Jim Johnson, who bridged the divide between hard news and ribald humor, dies

Jim Johnson

     Bill Clinton won reelection in 1996 promising to "build a bridge to the 21st century." But when newsman Jim Johnson went to read that memorable phrase on the radio, it came out as "build a bridge to the 21st secretary," a malapropism echoing the president's famous roving eye.

     "Jim Johnson was a professional news gatherer and on-air reporter with amazing punchlines lurking in the weeds," said radio icon Steve Dahl.
     Mr. Johnson, who managed to straddle the divide between serious news and ribald humor, died Friday near Kansas City, Missouri, where he had gone to live near his family. He was 80.
    In an industry where talent generally survives by hopping from station to station, Mr. Johnson spent his entire career, almost half a century, at WLS-AM (890).
    "He was very adaptable," remembered WLS co-host Catherine Johns, "when instead of doing straight news — a 25-second report from City Hall — they asked him to become a co-anchor, part of a morning show. He adapted to that. When the format changed to talk, he adapted to that. He worked well with all of us, with Fred Winston and Steve Dahl and Garry Meier and Roe Conn."
     "I spent 50 years behind the microphone," Winston said. "Jimmy was the fastest, funniest cat I ever worked with. He was a multitalent, a personality, aside from being a top-shelf, excellent investigative journalist. He was funny, and he was warm, and he was irreverent, and he was loved by everybody."
     "One of the nicest and genuinely funny people I have ever worked with," Dahl agreed.
     "He's dyslexic and would type up his stuff, then hand write over it," said Conn, who worked with Mr. Johnson for 20 years. "He rarely used a computer screen to do the news. He liked to read it off the paper and would get lost in his own handwriting. He had these amazing 'Jim-isms.'"
    "Fighting AIDS" turned into "fighting eggs." "Vice President Biden" morphed into "Vice President Bin Laden." Then there were the "nine men who were killed to death."
     "He had this reel of these things we could constantly play," Conn said. "It was drop-dead, laugh-out-loud funny."
     And if you think Mr. Johnson's gaffes don't belong in his obituary, think again.
     "He would be so offended if you didn't have fun with this," said his daughter, Kansas City newscaster Alexis Del Cid. "The greatest way to honor my dad was humor."

To continue reading, click here. 



Mr. Johnson was born in Chicago. His parents were May and Charley Johnson, a reporter at City News in the 1930s and later with the Chicago Sun.