Jerry Blavat.

Many disc jockeys over the years have claimed a love for the music they play. A few of them have meant it. A fewer still have put their money where their mouths were. And of those, only one (to our knowledge) has been wildly successful in the process: Jerry Blavat.

When rock and roll began to emerge in the early '50s, and with it a rise in the popularity of the rhythm and blues records which led to its sound, radio personalities were successful because of their ears. They had the freedom to pick the music they played and their fans flocked to them because of their knowledge and taste. By the '60s, for a variety of reasons from the payola scandal to a desire for a more uniform sounding station, the radio personality truly became a disc-jockey-- playing songs from an approved list. The disc-jockey's personality came through between the records, not because of them. The 70s brought an approved order of approved songs which were selected largely through research --and liner cards. Liners were pre-written phrases to be parroted directly by the on air host. In other words, most disc jockeys were not only being told what to play, but what to say. But many were being handsomely compensated in the process.

Jerry Blavat took a different route. He was attracted to the business because of his love for the music and it was a relationship he wasn't willing to sever. His first exposure to "fame" came as a dancer on the original Bandstand television program, hosted by Bob Horn. In 1953, less than a year after the show's inception, a 13 year old Jerry Blavat perfected his first scam-- impersonating a 14 year old to get on the program. He became a favorite with the viewers and rose to the head of the coveted "Committee", the group of teens responsible for aiding Horn in the direction of the show. When Bob Horn was fired over very questionable circumstances a few years later, the rest of the teens welcomed new host Dick Clark. Belying his youth, Blavat displayed an early sense of the loyalty that would become his most prized character trait and left the program rather than tacitly approving Horn's ousting. (The two remained close until Horn's passing in Houston in 1966.)

By the time he graduated from high school in 1958, Jerry Blavat was hooked not only on the music, but on performing as well. And he was working on a healthy resume to prove it. Promoting records (for Cameo-Parkway), working with performers (serving as Don Rickles' valet), and traveling with top recording stars (as road manager for Danny & The Juniors) gave him a front row seat for the roots of rock and roll. Living as a "roadie," Blavat amassed a wealth of knowledge and a bank account of contacts. Artists like Jerry Butler, Fats Domino, Lloyd Price, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Gladys Knight and many more became friends and confidantes. The stories they told coupled with the first hand experiences he had, unwittingly prepared Blavat for a career move he never knew he'd make.

Jerry got into radio in 1962, the result of a bet. Given the state of radio today, some might believe he was on the losing end of that wager. But what actually happened was Jerry, full of bravado, bet that he could do a radio show from a nightclub. It wasn't whether it would be technically possible, rather whether Blavat would be able to convince a radio station to go along with it, that the owner of the Venus Lounge bet against. He didn't know Jerry, who promptly went to WCAM in Camden, New Jersey and purchased an hour of radio time (reimbursing himself in part from the proceeds of the bet, no doubt). For most people, an ensuing "act of God" would have ended this story. But for Jerry it was simply a fortuitous beginning.

Since Jerry acquired the radio time, he was allowed to resell commercials within it, which he promptly did. He had this all figured out. And for a while it worked just like he thought it would. What he hadn't counted on was the snowstorm. The one that closed the nightclub. And the city. But nothing could close Jerry. He had sold the time and he was going to air those commercials. (Loyalty may be the trait Jerry prizes most in himself, but onlookers will attest that tenacity by far is the key to his staying power. Nothing will stop this guy. And everything has tried.) So doing the only unreasonable thing, Jerry ignored the 'stay off the road' warnings and made it to WCAM's studios where he, his records (the ones he used to dance to on bandstand, the ones he promoted on Cameo-Parkway, and the ones he just plain liked that no one had ever heard-- the flops and flipsides) and his commercial announcements, set up shop.

If you want to light a radio audience on fire, there is no better propellant that a blizzard. When snow immobilizes a city, kids tune in to find out if schools are closed, adults listen to hear if they've got to report to work, and everyone stays glued to the disc jockey's every word, in part because there's nothing else to do when you're housebound. The only way Jerry Blavat could have had a more captive audience would have been to broadcast to prisons. Captive or not, what they heard was captivating. They'd never heard anything like it. And they'd never heard so much of it. The storm that immobilized the listeners also immobilized Jerry's replacements, so his one hour of evening radio time turned into all night. He continued his frenetic pace until the morning guy showed up at 6 a.m. Listeners didn't know which was better-- his patter or his platters-- but they did know the number of the station and they called.

Just as an exhausted Jerry was ready to fall asleep, the general manager of WCAM phoned and wanted to know what the hell he did. (Usually when this kind of a call comes, it's the end of your career, not the beginning.) After finding out, the GM informed a bemused Jerry that he was a smash. Blavat's club gig turned into a radio gig, and Jerry turned into "The Geator With The Heator".

