Les was hungry, and he was ready. He would have run down the street for more booze if Rock had asked. When the phone rang, Les pounced on it. It was the station manager, as he knew it would be.
“Les, this is Mr. Klein.
“Yes, said Les. “I know.
“Les, I don't think Rock can finish his program.
“Yes sir, I know.
“Would you call one of the other deejays to come in and take over?
“Yes, sir. I sure will.
But when Les hung up the telephone, he said to himself, “Now, he must think I'm crazy.
Les did dial the telephone, but it wasn't to call in another deejay. He called his mother first, and then his girlfriend. “You all go out on the front porch and turn up the radio because I'm about to come on the air! he said.
He waited about 15 minutes before he called the general manager. “Mr. Klein, I can't find nobody. Les said.
Mr. Klein then asked, “Young man, do you know how to work the controls in the studio?
“Yes sir. replied Les.
Les darted into the booth, gently moved Rock aside and sat down at the turntable. He was ready. And he was hungry. He flipped on the microphone switch and said, “Look out! This is me LB, triple P — Les Brown, Your Platter Playing Poppa. There were none before me and there will be none after me. Therefore, that makes me the one and only. Young and single and love to mingle. Certified, bona fide, indubitably qualified to bring you satisfaction, a whole lot of action. Look out, baby, I'm your lo-o-ove man.
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