"Only in South Carolina": The DJ, the Crooner, and Folly Beach's $25 "Act of God"

King of the Moondoggers: WTMA's Jack Gale

In the mid-1950s, Baltimore-born WTMA morning-man Jack Gale was the hottest disc jockey in Charleston. In market share, he was the top-rated radio personality in the entire American South.

Before coming to Charleston, Gale had worked in Cleveland, where he'd witnessed firsthand the popularity of Alan Freed's groundbreaking R&B-oriented Moon Dog Show. Not long after coming aboard to man the turntables in the WTMA studios (upstairs in the old Dock Street Theater), Gale introduced a new Saturday night show, Hound Dog Kingdom, with which he--as the raspy voiced "King of the Moondoggers"--introduced white Charlestonian bobbysoxers to the sounds of Ray Charles, the Orioles, and other R&B acts.

Jack Gale-Concert Promoter
Gale became such a local celebrity that he was able to open up his own record shop and produce a series of concerts at the Folly Beach Pier.

Sometimes these shows made Gale a lot of money; Fats Domino, for instance, drew around 4,000 fans.

But they weren't a sure thing; a young Connie Francis sold so few tickets that Gale's business partner jumped ship and left him to pay the singer's $500 fee by himself, which the DJ dutifully did--with a check that ended up bouncing.

The talented Bronxite was no match for God.

As Gale himself tells the tale in his entertaining memoir, ...Same Time, Same Station, when Bronx-born Jerry Vale came down to play both nights of a weekend at the pier, it rained so hard on Friday night that the crooner drew only around a dozen fans. On Saturday, as it continued to rain--harder--Gale began to sweat...especially when Jerry Vale's  manager pointed out that the singer was present and ready to perform, and thus, had fulfilled his part of the contract. The Bronx crooner had $1,600 coming his way, rain or shine.

The Miracle
 But it was then--as Gale sat, dejectedly telling his tale of woe to his bartender, that the Lowcountry's famous Good-Old-Boy network kicked into gear. Gale explains,

My bartender said that he didn't like Yankees like Jerry Vale, and if I gave him five minutes, he had an idea that could save me a lot of money.

Desperate, the DJ told him to go ahead, and the barman stepped outside to make some arrangements.
 
That night, just as Vale's band prepared to begin the eight o'clock show, Folly Beach police chief Herbert Wynne ran onto the pier.

He grabbed the microphone and told everybody he was closing the pier due to lightning... He called it an "Act of God." We gave the few people who braved the weather their money back, and I paid Jerry Vale $800 for the first night. I explained to him that the pier was closed beyond my control.

Vale's manager saw what was happening, and he let Gale know it:

"Only in South Carolina," he fumed, "could you get away with this."

Nonetheless, Gale had saved $800, and he was grateful. And the next morning, when Chief Wynn stopped by to solicit donations for the Folly Beach Police Fund, Gale gladly handed over $25.

The Curse of Jerry Vale? In 1957, the Folly Pavilion would burn. In 1977, it would burn again. 
In 1989, Hurricane Hugo destroyed the pier. It has since been rebuilt...for now.