by Craig Carton
But I didn’t really care. I was just happy to be on the air in my hometown and doing mornings. I did have this other issue, though, and that was Calling Stars. Thank God for greed and dubious businesspeople. When I called to follow up with the ’N Sync people, they told me they would need a guarantee of $1 million, and they would only do one recording. I didn’t care about that one recording, because “Happy Birthday” was all I cared about, but there was no way I could guarantee the million, and they knew it. I told them I would get back to them by week’s end with an answer and a contract for them to review. What happened next, though, shocked even me.
Before we ever got to the end of the week, ’N Sync made a major announcement. They had signed an agreement with a company that had the same type of technology, and it was supported by a major national bank. They took my idea, went to a competing company, and used the exact same idea I had pitched them on a month earlier. Fucking assholes. But the best part was that the idea never worked, and other than whatever money they got from the title sponsor, people never went for the phone call to their homes from ’N Sync. I dodged a bullet. Now I was exclusively a radio guy. Having learned from my experience with Vegas Experts, I decided to drop the Calling Stars idea and concentrate on radio. I figured this was my only shot to make it in New York, and I was going to give it all of my attention. I called the athletes I had signed up to the company, explained to them that I was moving on, and closed the Calling Stars chapter then and there.
Let the games begin.
The Sports Guys show had no shot. Not only did nobody care about us; the show itself stunk. Sid only wanted to be a straight sports guy, and only wanted to be on WFAN Radio. Sid adored the FAN, as did most New York kids who loved sports and made WFAN listening a daily ritual. His screen saver was a picture of WFAN host Chris “Mad Dog” Russo, and once Sid got on the air as a broadcaster, his main goal was to work at WFAN. It was as if Sid thought that if he could get to WFAN, it would legitimize him as a radio talent. Sid knows as much as anyone who has ever worked at WFAN, and it’s a shame that his personal demons robbed of him what would have been a very lucrative career.
Sid hated the guy talk stuff, boycotted most of it, and really wanted to be taken seriously as a sports guy. He knew his shit, no doubt about that, but I didn’t think straight sports would ever garner ratings, especially on a hard-core guys’ station with Opie & Anthony as the afternoon show.
The other issue, aside from Sid and I not agreeing on what to talk about every day, was that Jeremy Coleman wasn’t a New Yorker or a sports fan—nor, for that matter, was he a good programmer. And on top of that, Sid spent as much time worrying about who was after him as he did working on doing a good radio show—drug dealers, bookies, whoever. He spent countless hours crying by the elevator, hoping people weren’t waiting for him to kill him. He came to work many times with black eyes or incredible stories of how he ducked someone who was looking for him.
I spent countless hours bemoaning that we had an incredible opportunity but it was being flushed down the drain. We had no ratings at all, and the ratings we did have got worse when ESPN broadcast their newest show with Michael Wilbon and Tony Kornheiser called PTI—or Pardon the Interruption. This show was new, and one-of-a-kind. It changed how TV sports are presented forever. As a team, Wilbon and Kornheiser are great. What they have is much like the natural rapport that I am blessed to have with Boomer. It’s a bond, and a relationship that cannot be manufactured. Abbott and Costello had it, but Abbott and anyone else would have been a disaster. Partners either have it, or they do not.
The problem for me was that Jeremy Coleman only knew ESPN when it came to sports. He figured if they were doing it on TV, we should do it on the radio. That year, 2001, the Yankees were making a run to the postseason again, and they dominated the headlines. But Jeremy had decided that we would do a radio version of PTI, something he called the Mad Minute. His idea was to change the topic every ten minutes, no matter what. Yankees win the World Series? You did ten minutes on it. Fuck off, now talk about something else. Olive and I tried to explain why that was a bad idea, but Jeremy didn’t care. He sent us a memo about how to get better ratings, and the only thing on the list was
1: Do better show.
Yet he was hamstringing us.
