My father, David Howard Rosenblum, was born in New Castle, in Lawrence County, one of nine offspring of Samuel and Raye. They all settled in Butler and lived in a grand, yellow-brick residence on McKean Street.

Dad worked his way through Western Reserve College (now Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland) by playing the piano as the accompanist for silent movies.

One of his greatest contribution to the “Rosey” clan was marrying a creative and witty Southern gal, Sara Borisky, from Atlanta. (Much more to come about this excellent collaboration.)

Married and settled, he founded Rosenblum’s Ready-to-Wear at 209 S. Main St., selling fashionable ladies’ apparel. He entertained at the keyboard for the local Rotary Club and appeared on stage in that organization’s vaudeville-type shows.

Sara was quickly dubbed “Georgia” by her tribe of in-laws, and the name stayed until her radio days conferred yet another pseudonym, Gladys Borne.

Ever creative, Georgia came up with the concept of constructing “torso” parts of mannequins to display blouses in the storefront windows.

Mother’s family were all in the movie-theater business in Chattanooga, owning a string of cinema locations. (Oh, what a delight to visit down there and get to sit in the projection room and peep out at the picture shows, as they were called then! And the cupboards full of candy bars of all kinds for instant, wicked delight: Clark bars, Milky Ways, Jujubes, oh, yes!)

It was the allure of show business and especially the personalities of those acquired Southern relatives that Dave could not resist or endure for long, and he determined to get himself into entertainment via the medium of radio. Not just being on it but owning it.

He retained a communications attorney and then an electrical engineer and took the plunge: determine a viable frequency, show financial stability and apply to the FCC for a license to operate a radio station in Butler, with the name WISR — the last radio broadcasting license awarded in America until after World War II.

Launched in 1941, this would be 680 AM and 250 watts of power with daytime-only broadcasting privileges.

WISR call-letters were invoked to honor his father, Isaac Samuel Rosenblum. And, later on, Dad devised a slogan out of the acronym: “We Insure Sales Results.”

“The entire city of Butler, Pa., turned out the night of Sept. 26 in a mammouth (sic) celebration of the opening of the new WISR,” one newspaper wrote. A parade, including Pittsburgh firemen and police bands, several floats and even Army tanks, was followed by fireworks at the ballpark.

The station adopted a mixed music-news format, providing a healthy dose of music — including live musicians and 1940s classics like “Stardust,” “Careless” and “I Don’t Know Why I Love You Like I Do” — along with local, county and national news on the hour.

Georgia, who had worked the years comanaging the Rosenblum ladies’ store, would transfer her acumen and charm to operating the new business and later on to the microphone.

She sought out news of interest to female listeners and conducted a daily radio show. She dubbed it, “News Through the Eyes of a Woman.” She took her radio name, Gladys Borne, from a childhood friend she dearly admired.

For his part, Dave instinctively knew that broadcasting “local” news of Butler County interest would attract a homespun audience, so he dispatched reporters to cover council meetings, activities of emergency services, births and deaths — not to mention bringing area newsmakers to the mic.

One day he realized he had all this information at hand and so printed up a daily news-sheet to be distributed at restaurants, bank and hotel lobbies, hospitals — wherever people gathered at noontime.

Of course, commercial announcements were the lifeblood of the radio business, and Dad cleverly established affordable rates, initially referring to them as “a dollar a holler!”

This upstart success surely irked the local newspaper as this was the first competition the publishers ever had. And now the little WISR “flyer” was scooping the local paper, which didn’t get into circulation till later in the day.

To retaliate, the newspaper owners saw fit to pursue acquiring their own broadcast facility. But every time their competitive project required applying for a specific frequency on the dial, Dave would locate people he knew in nearby towns and help them to seek a license to operate in a competing city but at the same spot-on the dial, thus giving preference in the considerations by the FCC to issue a grant in an unserved community rather than a second station in Butler, which already had one.

Finally, though, the newspaper was granted a license. Amusingly enough, the lucky selectees whom Dave set up to go into the broadcasting business in the other little towns never had competition and went on to become owners of a financial bonanza.

The two Rosenblums ran the dress business and also the broadcasting one for three years.

Dave would come home simply exhausted Saturday night after 9 p.m., and he would just sink into a chair as soon as he could.

When WISR became self-supporting, the dress shop was sold.

Dave loved his sons. My little brother Ray was born in 1935 with an ear infection, leaving a hearing loss in one ear.

My brother had to take it easy physically for some time but was intellectually inquisitive about anything and everything. This proclivity absolutely delighted father, who soon lovingly referred to the boy as “My little question box.”

I have a small photo of Dad holding up me as an infant to share the delight of viewing the home that he’d built at the top of a terrace on Fulton Street.

Years later, we moved to an elegant Tudor-style home on Cedar Road, which had only a few houses situated on the short street and just behind the lavish courtyard and grounds of a wealthy Butlerite.

Next door resided Roy Docherty, who owned a car dealership with franchises for Chevrolet, Buick AND Cadillac, a considerable business even by today’s standards.

Dave made friends, of course, and soon was visiting this neighbor to play checkers.

One day, I was standing in the front yard when Dad was returning home after a game and showed me the scorecard, listing the winner of every contest, with the victor overwhelmingly himself. Docherty did get in a few conquests, say three to my father’s 10.

When I inquired about any score at all for the other player. Dad said, “I have to let him win a few games or he won’t play with me.”

Another tale involves Dave and Georgia on the way to vote for president in 1948. The contestants were Dewey and Truman.

As they drove down Fulton Street, Dad asked Mom whom she was voting for.

“Truman,” she said. “And you?”

“Dewey,” he said.

Good old Mom remarked, “Why don’t we just go back home and not bother then. Really.”

“Yeah,” went dear old Dad, after which they both voted for Harry.

Dad was hell-bent to keep me out of the armed services as the Korean War heated up, and so first had me headed for MIT, where collegiate engineers were excluded from the draft. Then, he enrolled me in the draft-exempt Pennsylvania National Guard, but they got federalized. Thanks to my typing skills (piano players are also good typists), I was sent to the Veterans Hospital at Camp Atterbury, Ind., where I worked as an X-ray technician taking dictation.

A heart attack ended David’s life Jan. 28, 1951.

I wasn’t allowed to return when he died, but when mother fell sick, Sen. Estes Kefauver of Tennessee arranged for me to be flown to Chattanooga by Red Cross airplane just in time to say goodbye.

Today, Butlerites can drive down “WISR Way” and see a large stone outside 357 North Main St., commemorating Sara and David Rosenblum and Butler’s first radio station, WISR.

Joel Rosenblum, 97, was born and raised in Butler. Rosenblum enjoyed a long career of starting and managing radio stations in Pennsylvania and Ohio — including WISR. He resides with his wife, Jo Rosenblum, in Lady Lake, Fla.