. We service his car.

Isn’t he the basketball star? Jean said.

Well, sure, Ken said. He was at KU. He was drafted a year ago by a pro team—the Celtics—but was cut after only a month. So now he’s working on his masters at the university.

So what did he have to say? Ron asked while filling his coffee cup and taking a seat.

He’s doing a study, some research, and needs someone to help, sort of a guinea pig. For quite a while, maybe a year, after school and some on Saturdays. It would affect my work at the station some.

Guinea pig? his father asked.

It was a bad choice of words.

Well, no it’s not like they’re experimenting with drugs like, well, growth hormones or sleeping pills. It’s not that kind of research. It’s confidential but he did say I could tell my parents.

By then Debbie, from her room, overhead some of the conversation and appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

Ken looked at Debbie. He was irked to see her there.

… Debbie this discussion is not to be repeated...

He turned back to his parents.

… his master’s has to do with basketball and it’s supported by Coach Winter.

Coach Winter. Wow, it must be important, Ron said. Mentioning Coach Winter’s name impressed him. Basketball was huge in Manhattan, Kansas.

Tex Winter had coached he Kansas State Wildcats for the previous seven years. His basketball teams were almost always nationally ranked and while 1958 was a bad year for the economy it was a good year for K-State basketball. They made the Final Four after beating second ranked Cincinnati and All-American Oscar Robertson in double overtime. Dropping Tex Winter’s name was much better than inferring the study might involve injections or dissections.

But what about your homework? What about work at the station? his father asked.

Tears began streaming down his mother’s cheeks. Her head drooped; she wiped her face.

I’m sorry I have a hard time discussing this, she said quietly. And disappeared to her bedroom.

At least ten seconds of silence ensued. Debbie gave Ken a now-see-what-you’ve-done look.

Don’t take that to mean your mother doesn't care about your request, Ken. Because she keeps the books at the station, she knows better than anyone the money you’ve brought into the station the last two years. It’s made the difference between keeping and losing our home and the station. We are very grateful.

Ken and Debbie knew full well what their father was talking about. The recession and unanticipated competition worked against their dream to not only succeed with one service station but to begin a chain. They had wanted to be one of the first to locate at the new freeway interchange south of town. That vision was on hold if not up in smoke. It had meant skimping and sacrificing and two years of meager Christmases.

But Dad, it doesn't mean I would quit. It would just mean that I would work a late shift. I know Uncle Al would love to switch and it shouldn’t matter if I work on my cars in the afternoon or evening, most customers don’t pick them up until the next day anyway. Or longer when we wait for parts.

I’ll talk to your mother, Ken.

No. Let me.

Ken headed to his mother’s bedroom before his dad could get out of his chair. Debbie said nothing but followed Ken down the hall. She was sympathetic.

Kenny, it’s not fair to put more pressure on mom. You know the strain over money. But it is better you talk to her than Dad.

Ron and Jean Tucker’s bedroom was Jean’s place of refuge. There was a rocking chair. Her sewing basket was there with what she needed to mend clothes and darn socks, as was a sewing machine stacked with patterns she got from JC Penny and used to make dresses for herself and Debbie, even though both preferred store-bought. Her secret stash of Hershey’s chocolate was under folded nightgowns in the closet. It was a place to work, to rest, and—too often—to fret.

The Tuckers were making do. Mrs. Tucker drove a 1956 Dodge that Ken, Ron and Al assembled from wrecked donor cars. It was one of many they rebuilt for resale but the Dodge they built for her. Ron drove either the 1953 Dodge wrecker because he was always on call, or the station’s 1949 Plymouth shop truck. He usually drove the shop truck home because neighbors complained about a wrecker being parked on the narrow street.

Two of Mrs. Tucker’s friends in the women’s club drove new cars. One of the boys she once dated at Manhattan High owned the Chevrolet-Cadillac car dealership. His wife drove new Cadillacs. Another was an attorney and his wife drove a new Pontiac Bonneville.

Ken knocked on the doorjamb, went in and and sat on the bed next to the rocking chair. His mother was rocking nervously and gathering her thoughts. She spoke first.

It is not right Kenny that we make you feel guilty for pursuing any of your hopes and dreams. You’re in high school and these should be the most fun years of your life. Kids should leave worries about mortgages and bills for later years.

