It is just before 1 a.m., any 1 a.m. from Monday through Saturday, and the din from the next-door Bowladrome has died away when Larry Glick climbs to the second-floor studio of Boston's WMEX ("the ever-new Wee-Mex, Home of Modern Radio"), eases himself into his chair, its torn plastic cushion oozing sponge rubber. Around him are ashtrays half-filled with cigarettes left by the daytime rock 'n' roll D.J.s. Staring at him is the control panel held together with electrical tape. On the scarred horseshoe table sits a six-line beige telephone, equipped with...
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