Orange County Focus is dedicated on Monday to analysis of community news, a look atwhat’s ahead and the voices of local people. : IN PERSON : For Wally George, Right Way Is the Only Way

In a tired-looking studio, appropriately nestled on an Anaheim back street between Disneyland and the Crystal Cathedral, Wally George patted back the edges of his yellow hair helmet and self-consciously studied his image on a nearby monitor.

The firebrand talk show host took a slug of Evian and nodded at Consuela, the camerawoman. “All right gang . . . I’m ready,” George said, pulling off his eye glasses. “I’m righteously indignant . . . let’s go. . . .”

Then, as he has done every week for a dozen years, the liberal-baiting host of the cartoonish late-night show “Hot Seat” took a deep breath, turned toward the camera and let loose.

“Who wants to watch boooooring Tom Snyder, or Greg Kinnear or Conan whatever-his-name-is when they can watch WALLY!” the 64-year-old bellows. “Wally, who is not only entertaining you, but YELLING at you! And SAVING America at the same time!

“How ‘bout that folks? Where else can you find that?!”

*

Long before Limbaugh and Liddy hit the national airwaves, the mercurial George was skewering liberals for the amusement of a hooting audience. President Clinton has been carping about hate talk only recently, but George has been sharpening his tongue since 1982.

Unfortunately, a man ahead of his time is sometimes just a man with bad timing. While Limbaugh has book deals and endorsements, George’s shows are tucked in among the infomercials and phone sex ads on late night UHF television.

Instead of Dittoheads, George’s weekly studio audience at KDOC, Channel 56, is a small mob of drunk frat boys, stoned skateboarders and amused curiosity seekers.

“I am the ORIGINAL voice of conservatism! RUSH! Are you listening?” George sputtered during a recent taping. “You . . . you dirty copycat!”

Despite his on-air attacks, George said he has no envy in his heart. “I’m not angry or bitter, I’m content. I’ve achieved a lot more than I ever thought I would.”

Fifty years ago, a gangly 14-year-old with a pronounced stutter walked into the office of Robert C. Wian, the founder of Bob’s Big Boy restaurant chain, and haltingly asked him to sponsor an unlikely new radio show.

If I can get a sponsor, the teen fought to explain in a steady voice, I can be a disc jockey on KIEV, a Glendale station. Somehow, young Walter Lloyd George walked out with the burger baron’s agreement to pay for five shows a week for 13 weeks.

“A minute before air time, I closed my eyes and asked for divine help,” George said, describing his first day on the air. “A wave of warmth came across my body and I felt my whole body relax. I was on for two hours, and I never hesitated once . . . and then, at the end of the two hours, I started stuttering again.”

George, clearly pleased with the imagery of God and a microphone granting him his true voice, leaned back into his chair and flashed a crooked, toothy grin. “Can you believe that?”

The show’s television audience is too small to be tallied by Nielsen Media Research, but George points out proudly that 156 channels air his show, which features a set decorated by cheaply framed pictures of John Wayne, the space shuttle and Richard Nixon.

*

Two “Hot Seat” sponsors, a mumbling Van Nuys bankruptcy attorney and a used-car salesman wearing a sweater emblazoned with a huge American flag, are waiting in the green room, but George is on a roll.

He’s supposed to be in makeup, getting ready to tape some sponsor interviews, but instead he’s talking about the early days, the times he hung with Bob Hope and Bing. He even warbles a few lines from “Wally, Wally,” a take-off of “Louie, Louie” he sang on one of his oddball albums.

It is easy to forgive George’s nostalgia. He leaves his rabid sexism and abusiveness on the set. When the camera goes off, he is soft-spoken and polite, with an endearing enthusiasm about his small, corny corner of broadcasting. Besides, the trip down memory lane is less painful than talking about his recent travails.

“The last year,” he said with a deep sigh, “has been hell.”

In a matter of months, George found out that he had prostate cancer and that his six-year marriage was ending. Now he is girding himself for more radiation treatments and a bitter custody battle over his daughter, 5-year-old Holly.

“It’s been a bitter, bitter thing,” he said.

He isn’t asked, but he volunteers that he will leave “Hot Seat” in five or six more years. In a dim editing room, George suddenly looks very tired. It has, after all, not been easy being righteously indignant for more than a decade.

*

Thank goodness, at least, for Bill Clinton.

If it weren’t for him, George might have no way to navigate the sunset years of his career. Back on the set, beneath the bright lights, George is pounding his hand on his desk, causing his Evian bottle to teeter.

“Did you hear what [Clinton] said about ‘hate talk’?” George said, shaking his head with contrived disgust. “It’s ridiculous. What he’s saying is, ‘Don’t talk about me.’ The guy’s a liar, a womanizer, a draft dodger, a pot smoker. . . . He’s an EMBARRASSMENT!”

The tirade continues, turning to other targets, until Consuela makes a winding motion with one finger, telling George that his time is quickly running out. He smiles into the camera.

“End your night with Wally, every night Monday through Saturday. It’s a wonderful way to go to sleep, feeling like you’re a real AMERICAN! You’ve really been royally entertained by the master . . . and now . . . until we see you again, I want to say thank you, God bless you all, and GOD BLESS AMERICA!”