Very few people loved being on the radio more than Theodore Eugene Dunmire, better known to the world as Geno Michellini. Geno left us on March 2, 2024. He passed peacefully at home of natural causes with his beloved cat Bud Bud by his side. He was 77.

Geno was born into a military family. His father Floyd Theodore Dunmire was a hot shot WWII and Korean War era P-51 fighter pilot who Geno often referred to as The Great Santini. His mother Elanor Laverne Kiehl wasn’t cut out for military life and left when young Ted and his sister Sonja were children, constantly moving from base to base. Geno would later say that the endless turnover of people and places prepared him for a career in radio, where, it is said, success is projected by the size of your U-Haul.

Ted graduated from the American High School in Kaiserslautern, Germany in 1964 and by 1966 was enrolled at Penn State University where he discovered an aspect of his personality that he enthusiastically embraced for many, many years to come; the love of a great party. Not surprisingly, the Animal House lifestyle resulted in a less than stellar GPA, which put him at the top of the Vietnam draft list. Knowing the Army wouldn’t be a good fit, he did the only sensible thing and followed his father’s footsteps into the Air Force, which lead to Southern California, computers and his first and only wife, Diane.

Uncle Sam shipped the newlyweds off to the Philippines, and it was there that Theodore Dunmire got his first taste of broadcasting as an Armed Forces Radio and Television Services Disc Jockey transmitting from Clark Air Force Base, a huge military installation that was one of Americas primary staging areas into Vietnam. With a head for trivia, a passion for Rock n Roll, the gift of gab and the ability to never let the truth stand in the way of a good story, it didn’t take the young airman long to figure out that he was a natural born broadcaster. And he loved the attention. Unfortunately, as Geno would later acknowledge, “I really sucked, so when I got out, I took the G.I. Bill and went to broadcasting school in Hollywood.”

Marriage was never a good fit for Geno, and Diane didn’t make the transition. After 9 months at the Don Martin School of Broadcasting he found some part time work at a small station in Thousand Oaks, California, KGOE, before landing his first full time job at KSTN, a top 40 station in Stockton California. His on-air name was Doc Holiday, and he quickly discovered that structured, high-energy, Pop Music radio was not his thing¬—he wanted free form FM Rock n Roll, and KSFM, one of Sacramento California’s up and coming rockers had an opening. Geno made the leap, creating a freewheeling on and off air persona that would follow him for the rest of his days.

It was there in 1975 that Gene Mitchell, as he was then known, met Jimmy Buffett for the first time. Jimmy was opening for the Eagles, and Gene was covering the show for KSFM. The two kindred spirits immediately hit it off, launching a professional friendship that would endure for the remainder of their lives.

As is often the case in radio, the party ended abruptly after about a year when new management decided that their plans didn’t include Gene Mitchell, and he was fired. It was the best thing that ever happened to him because two days later he got a call from the celebrated “cum spot on your FM dial” KOME in San Jose California thus beginning what Geno called “one of the great golden chapters of my life.”

“Don’t touch that dial, there’s cum on it” was one of the many unforgettable slogans that came from the mind of Mikel Hunter, KOME’s program director who would become Gene’s good friend and mentor. It was Mikel who told Gene that he needed a radio name with a bit more pizzazz. From that day forth Theodore Eugene Dunmire would be forever known as Geno Michellini.

As hard as it is to imagine in the current era of corporate music delivery services, in those days, aside from basic FCC regulations, at KOME there were little if any restrictions regarding musical content or the views expressed by on air personalities—or even any real format for that matter. DJs were hired because of their musical tastes and conversational abilities and could pretty much do, play and say whatever moved them at the moment. Geno like to recall arriving at work to find lists of suggested themes such as politics, sex, and the war in Vietnam. He began inserting into his show brief, funny snippets of dialog from movies and TV shows that he called “drop-ins.” The fans loved it and during his 6 years at KOME management encouraged and nurtured his opinionated gift of gab, rebellious nature and lightning fast whit, which included irreverent on air practical jokes like seeing how far a chicken could fly if you launched it from a mailbox with the help of a toilet plunger.

All good things must pass and so it was with Geno and KOME. He was a guy who liked to push his bosses’ buttons. When he returned late from a weekend party in LA and missed an important staff meeting, Mikel Hunter fired him. Geno knew he deserved it and didn’t hold a grudge. He was grateful for all that Mikel had done for him and held him in the highest esteem for the rest of his career.