Just exactly what that meant has been the subject of much discussion. Even long time fans aren't precisely sure. But there is logic behind the seemingly illogical but appropriately rhyming handle (every jock with soul spoke in rhymed couplets back then-- today the records rap... back then the rap came from the disc jockey between the records which contained something now nostalgic-- a melody).

Geator came from alligator-- gator, or geator, depending on your Florida accent. To hear Jerry tell it, 'a geator would lay in the mud and bother no one unless you came close. Then it would snatch you up.' That's how it was with Blavat. Once you dialed by 1310 and caught his act, he snatched you up like an alligator. He was hot, almost too hot. Like a car heater in the dead of winter, he started out warming you but quickly heated you up to the point that you broke out in a sweat. Some felt it was what he said, others claimed it was the way he said it, but for most it was the music, that mesmerizing sound they weren't hearing on the popular stations.

...But make no mistake about it, while Jerry Blavat may well be the best known disc jockey in Philadelphia, he's never worked on a highly rated station. His chosen approach of buying the time outright (and later in his career, an entire station), allows him to remain free to program the sound as he sees fit, answering to no one but his audience. Fortunately, Blavat has a business sense. Because the only way this approach can be viable in the long term is by knowing how to market the airtime-- and yourself. Jerry is a master at both.

The Geator coupled his growing popularity on the air (which by 1963 resulted in regional syndication of his program on small stations throughout the Delaware Valley from Atlantic City to Allentown) with appearances off the air at dances, clubs and events. It was not unusual for Blavat to see 5,000 kids a week in person in the mid '60s, nor too much of a stretch to say he'd remember 3,000 of their names the following week. His appearances became so frequent that for a time he needed to use a helicopter just to make it on time from one gig to the next. (Today the helicopter is gone, but the frantic schedule is still in place. Throughout the year, he can be found somewhere on virtually any night, and in the summer months he's in weekend residence at Memories At Margate, the New Jersey Shore's hottest night spot which he's owned and operated since 1972.)

But Blavat's entrepreneurial spirit didn't stop there. He formed record labels (most notably Lost Nite which issued countless oldies compilation albums treasured by collectors to this day, but also Crimson which had the Soul Survivors'; "Expressway To Your Heart"), opened record stores (the Record Museum chain was his), and arguably began the "oldies" format. A number of people claim that distinction, but to our recollection, no one else in 1962 was playing the music of rock and roll's past. And for top 40 music in the early '60s, there wasn't all that much of a past-- if you were relying on hits, that is. Jerry was relying on a sound. Even before the term was widely used, Blavat and oldies became synonymous to his audience. Then, and to this day, he lived by the phrase, 'where we don't only play the oldies, we create them'. The year didn't matter, the artist didn't matter, the label didn't matter, A side, B side, anything on vinyl qualified if it had the sound. (If we have to describe that sound, you're at the wrong site.)

In 1965 Jerry made a quantum career leap, combining his on air demeanor with his in person style by launching The Discophonic Scene, a television show which took him to a new level of mass appeal respectability. Unlike his radio career, where his show was always the standout segment on otherwise comparatively obscure radio stations, The Discophonic Scene aired on VHF network affiliated television outlets. First on WCAU-TV 10, and later on WFIL-TV 6, the Discophonic Scene was ultimately syndicated through Triangle Publications, seen across the country every weekday in over 40 markets.

Differing from most television shows where behind the scenes the host is but a small part of the action, The Discophonic Scene was in all ways an extension of Jerry Blavat. Relying on the contacts he made earlier in his career, Blavat rose early to personally book the likes of Fats Domino, Wilson Pickett, James Brown, The Supremes, Martha & The Vandellas and many many more. Being a fan himself, the rule was live performances, not the badly mouthed lip-syncing identified with similar offerings. In front of the camera, there was also a difference-- Jerry was more like the kids than their parents. He not only resembled the "Yon Teens" as he referred to his fans, but he danced like them too. After all, it wasn't that long ago that he was in their place on Bandstand.

That success led to numerous network television appearances including The Mod Squad (with lifelong friend Sammy Davis, Jr.), The Monkees (where, playing himself, he fell for Davy Jones who was dressed as a girl in order to qualify the band for a mixed-group talent contest), The Tonight Show and The Joey Bishop Show. He's also been seen in several movies such as "Desperately Seeking Susan", "Baby It's You" and "Cookie".

But the real legacy that belongs to Jerry Blavat is the one he created on the radio. The one that endures to this day. The one where "The Geator With The Heator" jumps out of your dashboard blaring a heart stopping song that you've got to hear. The one where "The Boss With The Hot Sauce" brings back the past. In 1970, Jerry returned fulltime to his radio roots and he hasn't been off the air since --or out of the clubs. It hasn't always been an easy road, but it's the only one he'd choose to travel. As for those of us who consider ourselves fans of that special sound-- the one that takes you where you want to go-- we're just grateful to be invited along for the ride.
From the GeatorGold Website (www.geatorgold.net)