AM News Radio, your go-to in a crisis, could itself be in trouble

"Some clouds over the city right now. I'm Paul Murnane," says a familiar voice.

"I'm Wayne Cabot," says another.

Few would know their faces. But as names, they're as recognizable as anyone in New York.

Fewer still could tell you their address — an 11th floor studio in a light-brick high-rise in lower Manhattan, between a Chase bank branch and patisserie named Maman.

But hundreds of thousands know where to find them on the AM dial — right between 820 WNYC ("public affairs") and 930 WPAT ("multi-ethnic"). That, for 56 years, has been the location of WCBS Newsradio 880 — one of those rare unchanging institutions in a changeable city.

Drive time

"Traffic and Weather Together now, sponsored by Morningside Nursing and Rehabilitation Center," says Cabot into his mic. It's 9:18 a.m. on a Thursday. "Over to Tom Kaminski."

A few deft slides on the mixing board, and he's brought in traffic reporter Kaminski, out over Long Island in his helicopter. "Let's go back out to the westbound Southern State," Kaminski says. "We now have an issue — there's been a couple of issues with trucks winding up where they shouldn't be..."

"Drive time" is, above all, when AM news stations like WCBS 880 and 1010 WINS make themselves indispensable — guiding motorists through the spaghetti tangle that is New York infrastructure.

Which is why some recent developments in the auto industry might be worrisome.

The end of AM?

BMW, Tesla, Audi, Porsche and Volvo have removed AM radio from their electric vehicles. Ford has said it will do the same for its electric pickup truck, the F-150 Lightning.

Is AM in trouble? If cars and AM radio should ultimately divorce — they were first partnered in 1930 — can the format survive? And will it be missed if it doesn't?

"As someone who grew up loving AM radio, and loved being a reporter for an all-news station, I think this is a loss that people might not realize," said Peter Haskell, who worked at WCBS from 1994 to 2022.

"AM radio has been a part of so many people's lives for so many generations," Haskell said. "To me, it's very sad."

Running interference

The issue — car makers claim — is purely technical. AM signals can be staticky. Subject to electrical interference. Electric cars and cellphone towers have only made the situation worse.

"Certainly the interference on AM hasn't been kind to us over the decades," Cabot said. One of several reasons WCBS 880, like many stations, has taken to streaming over the last few decades (Audacy.com).

Could Detroit, which has designed self-driving cars, come up with a way to improve AM reception? You'd think so.

But first, they'd have to care about it. Otherwise, AM might cease to be commercially viable. A full 40% of radio listening is done is cars, according to Forbes magazine.

"I think it's a mistake for car companies to pull it without talking to anyone," Murnane said. "To my view, they haven't given it a lot of thought."

Tag team

Why cling to AM? Especially when there are newer, better-sounding alternatives?

For reporters like Haskell, Cabot and Murnane, it's about carrying on a legacy. Stations like Newsradio 880 are part of the personality of the metropolis. They are the city, talking to itself.

"News radio is in some ways the thread that ties us together," Haskell said.

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There is something very natural, and very New York, about the rapport between Cabot and Murnane, the WCBS weekday morning tag team. They're not smarmy, like some TV newscasters ("Such a terrible tragedy, Kyle" "Our hearts go out to them, Alyssa.") They're more like a good-natured improv act, enjoying what the news brings them in terms of comedy material. This particular Thursday — 4/20 — it's bringing them a lot.

Wayne: "And we say with all caution and responsibility, Happy 4/20. That's today. The unofficial cannabis holiday. Of course, as Sophia Hall has been reporting, it's not a good idea to be driving, and there's a crackdown going on across New York state."

Paul: "I'll hit the Hallmark store on the way home and get you your card, OK?"

They can, of course, be serious when the news is serious. But their easy, breezy, slightly flip style — others at the station are equally knowing — helps give WCBS its distinctive cosmopolitan flavor.

"If either of us says something goofy, the other one will bust his chops on the air," Cabot said. "I had a friend say, 'You must hate each other or love each other.' "

"Depends on the day," Murnane cracks.

