Dick Clark
The World's Oldest Teenaged Megabusinessman

Richard Wagstaff Clark was born in Bronxville, New York, on November 30, 1929 to Richard Augustus Clark and his wife Julia Fuller Clark. It's a good thing that young Richard used his first name professionally since it's hard to see that anyone named "Waggie" Clark could have been one of the most successful television personalities and businessmen in history.

Be that as it may, Richard - "Dick" we should say - is well known to the Baby Boomers and maybe - although decreasingly so - to variously named successive name branded generations. However, when he first got into broadcasting, things did not look so promising.

At Syracuse University Dick had majored in business administration with a minor in radio. He had taken a job at the WRUN television station in Utica (where his dad was promotional manager), but when the opportunity presented himself he auditioned for a job at Philadelphia's WFIL.

Although with his boyish good looks you'd think Dick would be perfect for the nascent industry. But the actual job was for the radio and delivery was what counted. But when they saw Dick stand before a mike and without notes deliver commercials, give an introduction to music, and give sports news verbatim, they were flabbergasted. It was amazing.

But Dick had a little help from his friend, Elmer. Elmer was the name of a miniature wire recorder and playback device which had a tiny microphone that could be plugged in the ear. Dick had surreptitiously recorded the audition and was listening to the lines and repeating them smoothly as if he was giving the lines extempore. Far from being miffed at such serendipity, the managers were impressed at the feat (try doing that yourself). Dick not only had the looks for television and the voice for radio, but he was smart as well. He was hired at once.

With his good looks and delivery, Dick was perfect for pitching ads on the television. He was paid a flat salary plus a per-commercial fee. One of the shows he announced was Paul Whiteman's popular "TV Teen Club". But although Dick was also given his own radio show and was making pretty good money from the commercials fees, he was seemingly stuck in a broadcasting rut.

Not so Dick's fellow WFIL employee Donald Loyd "Bob" Horn. In 1952, Bob successfully pitched a new show to the station executives. It would feature an audience of local teenagers who would get up before the cameras and dance to the newest popular records. Bob was a very persuasive person and also one of Philly's leading broadcasters. The station gave Bob the OK and started the show's run on October 7, 1952. It was called Bandstand

To the surprise of the television executives, the show was a hit. The home audience actually enjoyed watching the kids dance. Between songs Bob would also talk to the kids, ask who they were, their ages, and ask them to rate the records. The show became so popular that the station had to issue membership cards to the kids to control the days they could come to the studio. Soon there were 10,000 card carrying members of Bandstand and at a Bandstand picnic, 12,000 kids showed up.

The show would also feature bands to tout their records. However, when it came to playing rhythm and blues - which was the popular music that rose from the African American community after World War II - the show would inevitably feature "cover" versions by white artists - at time over the protests of the kids.

The protesting "kids" we should mention were a select group who had become regulars on the show. They had in someways become the de facto stars. Bob, after all, looked like the mature and somewhat jowly adult he was (but he was nowhere nearly as mature-looking and jowly as Paul Whiteman). But he was still the boss and star de jure. With a hit show on his hands, he had all the money and publicity such stardom entails.

As for Dick, if Bob went on vacation, Dick would stand in as guest host. And he had also been given a radio version of Bandstand which was renamed as Dick Clark's Caravan of Music. But guest spots were few and far between, and the radio show was nowhere near as successful as the television. Dick was still in his broadcasting rut with no place to go.

Pardon for a slight digression. It is well known that radio stations and television stations have owners. In those fledgling days of broadcasting, the owners were inevitably wealthy businessmen often hailing from the hometown of the station. These businessmen could also own sports teams, manufacturing companies, and brokerage firms.

And they might also own newspapers.

That was the case of WFIL. It was owned by the well-known Philadelphia mogul named Walter Annenberg. Among his many interests - and we mean many interests - Walter also owned two papers, the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Philadelphia Daily News. Walter also ran a number of other non-Philly papers and magazines, including TV Guide which he launched as a national magazine in 1953.

Now we will not go into detail about Mr . Annenberg's modus publisherandi - except for this story which is too good not to tell. There was a candidate for governor that the Inquirer (ergo, Walter) did not like. At a press conferences an Inquirer reporter asked him if he had ever been in a mental hospital. The candidate naturally replied "No", and the next day the Inquirer ran the story: "[Candidate] Denies Ever Having Been in a Mental Home". The candidate lost the election.