Mom. I like working at the station. I like working on radios and fixing broken turn signals and rewiring. I can still do that. I have a plan.

A plan?

Yes. I know Al will trade me shifts. He’s wanted to get off the night shift since dad had to lay off Fernando. Here’s what we do. When you come in afternoons to do the books and banking you can leave me a sack lunch. I’ll be back from the university around five or five thirty. Six latest. I can work on the cars dad lines up, pump gas and do homework in between. I can use your desk at the station and bring my typewriter from home. Maybe get a set of used Britannica’s from Goodwill.

Then his mother brought up something as important as the money, something that had given her tremendous joy amid all their financial woes, something that had brought her as much attention at club as if she had arrived in a new Lincoln.

What about that cute Susan Rogers you’re dating. You two have been going to the library quite often and Coke dates once in awhile during the week, because she sings so often on weekends. You’re almost going steady. What about that?

I have no idea how long we’ll be going together. Johnny was frank; he said it could affect dating. Maybe there’ll be some Saturday nights when she’s not with the band. Maybe dad could spell me once in a while on Friday nights. But we’re not going steady. She could end up dumping me like Marilyn Monroe dumped Joe DiMaggio, then Arthur Miller and then…who knows who’ll be next.

Ken’s desire to work with Johnny Cecotto had struck two of his mother’s most sensitive nerves: finances and ego.

The ego nerve: His mother was very popular when she attended Manhattan High. She had dated Walt Matthews, now a prominent Manhattan attorney. She also had gone out with Frank Evans who was captain of the football team, and now owner of Evans Chevrolet Cadillac on Poyntz.

Ron Tucker had big plans when he and Jean dated. But now they were clinging for dear life to a mortgaged house and service station.

It helped that Debbie was a class officer. Debbie and their mother were very close. If Jean Tucker had not found a Prince Charming maybe her daughter would. Debbie was going out with Scott Nixon whose father was a doctor.

And maybe it wouldn't last between her son and Susan Rogers anyway. Who knew why Susan had taken an interest in Ken. Even though, unlike half the junior guys at Manhattan High, he never had a crush on her. He had a crush on someone else, a secret he had been keeping as well as the one he would keep if he went to work with Johnny Cecotto.

Mom, I like Susan. But, if anything, we’ve been seeing too much of each other this past month. Summer’s almost here and she’ll be spending a lot more time on the road with Mr. Betton’s band.

Then there was the money nerve: bills continually piled up. Her husband was too nice. He took credit like the neighborhood grocery stores. The growing stack of IOUs almost amounted to a fortune. Her husband Ron did not charge interest. He refused to take anyone to small claims court. He was sought out for repairs because his labor prices were low, he was good at sourcing used parts instead of new and he took credit. A lot of family cars in Manhattan would not be running if it were not for Ron Tucker.

Okay mom, what about this? If my grades drop I’ll quit the project. If my work falls off at the station, I’ll quit.

I’ll discuss it with your dad, she said.

The Tuckers would never argued in front of their children. Ever. But on occasion, late at night, raised voices could be heard from their bedroom. That night was one of them.

Chapter 2

Tucker Texaco and KMAN Radio

April 15, 1961, Saturday Morning

Ding-ding.

The round bell mounted just above the inside of the door into Tucker Texaco rang.

Ken, can you get that one? Al asked.

Sparks flying everywhere, Al Tucker was using a torch to cut a rusty muffler off a ‘49 Hudson elevated on a lift in the lubrication bay. Out front a car had just pulled up to the pumps after after running over the thin, pneumatic rubber tube strung across the driveway, compressing the air inside the tube which rang the bell.

Al and Ken would take turns pumping gas, checking oil levels, inflating tires and cleaning windshields.

Got it, Ken said. He was working in bay two which doubled as the wash bay and the area where he specialized in fixing all things electrical: generators, batteries, light bulbs, turn signals, radios and the like. When the bell rang he was working inside the trunk of a ’56 Buick replacing a burned out, corroded tail lamp. A simple push and counter-clockwise twist should have freed the bulb from its socket but corroded bulbs had to be carefully cut out. If not the entire socket had to be replaced.

It was a typical Saturday afternoon at Tucker Texaco. An old Emerson radio on a shelf above the parts-washing bench blared away even if the reception was marginal. The dial was set at 1490, KTOP in Topeka. The song "One Hundred Pounds of Clay," a top 40 hit, was playing.

