Remembering Buzz Van Houten

The Detroit radio community got some very sad news as the July 4th holiday was winding down. One of its best and most electric—Buzz Van Houten—passed away. Now if you’re not familiar with the name, especially if you’ve never worked in Detroit radio, that’s no surprise. Buzz was not a famous morning guy, an iconic afternoon driver, a sports talk show host, or even a swashbuckler PD (although he probably dreamed of having all those jobs at one time or another).  He wasn’t a regular on radio panels at industry gatherings nor was he often picking up awards at the many radio association dinners.

Nope, he was a seller who eventually worked his way onto the management team. But his passion was for the stations he worked for and the people he worked alongside. His litmus test was simple—you were either on the “Buzz Bus” or you weren’t. That’s not to say he didn’t carve out relationships with everyone, from the sales assistant to the corporate VPs—because he did.

Everyone loved Buzzy. He was a guy’s guy—into sports, rock n’ roll, and the competitive spirit. The men who worked in his orbit admired him. Truth be told, many probably aspired to be him—or be like him. They all followed his lead—in staff meetings, on the softball diamond, and backstage at concerts. And the women. Putting it mildly, they adored him. He was one of those rare guys able to maintain nice relationships with the women he jilted or just moved on from.

Everywhere Buzz went, everyone knew him—from the movers and shakers in the Detroit sports community to the valet who parked his car to the hostess who snagged him a great table when he walked through the door of burger joints or gourmet eateries. He always seemed to get backstage, literally and figuratively. He was connected because everyone wanted to be connected to him. 

At every radio station he worked for over the decades, he bought in 110%. And so did the people who worked for Buzz and in the trenches with him. He never really sold time. He was letting advertisers, sponsors, and clients be part of the amazing world that was his radio home at that particular moment in time. It wasn’t your call letters on his business cards; it was his presence at your station. It was like you hired his powerful brand to rep, endorse, and validate your radio brand.  Buzz always seemed to find a way to “make goal.”

After reading through the hundreds of heartfelt comments all over social media, it is clear to me Buzz took his playbook to every Detroit radio station smart enough to hire him. Not to take anything away from what he accomplished at WRIF during his time there in the ’70s and ’80s, but he obviously worked a similar schematic at W4, WLLZ, and even the ultra-traditional WJR. People from all these stations speak of him in the same way.

But none of it was written down or on PowerPoint slides. It was what was in his head, what was intuitively him, what made Buzz a genuine soul to everyone he met. He wore his emotions on his sleeve—and pretty much everywhere else. Buzz was generally unapologetic about his moods or feelings. It was fun to be in the presence of “Pumped-up Buzz,” an excitable boy who fed off the enthusiasm of the good things and the good people around him. Of course, there were the rarer occasions where “Pissed Off Buzzy” made his angrier presence known, not suffering the fools, fakes, and fraudsters in his midst.

Buzz was truly the life of whatever party he showed up at, with an unmatched edge and sense of humor. As veteran Detroit radio personality, Bill McAllister, recalled:

“One of my favorite Buzz stories was when he served during the Vietnam War. He said he never shipped over but proudly defended Hawaii and Florida. RIP BVH.”😢

We probably all believe the years we had with him at our station was Buzz Van Houten at the top of his game, in his prime. I feel that way about his amazing run at WRIF. He and I joined the station at about the same time—in those now legendary trailers on the far west side of the property that was the home to ABC-Owned Broadcast House and the mighty Channel 7, along with WXYZ-AM, where Detroit radio icon, Dick Purtan, ruled in morning drive.

While WRIF was knocking down impressive shares on the FM dial, its lowly home was a tiny, unassuming wood-framed house butted up to three rickety house trailers. And it was a carefully guarded market secret that this massively successful station was broadcasting out of a hovel.

That was until J.J. & the Morning Crew (Jim Johnson and George Baier) and Buzz Van Houten arrived at WRIF. That’s when “Trailer Chic” happened and the staff began to embrace their sub-modest surroundings, reveling in the contradiction that the biggest success story on the FM dial in Detroit radio was taking place in the worst facility in town.

A couple miles away from the station was an actual trailer park with a pinkish theme aptly named “Flamingo Trailer Park.” That look and the name was soon co-opted by WRIF, and in just days, plastic pink flamingoes began to randomly appear on the small patch of lawn in front of the station.

Soon after, the station’s softball (and bowling teams) took on the “WRIF Flamingoes” moniker, and a logo was created for the uniforms and shirts. It was the softball team where Buzz invested his energies and efforts. Back then, local radio stations and ad agencies formed a fun but highly competitive league. When Buzzy joined the sales staff in the late ’70s, he immediately became the team’s captain (it was probably one of the conditions of his employment he negotiated), and things got real serious real fast.

