Remembering beloved WRTI jazz announcer Bob Perkins

For a good wrap of his career in Philadelphia radio, see Edirin Oputu’s remembrance at WRTI. I just wanted to share a few personal stories that hint at his profound effect on me, a novice-turning-more-experienced classical announcer.

First, before I knew him, he was to me the coolest cat in the world. After I met and got to know him, he was even cooler. He’d usually have a personal or distinct point to mention in the intro to a piece—and usually only one—which is a hallmark of great radio music announcing, jazz or classical. No matter what some experts may say, the listener really does want to know what you think. (Just not a whole lot of it.) If you can combine that with how you feel, even better.

Bob (known as BP to his friends and fans) excelled at this, and for the feel, you’d often get that in his outro. A couple of times Bob would be so moved after what he’d just played, he’d simply intone, in his wise, honeyed bass-baritone, “Mm.” Maybe “Mm, mm.” I can’t tell you how many times I was tempted to say “Mm” after playing a classical recording, but while I wisely demurred, I did so much want to put that feel across.

Sharing the board with BP

For nine months I was the interim afternoon classical announcer, working 2–6pm. The station changes from classical to jazz formats at 6pm, and that’s when Bob started, so I had the pleasure to see him for a few minutes every day. Sometimes I’d ask him questions about the many nuances involved in running the board. I knew his beautiful voice and delivery, but from watching him work I also knew that he was exquisitely deft at the board and at managing his time.

I remember one tip he gave me. When you do a live read (an announcement you read aloud rather than a recorded one), you open the document from a certain folder to one of your two computer screens. Sometimes the document has a list of spots to read; if your schedule says to read #17, you scroll down to #17. Bob told me that sometimes, in the heat of activity, your eyeballs start to bounce around. (I was so glad to hear this from him, since I thought that I was the only one.) So, whatever you’re reading, he said, don’t put it in the middle of the screen. Scroll the text up to the very top. That way, you know you only have to look to the top. A small thing, but that saved me more than once, while my eyes bounced from CD players to clock to button to screen 1 to screen 2 to scanning all over a page to find the thing I had to read right now.

Doughnuts and fund-drives

You may know that WRTI runs out of Temple University. My wife Jackie and I and our three girls all went there, and when our youngest, Martina, was there, she stopped by the station, I’m forgetting why now, perhaps to catch a ride home with me. I thought I’d introduce her to Bob, who was already on air, so when a song started, I took her into the broadcast studio. He was the gentleman he always was. He asked her questions about her studies. If he was watching the clock—and of course he was—he never showed it. Martina beamed, I beamed, and Bob thanked her for taking the time to come in. The next day, along with the bagged lunch he always brought, he carried a second bag, which he handed to me. In it was a doughnut. Today he had bought two. He thought that Martina would like one.

On fund-drive weeks, often three people do a shift together: the main announcer joins a second person to mix it up and to make sure that certain hourly talking points are hit, plus an off-microphone producer to keep the gabbers on the straight and narrow. One drive, at the beginning of the week, I was the second guy. We had done pretty well number-wise, and then we gave way to a jazz team, including Bob, at 6pm. Trying to sound cool, I said, “Hey Bob, are you ready to kill tonight?” Without missing a beat he replied, in his perfect taking-his-time Bob voice, “Oh, we might maim a few.” You could not out-cool Bob Perkins.

From the heart, with love

Dave Brubeck died in 2012 (also at age 91). Along with announcing, interviewing, and other jobs, I was creating Arts Desk features of different kinds, so I thought that getting BP on a mic to say, well, anything about Brubeck would be great content. Bob usually got into the station an hour before his 6pm start, so I asked him if we could find a studio and chat about Brubeck. He readily agreed, and here is the 15-minute feature that resulted. Just as in his announcing and in his writing (he was a terrific writer), in being interviewed he gets to essences quickly, recounts personal connections, and again, is the coolest guy on the planet. (He says here, about Louis Armstrong, “Louis couldn’t sing, but he could sing.”)

But those weren’t the most important aspects of Bob Perkins. What I’d come to notice over the years is that everything he said began in his heart and came out as love. Even throwaway lines and critiques left vapor-trails of kindness and love.

Like I said, Bob Perkins was my mentor. I never told him or anyone else, but what he did is what I tried to do. I’ll keep trying, Bob. Rest in peace.