Never A Disc Jockey

I was never a Disc Jockey in San Antonio. I was never even on the air. However, I did become a very tiny slice of the substrate of one of the layers of San Antonio radio history in the last century.

My Dad was in the Army. He (and we as camp followers) was stationed at Fort Sam Houston twice.

In every city where I lived, I was attracted to local radio. I was the stereotypical kid (I don't think those exist any more) who hung around radio stations.

During our second tour at Fort Sam Houston, I hung around KTSA and my particular favorite was one Robert O. Sinclair (I hope there's only one). I was in high school at the time and hung on to Bob's every word when I was able to listen. I made myself annoyingly visible to him at every opportunity.

I became a charter member of his "Complete Failures Club.” I even ran for the club office of "Vice Dalai Lama."

I Lost.

During that time, I was a member of a local band, called the "Strangers." I played organ. Somehow Bob noticed. So, when he wanted to make a record under the guise of his alter-ego "Sagamore Subsoil," I had the singular privilege of being asked to play on those sides.

There were two (as I remember) sessions at the old Texas Sound Studios. I lugged my tube-type Lowery organ into the studio and did the best I could, considering I could only play in one key. You would know that it wasn't the one the band decided to use. Be that as it may, we did cut two sides.

Not long after that, at my birthday party, my Dad arranged to stuff the jukebox with a copy of " The Shame Of It All" and " Build Yourself A Girl."

Hilarity ensued.

I still have a Ray Charles album I loaned to Mr. Sinclair. He made sure that it was clear who owned the album by writing across the top: "Property of one Mitch Mitchell (I hope there's only one.)"

Perhaps I'll be cremated with it.

Elliott Mitchell

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