I worked at the station twice—as salesperson and research director. And then after a stint as research maven for ABC’s Owned FM Stations in NYC, I came home to program WRIF in 1981, after the station was frontally attacked by the first of Doubleday’s commercial-free rock stations. At that moment, WRIF was reeling, getting hammered by a 9.2 – 4.8 margin 12+. Suffice it to say, it was a very tough time for a very proud staff.

During my first week back—and by this time, WRIF was now in palatial facilities, having gone from those lowly trailers to a beautiful, gleaming state of the art facility on the sprawling ABC complex—Buzz drops by my office, sits down across from me, and asks me the question:

“You know what’s happening one week from today, right?”

And not knowing, I shrugged. At which point, Buzz educated me.

“It’s the day we’re playing WLLZ and I’ve made it my mission to destroy them on the baseball diamond like they’ve done to us in Arbitron.”

And he went on to explain how there was no question the mighty WRIF would get its revenge on the field. I suggested he pump the brakes a bit so the staff wouldn’t be disappointed if his vision didn’t come to pass. But Buzzy would have no part of that. WLLZ was going to get pummeled—full stop. He just knew it, believing in his heart of hearts the good guys at WRIF would absolutely crush WLLZ. (Side note: Buzz did not ask me to suit up for the Flamingoes, having obviously been informed my programming skills were better than my first base abilities.) The team photo of the Flamingoes you see here shows Buzzy where you’d expect—front and center—surrounded by proud WRIF staffers and undoubtedly a “ringer” or two.

Over the next week when said game was brought up by a staffer—and everyone had this game on their minds, thanks in no small part to Buzz’s whipping up all this internal energy—I would change the subject or subtly downplay this trivial baseball game that had somehow been elevated to game 7 of the World Series.

Finally, the big day arrived, everyone on the staff sped out of the parking lot to get to this avengeful celebration of our passion and softball prowess. At this point, I’m feeling a sense of dread, thinking about how devastated the staff will be if we lose this stupid baseball game. But finally, I relent and drive to Southfield High School where the game was already well underway. There was no scoreboard, of course, and so I asked one of our guys to fill me in.

And yes, we’re getting trounced by a 9-2 score. And as I look over at the WRIF bench, I’m seeing hang-dog looks as the guys are staring at their shoes, looking defeated. I remember glancing over at Buzz and he won’t even look at me. And frankly, I don’t want to see him which will only make things even worse.

Then I hear it—an unmistakable chant coming from the WLLZ side of the diamond:

“9-2, 9-2, 9-2, 9-2.”

Yes, it’s the lopsided score of a game I’d just as soon forget. But it’s also WLLZ’s ginormous 12+ freaking share! And they’re rubbing our faces in it.

Now I’m upset, feeling even worse about this dumb softball game where WRIF is foolishly all-in, and everything is beginning to backfire. And I’m really disliking these WLLZ people. They deserve to lose this game dammit, and yet somehow they’re winning in the ratings and now on the baseball field.

Meantime, the game drones on, the Flamingoes settle down and begin to peck away at WLLZ’s lead. The 9-2 chants have stopped as the score narrows a bit.

Still, heading into the last inning, and WRIF is still a few runs behind but the game’s vibe has noticeably changed. There’s this weirdly buoyant “what if?” feeling as WRIF’s fans are now beginning to hope against hope we can actually make a game of it. We start putting men on base, another run scores, it’s getting closer. And now I’m thinking to myself:

“WE HAVE GOT TO WIN THIS DAMN GAME. THIS IS IMPORTANT. THIS HAS BECOME MEANINGFUL.”

And now I’m sucked in. I’m watching myself cheering, clapping, pacing, and getting excited about the possibility of an unlikely comeback on this warm June evening. And I’m beginning to understand how this game could strangely be symbolic of bigger things to come.

Then the miracle happens. We tie the game in our last at-bat through a series of good plays, unlikely breaks, fluke moments, and things beginning to go the Flamingoes’ way. And the game goes into extra innings, and amazingly, WRIF steals the victory from WLLZ.

It was no longer an after-work game among a bunch of radio station staffers. It was bigger than that—a battle royale that would last decades, intensifying the outcome of that warm afternoon on a high school softball diamond. And now me—along with the entire staff—is thinking: WE CAN DO THIS.

And six months later the fall book comes out and we nail them. Convincingly. And I can’t get this softball game and Buzz Van Houten’s unbridled, unrelenting enthusiasm out of my mind. I hate that he pushed all those stacks of WRIF chips to the center of the table over a softball game. Except now I’m happy with the way it all worked out.

Backstage (L-R): Colleen Andrews, Bruce Springsteen, Buzz (note the Seger sweatshirt)

Looking back on it, Buzz Van Houten was the station’s lightning rod. He overflowed with passion and energy. And he expected the same qualities from the people on his team, along with anyone employed by the station. He was the straw that stirred the drink, which was remarkable for someone not on the air or who didn’t hold the title of PD or GM.

