Making waves

Part 2

by Kristen Lombardi

To walk into WCUW is as if entering a basement. Outdated, mismatched furniture is crammed into corners. Records and cassettes clutter up the floor, and heaping garbage bins align the doorway. The latest fixtures, electric space heaters, were added after the gas company turned off the furnace, permanently.

In community radio, which depends on volunteers, disarray may seem commonplace. Yet at 'CUW, the physical disorder symbolizes something deeper -- spiritual decay.

In critics' eyes, the station's traded its communal quality for that of an exclusive club. Once a station preaching involvement, it currently does business in darkness. Board meetings take place unannounced, behind closed doors. Certain board members -- new ones -- are kept from the information loop; they've haggled to see basic documents, such as station bylaws.

'CUW, Adshead says, "is run by a club. There's a group of directors making all the decisions."

Too often, critics say, the group brushes aside solid ideas for nonsensical reasons. Take the time Adshead suggested 'CUW conduct surveys to understand why people listen and contribute. Marketing research hadn't been done in years, but board members dismissed her plan. "I was told there wasn't [a need], because listeners would want polka shows and programmers prime-time slots," Adshead explains.

Then there was Airwave Lift, a renovation plan spearheaded by former director Craig Van Batenburg in 1996. 'CUW's 910 Main Street facility was falling apart; disrepair was so severe, "it looked as if no one cared," Van Batenburg says. So he suggested board members solicit volunteers for a weekend, fix-it project. The morning of Airwave Lift, Van Batenburg came with 150 volunteers; veteran board members didn't show up. Later on, as people painted walls, installed ceiling tiles, and retiled floors, the board members who host a Saturday polka program arrived -- to do their shows.

"They didn't even acknowledge volunteers with thank-yous or hellos. They just did their shows, then left," LeBeau says.

A peculiar response, for sure. Yet peculiarities have come to define station business -- particularly board meetings. Entire sessions are spent wrangling over money problems, former board members say. Questions about finances have sparked screaming matches, even physical outbursts. Board members set out to draft business plans but end up covering debt by making personal loans to the station. Subcommittees attempt to create policies but stop meeting throughout the year. Meanwhile, fresh suggestions end up tabled for discussion (read: ignored).

After serving two years on the board, Silverberg grew so frustrated at apparent inaction, he resigned, continuing to do his show until last month. In retrospect, he offers this insight: "Management's developed a sense of entitlement. They don't appreciate new people coming along with ideas."

Nor does management appear tolerant of scrutiny. Followers likely recall last year's demise of American Roots Radio. Its programmer, Mark Edmonds, had publicly criticized Cutroni's and the board's effectiveness, collective wisdom goes, and paid for his skepticism by losing his time slot. (In interests of disclosure, it must be noted Edmonds writes for the Worcester Phoenix.) It was an ugly battle. Edmonds decried the "idiot who thinks he runs the station" on the air, then orchestrated a dramatic campaign to save his show. Joe Kaczyk, board treasurer and polka programmer, hired a police officer to prevent Edmonds from entering a meeting. Eventually, management fired Edmonds for insubordination.

The dismissal's left a lasting impression on programmers. The message they've internalized: speak out, fear retribution.

"I'd like change, but don't want to make enemies. [Edmonds] is an example of what happens," LeBeau says.

The atmosphere of power cliques and disarray might be overlooked, if those in command successfully raised money. But it's no secret 'CUW operates in the red. Financial reports, distributed in November, projected 1997 expenses to exceed income by $7000 ($79,000 vs. $72,000). An emergency fundraiser might cover the gap but, critics complain, programmers go to the well (listeners) for money too often.

Community stations rely on public support, of course. Yet 'CUW's conducted as many as five on-air marathons a year -- an aberration, for sure. Most noncommercial outlets do two on-air pledge drives a year.

"Programmers should raise money, but that shouldn't be the extent of fundraising," Van Batenburg explains.

The problem's a lack of genuine vision, critics say. When programmers fall under their fundraising quotas, board members threaten to cut shows, and this causes programmers undue stress, particularly for those hosts with late-night shows where, on occasion, hours go by without a single pledge. At the same time, critics contend, the board fails to increase grants ($11,320 in 1997), underwriting ($11,140 in 1996), and promotions (one concert series in 1997). Extra fundraising, instead, consists of minor events -- yard, record sales -- that yield a pittance, and do little to boost prestige within Worcester.

Hence endless pledge drives, which fall short of the $30,000 goal. One rock programmer describes fundraising as such, "The station airs dirty laundry, telling listeners it has no money for this or that. Damage to popularity's been done. After awhile, listeners might stop believing us."

Funders might too. Management's yet to deliver on a $5000 Fletcher Foundation grant 'CUW applied for and received. Money was awarded in December 1996 so the station could rebuild its training studio, but the facility remains locked today. Programmers say they were never told of the grant.

Ask Cutroni about grants, and he neglects to mention the Fletcher award. Inquire further, and he says, "The grant's in the works. We're in the planning stages."

Perhaps. But such action prevents 'CUW from prospering, critics say. And that's the goal -- a solvent station, a team effort. It's well-known station critics see programmer Troy Tyree as a leader. (He declined an interview on record.) Tyree applied to be manager after the November 2 help-wanted ad appeared; people like Van Batenburg wrote letters to support him. Now that Cutroni's been rehired, critics talk of their dream as an impossibility.

An odd sense of defeat, really, since their dream mirrors 'CUW in its heyday.
Kristen Lombardi can be reached at klombardi[a]phx.com.

On to part 3