<Archive Obituaries> Wolfman Jack (July 1st 1995)
Bill Schenley
Wolfman Jack Died In His Adopted Hometown Of
Belvidere, N.C., Just A 60-Mile Drive From The Tiny
Newport News Studio Where He Got His Start.
Ten Days Ago, He Broadcast From Washington's
Planet Hollywood And Looked Back On His Life And
Career
Photo: http://www.wjhk.com.hk/about/wolfman_jack.jpg
FROM: The (Norfolk) Virginian-Pilot (July 3rd 1995) ~
By Craig Shapiro, Staff Writer
It was just a phone book wrapped in duct tape.
But cradled in the left arm of Wolfman Jack, it became
something more. A drum and a holy book. The gospel according
to Jackie Wilson and Wilson Pickett, Del Shannon and Dion,
James Brown and the Bar-Kays and Screamin' Jay Hawkins.
Eyes closed, dressed in black, a biker's glove on his raised
right hand and a Technicolor scarf tied around his head, the
Wolfman summoned up that smoke-stained growl:
''I love you!''
Wham!
''You're mine!''
Wham!
''Mine!''
Wham!
''Mine!''
''OWOOOOOO! ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT. OH YEAH. COME
ON. WOLFMAN JACK IS HERE WITH YOU, BABY. LET'S ROCK AND
ROLL. WE GONNA BOOGIE. OH MY. HOW ARE YOU? HEH-HEH.''
Wolfman Jack was on the air.
Planet Hollywood was garish, relentlessly noisy and crowded.
Even on a rainy, sticky evening, the line of customers
waiting to get in snaked down 11th Street, rivaling the
queue at the White House, just a 15-minute walk away.
They were at the memorabilia-crammed restaurant to see Darth
Vader's helmet, Freddy Krueger's glove and the potter's
wheel where Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore made nice in
''Ghost.''
They were there to watch clip after clip of Planet
triumvirate Bruce Willis, Sly Stallone and Arnold
Schwarzenegger, and footage of Hollywood's leading ladies,
classiest dancers and biggest explosions.
But few people realized that, in a corner of the restaurant,
near Kim Hunter's ''Planet of the Apes'' costume and Dan
Aykroyd's ''Ghostbusters'' power pack, rock history was made
every Friday night.
At least not until they were seated.
''OWOOOOOO! NIGHTTIME IS THE RIGHT TIME. ALL RIGHT, MAMA.
YOU GOT WOLFMAN JACK ROCKING THE PLANET AT THE ALL NEW XTRA
104.''
The Wolfman had this gig since February 1994, when he signed
on with the Liberty Radio Group, which operates oldies WXTR
and alternative-rocker WHFS in Washington. At the time of
his death last week, ''Live from Planet Hollywood'' was
carried on 55 stations across the United States.
It was a far cry from those renegade days when he was
reinventing rock 'n' roll radio at XERF in Via Cuncio,
Mexico, a 250,000-watt AM powerhouse across the border from
Del Rio, Texas.
Further still from tiny WYOU in Newport News, where Bob
Smith from Brooklyn broke into the business.
''It was a daytime operation,'' Wolfman said, just before
going on the air. ''I think it was 1270 (on the dial), where
all those peanut whistles sit. It was only 1,000 watts -
barely covered Newport News - but it got into Norfolk and
Hampton Roads. They were playing rhythm and blues.
''I went on the air as Daddy Jules. Daddy Jules, baby.''
To compete with the bigger stations, Daddy Jules started
inviting students in after school to dance and make requests
on the air. Soon, nearly 100 kids were lined up outside the
WYOU studios every day.
''When the numbers came up - Bingo! We beat them like 3 to 1
in the afternoon,'' he said. ''All of a sudden, the station
went from being a peanut whistle to something really
important. What happens? The owner comes in and dumps it. He
sells the station for something like seven times the price
he paid for it.
''This guy from New York makes it a sweet music station and
I had to become Roger Gordon playing Mantovani. I couldn't
believe it. What a jerk.''
Four minutes until air time and Planet Wolfman was hopping.
While an engineer made a quick adjustment to a set of
headphones, interns took the names of customers who wanted
autographed pictures. Wolfman's on-air partners, Marilyn
Thompson from WXTR and Wes Johnson from WHFS, settled into
their places; sitting to his left was Lonnie Napier, his
longtime manager.