Walter, though, didn't own all the Philadelphia papers. One that operated outside his realm was the Philadelphia Bulletin, steered by Robert "The Major" McClean, who also served as the President of the Associated Press. The Bulletin also owned the WCAU radio and television station, and as far as how well Robert and Walter got along, let's just say they were competitive.

In the early morning of July 21, 1956, the program director of WFIL, a man named Jack Steck, got a phone call. It seems that earlier a car had barreled through a red light and almost creamed a police car. The police car pursued the vehicle and when they pulled it over found it was driven by none other than the famous Bob Horn. Bob had not only been combative and belligerent, but was in no state to drive. He was hauled to the police station and booked for drunk driving.

A particular problem was the DUI arrests in Philadelphia had doubled from the previous years. This had brought on community outrage and one of the most vocal advocate of the get-tough-on-drunk-drivers program was none other than Walter Annenberg.

Yes, the owner of WFIL. Ergo, Bob's boss.

Although the Inquirer dutifully relegated the story of Bob's arrest to its inner recesses, the Bulletin blared the story on its front page. Bob was immediately suspended from Bandstand.

Today DUI is recognized as a serious crime but in those days was often winked at. So after a suitable interval it would be likely that Bob would have been able to return to the Bandstand helm. But there were other unsavory rumors about another aspect of Bob's high-living. Without going into details, we'll just say that the station didn't want to risk further problems. So after a brief spell with a interim host, Dick was called in to take over.

For all his cherubic, teenaged, and perpetual good looks (although they weren't completely perpetual), Dick was one of the shrewdest, canniest, and savviest businessmen in America. And he liked the business part and had as much fun presiding over business meetings with the managers, assistants, and financiers as he did standing in front of a camera. But he always saw himself on the up-and-up. There were good guys and bad guys in business, and he was one of the good guys.

But he said later that if you're in business and competing with unscrupulous scoundrels, scalaways, and downright shtick dreks you have to know what your doing. You can't give them a chance to do unto you what they've done to everyone else.

And one way he saw was to form his own production company. That way no one could squeeze him out. So in 1957 Dick formed dick clark productions (yes, the lower case is correct).

At first Dick kept up the Bandstand.

Of course you can't became a fantastically successful businessman with just a local show. So Dick pitched Bandstand to the ABC network to go national. And after some hemming and hawing, the executives agreed to give it a try.

Renamed American Bandstand, the show was as big a hit nationally as it was in Philadelphia. The format was unchanged. The kids would dance, tell Dick their names, and rate the records. The show still had the regulars and they found themselves being sent gifts from fans across the country.

Then there would be recording stars who would get up and lip sync their latest hit. Although the performances were a bit hokey, it was still good fun, not the least in seeing how good a star could mime his own record. And it was always a bit of a surprise when you actually saw a star - like James Brown - on the show actually singing live.

Then in 1959 the payola scandal hit. It seems that disc jockeys had been taking - pah! - money to play records. In its most basic form, modus payolandi was easy enough. A distributor would go to the DJ and hand him a record and politely ask him to play it. Squirreled away in the sleeve would be a $50 bill - or $100. Or more.

One thing to remember. At the time it was not illegal to either pay DJ's to play records or for a DJ to take money for playing records. And as Perchik said to the Rabbi, if it's not forbidden it must be all right.

But the payola scandal did give Congressmen the opportunity to put on their high hats and be shocked! shocked! at the greed of the DJ's. Such investigatory committees had become popular with Congressmen as it gave them the perfect opportunity to garner publicity. The public also liked the committees and even made heroes of the congressmen, like Senator Estes Kefauver whose hearings into organized crime had made him a national hero.

It's hard to believe now that politicians could be so admired. Dick himself later pointed out that this was the day when people didn't think it was possible that politicians could be crooks. "It's not very interesting now," he said years later, "because you know the government is crooked ... We didn't know that then."

The politicians' motives notwithstanding, many DJ's fell to the scandal. Without doubt the most famous casualty was Alan Freed. When he refused to sign a document saying he had never taken payola, Alan was dumped from his stations. He ended his days bitter and wandering from one small broadcasting job to another, dying a few years later at age 43.

And Dick?

Dick appeared before the committee which was chaired by Arkansas Senator Oren Harris. Senator Oren, you may remember, also investigated the quiz show scandals where the contestants were fed the answers. ABC president Leonard Goldenson was also called in to testify.

When Dick appeared before the committee, he said he was only offered payola once - for $100 - and he told the man to leave. He stated he had never "agreed to play a record or have an artist perform in return for a payment in cash or any other consideration."