The souring of a thousand and one things between Sid and me was bad. He had given up on trying to do a good show. His demons had gotten to him, and he had to disappear for a while. He decided to go to Florida for Passover. Nothing wrong with that, but he went to Florida without telling anyone, and then once he was there, he told Jeremy that he needed at least a week to celebrate his Judaism. Jeremy wasn’t Jewish and he didn’t know any better, but our assistant PD was Jewish, and he knew it was bullshit right away. By this point, Sid owed half the building money. Management was tired of his act. Given our show’s ratings, they called Sid up and told him to stay in Florida and not bother coming back. He was fired. Of course, Sid blamed me for it, but I had nothing to do with it. I was taking a nap when our producer called me to tell me I would be on alone the next morning because Sid was fired.
Blain Ensley, the former cohost producer of the Rocky Allen show on WPLJ and WABC, replaced Sid. I loved Blain, but he wasn’t an on-air guy, and he didn’t want to be. I was fucked even more.
We did the best show we could, and he was a great partner. The show just never caught on, and with so many moving pieces over more than a year, how could it have? Labor Day came, and I had six months left on my deal. I knew I wasn’t going to be renewed. My goal was to do the best shows I could and hope to make a showing in the fall book so that I could land a Top 5 market gig elsewhere. CBS liked me, so it wasn’t out of the question.
Blain and I started the first Monday of the football season, talking Jets and the pending Monday night game for the New York Giants against the Denver Broncos. Our studio was on Fifty-Sixth Street and Seventh Avenue. I sat across from our board operator, although a huge desk-like console separated us. I faced the computers. Olive had the radio board, a computer, and two televisions on in front of him. Blain sat to my right with one computer. The call screener and associate producer sat outside our studio and communicated to Olive via instant message, or they would come into the studio if it was urgent.
Monday night, Blain and I had an appearance at a sports bar to watch the Giants-Broncos game. About twenty-five people showed up. We got paid and went home. Tuesday morning, we started the show talking about the Giants loss. The show was moving along great, we were taking calls, and it felt like we had a good morning show going. More than an hour into the show, I noticed that Olive’s attention was being taken by something on TV. Olive was the most professional guy I had ever worked with, and for him to be distracted, I knew that something was up.
I asked him on the air what he was looking at. He said it looked like a plane had flown into the World Trade Center.
It was September 11, 2001.
No reason to walk through every aspect of that day in this book, but that day is the most tragic radio show I have ever done. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about the countless people who called me on the radio as the last thing they ever did before the buildings came down. We told everyone who called to hang up and get out. None of them could, of course.
We stayed on the air for an extra hour or so before Don and Mike came on for the midday show. I walked from Fifty-Sixth and Seventh to Eighty-Sixth and Broadway, where my wife and only child at the time were. We went to the roof and stared in silence for most of the rest of the day.
Two months later, with ratings still lagging, Jeremy asked me and Blain to meet with Scott Ferrall. He told us they were considering Scott to work with us. I have always liked Scott and his show. He was the most perfect nighttime host I had ever heard. Great voice for it, great demeanor, great relationship with the young audience, and great energy. Mel Karmazin, the president of Infinity, was going to make Scott a big star, and that process was under way when Scott followed hi
s passion of doing NHL play-by-play. He was much more suited for the talk show world, though. His hockey stint was brief.
We met with Scott, and he started off by giving Blain and me a bottle of Scotch. Then he went into one of most impressive forty-minute rants I have ever witnessed. He didn’t sit down once, and he didn’t stop talking. Jeremy, Blain, and I didn’t say a word. When he was done, we shook hands and that was it. Jeremy told me that he wanted Scott to come in to do a two-minute rant at the top of every hour, and then leave the studio until the next rant.
I hated the idea. You can’t bottle up a guy like Scott for fifty-eight minutes, keep him out of the studio, and then bring him in to shoot his load within two minutes, and then make him leave again. I suggested that we make him a full cohost of the show, and the three of us would go for it. Blain preferred creating packaged bits anyhow, so Scott and I could host the show together.