It was 1982. The Summer of Love was long gone, but the San Francisco Music scene was still very much alive and well. Bands like the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Starship, Santana, The Doobie Brothers and Journey called the Bay Area home, and the dominant force in FM Rock n roll radio was KMEL, affectionately known as “The Kamel.” They were looking for an afternoon drive guy, and as Geno Michellini happened to be unemployed at the moment, he thanked his lucky stars and jumped at the opportunity. The money and San Francisco’s legendary nightlife were an added bonus.

In those days, most radio broadcast studios were cluttered, windowless rooms jam packed with equipment and records. Not KMEL. In a city known for beautiful views, the Kamel had a great one. Located in Fisherman’s Wharf, overlooking the new Pier 39 tourist complex, the studio offered a spectacular view of San Francisco Bay. One of Geno’s favorite memories from that time was trying to concentrate on his show while the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk slowly passed by the window.

During his two years “Rockin The Bay” at KMEL Geno began to seriously polish his talent and public persona. It was the era of huge, all day stadium rock concerts, and Geno was at most of them, often broadcasting live from the event which he enjoyed just as much, if not more, than his fans. His knowledge of rock music was encyclopedic so the station appointed him Music Director, responsible for every song that went on the air, which put him into contact with important SF and LA record promo guys who spared no expense wining and dining the popular DJ. He later said “It was a magic two years, and every day I got to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge. San Francisco was the place to be, and I was getting paid to be there.”

Radio is a brutally competitive business. In San Francisco the market was rapidly changing, and free form FM rock n roll that DJs like Geno lived for was fast becoming a thing of the past. Stations went from having no restrictions on playlists to heavily regulated formats geared toward popular hits and artists. Trying to remain on top, KMEL hired a series of programming consultants who began implementing increasingly strict formats and playlists. On air personalities were ordered to tone it down and stick to prepared scripts and slogans. The air staff hated it, especially Geno, who upon returning from a vacation in Tahiti was told that he, along with everyone else, would soon to be out of work—KMEL was abandoning its rock n roll format to pursue a new audience of hip hop music lovers.

Big money, corporate radio would become Geno’s life-long nemesis. He hated it with a passion that was stunning to behold. “They are cancerous, soul-less motherfuckers.” he would often say, “In the mid-80’s, when the consultants came in. That’s when we all knew it was over.” Therefore, it’s kind of ironic that his next stop was at the top of the corporate pile, ABC Radio’s Los Angeles flagship, KLOS, located at 95.5 on the FM dial.

Geno’s life can be divided into 2 parts; before KLOS and after KLOS. When he moved to LA and became the station’s afternoon drive DJ, everything changed.

In 1984 some eight million people lived in Los Angeles County, and a lot of them listened to KLOS, which was then LA’s dominant FM rock n roll radio station. And, in addition to the responsibilities of his afternoon show, Geno was also hosting a nationally syndicated weekly radio program called Powercuts, which featured all the leading rock n roll artists of the time discussing their most popular tracks. He later said “You can’t really believe it’s happening. I went from being out of work to the number one station in Southern California and a national radio show all in the same day.”

Geno Michellini’s catch phrase “How ya Doin” found its way onto KLOS promo gear, buses, benches and billboards all over the sprawling city, and he played his theme song Bang The Drum every Friday at 4pm for frustrated Angelinos stuck in their cars. He liked to imagine all those people pounding on their steering wheels and yelling “I don't want to work, I want to bang on the drum all day.” The Todd Rundgren tune was the intro to segment of his show that featured an eclectic mix of songs not ordinarily played on the radio in Los Angeles. I Smoke Two Joints by the Toyes was a perennial favorite as was just about anything from his pal Jimmy Buffett.

It was an intoxicating time. Geno had the biggest audience of his life, was earning more money than he had ever dreamed possible and was living in an antique cottage on the Strand in Redondo Beach, partying with friends, old and new. Into this hectic environment moved the first of his great loves, Denise Ellis, a woman who would prove to be his almost constant companion until her untimely death from breast cancer in the mid 90’s. Denise’s passing haunted Geno for the rest of his life.

Geno loved to laugh. He did it often and loudly. Many of his best friends were the comedians he featured on his show as part of The 5 O’clock Funnies which became, perhaps, his most enduring LA legacy. The Funnies were serious business to Geno. He was a constant fixture in the clubs and the comedians respected him for it. A struggling comic name Tim Allen got his biggest audience ever when Geno featured him regularly on the program. In his autobiography, Don’t Stand To Close To A Naked Man, Tim credits Geno with launching his career and in LA, The 5 O’clock Funnies were second only to Johnny Carson for promoting up and coming comics.

