Phil Hendrie has this uncanny knack for finding just the right guests on his call-in radio show. Take the day John Ritter died: Hendrie and his staff wanted a health professional, figuring Americans were stunned by Ritter's early death at age 54. Hendrie scanned his list of regular guests and decided on Dr. Robert Green.
Instead of addressing general health concerns, Green uses "The Phil Hendrie Show" to crusade for raising doctors' salaries. Green casually mentions that patients might not receive adequate medical care until he gets the type of "cheese" that Kobe Bryant earns.
"The last guy that worked miracles for free got hammered to a cross," Green says, without a hint of remorse.
Hendrie's phone lines glow red like a strand of Christmas lights. Callers are livid and Green won't budge on his stance.
"Without me, you're biting through the umbilical cord yourself," Green prods.
Hendrie, for all the callers know, can't believe what he's hearing. Green, for all the callers know, is some quack. What callers don't know is that they've been had. Hendrie is the host. Hendrie is Green. And Hendrie, using various voices, is the entire cast of characters on the show -- about 40 in all.
The three-hour program is like no other in radio. Aside from the basic comedic element, Hendrie provides not-so-subtle commentary on life, politics and high-priced professional athletes, but he's careful not to preach. "If you want to change the world, get off your fat ass and do something," the 50-year-old Hendrie said. "I refuse to be put into a position of a rallying voice. I hate that."
His formula is simple: "Truth, justice and comedy -- the three ingredients you need for life. Oh, homeownership and sex, I forgot those two."
For 13 years, Hendrie has used his voice-altering talents on the show, syndicated with Premiere Radio Networks since 1999. The program airs in Salt Lake City weekdays from 5-8 p.m. on KALL (AM 700).
Back on the air, Hendrie (the host) speaks into the big foam mic, welcoming Bob, a truck driver from Kentucky, who is harping about the Hippocratic oath. Hendrie (aka Dr. Green) turns away from the mic and speaks into a phone receiver, "I make 750,000 lousy dollars a year and I've got two homes." Hendrie effortlessly raises or lowers his voice -- a skill he has honed with years of practice and the help of a voice coach -- but slight changes in ambient sound (moving away from the mic) give each character a unique voice.
The night Green is on the show, Hendrie is recording in Deer Valley as part of a charity event, instead of in his Los Angeles studio. For this hour, it's only Hendrie and Green trading barbs mixed in with the calls. Sometimes, Hendrie performs up to four different voices, leaving callers frustrated and often insulted.
"Conflict is the essence of all great entertainment," Hendrie said.
The host eases from one voice to the next. No radio magic, no tape delay, just Hendrie, his quick wit and a producer occasionally feeding lines into his headset. On the air the transitions are seamless: Hendrie interviewing Green; Green making some insinuation about a caller named Mary having an unprofessional relationship with her boss; then Hendrie arguing with Green (himself).
Green, like most of Hendrie's guests, is a recurring character. Whether you're in on the joke or not (Hendrie figures around 98 percent of his audience knows it's a sham), what makes his characters work is mastery of the voices coupled with personas he has created for each one.
The guests have jobs, spouses, kids and issues. There's Ted Bell, the elitist restaurateur, and neurotic Bobbie Dooley, president of the Western Estates Homeowners' Association. Margaret Gray has a syndicated column and the sensitive Steve Bosell is out to sue everyone.
The pseudo-reality engulfs the program. Bell's restaurant, Ted's of Beverly Hills Steak House, is a sponsor, complete with its own innuendo-laden jingle.
The bits could not succeed without rubes -- the callers. But with the exposure the show receives, logic says the program would run out of callers.
"I used to have that fear until I became more educated about talk-show callers. They're far more self-absorbed [than average people]. As long as there are babies being born, there's going to be enough," Hendrie said. Sure enough, the lines light up every night, no matter how far-fetched the topic.
Last year, Hendrie took a stab at television. He played a judge on the short-lived NBC sitcom, "A.U.S.A." and filmed a pilot for a show loosely based on the Bobbie Dooley character, "which did not make it to air because it was too funny," Hendrie said. But there is the potential for an animated show with a "major network," according to Hendrie.
The radio show is a culmination of years of traditional radio drudgery. Hendrie grew up in Southern California and at 19 hopped in a car with a couple of buddies and landed in Orlando, Fla., where he took a construction job. He was interested in radio, made a demo tape and was hired by WBJW, spinning the likes of Robert Goulet and Tony Orlando.
The saying may go "he never looked back," but truth be told, he did. As a rock deejay, Hendrie doubted his career choice from 1970 until 1988, the whole time wishing he "could start this thing all over again."
In 1988, he took a job as a traditional talk-show host at KFI-AM in Los Angeles. He hated it, and nine months later the programming director "did me a favor and fired me."
The talk-show format suited him, just not the traditional part. The outlet for his style was provided by KVEN in Ventura, Calif., where he first unveiled a fictional guest in 1990 -- Iraqi Raj Feenan -- who defended Saddam Hussein and criticized Americans, using lines like "Look how you treated Sitting Bull."
Feenan became a fixture and the show exploded, moving from Ventura to Atlanta, Minneapolis, Miami and finally back to Los Angeles, where the syndicated program now airs in 100-plus markets.
The show has detractors. Jason Wilmot, the programming director at KALL, says the station gets complaints "every once in a while, but the good comments definitely out-number the bad." The ratings are solid enough to keep Wilmot happy. "Talk radio listeners either listen because they agree with everything the host is saying or they listen because they hate everything the host is saying," Wilmot added.
