Chuck Taylor, former WTJU manager, dies at 74
By Nathan Moore
Chuck Taylor, former general manager of WTJU, passed away on August 11, 2026 after a long illness. He was 74.
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Chuck Taylor hosting a 1999 Folk Marathon show |
Chuck grew up in Virginia Beach and attended Elon University. After graduation, he visited friends in Charlottesville and liked it so much, he decided to make it his home. He became a DJ on WTJU 91.1 FM, hosting the genre-fluid show From A Whisper To A Scream. He later served as WTJU’s General Manager (and first-ever paid staff member) from 1993-2010.
Chuck possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of music. Longtime listeners remember him as Uncle Chuck, and he shared his love of music with audiences for more than three decades.
Chuck’s vinyl collection was legendary and his thousands of albums represented all genres. He loved for friends to visit and enjoy his collection. He would curate a show in his living room, helping listeners enter more fully into the art of vinyl recordings.
As station manager, Chuck shepherded WTJU through an important era of its history. He pioneered a hybrid community-college radio model with a balance of community and student DJs. He also managed the relocation of WTJU’s studios from the basement of Peabody Hall into expanded facilities in Lambeth Commons.
During his tenure, Chuck was the bearer of WTJU history and culture. He collected thousands of WTJU photos, posters, t-shirts, recordings, files, and ephemera, which live on and serve as the cornerstone of WTJU’s digital archives.
A graveside service will take place on Wednesday, August 19, 2026, 2:00 pm at Holly Lawn Cemetery, 1525 N Main St, Suffolk, VA.
WTJU continues to add tributes to Chuck below. If you would like to contribute one, please email Nathan: [email protected]
For four decades (1968-2008), Chuck kept track of every concert he attended – more than 600 concerts spanning many genres and venues. Check out the spreadsheet here.
SCOTT SHISLER, aka Goldfinger, host of “Reggae Vibrations”
My first-ever visit to WTJU (Peabody Hall) was on a Saturday afternoon as Chuck was manning the controls of “From a Whisper to a Scream”. Besotted with all things “underground radio,” I felt like I had wandered into a dimly-lit (funky orange-carpeted) Inner Sanctum with a visionary at work.
That program’s playlist would turn on a dime. The definition of “free-form” radio.
He patiently chatted with me and my dream of being a part of it (which didn’t happen until ten years later), telling me to whip up a forty-song playlist and submit it to the powers-that-be. Not wanting to intrude further on his craftsmanship, I turned on my heels, feeling like I had been granted a glimpse of Possibilities.
Back when “Reggae Vibrations” aired on Friday afternoon, I loved being there when all of the staff were there, excited that the weekend was just around the corner. Chuck was always affable and supportive whenever I stuck my head in his office door, always ready with a suggestion or a discovery.
It never seemed like he was comfortable in dressing for the part of General Manager, and how he navigated the red-tape in keeping us afloat as an afterthought in the UVA system will forever be a mystery.
But, he did.
Guided us with packing up everything and moving us to palatial digs at Lambeth Commons… a quantum leap in accommodations and signal-strength and frequency-change, opening the door for live music to sound amazing.
If you thought that he wasn’t “athletic”, you weren’t there when I spun a reggae version of “Working Class Hero”, unexpurgated, one afternoon. No sooner had the “F-Bomb” dropped, he broke a land-speed record to appear in the doorway to the studio.
I was suitably reticent and apologetic. No Harm Done.
My last visit with Chuck was right after our move to 2244 Ivy Road. He briefly stopped by for a quick tour… skinny as a rail, but obviously proud of where we’d come.
Chuck was a talented curator, stand-up guy… and the benchmark that many of us followed in our love of community radio.
Rest Well, Unka Chuck.
PATRICK REED, WTJU alum
Chuck was the perfect director… Someone with strong tastes and opinions who also recognized that the station was stronger with a wide range of perspectives and approaches; a thoughtful-yet-stern authority figure with this little twinkle of chaos and anarchy just under the surface; someone who was hands-off, yet would step in at a moment’s notice to give guidance or answer questions.