Every rock star in the world passes through LA at one time or another, and Geno hung out with most of them. Several would become his good friends and co-conspirators as they burned their way through Hollywood’s notorious nightlife. His capacity for “whooping an hollering,” as he called it, was in a class by itself. When friends suggested that perhaps it was time to tone it down, he replied, “No. I’ve worked my whole life to be able to do this and I’m not stopping now.” Geno’s friendship with Joe Walsh became a regular fixture of his on-air show. The two met at a KLOS concert promotion in Hawaii and became fast friends for many years because they shared a love of music and a great party, and, according to Geno, deep down inside, Joe Walsh was a frustrated disc jockey.

Geno liked to say that he survived half a dozen program directors during his time at KLOS. But, with each new boss the playlist got a little tighter until eventually the entire musical portion of his show was dictated by a computer and, according to Geno, there was no longer any freedom at all. One day, he played the wrong song at the wrong time and got a call on the studio hotline from one of his bosses who ordered him to stop the record in mid track and play the correct one. A heated discussion ensued and he was told “get used to it.” He hated that kind of thing. When KLOS was acquired by Disney as part of an ABC/Capital Radio deal, he was offered the opportunity to have breakfast with Disney Boss Michael Eisner. He told his friends that he couldn’t wait to meet the man face to face so that he could tell him exactly what he thought of his “Mickey Mouse operation and how much he hated working at Mousewitz.” Geno ultimately declined the invitation, but the fix was in, and Geno was on the way out. “I’m not good at being told to shut the fuck up,” he recalled. “I’m the kind of person that if you make suggestions, I’ll listen. But if you tell me that I can’t do something and won’t tell me why, or I don’t agree with the reasons why, I’ll fight you.” During his time at KLOS Geno Michellini delivered some of the highest afternoon drive ratings in the station’s history.

The rest is epilog.

In the years that followed, Geno had small gigs at KFI, KCAL, KLSX, and a stint back at KLOS for a fraction of his old salary. But it was just not the same. Never one to save his money when he could go to Tahiti or buy a Ron Wood original print instead, he was eventually forced to leave his house and take an apartment near the ocean in Long Beach. There, with his cat Jonzi, he struck up a long distance relationship with the radio legend Dusty Street and nursed his wounds while working on his recovery. Deciding he was still too close to LA, he went farther south to Huntington Beach where he finally found a measure of contentment organizing his extensive archive, watching classic movies and TV shows and connecting with old buddies and new fans on Facebook. Money pressures eased, and he began biking along the beach on a regular basis with a small group of intimate friends. When Jonzi died, he was inconsolable but eventually adopted a new fur baby he named Bud Bud who would become his closest companion.

The shadow of death began drifting over Geno Michellini in November of 2022. His dear sister Sonja passed and a few months later, his old friend Jimmy Buffett died. He took it all very hard. Then, when Dusty Street, the woman he called the love of his life, took ill, Geno went to be by her side. When she died he was shattered in a way that those who knew him best had never seen before. Not one to hide his feelings, he took to Facebook and relentlessly accused her employer, Sirius XM, of running a sweat shop that contributed to her demise.

Geno never recovered from Dusty’s death, but in the last weeks of his life, he seemed to find a measure of peace. He quit Facebook and was planning a trip back to Tahiti when he died in his bed Saturday March 2nd at around 2am, an old John Huston documentary in his laser disc player and Bud Bud on the pillow next to him. He is survived by his nephew Jeff Fry, niece Jennifer Wood, step mother Delores Dunmire, half-brother Danny Dunmire, step sisters Carole McKibben and Ruth Sullivan and his god children Joshua and Alannah Forman.

Like all of us, Geno was many different people. Big hearted, sensitive and generous to a fault, he was also stubborn, self-centered and opinionated with a flair for the dramatic. If he was angry, you knew it. He possessed a vicious wit that only sharpened with time and could be painful if you were the target. Before he quit Facebook he proudly posted his opinion of its creator Mark Zuckerberg, whom he called “a mama’s boy who couldn’t get laid in a women’s prison with a fistful of pardons.”

But Geno also wore his heart on his sleeve. He love the beach, he loved to laugh, he loved his friends, he loved Tahiti, he loved to party, he loved to be the center of attention, he loved his cats Jonzi and Bud Bud, and above all, he loved Denise, Jimmy and Dusty. His friends David Forman and Frank Martin, who perhaps knew him best, liked to say that Geno’s heart was as big as his personality. Those of us left behind can only be sad for ourselves, because, at the end of the day Geno Michellini lived a great life and he knew it. “I was there when it was wonderful” he said “and I thank God for the life I was given.”

In accordance with his wishes, Geno has been cremated, his ashes placed in a coconut and scattered in the ocean off Manhattan Beach, California.

Bang the drum…slowly.

Oh, and Bud Bud is safely in his new home. 

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