Occasionally, Hendrie admits he crosses the line, including the ruse when he announced his programming director had anthrax. Another bit dealing with Down Syndrome nearly reduced a caller to tears. When those situations arise, Hendrie breaks character to assure the caller that the topic is simply a joke.
When the show ends, Hendrie bolts out of the studio and goes home to his wife of seven years, Maria Sanchez and her four kids, who Hendrie treats like they are his own. After dinner, it's time for either football watching or a late-night date with Madden 2003 on the Playstation.
When he's not on the air, Hendrie lives a rather quiet suburban life with burgers on the grill, dips in the pool and getaways to Mexico.
"I put so much into my job, I'm just dull [at home]," Hendrie said.
Sanchez sees it differently.
"I don't think there's a second that Phil isn't thinking about the show. . . . It's all-consuming," said Sanchez, a veteran radio host who now handles the business side of her husband's career. "He commits hari-kari every night [on the radio]. He gives it his all. . . . He's a like a rag that's been wrung dry when the show's over," she said. Sanchez, who despite working at the same station hadn't heard the show when they met, was drawn to Hendrie by a side most people never see. She jokes about their family situation. "When he said 'I do' to one, he got six," she said, referring to the lifelong bachelor becoming a family man overnight. And all earnings from his yearly best-of albums go to an L.A. charity for at-risk and runaway youth.
"On the surface there's all the bravado and arrogance," Sanchez said. "The truth is, he's a big softy, but I don't think he wants you to know that."
myount@sltrib.com
The characters of Phil Hendrie
"The Phil Hendrie Show" features about 40 characters, 25 of which are in regular rotation. All the voices are performed by Hendrie. Over the years, the characters have developed lives of their own -- with jobs, families and plenty of quirks. Here's a sampling of two Hendrie regulars:
Ted Bell
Sex: Male
Age: Early 40s
Hometown: Beverly Hills, Calif.
Occupation: Owner of Ted's of Beverly Hills Steak House
Ted's Story: Inherited the restaurant from his late alcoholic father, who "drank away the profits." Ted is a successful restaurateur and claims to have invented the foil-wrapped baked potatoes and concept of ground pepper on salad. . . . Extremely proud of the B-list celebrities who frequent the steak house like Alex Trebek, David Hasslehoff and Kelly Ripa. . . . Collects cars and drives a BMW and definitely owns a Rolls. Wife drives a Lexus or Mercedes. . . . Worth $25-30 million.
Ted Said It: "She's 17 going on 28, and you know what I'm talking about."
Ted's Favorite Line: "I'm Ted Bell."
Classic Ted: Bell, who has no tolerance for the less fortunate, once became agitated with Hendrie because the host had given two of his courtside Laker tickets to the Deaf Foundation. Ted being Ted was concerned about being seen on the Jumbotron with two deaf kids.
Steve Bosell
Sex: Male
Age: 37
Occupation: Owner of B&B Construction
Hometown: Corona, Calif.
Steve's Story: Bosell is the king of frivolous litigation. He has sued his wife, his son, a plumber's putty company for a product he mistakenly used as a lubricant, the makers of BVD underwear, his neighbor and his dog. . . . Considers himself a veteran because he has seen "Saving Private Ryan" . . . Married to April and has a son, Steve Jr., and a daughter, April Jr. . . . A transplant to Southern Cal from Knoxville, Tenn. . . . "I like him because he's a crybaby, he sues everybody and he's a p***y," Hendrie said. . . . Often appears with his attorney, Dolores Blasengame, who uses the line, "Mr. Bosell, don't you worry about it. You're well within your rights."
Steve's Favorite Line: "All they want to do is stick it in, twist it and break it off."
Classic Steve: Sued once after a mishap during a cannonball contest at a local pool when he suffered an unfortunate accident with a dive stick. (Side note: Hendrie pointed out that shortly after the Bosell incident, dive sticks were outlawed.)
Bobbie Dooley
Sex: Female
Age: Mid-30s
Occupation: Housewife, mother, president of the Western Estates Homeowners' Association.
Hometown: Western Estates somewhere in the San Fernando Valley in Calif.
Bobbie's Story: She is wrapped up in her exclusive gated-community world with no tolerance for anyone from lower- to middle-income households. . . . Her three sons play a big role and she incessantly talks about their desirability in the eyes of other women. In reality they're "reprobates." says Hendrie. . . . Her husband Steve is often heard in the background. . . . "Bobbie is the most tragic of all our characters. There's nothing for her [in the future]," Hendrie says.
Bobbie's Favorite Line: "Mmmmmm, hmmmmmm."
Classic Bobbie: She once came on the show complaining about the burden of being a desirable woman after receiving an e-mail with the subject line "I Love You." She believes it is from yet another secret admirer.
Pastor William Rennick
Sex: Male
Age: Early- to mid-60s
Occupation: Preacher
Hometown: Bellflower, Calif.
The Pastor's Story: Based on a preacher in Atlanta, Josea Williams. . . . Rennick is the pastor of the Joyful Congregation Church. . . . He has many of the tendencies of infamous televangelists, but "he's honest," Hendrie says. "He's a man of the Bible. He's not really a crook like Jimmy Swaggart, but he might ask for money to the support the woman who's about to have his child. . . . He's sorry for his sins." But he's not afraid to ask for cash.
Classic Rennick: The pastor once came on looking for money for a handgun and a silver bullet to shoot a werewolf on Halloween. "People actually thought this guy was going to shoot a werewolf," Hendrie said. "He's just insane."