Things like gruffly saying “I know you’re probably playing lots of strange things [in the 3-6AM slot], but you really shouldn’t ever play multiple records at one time – it confuses the listeners and messes up the logs.” Then adding “…BUT IF YOU DO, here are the best three ways you can go about it, so it will sound good.”
Or reminding us that classical programming started promptly at 6AM… “Which means you’ll want to think about what people who tune in a little early will end up hearing” And giving just the hint of a smile.
Or letting us know best practices for doing a late-night show… What to do if the previous DJ was asleep and the door was locked when we arrived, what to do if someone left liquor bottles in the studio trash can, how to handle drunk callers (or visitors), what degree of profanity we could get away with, what documentation to make sure we had in case someone called in an FCC complaint about our slot, the best long tracks in each genre to queue up if we were alone and needed to run to the restroom.
He was the greatest. Charles W. Taylor III forever.
ROB SHEFFIELD, WTJU alum
Thanks for your life, Chuck Taylor. At WTJU, he was Uncle Chuck, a tireless music enthusiast and guru, our leader and advocate, a true Charlottesville legend who devoted his life to the beautiful chaos of community radio. I learned so much from this wonderful man.
My WTJU show was in the afternoon, so I always tried to play at least one song every time that would lure Chuck away from his desk and into the studio. Anything psychedelic was a sure thing, and it usually put him in the mood to tell a story, though not necessarily stories I can share here. But if you played a song that made Chuck smile, you knew you were having a good DJ day, whether it was “2000 Light Years From Home” or “Sukiyaki.” Nothing gave him a wider smile than Gram Parsons (unless it was Moby Grape). I’ll never forget one day when I played “Wheels” — Chuck opened the studio door, just stood there, said “Graaaaam,” then left.
It was always an education to visit his vinyl shrine of a house and hear him spin the rarities. I’m always so grateful to know him — so wise, so gentlemanly, but always with that mischievous spark in his smile. And yes, I’m still jealous he got to see Hendrix. His whole life was a lesson in keeping inspiration alive across the years. Chuck forever.
DAVID WELLBELOVED, WTJU alum
Chuck was not only a fantastic friend but also one of the most important people involved with the station. His leadership was fundamental in shaping the sound of WTJU and his ability to embrace multiple generations and genres set the standard that many of us strived toward.
I learned a lot from him and this loss will be felt forever.
Thank you CWT3 for opening my ears and my mind
MARCIA DORAN, aka Spot, WTJU alum
Chuck’s devotion to the station showed even before he joined the staff. In the mid 70’s, Chuck worked for the University and would deliver supplies to the multiple vending machines located at the end of the hall where TJU was located in the Humphreys House Dorm. He would regularly stop in the station and visit with us while we did our shows. I remember when he found out he and I had a mutual affinity for NRBQ, he made a point to get Moon Pies to stock in the vending machines (“RC Cola and a Moon Pie” was NRBQ’s signature song). I don’t remember when he formally joined the station as a DJ, but I believe it was the mid-late 70’s. He had been around, helping out however he could, and it seemed like he had always been there. Safe travels, Chuck – and thanks for all the Moon Pies.
DON HARRISON, host of “Radio Wowsville”
It’s not hyperbolic to say that, without Chuck Taylor, WTJU would not be here today. As its first paid general manager, he quite literally guided the station through the roughest of seas. But uncle Chuck, who died on Aug. 11, wasn’t just the captain who steered the ship, he was also one of the workers who gladly manned the oars — his Tom Waits marathon shows were legendary and listeners eagerly and ravenously awaited them. His own music collection (and acumen) was expansive and daunting and wonderfully all over the place — it’s quite humbling when your boss knows more than you do.
Plus, importantly, he was a FAN of WTJU. He actually listened to the station (all departments) while he was running it. When you got a comment (or, if you were lucky, a compliment) from him, you knew it was because he actually listened to your show. He would share in your in-jokes! I can still hear his calming and reassuring purr of a voice. If you were going to get bad news, or gently dressed down and placed on “the wall of shame,” let it be from THAT voice.