Even Ken’s Uncle Al liked the popular music. They picked KTOP because it was one of the few Top 40 stations in the area. Ken thought it was neat that one of their DJs, Tommy Edwards, was a junior in high school just like his friend Bob Valli. But KTOP only broadcast with 250 watts of power, putting Manhattan right at the fringe of its reception area. KMAN, the local station, only played Top 40 on Bob Valli’s Saturday afternoon show. Of course, that’s where the dial on the station radio would be turned in a couple of hours.

Regular or Ethyl? Ken asked the customer.

Ken was meticulous perhaps even obsessive about waiting on customer cars. After determining whether they wanted premium or regular and beginning pumping, he would first attack the almost always-present windshield bugs by wetting the glass with a netted sponge he kept in a bucket of soapy water. He would let the windshield soak while he checked the tires, oil and condition of the fan belt.

Instead of using a squeegee to drag excess dirty water off the windshield onto the fenders leaving some bug remnants behind, as most service station attendants did, Ken would scrub until every last bug was gone. Then squeegee. And after that, use Windex and a clean red shop cloth to wipe away streaks left by the squeegee and water that dripped on the fenders. The ritual and the time it took irritated some customers but pleased most.

Ken went back to working on the stuck bulb. The owner was in the waiting room, which was really not a waiting room but a couch across from the cash register counter made from the rear seat of an old LaSalle.

On the hour, KTOP broadcast national news from the Mutual Broadcasting Network. Ken didn’t pay close attention but it was more of the same about a running story, about the Soviet Union beating the United States putting a man into space three days earlier. The name of the first man in space—Yuri Gagarin—became a household word around the world and would certainly show up on Mr. Hansen’s current events quiz next week.

"If the Russians were to develop a Zil that would beat a 'Vette in the quarter mile, that would worry me," Ken told Al who was also listening to the news.

By afternoon Ken was caught up with customers’ cars and could begin helping Al with their project car. At that time it was a 1953 Kaiser-Frazer Manhattan named after the Big Apple not Kansas’s Little Apple. The Frazer was out of production. They bought the car with a smashed right front fender for $75, got a used fender for $10 and would be adding about $150 in other used parts, paint and labor. They would be able to sell it quick, for a tidy profit, likely to a K-State student, for, maybe, $425 to $450.

Ken was helping Al fit the used fender when he noticed it was already 1:15. Bob’s show had already begun on KMAN. He switched stations. The instrumental song by the String-a-Longs was playing. Near the end the sound level dropped a bit as the announcer talked over the end of the song.

"That was ‘Wheels,’ last week at number ten, this week all the way up to three," Bob said in his radio voice. He copied speech patterns and formats from KOMA Radio, Oklahoma City, which practically every Manhattan High student interested in rock n roll listened to every night. KOMA’s signal traveled further at night than in the day. As KMAN, which didn’t play rock during the week anyway, was going off the air—the FCC made it sign off at sunset—KOMA would begin coming in loud and clear, all over the Midwest.

"The next dedication is this song, down two notches this week, a song that actually has the word dedication in its title."

As Bob spoke the song began fading up.

" ‘This is dedicated to the one I love,’ going out to Marilyn from Gene. Here are the Shirelles.

Al yelled over to Ken. Is that one real?

Ken had told Al that Bob made up some of his dedications, that at times no one actually phoned in a request or dedication. It was part of his shtick and it got tongues wagging.

It might be real. There is a Gene Beckman and I think he asked Marilyn Berry to the prom.

So how do you know if that Gene really called?

You don’t. Bob told me he mixes in fake ones with real ones and that it’s his way of reporting gossip or getting a rise.

Ken liked his work routine. He liked working with his dad and uncle. He loved cars. He loved his black ’56 Chevy parked next to the station.

But how does a 17-year-old kid from a struggling family afford a car worth at least $700?

Like his mother’s Dodge, it was one of Tucker Texaco’s project cars. Eight months ago the Chevy, a 4-door hardtop, then green and white, was sideswiped at Fremont and Ninth, an intersection with no stop signs. The right front fender and hood were badly crumpled and the suspension control arms bent. Tucker Texaco got the wrecker call and the car sat in its impound/storage lot until the insurance company totaled it.