A sterling example of Buzz’s yank was the story of how sports maven, Eli Zaret, got hired to join J. J. & the Morning Crew. Here’s Eli’s recollection:

“In 1978, Buzz recommended to his bosses at WRIF, Tom Bender and Jay Hoker, to hire me away from WJZZ (Detroit’s jazz station). Buzz was a sales manager at RIFF and pushed the idea because he wanted to add sports to what had been an exclusive music format. It changed my life in so many ways. There was no better, hotter, more of a ‘now’ place to be than at WRIF.

Buzz was beloved by so many. And many, like me, are heartbroken over his loss. He was direct, honest and nothing short of hilarious.

It’s hard to explain to anyone not familiar with that era how incredibly exciting it was to work at a ground-breaking station at such a unique period in radio history. FM radio had just become standard equipment in cars in the late ’70s, and in a flash, music on AM was put out to pasture. It was all about FM, and we were in the middle of it. Buzz, like all of us, was young and caught up in the explosion of Album Oriented Rock on the FM band.

WRIF oozed personality, and although Ken Calvert, Jim Johnson, George Baier and Arthur Penhallow were the voices that pushed the station to record ratings, there was no greater personality—no one funnier or more clever—than Buzz Van Houten.

Now we’ve lost Buzz and Ken in the last 18 months.

Over time, radio has changed greatly. What hasn’t changed is the love and connection we feel for each other. A few years ago, Mike Mayer and I arranged a lunch in Royal Oak. The picture (below) of Buzz, Ken, JJ, and George recalls our final get together.”

As Springsteen said, it’s a reminder of the glory days, when we worked together and laughed endlessly, and those of us who remain will forever cherish the memory of our great friend, Buzz.” 

He was a sales guy, but in a manner rarely experienced at most stations, certainly back then and especially today when spirit, electricity, and yes, “buzz” are so often undetectable these days, whether it’s under the tower, in the sales cubicles. or in the air studio.

How bigger than life was he? Consider this. Just weeks after joining WRIF, Buzz had an emergency appendectomy and would be in the hospital when the newly minted head of the ABC’s Owned FM Stations, Marty Greenberg, would be making his first market visit to Detroit. So what does GM Jay Hoker do? He picks Greenberg up at the airport, and they drive directly to the Detroit hospital where Buzz is recuperating. Buzz is a sales guy and somehow merits a special visit from the new boss?!

That sent a message to all of us about just how magnetic a personality Buzz Van Houten was and how important he would be to the enterprise moving forward. I’d bet everyone on the WRIF staff assumed that could never happen for them if they were hospitalized during a market visit from the corporate honcho. But it happened for Buzz.

A few months ago, Buzz and a group of former WRIF staffers (see the photo below) were the guests of Michael Seltzer, host of The Franklin Show, a community television production.

Everyone got the chance to talk about their memories of Detroit radio and what it was like to work at WRIF, but I was especially taken by this soliloquy from Buzz:

“We were the first rock station in the United States to reach an 8-share. I mean, that was unheard of back in the day. And we were one of five stations in the market playing basically rock music, and it was just incredible. We had incredible talent starting out with JJ and George (JJ and the Morning Crew). We had the Casual One, Ken Calvert—God love him and God bless his soul, and he then introduced and created a name for Penhallow. He called him the ‘Grand Poobah’), and they had a whole big celebration (with Arthur) just getting there in time to crack the mic. I mean, he was not there just to do show prep, that’s for damn sure. They created a whole scenario and made theater of the mind radio.

And as a sales manager, it was a dream to be able to go out and sell that stuff. Because all these guys were also available to make calls and to meet the clients. It was an unbelievable team situation back in the day. And that stayed with me for the rest of my career, and the way that we worked…

One of the things that this entire team of professional people did was transform the image of corporate radio, being owned by a large company like ABC, and turned it into what made it really more like where the ‘rubber meets the road,’ and we really identified with the audience because of the airstaff and with the client community in general. Everybody wanted to get to know everybody at that radio station. And that’s what drove it to its success financially and also ratings-wise. And I have never had the pleasure again of working with such a great group of people ever.”

You can watch this episode of The Franklin Show here.

Buzz Van Houten was the poster boy for the virtues and values of radio station culture. In fact, he oozed it. He thrived on it. It was his rocket fuel. It was how he connected with the station and its vibe. He loved coming into work, checking in, roaming around, drinking coffee, walking the halls, and seeing what was going on at the station that particular day.

Buzzy must have despised the post-pandemic malaise that has permeated so many once vibrant radio stations. The concepts of remote work, Zoom meetings, and not showing up at station events had to have been antithetical to him.

In putting this post together, it was very emotional for me to recall just how very blessed we all were to work in Detroit radio at this amazing time, for this incredible station, and for a company that gave us the running room to do great radio and to reach our professional and personal potentials. And how blessed we were to have the privilege to work with each other as colleagues and friends.

And to my friend, Russell D. (Buzz) Van Houten, may your memory be a blessing.

Sincere condolences to Tracey, Buzz’s family, his legions of friends, and all those he touched and who touched him.