Over the next four hours, the Wolfman jived with callers
from South Bend, Salt Lake City and Waco. He took requests
for Little Richard, Chuck Berry and the Beach Boys, and ran
through bits about Richard Nixon and Newt Gingrich.
And he pounded that phone book.
During breaks he signed autographs, wolfed down a club
sandwich and steamed shrimp and started on vegetarian pizza.
He posed for pictures, kissed babies, chain-smoked
unfiltered Camels, knocked back cups of coffee and bottles
of mineral water and didn't once get up to go to the
bathroom.
''I grew up listening to Wolfman Jack,'' said WHFS' Johnson.
''I grew up listening to 'Clap for the Wolfman' by The Guess
Who and never realized that one day I'd be so close that I'd
be able to get clap from the Wolfman.''
It might seem like a musical mismatch because Johnson works
for a modern-rock station. He's the morning man and creative
services director at WHFS, where the playlist features Hole,
Live and Hootie and the Blowfish.
''Wolfman Jack transcends all that,'' Johnson said. ''Right
now, he is playing oldies and favorites, but Wolfman Jack
could very easily be playing Pearl Jam. Wolfman is into good
music. Wolfman is basically into everything that is quality
about radio.
''Supposedly, we're cutting-edge at WHFS, but Wolfman Jack
was sharp when he started out. He defined the cutting edge
and he's still slicing through it today.''
Johnson, 34, added that when he first hooked up with the
Wolfman, he was awestruck. That didn't last long.
''Normally, you have people who are so wrapped up in their
ego and their own little world that they don't take time to
be friendly,'' he said. ''The beauty of Wolfman is that
everybody he meets, he becomes a friend. He does that over
the air, and in person you can multiply that tenfold.''
When the show wrapped at 11 p.m., Wolfman Jack looked every
bit of 57 years old.
The day before, in New York, he was up at 5 a.m. His new
autobiography, ''Have Mercy! Confessions of the Original
Rock 'n' Roll Animal,'' had him on a 20-day promotional
tour, and he was a guest on Don Imus' show. The two shared a
deep, 25-year friendship.
Later that day, Wolfman flew to Cleveland for an appearance
at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, then returned to New York
for another round of interviews. He was in Washington the
following morning for more interviews.
''Retirement age is 65, ain't it?'' Wolfman said. ''I figure
I got another seven or eight more years that I can really do
some good. And that's where it is. In the beginning, it was
for my own ego trip. Now that I've gotten to a certain place
in life, man, I can take what I got and give something to
those people out there.
''If I'm a success, the big shots with the money and the
stations will turn around and say, 'Hey, we need more of
these character people' and they're going to search around
and put them on the air. Basically, what I'm doing is a real
good thing for everybody in radio.''
A lifetime of living hard, and living to tell about it,
taught him to see the big picture.
So did a long and loving marriage and the genteel life in
Belvidere, N.C., where he lived since 1989. He had just
returned to his 160-acre plantation when he died Saturday.
''I used to live in L.A., but if I hadn't moved down to
North Carolina I probably would have died of a drug
overdose,'' he said. ''I've never been a big drinker, but
when it was fashionable in the old days I got into cocaine.
I'm not ashamed of it - I wrote about it in my book. I don't
do it no more. It would kill me if I do, you understand? My
heart wouldn't take it.''
The allotted time for the post-show interview was over. But
Wolfman asked that the tape recorder be turned back on.
''My message is simple,'' he said. ''We're all here to have
fun. Everybody thinks it's really hard to have fun. It's
not. All you gotta do is do something wonderful for somebody
else.
''Everybody makes a difference. I don't care who you are, we
all make a difference. If we want to make this planet a good
place to live, we've all got to step up and take the advice
of the old Wolfman. We're here to have fun with each other
and not hurt each other.
''I want to have a good life the rest of my life, so I want
those people out there obeying the rules and doing the right
thing. You understand?''
---
Photo: http://mollyann.com/images/FIFTIES/thewolfman.JPG
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FROM: The Independent (July 3rd 1995) ~
By Mick Brown
Wolfman Jack, in his day the most famous rock and roll
disc-jockey in America, has howled for the last time. The
disc- jockey, who achieved fleeting international fame for
his part in George Lucas's 1973 teenage rites-of-passage
film American Graffiti, died on Saturday night from a heart
attack. He was 56.