Chuck Taylor wasn’t just a Hall of Famer — literally an All-Star — we should name the Hall of Fame after him. RIP to my favorite uncle!
PETE MARSHALL, host of “Sunset Road”
Sad news indeed, especially following so soon after the passing of Dave Rogers. I believe I first encountered Chuck as the host of ‘From A Whisper To A Scream’ back in the Peabody Hall era… at the time that show was on Saturdays, and directly followed Atlantic Weekly Pt 2, which I cohosted for a while in the early 90s. Those handover conversations were always interesting, especially given his encyclopedic musical knowledge. His interest in photography was also mentioned…I still have a photo he gave me on my wall that he took of Dave Grant (also sadly missed..), which has extra poignancy now.
Chuck was a mentor, and a mensch, and a steady hand when we needed it. Rest In Peace, Chuck.
ELIZABETH HULL, aka That Girl, WTJU Alum
Charles W. Taylor III was a gentle man carrying the weight of a lineage he was both secure in and anxious about. He was my friend, and I love him and miss him.
From early days, his radio shows were remarkable for the breadth of sounds he assembled, carefully mortised together, always pushing the boundaries of what I knew and the assumptions anyone else would make about what music belonged together. Those musics were all in his head, whispers orbiting screams, spider threads connecting, breaking, making new connections. It seems crazy to me to remember that I was on the air at the station before Chuck was; he seems to have always been there, and to so clearly represent what the scrappy little rock department dreamed of when we said we were “free form radio.” And then there was the voice, Tidewater tang, elongated vowels, low and slow. A radio dream.
And when the station needed him, he stepped up. The relationships he had formed with djs across the spectrum of every genre and his low-key way of helping us all grow out of being twitchy, insecure knuckleheads made him a dream station manager when the university decided there should be paid management. CWTIII’s experience as a manager out at Mint Springs served TJU well. Friends talk about how he talked to them about messes they had made, gently getting the point across. He worked as well with the dean of students as the on-air staff. Only Chuck could have done that in those years.
None of us heard all of the shifts people didn’t make being filled by someone who knew their genre and their personal take on it. Classical, folk, alt, women’s music, hardcore, world, electronica, all delivered impeccably, and announced in that distinctive Tidewater style. He was working fulltime and filling as many as 5 no-show shows a week. He can’t have slept in those years, and I ache for how TJU ate his life. It makes sense that for better or for worse, Chuck is the one who set WTJU on its path to leaving the student-station part of its life behind and embracing community radio. We all have him to thank for the station we have today.
If you will all forgive me, I’d like to say something about Chuck, the guy I knew. He loved his hometown; he used to reminisce laughing about biking with family and friends through the mist laid down by the mosquito trucks when they were kids. He was proud of Elon College, his alma mater. He was a longtime habitué of the C&O downstairs in its heyday, and had hung out with everyone of note who came through town, not always savory folks, but all worth his time. I remember his stories about his experimentation with the intense spiritual discipline of Rosicrucianism, and the reason why he didn’t proceed past the initial stages. He collected antiques and spent time cruising the byways for them. The beautiful summer white suits of his Tom Wolfe avatar. The dining room with shelf upon shelf of LPs stacked up. Susan Wysocki, the fiancée he deeply loved, though he couldn’t bring himself to move up to D.C. so they could live together. The slowly aging blue Volvo station wagon he used to wryly call his “chick magnet,” complete with WTJU bumper sticker — and the vanity plate WTJUDJ.
He was a color photographer who was colorblind, bless him. Those photos held the history of Charlottesville and the scene it built, the bands, the locals, the places that opened up to loud music. And once he moved into town from that hundred-year old house up a hill from route 20 south to a Woolen Mills home that actually did have indoor running water, Chuck opened his door to so many of us. The “Red Couch Series” of photographs documents some of it, his parties, the record listening jams, and the folks who needed a place to stay between places or coming through town. All of us were welcomed with grace and kindness, and taught a thing or two about how to listen to music.