At that point the insurance company would pay the storage fee and have the car picked up by one of the two local wrecking yards. But Ron knew all of the adjusters and would buy wrecks he thought he could rebuild for a profit. The Chevy he got for Ken after much begging.

After lunch, a customer brought in a ’59 Buick, the one with huge, canted fins, to get the radio fixed. Ken was doing diagnostics. From outside the car a pair of Keds could be seen attached to legs hung over the front seat. Ken was in his typical position working on car radios. Feet slung over the front seat backrest, lying on his back in a foot well so he could work under the dash and access car radios from behind and below. Some radios had to be removed to work on them. Others he could repair in place by removing steel access panels.

Burned out tubes or bad vibrators caused most radio failures. It was easy for Ken to diagnose bad vibrators that changed a car’s DC current to AC. He could hear it. The radio would no longer hum.

Ken, while under the Buick’s dash, plugged in a new vibrator, reached up, switched on the ignition to the accessory position, and turned on the radio. The new vibrator hummed to life and after about ten seconds the tubes heated up and sound came out of the speakers.

Ken set the Buick’s radio to 1350 on the dial so he now heard Bob’s afternoon show on the car speaker and shop radio speaker. It was just in time to hear his name come over the air.

Bob had a high school news segment that he added after regular Kansas news at 4:05, which was right after ABC network national news.

There are multiple deadlines next week at MHS, Bob reported. "On Monday, the filing for class and student body officers for the ‘61/’62 school year. Cheerleader tryouts begin Wednesday the week before tryouts for Manhattan High’s new precision dance team.

In other campus news, the wrestlers beat Topeka to 27 to 19, Manhattan’s two-man golf team—Ron Schmedemann and Gary Lee won the Junction City Invitational, and also in Junction City our Indians finished third behind Salina and Junction City—MHS’s biggest rival— in track.

Then came the zinger: the one that made Ken bang his head on the underside of the dash while he was screwing the radio’s access panel back on.

Topping out campus and sports news, Ken Tucker of MHS was recently selected to participate in a one-year study over at K-State University’s athletic department.

As Bob continued to talk, sound from the next record began fading up.

There are no details, it’s all hush-hush, Bob said voicing over the music. This next one’s for Ken and Susan who may be seeing a lot less of each other next year. Roy Orbison. ‘Only the Lonely’."

Al thought it was funny. He yelled out out, Ken, I thought it was supposed to be a secret. Does this mean you might want the afternoon shift back?

Al had gladly switched shifts with Ken. Even though he considered Bob’s prank dedications funny he hoped it wouldn’t get Ken in trouble. Maybe it would kill the deal. Al hated the night shift.

Bob is way over the line again, Ken said barely loud enough for Al to hear. I’ll never trust him with any secrets again.

Over the line indeed. When Bob’s show began a year ago it had included the fake dedications sprinkled among the genuine from the get-go. But the number of listeners rolled up faster than the number of complaints phoned in to KMAN station management. Within weeks sponsors were clamoring to get their spots—their commercial messages—played during his show.

Ken had promised to deliver the Buick once he fixed the radio. He planned to drive it to the owner’s home and get a ride back to the station. But on the way he decided to go by KMAN and give Bob a piece of his mind. Or at least have the secretary pass along a note he wrote in advance.

I’m pissed off-knock it off! the note read.

The KMAN radio station was a surprisingly small, block-shaped building, no bigger than a small, single story home. It was on Kimball Avenue several blocks west of K-State’s campus, surrounded by milo fields. The building was near the road, sitting at the front edge of a big, almost empty field except for a 100–foot-tall antenna in the center of the field with guy wires radiating out between the tower and the ground and a bunch of cows grazing nearby.

Ken pulled onto an asphalt parking strip in front of the station. He was surprised to see only Bob’s Rambler parked there. He expected to see several cars.

Ken turned the knob to the entry door and it was unlocked. He thought it would have been locked. The only time he’d been inside was when he was in the fifth grade and his class did some readings on Lincoln’s birthday. He’d not been back since, even to see Bob, because DJ’s were not allowed visitors.

