Popular Local Disc Jockey Decides To Switch Ships - To Follow God's Call

On any average weekday morning, nearly 39,000 people wake up with Ichabod Caine, the morning disc jockey at KMPS (94.1-FM, 1300-AM). Over the past 10 years, Caine has gained an intensely loyal following with his silly puns, propelling the country station to No. 1. His show is outranked only by news-talk station KIR0-AM.

Billboard has nominated him for radio personality of the year three times, causing Caine to dub himself "the Susan Lucci of Radio." His syndicated interview show, "The Country Club," can be heard on more than 200 stations nationwide.

But after tomorrow, his voice will be notably absent from the airwaves. Caine has decided to leave KMPS to do a Christian show at the competition, country station KRPM (106.1-FM). He will also do the morning show at KRPM and continue his syndicated show, but will be off the air for six months because of a noncompete clause in his contract.

The move is unusual in that most Christian shows on mainstream stations aren't hosted by such visible media stars. Also, during a time when shock jocks like Howard Stern are national heroes, Caine is an unlikely celebrity.

Much of his humor is PG-13, and he indulges in jokes like, "The first rule in cross-country skiing is finding a small country," and "Why aren't there any Swiss navy knives?"

Much of Caine's charm comes from his naivete, says Don Riggs, KMPS' news director, who does the morning show with Caine.

"He's so darn likable, there is not a mean bone in his body," says Riggs. He says that he and traffic reporter Patti Par will "start saying as smutty a line as we can get away with, and (Caine) won't get it, or not hear it. There's something nice and fresh about him."

Caine has always let his faith in Christianity guide him, his family and career, since discovering it 17 years ago. He prays daily, sends his two young sons to a private, Christian school and runs a church in his West Seattle home with his wife, Valerie.

It was KRPM's general manager, John Rogers, who approached Caine about a Christian show. Rogers, whose station is tied for eighth place, needed to improve his ratings, knew that Caine is religious and made an unbeatable deal.

"I began listening to (Caine) to figure out how we could beat them," said Rogers. "The more I listened to him, the more I realized I would never beat him. He's so good."

Caine had asked KMPS five years ago to do a Christian show but was turned down. He prayed heavily about the offer and decided God was giving him a green light and opening the door at KRPM.

"I wish I could explain it to the radio station and my listeners," says Caine. "I can imagine the general manager trying to explain to the staff, `Ichabod feels God has told him to go. What a dork! OK, OK, Ichabod feels called to go. Why didn't God call him to Jerusalem? Why to K106?' "

At 41, Caine is a portrait of baby-boomer, country hipness: His thick brown hair brushes his shoulders, and his trim moustache is flecked with gray. He wears a tiny stud in his left ear and a chunky, heavy-metallish silver ring at least an inch wide. He drives a black Ford truck, wears a black Harley Davidson jacket decorated with the Tazmanian Devil, and sprinkles his speech with "totally," "cool" and "alright."

"The gospel message is exciting news," he says, widening his blue, close-set eyes. "But the problem is, you bury it on Sunday morning for a half-hour with boring people talking deep dogma. This won't be boring. We're going to be whooping and yelling and having fun."

He adopts a grave voice and says, "It's not going to be: `And now, the hour of power . . . ' About that name . . .

It was Valerie, whom Caine met while studying theater at Western Washington State University, who nicknamed him Ichabod, because of his long, gangly legs.

When asked to confirm his birth name, Caine became rattled and refused. He insisted that it not be revealed, explaining: "People get a kick out of coming up to me and using my other name."

He grew up in Forks and later Port Townsend, the second oldest of two brothers and a sister. His mother worked as a teacher, and his father held various jobs: He owned a cafe, ran a roller rink and an American Legion hall, worked as a bouncer, logger and health inspector.

Caine graduated from Port Townsend High School, where he was a mediocre student and the class clown, and played drums and guitar in several rock bands.

"Some kids grow up talking into vacuum cleaners and giving the time and temperature to their neighbors, but I never did," he says. "I wanted to be a musician."

He eventually switched to radio, combining his love for music and for entertaining people. He studied broadcasting in Seattle a year after graduation, and worked his way up as a "rock jock" in Bellingham, Spokane and at KJR, then a rock station in the late '70s. Finding his faith

He discovered Christianity in Spokane, when he was in his mid-20s and plagued with anxiety attacks so terrifying and frequent, he says, that he sought counseling.

"There was never a sense of enjoying where you're at," he says. "This tenacious hold to be somebody - it riddled me - to get my parents to applaud me, and say, `Yes, you're a great guy.' "

A friend invited him to church. The conversion changed his personality. He quit swearing and smoking. He spoke publically and loudly about God, and his message wasn't always welcomed.

Soon after Caine converted, he was invited to speak at a high-school graduation ceremony. "I go out there and go, `You guys! I gotta tell you about Jesus!' I could tell the school board was uncomfortable, and I'm thinking, this has got to be my imagination.

"But I'm thinking God loves it. He's like, `Alright, dude! Blaze away! Even though this isn't working!' "