Back-timing with Ron Staats

This week was very sad for many.

It's not often a sadness penetrates my heart, but when I heard that Ron Staats had passed away unexpectedly at the age of 71, it got to me.

Ron gave me my first job in radio, way back in 1989. I remember being so nervous about that job interview. I spent hours on my aircheck casssette and was absolutely thrilled to be called in to talk about a part-time job.

It was a weekday afternoon. I remember arriving at the station sometime after 4pm. The radio station was old school--straight out of the 1960's or 1970's. Wood paneling. The smell of a coffee pot that has been on the burner too long. Very quiet.

It was one of those environments where every wall had a window into another room. I remember wondering, "Where's the on-air studio?"

I sat on a leather covered bench in the lobby. The business office was closed for the day and in the background you could hear the radio station playing through a TV monitor in a control room just off the main hallway.

And then I remember being called back into the station for my interview. I expected to sit in an office and talk about my qualifications (of which I had very little after one semester of broadcasting). A young lady walked me deeper into the building.

We walked through one door into a hallway. There was a door with a pull-handle on it. A honey-colored door that sat between a wall full of mailboxes to the left. To the right, and perpendicular to the pull-handle door, was a very small recording studio with windows on all sides, but through which I could see nothing of interest.

Above the honey-colored door was an "on air" light. It was lit. So we waited. I remember looking in the little studio. Ancient looking control board. A triple-decker cart machine. A boom stand with a cardioid microphone--the type you see at church. An ancient reel-to-reel machine. Little did I know how much I'd spend time in this little room dubbing tape, reading the news, recording commercials.

The "on air" light finally went off. And I was ushered into the main studio of 13WMVO. I remember the maroon colored carpet that covered the floor and some of the walls. The triple carousel automation machine to the left. Two studio guest chairs with microphones to the right. Beyond the guest microphone was a control panel that dated back to the 1950's. It was the "board" that had been there since the station went on the air. It had been used, abused, undone, rebuilt and refurbished. It had old school meters with the needles bouncing up and down reflecting the audio on-air.

Sitting at the board, checking off a program log, and thumbing through several LP albums was a pudgy man in his 50's.

He had wire-rimmed glasses, a plaid short sleeve shirt and a crooked smile. He floated across the board, pushing buttons and pulling carts from the six-deck cart machine. Behind me, a reel-to-reel machine jumped to life. The man in the chair toggled the board into the cue channel as a record continued to play on-air. Through the cue speaker you could hear the beginning of a network business report. Two seconds in, he hit stop, then rewind for two seconds, then stop. The business report was ready to go.

This was Ron Staats. In his prime. The voice of Knox County, known and loved by a community over many decades. I had no clue.

He had me take a seat in one of the guest interview chairs and started asking questions. Could I work evenings? Could I work weekends? Did I have an FCC operator's license?

In the middle of the conversation, he raised his hand and said, "Hold on a moment."

The song that was playing was ending. He popped on his headphones and then popped open the mic, killing the studio speaker. With such ease, he gave the call letters, identified the song that just played and gave the time.

He pulled a piece of paper from above the board and read the weather forecast. And then he introduced the sports report with "Skip" and pushed a button activating a cart.

"Thanks Ron," I could hear over the speaker. The sports reporter had pre-recorded the tape hours earlier, but it sounded like the two were manning the station together. But it was just Ron and I in the building. To me, it was magical.

He closed the mic and we talked some more while he played several commercials. As we chatted, he checked off each on-air event on the log. He also replaced commercial cartridges in their designated spot on the big wall rack to his left, while pulling the ads that were coming up in the next hour.

Then he popped the mic and introduced another record and the time. He said just a few words, but he was funny. He made me smile.

After closing the mic, we talked for a few minutes more. He was looking for someone who could run the board for both high school football and Cleveland Cavaliers basketball games. He was also looking for someone to run the board from Noon to sign off on Saturdays. 15 to 20 hours a week. 6 dollars an hour.

"When can you start?" he asked.

"This week," I replied, not trying to hide my enthusiasm.

The song on the air was playing. He watched the clock on the wall carefully and at exactly 90 seconds before the top of the hour he started another cartridge that play big-band instrumental music. He cross-faded out the song that was playing.

"Be here Friday night at 6," he said.

Then he popped the mic and said something witty. He made a funny voice, too, but I can't recall what he said. Then, giving the temperature, he said, "This is 13 WMVO, Mount Vernon." Iconic.

As the big-band song ended, he popped up the network news, seamlessly back-timing into the top of the hour.

That day, Ron Staats gave me a part-time job. He taught me so much during the next 3 and half years. About radio, about giving, about community service, about life-in-general.

I'm blessed he was a part of my life.

I haven't seen him since 1992. And now I miss him.

I miss his wit, his charm, and his voice.

Thanks, Ron, for everything!!!

I'll never forget.


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