By Jamie Buckingham
(From the book DAUGHTER OF DESTINY, pp 102 – )
In the spring of 1946, wearing a smart black dress, long kid-leather gloves, and a Hattie Carnegie hat, Kathryn walked into the office of radio station WKRZ in nearby Oil City. She told the receptionist she wanted to see the program director, Frank Shaffer. After being ushered into his tiny office, she told him, firmly but politely, she had come to buy air time.
According to Clarence Pelaghi of the Oil City Derrick, Shaffer had an aggravating habit which tested the patience of his guests. Slowly and painstakingly he would take out his pipe, fill it, pack it, and slowly suck on it while he tried to get it lit. While he was going through this routine, he would remain totally silent, ignoring the person who had come into his office as he concentrated all his attention on his pipe.
Kathryn, standing across the desk from the nonchalant radio man, endured the ordeal for a moment and then spoke out, “Young man, do you want to sell time or don’t you? I don’t have time to waste. And don’t you do that test on me; it won’t do you any good.”
Shaffer was caught by surprise. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like that, especially women, and most especially women wanting to buy time for a religious broadcast. Most of them were so intimidated, they would either leave or agree to take time at some God-forsaken hour of the day. Shaffer lowered his pipe into the ash tray, pulled out his rate sheet, and got to work.
The staff at the radio station watched this exchange with some delight. Although they could not hear the conversation, since it was taking place in a control booth, they could see through the glass windows and knew immediately that Shaffer had met his match.
Kathryn asked a few relevant questions such as the power of the station, the geographic area it covered, and the number of listeners. She insisted on a certain time every morning. And she got it. She left without ever inquiring about the cost. If God told her to broadcast and had given her the time, she’d let Him worry about the cost. It was a procedure she would follow the rest of her life.
Kathryn began making daily trips from Franklin to Oil City, eight miles away. The radio station was located on the third floor of the Veach Building. Before going on the air each day, Kathryn would chat with Ruth Lytle, the secretary and bookkeeper, and other members of the staff. But she was careful to keep her past hidden.
Kathryn was especially fond of her announcer, Ted Finnecy of Rouseville. She liked the way he handled her introductions, calling her “that young woman you have all been waiting for.” She insisted that the radio station keep recordings of Finnecy’s introductions on hand, and whenever he was unable to be present they would use the recording, rather than a substitute announcer. Finnecy, who was a Catholic, would always bless himself with the sign of the cross when he gave the introductions. But his seriousness stopped there, and often during the broadcast, he would stand on the other side of the glass doing Kathryn Kuhlman imitations, playfully mocking her gestures and facial expressions, trying to make her laugh. Kathryn enjoyed it, and the other staff members would sometimes double up in laughter outside the soundproof studio as they watched Finnecy and Kathryn making faces at each other through the glass.
Kathryn’s dramatics did cause some problems at the station, however. The only microphone available was a table mike. At times Kathryn would get excited during her presentation and would move so close to the mike it seemed she was biting it. This drove the engineer into frenzied action trying to level the volume. The problem was solved by moving the mike to the opposite edge of the table and screwing it down. Later the station got a mike with a boom, just to take care of the dramatic preacher from Franklin.
By midsummer, Kathryn’s fame had spread, and she added a Pittsburgh radio station – with the broadcasts emanating from Oil City. The added fame caused problems, however. A number of people wanted to get close to her, and unable to do so at the Tabernacle meetings, would come to the radio station instead. They would sit in the lobby and watch Kathryn through the large glass window. Soon the lobby was so packed with people, the station personnel could not do their work. When some of the people began to react emotionally, even hysterically, crying out to God in confession or weeping as they fell under conviction, the station had to bar all visitors from the studio.
The other problem centered around the abundance of mail. The letters would come to the radio station by the bagful. Finnecy, who enjoyed kidding “Katie” about her good looking legs, telling her she should be on stage rather than in the pulpit, would often sort through the mail—much of which contained money. Finding an envelope with coins, which jingled inside, he would throw it aside saying to Kathryn, “you don’t want this small stuff, do you?”
When Kathryn happened to announce over the air that she had just ripped her last pair of nylon stockings (nylon was very scarce following the war), the station was inundated with packages of nylon stockings from grateful listeners. The same thing happened when she once let it slip that she had lost her umbrella. The staff at the radio station was glad when she finally made her move to Pittsburgh so they could get back to normal. But all of them knew they would never have another program as effective as Kathryn Kuhlman’s.