By Newcomb Weisenberger
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One of my daily assignments at KFI was to report to studio C fifteen minutes before air -time for. Collins Calling. This quarter hour was for rehearsal. David Starling was the announcer and producer for the program that I was to mix. We had this time to set up the studio; check the mikes, position the Bosendorpher piano and set the stool for Chuck. From the Mixer Booth I would test the balance of sound levels for David, Chuck and the piano. Shortly before air time I would send to Master Control by Morse key, "C Set." And hear in return two dots that meant yes. The C send channel was locked on and we waited for the lights to signal that we were live on the air. David would touch Chuck's shoulder and then Chuck was on his own. He would be touched again when two minutes remained and again when one minute would end the program. Before program time Chuck would come into the studio and set up his six-keyed Braille typewriter on the piano lid. He pounded out his script on the underside of stiff paper. This noisily raised a code of surface dots that he scanned during the program. One hand read down the margin for the line and the other hand moved across the page for what he would say. |
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Chuck read these words and talked, sang and played the piano too. Remarkably this seemed to all happen at once. His theme was a calypso dock-worker's song, Adi Day ooh. As these quarter hours were accumulated we became friends. We learned just how un-handicapped he was and Chuck learned to trust us with his program and himself. Against high odds, he had lost his sight in two separate accidents, the first one from a game of mumbly peg. His open jack knife had bounced off a tree trunk. Sorry, I can't remember the second tragedy. Importantly, Chuck had a keen sense of sound sources.
Hear Chuck Collins Introduction on KFIHear Chuck Collins Continuing on KFI
Hear Chuck Collins Signing Off on KFI
Crossing the street he heard the traffic stop for the light, he set both heels against the curb for direction, and marched across Vermont Blvd! He would snap his finger and thumb for little send pulses that returned as echoes from doorways and corners. Inside our studios he had some trouble with the acoustic baffles that broke up sound along the walls.
One day he came into the Coral Studio and told me this story as if it had just happened. "I was just turning into 141 Vermont (KFI studios), when a streetcar rattled by and I lost my position. (He bent over with his hands out in front as he continued.) I turned too soon and stumbled into the flowerbeds, landing on my hands and knees. Mr. Anthony came in just in time to see me and said, 'Chuck , what are you doing down there?' " I could tell that Chuck was really embarrassed but he grinned at me as he told his story. He refused to carry a cane. I think that white canes with red tips came years later.
I hesitate to add this story, afraid that you might think us cruel or uncaring. The point of telling is that you may appreciate just how remarkable a man Chuck Collins was. We brought in a high stool from the shop and placed it in the playing position at the piano. Chuck was surprised and turned to the mixer window laughing. Another day it was a very short stool. (There were two grand pianos in studio C both with large casters. One was being repaired and the keyboard had been removed.) David and I with some effort pushed this piano into place and pushed the other piano off to one side. When Chuck came in and touched the piano, he found the keyboard cover down. When he opened it, he felt for the keys and only found the long empty box, measuring it end to end, with his hands. Immediately he waved to us in the mixer window. He was laughing at the joke and later laughed again as David and I had to push the pianos back where they belonged. That was Chuck's secret (Being totally blind.) A secret that Chuck's many Radio fans were never told.