Strangers in the Night

Steve Terry got a good-night kiss from his wife recently, even though she was miles away. It came in the form of a song, carried at 1 a.m. to the mini-market in Anaheim where he was beginning his all-night shift.

The messenger was KEZY, one of several Orange County radio stations that broadcast all night.

Terry, 40, of Brea, had just turned on the radio when he heard the familiar strains of “Still the One” sung by Shania Twain--and he knew immediately that Debbie, his wife of 17 years, had called in a request: “That’s kind of our song. It made me want to tell her I love her.”

As late manager at the market, Terry counts on all-night broadcasts to get through his shift. “It’s lousy in the store without the radio,” he says. “It makes the night go by a lot faster.”

Back in the 1970s, only about half the stations in Southern California were on the air 24 hours a day, and even those usually shut down for maintenance at least one night a week. Today the scene is different: Almost all stations broadcast at night, even if that means entertaining audiences with automated programming.

“It follows the culture,” says John Fox, part of KEZY’s morning drive-time duo and a 20-year veteran of the industry. “The 24-hour culture just sort of snuck up on us--even the freeways are crowded at night.”

Late-night listeners tuning in to KEZY (95.9 FM) hear Robert Champagne, 34, who plays CDs and speaks in a night-mellow voice to fellow travelers on the dark side of day.

The station’s management won’t say how many listeners Champagne has. The DJ says he gets 20 to 40 calls a shift. Besides those making musical requests, he hears from students burning the midnight oil, workers at all-night markets, night owls calling in to share late ballgame scores or critique movies they have seen, and folks just killing time.

Champagne arrives at the station’s Anaheim studio just before midnight, five days a week. Before he goes on the air, he peruses the day’s newspapers for topics on which to comment during breaks between records. Then he starts the CDs while keeping an eye on the red light that warns him when a tune is about to end.

“Hi, there,” he croons. “This is Robert Champagne, kicking off another night of hits from the ‘80s, ‘90s and today. Here’s 30 minutes of continuous hits.”

Almost immediately, the phone lights up. Tonight the station has sponsored an advance screening of the movie “Armageddon,” and people are calling to give their reviews. “Loved it,” one caller reports. “It made me cry.”

Before his shift ends at 5:30 a.m., Champagne will hear from dozens of souls he will never meet.

One of them is Tina Constantine, 29, a receptionist from Garden Grove. This night, calling to say thanks for the free movie, she says she turns the radio on at 1:30 a.m., when she gets home from dancing at clubs with her friends. “It’s just soothing,” she says. “It makes me feel like there’s somebody there besides my cat.”

The radio is a companion too for caller Scott Burkhardt, 27, a stage technician who works odd hours at Disneyland and calls to request anything by the group Journey. He plays computer games to while away the time between shifts, he says, and the radio “is noise. It’s better than listening to the sound effects from my games.”

Champagne sees it as part of his mission to energize people who are up all night because of their work. “My job is to keep up the enthusiasm,” he says. “Sometimes they’re bored out of their minds at work. I tell them, hey, you’re not the only one having trouble staying awake--there are places I’d rather be too.”

At times he’s a friend, chatting with people alone with their radios, establishing a fleeting intimacy. Other times, he’s a counselor, comforting and advising the troubled.

“Some of them are desperation calls,” the DJ says--a man who phoned several times one night, angry because he had just been fired; a woman who wanted to get a nose job but needed to talk it over.

One caller was a 15-year-old girl trying to decide whether to have sex with her boyfriend. (“I told her to take her time,” Champagne says.)

On this particular night, the calls are fairly benign. Robert Graham, a regular, phones at 2 a.m. to let Champagne know that the Angels beat the Giants, 6-4. “I’ve been a die-hard Angels fan since I was 4 or 5,” says Graham, 29, who calls in baseball scores several times a week. A divinity student at a local college, Graham says he studies better at night, “and the radio keeps me focused.”

Champagne doesn’t put Graham on the air, but he does tell his listeners the score.

At 3 a.m., John Fogerty calls from his car phone to say thanks for the free midnight “Armageddon” screening, from which he is just returning. “I sleep a lot during the day,” the 20-year-old student says, and he listens to the radio while driving alone at night. “I like the fact that someone’s out there and they’re talking and it’s a live thing,” he says. “That’s kind of cool.”

A young man calls from Irvine just to pass the time during a week when his girlfriend is away on vacation. “I’m a big night owl,” says Jon Simonson, 21. “It’s dark, and there aren’t many people around.”

Sara Witt, a 16-year-old high school student from Irvine, calls and chats about her summer evolution into a nocturnal person. “I haven’t been to bed before 5 a.m. since school’s been out,” she says gleefully. “I watch a lot of movies, surf the Internet or sit in a hot tub. I love the stars--I feel completely alive at night.”

At 4:43 a.m., Chrissy Dalgeish, 19, calls to decry the rapid approach of dawn. “I don’t like sunshine,” she says. “When the sunlight comes, my eyes just want to droop.”

In honor of them all, Champagne plays a record by Matchbox 20. “It’s 3 a.m.,” the lyrics say. “I must be lonely.”

Champagne says he personally doesn’t feel that way too often. In fact, at times the lighted booth in which he works seems like the center of the universe, connecting to the disparate voices in the darkness like the nucleus of a cell.

“There are touching moments when people are feeling something, and I enhance it,” he says. “I’m here for them. They call me for entertainment or to talk to another human being.”

But occasionally he too feels the weight of the darkness. This night he pauses thoughtfully, then makes a confession. “I need them as much as they need me,” he says of his listeners. “They help me get through the night.”