Wolfman Jack belonged to a more innocent era of rock and
roll, when disc- jockeys - not marketing, video, or movie
tie-ins - made hits, and when an exotic moniker and a
gravel-voice gimmick could make a dj almost as big a star as
those whose records he played.
He was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1939 as plain Robert
Smith - not a name to fire the imagination of a nation's
teenagers in a field inhabited by myriad "Howlin's";
"Screamin's", "Moondogs" and "Hound Dogs". A horror- movie
fan, Smith adopted the name "Wolfman" and came to prominence
broadcasting for XERF-AM, a radio station situated just
inside the Mexican border, and therefore outside Federal
broadcasting regulations.
XERF's 250,000 watts was five times the power allowed on
American radio stations at the time, giving the Wolfman a
rapt teenage audience almost all the way across America.
Wolfman Jack's howls, yelps and fast-talking patter - a
mixture of hip black argot, teenage slang and gobbledegook -
made him a figure whose cult appeal was all the more potent
for his never being seen. Most of his audience assumed he
was black, and his most conspicuous service was as one of a
small band of white disc-jockeys - "Poppa Stoppa" in New
Orleans, Dewey Philips at WDIA Memphis and John Richbourg at
WLAC Nashville were others - who broke the racial barrier
which had traditionally surrounded black music.
"It's real American music - what rock 'n' roll originally
was before people turned it around and sideways and upside
down," he said in an interview in 1988. "From 1958 to 1964,
that's real rock 'n' roll. Then the Beatles hit and everyone
sounded like them. They didn't give our boys long enough."
The pop star P.J. Proby remembers jiving with Wolfman on the
radio, when Proby released a record under the pseudonym
Orville Woods. "They changed my name because I sounded like
a black man singing the song. Everybody thought he was black
too. But that was the power of radio.
"Everybody in America has a clear memory of that voice. He
was an enormously influential figure for all the jocks. He
could do with an R&B record what Dick Clarke could do with a
Bobby Rydell record - make it a hit."
Realising the value of his own mystique, for a long time
Wolfman shied away from the disc-jockey's stock-in-trade of
personal appearances by demanding an extortionate $ 15,000
fee. Eventually a group of Kansas City students called his
bluff. The Wolfman insisted the money should be delivered in
$ 20 bills in a Brinks truck to his home. He invested in a
troupe of midgets and a make-up artist, appearing on stage
in a red Afro fright- wig, flowing cape, shades and 12-inch
finger-nails.
"I looked real Neanderthal," he would later recall. "I could
have been Mexican, I could have been black; I could have
been anything. But I still didn't know what to do on stage.
So I stood there and growled a little bit and threw around
some profanities and left. They loved it."
In 1967, XERF closed down, and Wolfman crossed the border to
Los Angeles to work on KDAY. It was there that he was heard
by the film director George Lucas who, remembering the part
which the Wolfman had played in his own teenage years,
growing up in the small Californian town of Modesto, cast
the disc-jockey in American Graffiti.
The film made the Wolfman the most famous disc-jockey in
America, celebrated in songs by Todd Rundgren and Leon
Russell and an American hit for the Guess Who, "Clap for the
Wolfman".
In 1974, he moved to New York to host Midnight Special on
television and work for WNBC radio. He appeared in
advertising campaigns and had his own syndicated television
Wolfman Jack Show.
Wolfman credited his success to his voice, sustained by a
regular intake of Camels and the judicious lubrication of
whisky. "It's kept meat and potatoes on the table for years
for Wolfman and Wolfwoman. I've got that nice raspy sound."
Although his influence as a disc-jockey waned, he continued
to broadcast, and had recently completed a 20-day trip to
promote his new book, Have Mercy: the confession of the
original party animal, about his early career and parties
with celebrities. He made his last radio appearance on
Friday night from the Planet Hollywood restaurant in
Washington.
"He had just done one of his best shows. He was feeling
really good," said Lonnie Napier, vice-president of Wolfman
Jack Enterprises. "He walked up the driveway, went in to hug
his wife and then just fell over."
