I was at my lowest when I went back to KMET, the Mighty Met, at Metromedia Square. Through some confusion at the front desk, I was shown into the program director’s office at that powerhouse rock station.
The PD was something of a rarity at the time in radio, she was female. She was a good-looking red head who had carved out a major niche in the FM rock market as the talented program director of that legendary station. I hoped that just as she had come up through the ranks, paid her dues and then shattered the glass ceiling that had prevented women from running radio stations, she would have some sympathy for my story and ongoing struggle.
I spoke to her about my years as a DJ in Europe and America and slid her my resume, card, press cuttings and tape. Without even looking at them she put her hand on the envelope and pushed them all back to me. I’ll never forget her words as they cut through my soul and dashed everything I’d worked for.
“I don’t need any of this,” she said. “Because you’ll never be a DJ in this town with that accent.” She almost seemed to enjoy watching my obvious disappointment as she waved me away and went back to her work.
Minutes later, I stood on the dirty sidewalk at the corner of Sunset and Van Ness burning with anger as I looked up at the Metromedia sign. “Fuck you,” I thought. “One day you can sing along with me on the radio.” I didn’t know how, but I was more determined than ever to make that happen. I hadn’t come this far to give up now.