'Stay tuned to this station'

These guys have worked many a routine day of election recaps and traffic accidents. They've also been on deck for once-a-century disasters like 9/11 and Superstorm Sandy. It's days like these when AM radio really shines. "Whenever there's really big news breaking that's when people flock to us," Cabot said.

In an emergency, AM has certain strengths. It broadcasts in real time, or close to it, said Tim Scheld, WCBS news director from 2003 to 2022. Which could mean life or death, in a crisis. "Digital is a delayed signal, as much as a minute or two minutes off in a live broadcast," said Scheld, a Paramus native. "That can be pretty dangerous, if you're telling people not to go out-of-doors."

During a blackout, crucially, AM is available to anyone with a car or an emergency radio. Try hand-cranking a computer. "When the power goes out, when you can't watch TV, when the internet goes down, the battery-powered radio is there," Haskell said.

WCBS, in point of fact, was born of catastrophe.

It wasn't the first all-news station in the country: 1010 WINS had switched over to the format on April 19, 1965 (the two stations are now both owned by Audacy; 1010 WINS has its studios a floor below WCBS).

The format proved its worth soon after — dramatically — during the big November 1965 Northeast blackout. Listeners flocked to 1010 WINS. William S. Paley, CBS chief executive, was not about to see the network of Cronkite be upstaged. CBS, he decreed, must have a news radio station of its own.

"WCBS newsradio 88," as it was then called, launched on Aug. 28, 1967, in the wake of yet another disaster. "The night before, a plane hit the tower and knocked the transmitter out," Scheld said. "They literally had to start on FM."

Loud and clear

The station's current transmitter, located just off City Island in the Bronx, is a monster. At night, the 50,000 watts can carry through to as many as 38 states and Canada. "It's a blowtorch of a signal," Cabot said. Which explains how Murnane, in the outlands of Connecticut, and Cabot, in the wilds of New Jersey, grew up listening to it.

"I do remember CBS was on in the house, and in the car," said Murnane, who still lives in Connecticut. "There would be rock-and-roll music on the air, and then there would be a moment when either mother or father would have had enough, and they'd hit the button. Suddenly you would hear these deep, resonant voices."

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He was enthralled. So was Cabot, as a boy, when he got a clock radio for Christmas. "It projected the time on the ceiling," he recalled. "Woo-hoo. Gimmicky thing. I wanted to set the exact time, and CBS every hour had these tones."

So he listened, on the hour and the half hour, for the distinctive musical cues heralding the time (Leonard Bernstein's "New York, New York" was, back then, the half-past "bumper"). Before long, he had fallen in love with the station itself, and its roster of personalities: Jim Donnelly, Lou Adler, Neal Busch, Charles Osgood.

"I felt this was my extended family," he said. "As a teenager, I would take the bus and come in and visit, and watch these guys." And then — not quite as fast as you could say "breaking news" — he was working there himself. "Years later it's like, 'Weren't you the kid who sat here?' I was working alongside of them. It was crazy."

Voice of the city

It helped that he, like Murnane, has a made-for-radio voice. It's a trait they share with Brigitte Quinn, Levon Putney, Steve Scott, Michael Wallace, Marla Diamond, and the myriad others that make WCBS one big, happy, disembodied family.

"I got lucky that I had a usable voice for the radio," said Cabot, who grew up in Newark and Union. "I decided I wanted to do this long before my voice even changed."

It's a voice that — like AM radio itself — has become part of the fabric of New York. It's frequently recognized, even by people who can't place the face.

Years ago, Cabot went out to Sandy Hook's famous nude beach. He was young, and the place was supposed to be full of college girls (like Humphrey Bogart in "Casablanca," he was misinformed).

"I walk over to the side of the water and I'm now letting it all hang out, and I'm thinking, this is interesting, this is weird. And this guy standing next to me — he looks like a business executive — he says, 'Hi, I have to ask you. Are you Wayne Cabot from WCBS?' I'm like 'Uh, hi, yeah, how did you know?' He said, 'I heard you talking next to me.'

"So now I'm shaking hands with a naked man."

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: What's the future of AM news if car radios drop stations?