Jeremy said he would consider it, and he told me that he left Scott with strict orders not to say anything about it. I was cool with Ferrall joining us, and thought it would extend the life of the show at least six months and give us another shot.
We never got that shot. The next day while he was hosting the Eagles pregame show in Philly at WYSP with Jody McDonald, Ferrall went on the air and said he was the new host of the WNEW morning show, and he was going to save the day. Of course, he said that in Ferralldelphia. WYSP is a CBS-owned station, and calls were made to Jeremy, who was pissed at the leak from Ferrall. Ferrall, told he couldn’t be trusted, wasn’t getting the job.
Three months later we had the station Christmas party, and everyone was fake and celebratory about the show. I wasn’t going to go to the party, but I figured it would be in bad taste if I didn’t. Jeremy, Opie, and station GM Ken Stevens acted as if everything were grand.
The following Monday, they told me that my contract wasn’t going to be renewed, and best of luck. The only good news was that I would get paid until June 1 as a parting gift for my troubles. The day after I walked out the door, Scott Ferrall walked in. He and Blain were the new morning show. I later found out that Tom Bigby made the ultimate decision. He was now consulting with Jeremy. The show lasted less than a year and was canceled, as was the entire talk format months later.
I decided to enjoy some time off with my wife and daughter before deciding what I would do next.
I had no idea that “next” meant having my life threatened by a sitting governor, being offered Howard Stern’s job, and becoming the most listened-to afternoon radio host in America. Not to mention becoming the highest-rated morning show back in New York City, and replacing a legend at the station where my journey began twenty years earlier as an intern.
We moved back to Philadelphia, and once again I was being paid to be unemployed. I contemplated lots of different business ideas, including opening up a new restaurant, but all I wanted was another radio gig. About three weeks after we moved, my phone rang. It was Eric Johnson, the program director of WKXW, better known as New Jersey 101.5 Radio. Eric was Tom Bigby’s assistant program director for a few years while I was at WIP, so we knew each other. I knew he was running the station, but I had no idea what the station was all about.
As it turned out, NJ 101.5 was interesting. You could hear it all the way to Manhattan. It came in to Philly loud and clear with a great FM signal. Eric told me that there might be an opening for nights, and he wanted to know if I was free to do some fill-in shows for them while their afternoon show was on vacation. Seeing as how I had nothing else to do, I said I would be happy to come by.
I went into the station on a Thursday and bumped into hosts of the afternoon show, Scott and Casey, two of the least talented guys in the history of radio. I would be filling in for them while they were away. Even Dennis Malloy, the cohost of the midday show, when he found out that they had been approached about doing a radio show in Detroit, commented: “Someone heard their show and offered them a job in radio? Shocking!”
Anyhow, I knew the drill by this time. I did a Thursday show without a problem. Then I decided to leave them with a lasting memory on Friday. I told a story on-air about how I saw a baby locked in a car in a Jersey mall parking lot, and when the parent of the baby came out of the store thirty minutes later, with me sitting by the car to make sure the baby was safe, she yelled at me for intruding into her business. On and on I went.
People reacted as you might think they would, with despair, anger, and unfettered emotion. Then the coup de grace: the Newark Star-Ledger called and wanted to interview me. I got the call from Eric Johnson after I had left for the day and told him I didn’t want any more attention. The station could take credit and respond however they liked. I had made my impression, and left them wanting more.
On Monday, Eric called and asked if I could come in and meet with the GM, Andy Santoro. Andy was about five foot seven with a small belly. He could have been right out of Goodfellas casting. He was also a huge fan of mine from my WNEW days, and was enamored with New York radio, and more specifically, WFAN. I had him at hello.
Eric talked to me about doing nights and asked if I would sign a two-year contract to be his full-time evening host. I had grander plans and did not want to be tied to the station for two years, especially if I would only be doing nights. I explained to Eric that I would do nights, but without a contract to tie me down. I promised that I would give them two weeks’ notice if I received an offer from some other radio station. Luckily for me, Andy Santoro had wanted me for afternoons all along, so the night idea never became an issue.
