Wolfman Jack mortalized at KAFY

When Wolfman Jack didn't rule the airwaves
by Bryce Martin

Wolfman Jack, late at night crusin' down a quiet, moonlit highway with The Wolfman bayin' and howlin' from rebel stronghold XERB ("in Rosa-lita, Ba-ha Calefornya"), fading in and out between mountains and offering a delightful radio fare found nowhere else on the dial.

Who was this guy anyway? Then, the movie American Graffiti showed us and he lost much of his mystic appeal because of it.

But the worst was still to come. He showed up in Bakersfield and went on the air for KAFY, a station whose days in the sun were in the past. No fault of KAFY's, mind you, it was just that time and taste had moved beyond the Golden Years of music and radio for all America. No fanfare. No media hype. Just another DJ on the DJ Scene. No rebel in the night. America's DJ was relegated to the backyard of radio history.

He even drove a dilapidated van. Times must have been rough. You knew he wasn't going to get rich dj-ing in Bakersfield. What a comedown, for me. I hated to even think about. Still do.

Goodnight, Wolfman.

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