The senators, though, seemed to think that Dick was crafting a definition to fit his denials. One senator pointed out that they had heard from 25 to 30 DJ's who admitted accepting money, but never actually agreed to play the records. According to Dick's definition, these men had not taken payola.

We see then that confounding the issue was what payola actually meant. If a distributor paid a DJ $5 to play a record, that was payola. But what if the distributor picked up the tab for a $50 business lunch? Payola or not?

Then there's companies that didn't offer money before the record was played but sent gifts "of appreciation" afterwards - like the company who sent Dick's wife a fur coat. Dick could honestly say he had not received money for playing a record. And when the company sent Dick a ring. As long as he never wore it, Dick could say he had not profited by the gift.

One thing Dick could not - and did not - deny was that he made money from the music business. He was a businessman in the music business - and a successful businessman. He had interests in a number of companies, and some of those companies had the rights to record and distribute the songs.

Of course, Dick admitted, some of the records he played were those owned by his companies. Since the companies owned the rights to some of the songs, he got royalties when they were played.

But whatever he may or may not have received, Dick denied that he had acted improperly or unethically. Obtaining the rights to the songs were legitimate business transactions and sometimes he got the rights to a song due to the generosity of the composer. For instance, a song called Butterfly was released by Bernie Lowe. Dick said he was offered - simply on the basis of his friendship with Bernie - 25 % of the royalties. Dick said at first he demurred, but then at the end of the year Bernie offered him $7000 as his share. Dick accepted the offer. One of the senators said that although Dick didn't get payola, he certainly had gotten royala.

One of Dick's biggest coups had been when Danny and the Juniors appeared on American Bandstand and sang their song At the Hop. Not only was the song and the band been a hit, but Dick had also gotten 50 % of the publishing rights to the song. Given that At the Hop became one of the biggest hits in the history of rock and roll, Dick really cleaned up.

Dick's insistence that he did not favor songs from his companies was something the senators found hard to accept. One of them said that "Some kind of telepathic communication seems to take place. By intellectual osmosis between the disk jockey and the record manufacture, money is passed, and records get played."

At one point the congressmen even called in a professor of economics and statistics at Georgetown University, Joseph Tryon. Professor Tryon did a study of the frequency of which records were played and by whom and found that Dick preferred playing songs of companies that he had an interest. It was later stated that 53 % of the records played were from three companies where Dick had a piece of the action. Not something you expect from chance.

The chief counsel of the committee, Robert Lislinian, cited a specific record, 16 Candles by The Crests. On November 22, 1958 it wasn't on Billboard's Top 100 Hits. But then one of Dick's companies acquired the rights and Dick began to play the song. From not being listed in Billboards Top 100 songs in November, by February 14, 1959, 16 Candles had shot up to the #2 and ended up selling 800,000 copies.

Was this, the senators wondered, purely coincidence?

Certainly, Dick's playing 16 Candles, gave the song exposure. But even before Dick acquired the rights, the song had already shown signs of going up in popularity. So Dick's acquiring the song could be seen an astute businessman seeing an opportunity, taking a risk, and having it pay off.

It's germane to the discussion to determine if the speed that 16 Candles rose to the top was unusual for a hit song. Well, on September 27th, 1958, the Kingston Trio's Tom Dooley was not listed by Billboard. By November 22 - less than two months later - it was #1.

Similarly, the song Stagger Lee was #1 on February 14, 1959. But it, too, wasn't listed on the Top 100 until after December 6, 1958 - again a 2 month Top 100 gestation. So 16 Candles was not unusual in its rise. Teenagers bought the song - as one kid pointed out - because they liked it.

But for all the testimony of who accepted payola and who didn't actually brings up another question. With all Dick's financial interests in the record companies and although Dick did not accept payola by its strictest definition, did Dick - directly or indirectly - pay payola.

Dick admitted the companies did pay the DJ's to play records. But Dick pointed out that this was the standard business model. In his companies, the payments were always above board, properly accounted for and declared in the financial statements.

Payola or not, Dick's profits were enormous. A $100 investment would produce a $30,000 return. Such returns, Dick would point out, were by no means unusual for the music business. But you can also see how Dick soon had enough money so eventually he had interests in over 30 record and publishing companies.

That it was considered improper for a DJ to own interest in music companies and profit by them was something Dick said never occurred to him or his fellow investors. But once he realized that the public (and Congress) considered there was a conflict with being the host of a television show that was paying music and owning interest in the companies producing the music, he had divested his businesses.

