Ten years ago this month, the best voice I ever heard was silenced. Luther Masingill, the record-breaking Chattanooga WDEF radio legend died at the age of 92.
The first time I heard his name, I was 8 years old, in 3rd grade. My mom woke me up and said, “You don’t have to go to school, you can stay home and play.” I said, “How do you know?” She said, “I heard it from Luther, and when he says there’s no school, there’s no school.” I thought to myself, “I like this guy Luther. I want to meet him someday!”
Many years later, I finally met him. I was emceeing a banquet, and he had won an award. I started reading his introduction. “Luther has won Man of the Year, the Key to the City, the Distinguished Service Award…” I had barely started, and he hopped up and said, “That’s enough, let’s get on with this!”
After the banquet I told him, “It’s an honor to meet you, you’re a big deal.” He said, “David, last week, I was driving down 3rd Street, and this woman in the next lane is looking at me, like she’s real excited. I just waved back and smiled. At the next red light, she got a little more animated, waving her arms and pointing. Again, I nodded and moved on. We got to the next light, and she’s still waving, so I rolled down my window, and said, “Yes Ma’am, I’m Luther, but you don’t have to make such a scene about it!” She said, “Sir I don’t know who you are, but I’ve been trying to tell you, you left your milk jug on top of the car!”
I loved listening to Luther’s stories, especially about his younger days. As a high school senior, he got a job at a service station in Chattanooga. A customer named Joe Engel noticed the pleasant voice on the intercom: “Mr. Engel, your car is ready.” It just so happened Mr. Engel was putting a new radio station on the air. Mr. Engel said, “Son, why don’t you audition to be an announcer?” Young Luther did, and he mispronounced two words: “salon” became “saloon,” and Job from the Bible, became “job.” But Mr. Engel overlooked those flubs and Luther got the “Job.”
Early on, he understood the power of radio. In 1951 Luther ran a fake campaign for Mayor, promising to do everything his listeners asked him to do (bridges, tunnels, free haircuts) until the real candidates said, “Stop it Luther, you’re going to win!” He had to buy a full-page newspaper ad telling voters, “I’m just kidding.”
On snow days, he could make an entire city pull over to the side of the street to let air out of their tires for better traction.
He was also famous for finding lost dogs. People would often ask how many dogs he had found, and he would make up a number. “143,209,” he would reply. They would ask, “really?” and he would laugh. He had stopped counting long ago. But he was definitely a dog’s best friend.
When I was 12, I would call him at home, for advice on how to be a radio announcer. He told me to read the paper, study history, and try to tone down my Alabama accent. I was on a mission, inspired by Luther.
I got to spend a lot of time with Luther in his later years, and I learned so much. I still miss going places with him. People loved him, and he loved them right back.
Nothing made him happier than someone saying, “You found my dog in 1969,” or “Thank you for making my Christmas by playing those dogs barking Jingle Bells.”
He wouldn’t brag about it, but over the years, Luther got offers to work on the radio in bigger towns: New York, Philadelphia, and Milwaukee to name a few. They’d wave some cash, and he’d say, “No thanks, Chattanooga’s my home. I’m gonna stay put.”
For 72 years, same time, same station, he was the sunshine that awakened thousands each morning. Everyone needs a good role model. I was fortunate to have the very best.
