Mal Hedstrom was the first, no second, person I met in my first ever radio job at 2XL in Cooma in 1972.
 
Having been trained by the legendary Eric Wright at 2KY in Orwell Street Kings Cross, I had a very formal introduction to broadcasting. I vividly recall my first lesson in the “off-air” studio furnished with no more than a lectern equipped with an on-off switch for the microphone. The studio was adjacent to the “control room” manned (it was then invariably “manned” back then) by a panel operator. On the other side of the control room was the on-air studio with Tony Langshaw at the mic.
 
Having done two months under the fastidious tutelage of Mr Wright, who secured my first radio job for me, I bundled my meagre belongings in the back of my ancient Morris Mini Minor (with the sliding windows) that I’d bought from a friend of a friend for $300, to wend my merry way down the Hume Highway, through the Nation’s capital on to the Monaro and into Cooma – amazed that Mini had made it.
 
I introduced myself at 2XL’s reception and asked for the manager (whose name escapes me after 48 years) and he showed me around the studios. Nothing like the cavernous facilities at 2KY, to which I had become accustomed, the “tour” of 2XL was conducted in about the same time as I could have shown someone around the interior of my Mini. 
 
The first person to whom I was introduced was standing in what was laughingly called “the control room”. He was wearing faded jeans and a raggedy T-Shirt while I was dressed in a tailored jacket, collar and tie, that my mother had insisted was appropriate for a first day at a new job.
 
The manager introduced the scruffy looking fellow in the T-Shirt as Mal Hedstorm. My first words to him were, “Are you the panel operator?” The place erupted in an uproarious fit of laughter – like, ‘who’s this pompous arse who thinks he’s getting his own panel operator.’
 
I soon dumped the collar and tie in favour of a T-Shirt and jeans. Mal and I became fast friends the way Privates in the army do. We listened to each other’s air-checks and fantasised over getting that big gig at a major metro station.

Mal beat me to it. Within a year or so, he’d landed a night shift at 2SM – the number one station at the time in Sydney. He invited me into the studio evening. I was in awe. As he flicked the mic switch to “on-air,” I froze at the thought of the hundreds of thousands of people listening to this big city station – as if somehow they might sense I was there and wonder, “who’s this impostor on the radio with Mal?”
 
Over the years we pursued separate paths in the industry. We rarely spoke. But when we did, it was as if the conversation had never ceased. I think anyone who’s worked in radio for any length of time has developed several relationships of that kind. 
 
Mal became a legend of a newsreader in Newcastle and one of those stalwarts of the business that underpin the vitality of regional radio as he (as they say) ‘went through more stations than the Indian Pacific.’
 
We can only hope that radio will be blessed with many more like Mal Hedstrom in the years to come. 

Rest in Peace my friend.

Peter Saxon,
Managing Editor