But underlying all of the opposition and the indignation about the payola scandal was the idea that rock and roll was somehow destroying the fiber of America. Today with rock music practically directing the national economy, few remember how the music was not just held in disdain but was heard in actual horror by parents and grandparents who themselves at one time were dancing the Charleston, the Lindy Hop, the Jitterbug, or Swing. When Alan Freed appeared on To Tell the Truth, panelist Polly Bergen asked "Alan # 1" (who wasn't Alan), "Don't you feel a little guilty sometimes ... about bringing about this whole terrible thing?"

The congressmen who grilled Dick showed no more interest in being reasonable. One of them grumped "I don't know of any time in our history when we had comparably bad, uniformly bad music." He implied that Dick had pushed this horrible music on the kids. Dick replied that popular music was popular not because of his pushing it's what the kid wanted. "You can't force the public to like anything they don't want."

In the public gallery of the hearings were a number of teenagers. Inevitably they supported Dick. A thirteen year old girl who had attended a committee session hit the nail on the head. "They [the senators] say he didn't play enough Bing Crosby. Look, his show isn't for grandmothers."

In the end, Dick came out of the hearings with reputation and popularity intact. "You're not the inventor of the system or even its architect. You're a product of it," said Oren, adding "Obviously you're a fine young man." No doubt the decision that Dick would - and had - divested his interests in the companies made a favorable impression. The decision, they realized, cost Dick millions.

Of course, the decision also made Dick even more millions. By divesting his interests and signing on the dotted line that he never took payola, Dick could continue his television career. He not only continued to appear in front of the camera but could concentrate more of his efforts on producing tours and other television shows. As we know this turned out quite well.

So how did Congress handle payola?

Simple.

They made it legal.

That is, after all the brouhaha about payola and how they were shocked! shocked! that it had happened, neither Congress nor the FCC nor the FTC prohibited payments for playing songs. They prohibited anonymous payments for playing songs. The radio stations simply had to state that the record was "sponsored" and identify the boys who forked over the moolah ("And now let's hear a new release, My Baby Done Gone to Moose Jaw, SK brought to you by Deep Pockets Records"). And the companies didn't pay the DJ directly. They paid the station.

In craftily qualifying rules for making payola, Congress ultimately blurred the distinction between advertisements and the actual show - much as the way today's "sponsored" or "promoted" news stories in print media have confusticated what is a real news and what is a long-winded advertisement. Of course, sponsored stories are nothing new and go back decades if not centuries.

And in the law there is another loophole. Although the record companies can't pay a station, it is still possible for independent distributors to "consult" and "advise" stations on what to play. So a record company can pay an independent "consultant" to advocate their records. That is, the company pays the consultant who pays the station who plays the record. But for some reason, that isn't payola.

Today we see that if a company is caught in nefarious shennanigans, the executives express bewilderment that such practices occurred in their company. They blame the problem on the lower echelons while the company simply pays a fine. The executives never go to jail and the money for the fines never comes out of their own pockets. So your company breaks the law and has to pay a fine? Just another cost of doing business.

In all honesty, most of the artists who have spoken about their days working with Dick remained positive about the times. Dick did, after all, give them a national audience which let them play their music and at least in some cases, led them to bigger and better things.

As far as who appeared on American Bandstand, it's almost everyone you can think of. Now it is true that The Beatles never performed live - or rather lip synced - on the show, but Dick did interview them over the phone. Nor did the Rolling Stones perform. Nor did Elvis.

On the other hand, you had now iconic artists and groups on the show. Santana, Janis Joplin, and Jimmy Hendrix all appeared. So did Miles Davis - yes, the "Cool Jazz" trumpet player. And finally - and all senators and congressmen should take heed - Perry Como.

Today some historians have said that Dick was not quite the promoter of equality of popular legend. Although there was never an official policy of segregation during the earlier days, black kids who showed up were simply turned away on various pretexts like not having a membership card or not adhering to the dress code. You have to get to the mid-1970's - past the flower power days - to see true integration on the set.

Still it can't be denied Dick promoted the appearance of black artists from the beginning and Aretha Franklin said she really didn't hit the big time until she appeared on Dick's show. Sam Cooke had a disastrous appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show. The program was live and they ran short on time so that Sam only sang the first two words of "You Send Me". But shortly after he appeared on American Bandstand and was a hit. Some of the black artists say that Dick was crucial to their success.

And although Dick did make millions, he did not grab and grasp at every last penny. When he sold out one of his companies, he took about 15 % less per share than the rest of the stockholders. Today, of course, the top bosses make sure they get more than anyone else. But Dick felt that those who had backed him should get rewarded. So maybe Dick was one of the good guys after all.

References

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