Pushing the door open he peered inside. To the right was a large, open office space with desks. Plaques affixed to the front of each desk marked them for visitors who had business at the station: Bunny Williams, Advertising Manager; Randall Williams, Program Director; Gary Evanson, sports Director; and John Valentine, Chief Announcer. The station manager had an enclosed office in the right rear corner. His title was on the door: Wade Eberhardt, Station Manager.

All the desks were empty. It was a Saturday but Ken expected to at least see someone there managing the office. He looked to the left and saw the room he and his classmates were in when they did their readings five years before. It was a fairly large, dark and mostly empty room. There was a piano in one corner. A table with a microphone on it was on the far wall next to a large glass window behind which was the brightly lit nerve center of the station.

Besides all the electronic gear that seemed to hang everywhere, Ken could make out Bob, wearing headphones, sitting behind something, talking, and his voice was coming out of two wall-mounted speakers on either side of the glass window. A closed door just to the right was under a lit On Air light. Bob seemed to notice Ken but was concentrating on the copy he was reading.

"…starring in the Absent Minded Professor, this week at the Wareham Theater downtown."

The On Air light went out but no music began. Instead Ken heard what was obviously a prerecorded voice pitching Citizen’s State Bank.

Bob stood up and waved Ken to come inside.

To Ken it felt like he could be walking into a minefield. One false move and it might disrupt programming. If he talked, his voice it might go over the air. As he approached the glass door to the control room he saw the sign that said Absolutely no Visitors; Station Personnel ONLY. He paused but Bob, sitting back down, beckoned him in.

Just as Ken got inside Bob held up his hand as if he were a crossing guard stopping traffic. He reached to a switch in the middle of a long console in front of him, flipped it down. Another On-Air light inside the room illuminated.

Now offering 1.5 percent on passbook savings, he announced. And next, a newcomer to the Top 40 on the Bob Valli Show, last week at 48, now at 37, Steve Lawrence. ‘Portrait of My Love’."

Bob flipped the switch back up, the light went out, and music was coming through a single, large speaker near the ceiling. He pulled a set of headphones off his ears so they hung on his neck.

Hey, Ken, aren’t you supposed to be working?

Ken still felt like he was walking on eggshells. He almost forgot why he dropped by.

I'm out delivering a car.

Did you hear my news flash about your pending great adventure a K-State?

Ken remembered why he was there.

Yeah, I’m sort of ……

He was about to say pissed but still was not certain anything he said would not reach the ears of hundreds of listeners.

…why did you do that? It is supposed to be kept quiet and, anyway, why would anything I do make your news?

"Hey, when you’re dating Susan Rogers anything you do makes news. She’s the one who told me at last night’s band practice. Don’t you read Teen Magazine and its preoccupation with Tuesday Weld and Don Grady and the Everly Brothers and Annette and Fabian. Well. Susan Rogers is our Annette."

But I’m not a Frankie Avalon or a Tony Dow. I pump gas and fix cars. Shouldn’t you be picking on the captain of the basketball team?

I do. But you should be grateful for the plug. If Susan ever dumps you you’re here today, gone tomorrow.

I hope Johnny wasn’t listening. And why isn’t there anyone here? How can anyone just walk in off the street?

I’m it on Saturday afternoons. If something goes wrong the engineer is on-call. Just between you and me, this is mostly a station for nerdy listeners with music programmed to please everyone but no one. Gospel. Country. Jazz late at night. Except for this show. It has twice the listeners of their country hour, their easy listening hour, and their gospel hour all put together.

Why don’t they go all rock?

They did offer me a full time salary if I would do this same show every day after school. But I have too many gigs, orchestra practice, other practices, and besides, not even MHS students will listen after school. We all listen to Topeka radio.

God, this looks complicated, Ken said as Bob continued talking while getting a spot ready to play and cuing up the next record.

Let me give you the nickel tour, Bob said.

What if your boss comes in?

Don't’ you want see what I’ve been doing behind the scenes?

Sure. Yes, Ken replied.

The station manager and program director are hardly ever here on Saturdays. Plus, what can they do? Fire me? My show makes them more money than any other show.

To Ken, Bob’s work area looked like Cape Canaveral mission control. Bob sat at a large, U-shaped desk sounded by knobs, switches, electronic devices, meters and turntables.

This is the board, Ken said pointing to a steel console in front of him lined with a row of switches and knobs plus a single, lighted meter in the middle.

"This is how various inputs like