Last November, Adrian Kohn, a well-groomed junior at Georgetown and the present manager of Georgetown's closed-circuit station WGTB, announced his intention to seek a low-power FM license. Kohn's WGTB is a wholly different incarnation. It only returned to the airwaves in 1996 and is, currently, inaudible outside of Georgetown University.

After Healy gave away Georgetown's license to UDC, 90.1 became the all-jazz WDCU. UDC sold it to C-SPAN radio in 1997 to close a budget gap. Georgetown asked UDC for $1 in 1979. UDC got $13 million from C-SPAN. The frequency that once broadcast the sounds of Frank Zappa now saturates the nation's capital with the president's impeachment trial.

Kohn understands the bureaucracy he faces in trying to obtain an FM license, even a low-power license: It is a long, sticky process.

The irony is not lost on the WGTB alumni. The death of WGTB affirmed that free-form radio was not commercially sustainable. Grass-roots radio was on the way out, giving way to boardroom playlists and the influence of MTV.

Kohn says the university seems pretty supportive of the plan to obtain low-power FM. He proudly adds that the station enjoys a good relationship with the university today. WGTB has a pristine studio in the university's student center and plays largely ska and hiphop.

"We're trying to get back to the roots of the station," Kohn says optimistically. "Not through politics but through music."

It was politics, however, that defined the heyday of WGTB in the '70s. That period, say most former staffers, had a singular impact on their current political views and outlooks on life. "It was one of the most outstanding events of my life," says Friends host Rothschild. "Here was a young group of people with a vision of a better way of life, world, and community. That vision was central to the GTB community. We went down continuing to promote that vision."

News Director Doherty, to the contrary, insists that her time at WGTB in no way shaped the way she sees things today. "To me, it was just a joyride," she says. "I don't think the politics at GTB were very well developed. I see it as a folly of youth."

For Ken Sleeman, the golden age of GTB lives on through his humble attempt to bring the same kind of music to the folks who live within a few blocks of his home. Evenings, when he's in the mood, he fires up 1080 AM, where an audience he can probably count on one hand can tune in to a few minutes of Aphrodite's Child. The music still sounds thrilling, but remote and nostalgic, less urgent than it did back in its day. CP