Whenever I mention that I'm a big fan of humorist Jean Shepherd, most people shrug their shoulders, "is that a he or a she?" Sighing, I ask them, "Have you ever seen the movie, 'A Christmas Story'? You know, about the kid who wants a Red Rider BB gun for Christmas?" Then the eyes will light up and they'll exclaim, "Oh yea, I love that movie! 'You'll shoot yer eye out kid!'" Then we both smile. Sometimes they ask, "Well, what else did he do?" Not long ago, I used to be just like them: uninitiated. I was familiar with that classic 1983 film, but I didn't know a damn thing about the man who wrote the story and narrated the film, Jean Parker Shepherd. I discovered that, aside from radio, Shep performed many live shows, recorded comedy albums, authored magazine articles and books, produced several PBS television series, and wrote screenplays for major motion pictures based on his stories.
I woke up at 5:30 in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I decided to make the best of it and turned on the clock radio (which was always tuned to WBAI) and heard the voice of a thoughtful man describing how, in the dead of night, men with huge key rings hanging from their belts are locking and unlocking doors within the labyrinthine corridors of monolithic buildings all over New York City. As I was listening to this voice, I was transported to my childhood bedroom listening to my small transistor radio. At the end of the show, Max Schmid, told his audience that we had just listened to another classic re-broadcast of a Jean Shepherd WOR radio show from the mid 1960s. I then understood why I had recalled my old childhood bedroom: I had listened to the last few years of Jean Shepherd's WOR show which ended in the Spring of 1977. Shepherd continued doing television shows for PBS and producing films based on his many childhood stories.
Eventually I discovered that an entire generation of kids used to lie in bed at night looking to connect with something bigger than themselves. He played modern jazz while he made wry observations about living in America, or living in New York City, or just being a member of the human race. His radio show gave people hope that life was vastly more interesting than there mundane surroundings suggested.
I am ready to sign up. I am ready to quietly slip into my place in the jostling throng that merrily chuckles its way toward whatever the hell we're all heading for. I realize that I'll get there too, but I'd enjoy the trip more if I could join the party in the club car and swap drinks with the rest of the slobs as the train heads for the cliff.
— Excerpt from a Jean Shepherd humor article, "Where do you enlist?" published in the jazz magazine Metronome, August, 1960.
Shep almost never had guests, and rarely took phone calls. In the 50s his shows were slower and more reflective as he had more time to riff on different subjects. The Realist founder, Paul Krassner, was a huge fan of his 50s programs where he would talk all night and discuss just about anything. Shep was known to instruct his listeners to turn up the radio and prop it by the window so he could yell something like "You filthy pragmatist, I'm gonna get you!", or "Ethel, every night you come home drunk! Think of the kids Ethel, think of the kids!" Shep would tell people to meet at a certain location in Manhattan and people would just mill about telling cops that they were waiting for Mr. Shepherd, who usually showed up to sign autographs.
"I'm this kid, see…"
— Shep about to launch into one of his many narratives about growing up in an Indiana steel town during the depression.
When Shep told stories about his army days or his childhood, he really struck a chord with many listeners. His personal, intimate style, makes you feel as if he's only talking to you. Shep claimed none of his stories were true, but the truth is he meshed fact and fiction in order to create a mythic landscape. He would use this technique to draw the listener in, and keep them really engaged. Shepherd also gave the impression that he was imparting secret knowledge to a select group of educated, discerning individuals who were privy to an exclusive nomenclature. Talk radio and intellectual radio nerds were born. By the 60s his shows were shorter and livelier as he played mostly stirring classical music, Dixieland jazz, vaudeville novelty songs. He would sometimes read the lyrical poems of Robert Service, such as "The Cremation of Sam McGee" while bar room piano blues played in the background.
The recently published book on the career of Jean Shepherd, "Excelsior, You Fathead!: The Art and Enigma of Jean Shepherd" by Eugene B. Bergmann, is not a formal biography but it does delve deep into his philosophy of humor, his dislike of nostalgia, his early years on the radio when he was fired several times for talking too much and not playing enough music, and his dedicated group of listeners who became known as Shepherd's "night people." Shepherd eventually proved to sponsors that there was a growing late night audience of students, artists and insomniacs who found inspiration in his jazzy, philosophical, witty, funny, improvised takes on life. According to the website www.flicklives.com: "If you are a Shep fan this is a must read. If you're not, you missed a lot and need to catch up."
Today marks the one year anniversary of 
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