Robert Smith (Wolfman Jack), disc-jockey: born Brooklyn, New
York 1939; married (one son, one daughter); died Belvidere,
North Carolina 1 July 1995. the table for years.' Wolfman
Jack in the film American Graffiti (1973)
---
Photo: http://www.radioszene.de/images/wolfman3jpg.jpg
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Wolfman Jack, 57, Raspy Voice Of Rock-And-Roll On
The Radio
FROM: The New York Times (July 3rd 1995) ~
By David M. Herszenhorn
Wolfman Jack, the rock-and-roll disk jockey whose
unmistakable raspy voice and on-the-air howls brought him
something of a cult following as one of America's best-known
radio personalities, died on Saturday at his home in
Belvidere, N.C. He was 57.
The cause was a heart attack, said his daughter, Joy Renee
Smith of Belvidere.
He was a radio-show host right up until his death,
broadcasting his last "oldies but goodies" program on Friday
night from a Planet Hollywood restaurant in Washington. Just
before his death, he returned home from a 20-day tour to
promote his autobiography, "Have Mercy: Confessions of the
Original Rock-and-Roll Animal," published by Warner Books.
He was born Robert Smith in Brooklyn on Jan. 21, 1938, and
for a couple of years, in 1960 and 1961, he was Daddy Jules
on WTID in Norfolk, Va.
In 1962, he worked at KCIJ, a country station in Shreveport,
La., where he went by the name Big Smith With the Records.
Byron Laursen, a New Jersey writer and co-author of Wolfman
Jack's autobiography, said that Wolfman Jack also worked in
an interracial nightclub called the Tub, which was housed in
an old Quonset hut, and he served as host of a weekly
interracial dance party for teen-agers.
Twice, Wolfman Jack had crosses burned outside his home by
members of the Ku Klux Klan angered by the interracial
activity, Mr. Laursen said. "He was instrumental in getting
some great music on the airwaves, especially black music,
that wasn't getting a lot of exposure," Mr. Laursen said.
But he cascaded to fame as Wolfman Jack, a faceless hero on
the AM airwaves and a pioneer of the peculiar genre called
border radio because it was broadcast from just over the
border in Mexico. He was among a group of border disk
jockeys in the early 1960's with names like Hound Dog and
Huggy Boy, and he had his name legally changed.
From 1963 to 1966, Wolfman Jack howled and growled at night
on XERF-AM in Via Cuna Cohuilla, Mexico. In 1966, he moved
to XERB, where he spun the latest rock tunes from a small
studio in the sleepy resort town of Rosarito, overlooking
the Pacific Ocean, 15 miles south of the United States
border. The station pumped out at 250,000 watts, five times
the legal limit for American stations at the time, and was
heard across most of the country.
In the studio, he seemed every bit as crazy as he sounded,
with his face contorting, his eyes bulging and his hands
waving wildly. And he had a habit of issuing outrageous
orders, like "Get naked!" to his listeners.
It was not until he played himself in the 1973 film
"American Graffiti" that fans could match the voice with a
face. And they were not disappointed. The Wolfman looked the
part, with bushy eyebrows, sideburns, a mustache and a
devil's goatee.
He moved to New York and for about a year worked for WNBC
radio. In 1974, he moved to Los Angeles, where he had his
own syndicated radio program, heard on nearly 2,000 stations
worldwide, as well as "Midnight Special," an NBC television
show.
In recent years, he made about 150 appearances a year,
serving as host at a variety of events, said Lonnie Napier,
Wolfman Jack's manager and the vice president of Wolfman
Jack Entertainment. The Friday night radio program he worked
on until his death was carried on 55 stations across the
country, Mr. Napier said.
Wolfman Jack also became famous for his appearances in
television commercials, especially extended "infomercials,"
in which he hawked rock-and-roll music collections. He moved
to Belvidere six years ago to be with his wife's family.
In addition to his daughter, he is survived by his wife, Lou
Lamb Smith of Belvidere, whom he often referred to on the
air as "Wolfwoman"; a son, Todd Weston Smith of Hertford,
N.C., and a granddaughter.
---
Photos: http://www.albundy.net/other_pics/special/jackb.JPG
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Wolfman Jack in art: http://www.suck.com/daily/2000/06/23/b.gif
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