There is a bit of a hero in every DJ. There is a comfort in the lone voice that keeps us company during rush hour, when we’re cleaning house, or when we’re up writing English papers at two in the morning. Some DJs are around so long and see so much that their names become entwined in a city’s mythology, or in the legends of music history itself.
Such are the DJs at WXRT 93.1 F.M. in Chicago. Terri Hemmert, a DJ at XRT since 1973, once suggested to the rock band U2 that they check out the Peace Museum while they visited Washington, D.C. The trip to this museum resulted in the album “War”, the band’s most critically acclaimed album at the time. There are smaller stories too, such as the bottle of Jack Daniels signed by Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones that was obtained by quick-thinking DJ Tom Marker.
These people have influenced, inspired and provided relief for Chicago for over thirty years. They bring me music that lightens my soul; they live lives that leave me slack-jawed. I have admired them from afar for many years, and now I’m going to pay them a visit.
A banner in the lobby declares that “Following will get you nowhere.” I look around and find myself surprised at how clean and orderly it looks. There are wooden doors on either side of the reception area. My friend Heather bursts through the door on my left and pulls me into the bowels of XRT. She has been an intern here for a few weeks and is still giddy about being able to come here and call it “work”. I’m a little giddy for her.
The first thing I notice is how little it resembles the XRT of my imagination. It looks nothing like the fictional WKRP in Cincinnati, or like the green room at the infamous CBGB’s. The cinderblock walls are painted yellow or purple, and seem to go on forever. Lined up in rather tidy frames are posters and gold records signed by scores of who’s-who and has-beens of the music world. The seemingly endless parade hangs proudly on the walls as a declaration of how far XRT has come, not only as a great radio station but as a bona fide piece of Chicago history. Boxes of reel-to-reel tapes sit outside of a few doors, and there are piles of the boxes in the editing rooms. The boxes bear names like Buddy Guy, Beck, Paul McCartney, Tom Waits and Lucinda Williams, followed by dates ranging from just last week to about twenty years ago. My head buzzes at the unused catalog of live music that sits around carelessly, like so many half-empty bottles of wine after the best party you’ve ever been to.
In the jock lounge we find Terri Hemmert: DJ, teacher, mentor, Beatle fanatic. We are introduced, and she thanks me for being a necessary interruption to the more mundane parts of her job. Heather leaves to take care of the endless research that is part of every intern’s day. Terri and I talk about the history of XRT, from its humble beginnings as a part-time station (it used to air only at night on a station that was all talk radio during the day) to the commercial behemoth it is today. We both complain about the copious amount of commercials, and I begrudge her the fact that those commercials are what paid for the stacks of reel-to-reels I’d seen earlier.
As Terri walks me around on a proper tour, people greet her in the hallway and ask programming questions about her “Breakfast With the Beatles” show and her contributions to the “Saturday Morning Flashback” feature. I pay close attention to see if I can recognize any voices from the airwaves or faces from the website, but the halls of XRT are woefully devoid of my on-air friends on a Friday afternoon.
We walk through the dizzying maze of hallways to peek in the window of the broadcast booth. Bobby Skafish sits with his back to us, giving concert advisories to the city at large. I try to pick a landmark so I can find my way around: maybe this autographed poster, maybe that gold record, maybe this framed poster expressing gratitude for XRT’s donations to a needy cause, but there are too many. I finally resign myself to getting lost in the XRT bunker. It’s probably the best place for a music geek like me to wander aimlessly anyway.
I meet up with Heather again, and she leads me down a corridor and into the music archives. There are well-organized CDs lined on every inch of the wall, and some spilling out into the hallway. I follow Heather around as she packs up for the day, and on the way out the door, we pass the same banner declaring, “Following Will Get You Nowhere.” We leave, and I spend the whole ride home wishing I could go back and inspect everything with a little more attention to detail.
“It will take you months to take it all in, trust me,” laughs Heather. I shrug and agree and we drive on.
The following Friday, Heather calls with the news that she has free tickets for a Taj Mahal show that night at the House of Blues. I show up and we and two of our other friends head inside to get the tickets. We’re dressed as we always dress for House of Blues: casual, little or no make up, scuffed shoes. The crowd on the floor usually makes us pretty hot, and we end up looking rather rumpled when we leave anyway. We regret not bothering to dress to impress when we find out that our tickets aren’t for the regular floor, they’re for an opera box, and we’re supposed to sit in the lavish Foundation Room until we’re ready to go to our box.
We all pile into the opera box. The opening band blows us away and is followed by a half-hour intermission. Finally, Taj Mahal comes out on stage and shows the uninitiated just what he’s all about. During one song with a laborious guitar solo, I lean back in my seat, look around at where XRT got me tonight, and think that following XRT might get me somewhere after all.