10/24/2024
Hi. Buzz Reynolds here. Some personal and professional news. Tomorrow (Friday Oct 25) will be my last day with CKNX. Please see below. Thanks
Farewell to the Airwaves: A DJ's Swan Song
Truly, against all odds, I've crossed the finish line. After 45 years of guiding listeners through the airwaves, I'm standing at the strange crossroads where the rhythm of my career meets the quiet hum of retirement. As I get ready to hang up my headphones, I can't help but marvel at the irony—I'm about to become an expert at the very act of not being a professional. Who would've thought that stepping back could feel like a small act of rebellion? Come the end of October, I'll be signing off from broadcasting for good.
My journey into the mystical world of radio started when I was just 14, bitten by the radio bug—a condition far more persistent than anything you'd catch from a mosquito. I built our high school's first campus radio station, an adventure driven by equal parts technical curiosity and teenage audacity. I badgered local DJs endlessly and dreamed of the day I'd be the voice crackling through the static.
Like many of my peers, I cut my teeth on early Sunday morning religious programming and farm news. Nothing screams "I've made it in life" quite like being accosted at the grocery store with, "Hey, aren't you that hog report fella? My sow's pregnancy is late - got any advice?" Ah, the intoxicating smell of success... or is that just pig farm aromatherapy?
From those modest beginnings, my career took a path that resembled less a straight line and more a quantum leap through different places and sounds. I've traveled across Canada, from Prince Edward Island to Vancouver Island, with my on-air personas as varied as the landscape.
I've been the rock voice of Toronto and Montreal, spun Big Band and Classic Soul in Detroit, and even dipped into Country in Wingham. Each transition a reminder that adaptability is the true north of a radio personality's compass.
I've worn more identities than a method actor—Buzz Reynolds, "The Buzzman," Super Dave, Kodiak Dave, and even, for a brief spell, Illya Kuryakin* at a multicultural station—each one a beautiful disaster in its own right.
I've incinerated skim tapes, gotten a bit tipsy on air (sometimes with police supervision, sometimes without), and made more than a few mistakes.
Meeting famous people was never my motivation, but it came with the territory. The list of celebrities I've crossed paths with reads like a roll call of musical royalty, each encounter, a surreal chapter in the story of my career. I've clinked beer bottles with the Temptations, their harmonies still echoing in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I once interviewed James Brown from jail—him, not me—proving that the hardest working man in showbiz never clocks out, even when locked up. I've watched the Gallagher brothers turn an interview into a boxing match, their Oasis of calm becoming a desert storm of sibling rivalry. And through some cosmic joke or genuine bond, I cultivated a 25-year friendship with the legendary B.B. King. The fact that Mr. King may have mistaken me for a particularly chatty roadie only adds to the charming absurdity of it all.
My radio career has been a veritable smorgasbord of experiences, each more improbable than the last. I've donned the sequined jacket of a Circus Ringmaster, tempted fate (and our insurance adjusters) as a rodeo clown, and even managed to spectacularly vomit all over the pilot of the Fido blimp between live cut-ins high above the CN Tower. (Remember that, Aaron?) They still talk about that one. Probably not fondly, but still talking! It's a peculiar form of pride to know that one's most spectacular on-air moment involved no audio whatsoever.
But it wasn't all glamour and gastrointestinal incidents. There were moments of profound significance. I've been the voice in the darkness, figuratively and literally, during historic events - the Quebec sovereignty referendum, the Challenger disaster, the seismic shift of 9/11. I've weathered literal storms, broadcasting through natural disasters while camped out at the radio station, and adapted to the strange new world of pandemic-era broadcasting from home. These experiences served as poignant reminders of the power and responsibility that comes with holding the public's ear.
As I look back, the real highlight of my career is the "Relief Truck" project I created in 2009 and has raised over $2 million for local food banks. It stands as a testament to the alchemical power of radio to transform airwaves into tangible change, indeed, a humbling reminder that our words, when imbued with purpose, can echo far beyond the confines of a broadcast studio.
I'm deeply grateful to Jim Jj Johnston, my first inspiration, boss, ever-picky talent coach, mentor, and dear friend for nearly 50 years. Thanks to Gary Slaight. (Fun Gary fact: Ted Woloshyn and I share the record for being hired, fired, re-hired, and then fired again the most times by Gary.) My gratitude also to the late Dave Shafer and Brother Bill Gable, as well as Pat Holiday, Brad Jones, Mike Cooper, Dan Williamson, and Les Palango, who all played crucial roles in shaping my 45 years on the air, a career I'm incredibly happy with and proud of.
About 15 years ago, I stumbled upon Chelem, a little fishing village on the far side of the Yucatan. I fell in love with the place, the people, and now have a beach house there. If you ever find yourself down the way, just head to the end of the beach. That's where you'll find me, working on a book about the roots of blues music, a fitting finale to a career spent among some of the genre's greatest legends. I'll also be perfecting the art of beach fishing, trying to find the balance between activity and relaxation.
Remember, my friends, life is too short for mundane broadcasts but just long enough for unforgettable on-air mishaps. May your laughter be loud, your music groove inducing, and your adventures as varied and exciting as the radio stations on a cross-country road trip.
Signing off for the last time, with eternal gratitude and a touch of tinnitus,
Buzz
P.S. In the spirit of full disclosure, I'm in possession of a gently used rodeo clown outfit. Interested parties should note that it comes with a rich tapestry of mysterious stains and a history best left unexamined. Inquire at your own risk.
