Editorial
Front Page - Friday, December 18, 2009
Luther Masingill building legacy after more than 65 years
David Laprad
“Sixty seconds, Luther.”
From inside the main studio at WDEF, morning show host James Howard lets his partner in the adjacent booth know it’s almost time for him to go on the air. Luther Masingill swivels around in his chair and grabs his script. Consisting of just a few lines of copy tapped out on a Royal typewriter, it won’t take long to read.
Howard finishes playing a recording of a conversation he had with a contest winner and then points to Masingill, who’s swung back around to face his microphone.
“You found a winner, did you?” the 87-year-old radio veteran says, providing a segue. After a brief exchange, Masingill begins to read:
“Luther, I have two young cats that need a good home: a female that’s been spayed and a male that’s been neutered. They’ve had their shots, too. Anyone want them? They’re great pets ...
“Luther, I’ve lost a Golden Retriever named Joey in the Shepherd Hills area ...
“Oh! Here’s a Christmas bazaar and yard sale at the Daisy Church of God on Dayton Pike. Vendor and yard space are
available ...
“And Blood Assurance needs O positive and A positive donors. Can you help?”
And then it’s back to Howard, who’s cued up a hit song.
Masingill swivels around again, places his script next to his typewriter and indulges in a bit of reminiscing. “I had a typewriter just like this when I got into radio. I had one just like it when I went into the military, too, and when I came back, I set up one just like it in the studio. Computers have replaced typewriters, but I’ve gotten along just fine with this.”
How well would Chattanooga get along without Masingill, who began his radio career in 1940? Listeners recently got a taste while he was absent from the air for a few weeks while recovering from surgery. Howard kept the wheels turning, but as Channel 3’s David Carroll noted in a November 13 entry in his blog, Masingill’s co-host would be the first to admit it wasn’t the same. “The man ... has been an incredible influence on generations of tri-state radio listeners and television viewers,” Carroll wrote. “To the best of my knowledge, he’s the longest-running act in the history of broadcasting.”
Masingill didn’t like being gone, either. “It was terrible. I was miserable. I wanted to get back to work,” he says.
Work is where Masingill belongs. Other than John Wayne in a western or Jacques Cousteau on a boat, has there ever been a man more in his element? WDEF Radio hired Masingill to work as a telephone receptionist at the station, but when people heard his “deep, mellow voice,” according to the WBEF Web site, the owner at the time asked him to make a demo tape and then hired him as one of the station’s announcers.
The rest is history — literally. Masingill was on the air when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, announced the assassination of JFK and told listeners what he was seeing on his television on 9/11.
He went off the air in 1942 for a stint with the 13th Airborne Signal Corps, spending most of his time in the South Pacific. “I fought, and I fought, and I fought, but I still had to go,” he says. “That’s a joke.”
In 1945, Masingill returned home and resumed his radio career. When WDEF TV began broadcasting in 1954, he fit right in, hosting local shows and doing live commercials. Today, Masingill joins News 12’s Morning Show daily, broadcasting his community calendar to the station via a remote camera tucked into a snug corner of his radio booth. Then at noon, he visits the News 12 at Noon crew in person and does his “Dog Gone” segment. Over the years, Masingill has helped to reunite thousands of pet owners with everything from dogs and cats to cows and horses.
Masingill has received many awards throughout his career, including the National Association of Broadcasters’ prestigious Marconi Award and the Tennessee Association of Broadcasters’ Broadcaster of the Year Award. In addition, the Tennessee State Legislature recently honored him for his years of service to the community. Although Masingill has had offers to work in bigger markets, he says he loves living and working in Chattanooga.
He also enjoys being close to family and friends. Masingill grew up in the Avondale community in Chattanooga, married his “first (and only) wife” Mary in 1957 and has two children: Jeffrey, who lives in Hixson, and Joan, who resides in Texas with her husband and Masingill’s two grandchildren.
In addition, Masingill jokes about being a “slacker” at Avondale Baptist Church, but few there would agree with his assessment. For years, Masingill delivered wood to many of the elderly people in the church during the winter months. He did it so long, he ended up being older than some of the people he was helping.
Longevity is one of the trademarks of a great broadcaster, as seen in the careers of Walter Cronkite and Paul Harvey. The same holds true for Masingill. Still, many people ask him why he’s still on the job. Like the copy he reads each morning, his answer is short and to the point.
“For one, I like coming to work in the morning, even though I have to get up at 4:15,” he says. “But that’s not the main thing. I enjoy this job because I get to help people, like when someone’s house has burned down and I encourage others to donate furniture. I’m passing along a message that will guide people into helping someone.”
Masingill plans to stay on
the air as long as his voice is strong. That’s good news for Chattanooga, because it’s hard to imagine radio or television without him. He’s a reminder that this is still a small community, and that its people are all tied to one another, even as the city becomes more visible to the surrounding world. To those who have always lived in Chattanooga, Masingill is part of the enduring thread that runs through their lives and binds them to a particular place and time. The warm, reassuring tones of his voice can even make his older listeners long for “the good old days.”
These are good days for Chattanooga, though, not just because Volkswagen is moving in or because the downtown area is looking nice, but because Masingill is still on the air, reminding people to lend a helping hand.
“Thirty seconds, Luther,” Howard says.
Masingill grabs a sheet of copy and readies himself at his mic. If he is, as Carroll
believes, “the longest running act in the history of broadcasting,” then he’s also the last of his kind, making his remaining days the swan song of a proud tradition. That alone is a good enough reason to tune in to his segments. Those who lend a helping hand to someone as a result of listening are the ones who will carry Masingill’s legacy forward.
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