Then Andy took over and said, “Eric, why even float that? Craig is a major market talent. He isn’t doing nights. Craig, we want you for afternoons.” Bang, just like that I learned 1) Andy was the guy to go to for all decisions, and 2) Eric Johnson was a paper-pusher with no true ability to do anything as a program director. I would learn that over and over again during my nearly five years at NJ 101.5.
I signed a one-year contract for $125,000, and gave them an exclusive window to re-sign me sixty days out from the end of the one-year.
I was going to host a five-hour show Monday through Friday, and I wanted a partner—and a specific type of partner. I wanted someone older than me, someone who would not fight me for the microphone, a second banana who would never stab me in the back. Hard to find, for sure. The first guy they tried out was a producer friend of mine who didn’t want to be on the air. He sounded like shit. Then they brought in Ray Rossi.
Ray was a radio journeyman. He had worked at three New York City radio stations, all under different names given him by program directors. He had never done talk. Desperate for the gig, he would go along with anything I said from the get-go. He also didn’t care if or when he got to talk, and he was twenty years older than me. Not perfect, but perfect for me. I came up with the idea for the name Jersey Guys, just in case Ray didn’t work out, so we wouldn’t have to keep changing the name of the show from Carton and whoever.
We started in June 2002, and by September, we had the number-one, most-listened-to afternoon show in America. Nobody came close to dethroning us for the rest of my time there. I was nominated as talk show host of the year by Radio & Records, a trade publication that works in hand with the National Association of Broadcasters. I was voted one of the fifty most important talk show hosts in America by Talkers magazine, and even the ninth most powerful person in New Jersey state politics. I was the king of NJ 101.5, and I loved it, other than that I wanted the same recognition in a major market. Total ego for sure, but being number one in New Jersey and the most-listened-to guy in America out of New Jersey wasn’t as fulfilling ego-wise, financially, or career-wise, as if I could do it in New York or even back in Philly.
Over the years, I was approached several times to move to both markets. WMMR in Philadelphia came to me through their PD, a guy named Bill Weston. Bill had a low-rated morning show hosted by Mike Missanelli and Joe Conklin, a Philly comedian best known for his impressions of Philly athletes and icons. The show stu
nk because it had no energy, and the guys were always waiting for Joe to say something funny. The problem is, while Joe’s great at stand-up and when he has a prepared bit, he isn’t a high-energy guy. There was no way to do conversational humor, and as a result, the show was tame and boring. But I did love that it was on a rock station the rest of the day. Mike had just been fired, and they needed a real host to take over, so I met with Bill at an Applebee’s on City Line Avenue, outside of Philly. The executive producer of the show was my old pal Blain Ensley. He came to lunch as well.
Things went great until Conklin showed up. He said matter-of-factly that he was the star of the show, that nobody could deliver the punch line to a joke that was his, nobody could be bluer than him. On and on and on he went. He also said I would have to change my on-air persona to work around his.
I pointed out that he was part of a dying morning show and didn’t have a leg to stand on, but having been part of the successful Angelo Cataldi morning show, he thought he knew best. I called Bill the next day and declined the job. Another year in Jersey it would be.
I was approached to do mornings at WMMS in Cleveland, WDFN sports radio in Detroit, WRKO talk radio in Boston, and eventually WFAN Radio. Along the way, I had decided that the best thing for me to do was get attention, and lots of it. If a week went by when my show wasn’t being written about in some publication, that was a failed week of radio.
When Howard Stern announced that he was going to satellite radio, Rob Barnett, an executive with CBS Radio, initiated contact with me. Tim Sabean, who was running the Stern affiliate in Philly, called me about possibly replacing Stern in Philly. I still had a year to go on my contract. I wanted to do the right thing by my company, so I went to them to get permission, which my contract stated I had to do. After hemming and hawing a bit, Andy gave me a specific window in which I could talk and negotiate a contract with CBS Radio, should they offer me one.
