Bob Sievers died yesterday. Unless you're from Fort Wayne, Indiana, which I am, you probably would not know the name. Bob was Mr. WOWO, and was on the air from 1932 until 1987. 55 years on the air.
Though my parents, grandparents, great grandparents and I had a generation gap and little in common, we all were listeners to Paul Harvey and Bob Sievers. Bob woke everyone in Fort Wayne up each morning. Somehow one felt secure when hearing his deep, announcerish voice tell you the time, the school closings, and the happenings around town. At a young age, way before radio became my mistress, I knew that if I wanted to know everything going on in town I had to listen to Bob Sievers, his sidekick Jay Gould and the LITTLE RED BARN (yes, there was a song about a Little Red Barn, on a Farm, Down in Indiana).
As a teen WOWO became less interesting to me, yet Bob Sievers was still part of my daily routine. Once there was a national alert when we were told to go to the bomb shelters. Sievers was on the air when the national alert system was triggered. Though he knew nothing more than the rest of us, he calmed us, reassured us and made us feel we were not about to die.
Soon there will be a funeral in Fort Wayne for a man who has not been on the air for a decade, yet there are already plans for crowd control. I can pretty much guarantee that most people in that town knew his name, listened to his show, and personally met him at one of thousands of personal appearances. He was not only Mr. WOWO, he was Mr. Fort Wayne.
WOWO and Bob Sievers taught me a valuable radio lesson, which I've used my entire career. They taught me that stability and a sense of belonging and a reflection of community is more important than talent. Competitors launched jock after jock to try and kills Bob's ratings, but none ever did. Radio consultants would come to town and mark Sievers as easy to knock off, because he did not have the jokes, the banter, the slick morning style. He was simply matter-of fact, talked a lot, and reflected this small Midwestern town. He was never unseated BECAUSE he sounded like the town. He was from the town, reflected it, and was raised in it.
Building a legacy like Bob Sievers is probably next to impossible today. After all he was on the air for generations. Greats like Sievers, Paul Harvey, Wally Phillips (Chicago WGN), and Bob Steele (WTIC Hartford) are a rarity, not simply because of their talent (Yes, talented indeed) because we as an industry want short term results. Yet if someone is listenable, reflective of the community, personable, and engaging they too can become heritage voices in their towns. It takes patience.
I first met my friend Chris Rathaus (now deceased) when he was the new program director of WOWO. I remember how frustrated he was because he could not get Bob to follow his format, play his programming tricks, not step on the intros of the records, etc. Though Bob was very cooperative and tried, he was set in his ways, and as he once told Chris, "You're my 38th program director. Chances are I'll be here when you have moved on." He was not being rude, just practical. And its a hard pill for a PD to swallow knowing that the little programming tools probably would have made no difference in listening levels. Bob had his audience... everyone in town. Maybe not all the time, but if there was a storm or a big news story they always went back to Bob Sievers.
When I was a programmer I used to cringe listening to Bob, not because he sounded bad, but because he sounded the same as when I was a kid. It took a lot of maturity to understand that was a good thing, not a bad thing.
Now another of the heritage air people in America is gone. Soon there will be no more who have been on the air as long as Bob Sievers was. But, as a programmer the ultimate place to be is to create a talent like Bob who will last for generations.
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