He remembered it all, the music arcane and pop, every photo he took and the circumstances when he took them, the shows he had seen, magazines and R. Crumb comics, his childhood and his friends, wines and cigars, when to wear a white suit, basic repairs. He remembered it all. His expansive memory allowed him to make great art, all ephemeral, and far too soon the memory was ephemeral as well.
Chuck asked to take me to lunch some years ago and told me about his family history of early onset Alzheimer’s. He said he’d seen signs of it in himself, though I couldn’t perceive them, and explained why he had retired from WTJU at such an early age. I know now he was saying goodbye. The last time I dropped by to see him he gently apologized for not being able to remember me. We sat in his living room and he played me breathtaking music, and it didn’t matter who we were.
He was a gentle man who was my friend, and I love him and miss him. I’m grateful to have known him, and I will try to remember for both of us.
JILL & CARL CHAFIN, friends
We met Chuck around 1975, when he was living in the old stone house in North Garden. We spent many a great evening upstairs in the cramped music room that Chuck created. His collection of thousands of vinyl albums and his fancy turntable and speakers dominated the room. Chuck guided us on many memorable rides through an ever-broadening horizon of artists, styles, history, culture, and context. He would lead us from Frank Sinatra to The Runaways with all kinds of side trips to other sounds and tunes. Somehow, he made it all connect.
As a side note, his extensive music collection contained not a single album by The Beatles. He disliked them and their music. Never gave me a reason why. Just didn’t like them. Chuck just being Chuck.
In the late ‘70’s we moved to Midlothian. Chuck would bring his music to us. Each visit mostly new stuff. He would stay the night so we would get two great days of listening and learning. He would never tell us what he was playing as he did it. But he would take notes on how we each reacted. When it came time for him to leave he would offer a list for both of us and say these are the ones that you need to buy. Over the years that’s how I built our own music collection.
Before I met Chuck, I loved listening to music and thought I knew a bit about it. But over the years, he taught me how to really listen and how to love and appreciate it in a way that is a fundamental part of who I am to this day.
Once, I was in the driveway anticipating Chuck’s visit when he pulled in. The windows were down. Van Morrison’s “Down the Road” album was playing. Chuck was wearing a white hat, smoking a fancy cigar, and smiling. That’s the picture of him that I will carry with me for as long as I can crank up the music.
I played Down the Road last night. With tears in my eyes.
PERRY BURGESS, friend
I was lucky enough to have met Chuck very early on, the summer of 1975 as I recall about 1 year after Chuck graduated from Elon College and only a few months after he moved to Charlottesville. Further luck was that I had the opportunity to move into an ancient stone house 15 miles south of Charlottesville that was filled with antiques, and I needed someone to share the house with me.Chuck and I moved in August 1975. Chuck took the upstairs bedroom and his record collection (already about 8,000) and stereo system occupied the adjoining, tiny sitting room.
I had a strong background in classical music that nicely fit into perhaps Chuck’s weakest area, and yet I was fully open to exploring multiple genres of music with Chuck. He was just beginning to develop the ability to bend programming to move between radically different sounds and genres. The two of us spent hours and hours listening to and talking about music.
I introduced Chuck to a friend who became a girlfriend for several years and the 3 of us did numerous road trips to New England and also to The Galax Fiddlers Convention.
Chuck introduced me to jazz in all its many iterations from early Duke Ellington, to Thelonius Monk, to Chet Baker, to Gato Barbieri, to Carla Bley, and more. It was also in that old stone house that I first heard rock music that challenged my definition of what “music” actually was. It was there in that house that “From a Whisper to a Scream” was born.
I remember when Chuck was working at UVA filling vending machines and first chanced across WTJU, and then the excitement about going on air for the first time. Chuck and I could talk for hours about everything from poetry, to esoteric philosophy, to antiques, to herbal medicine and native plants, but music in all its manifestations was the heart and soul of Charles W. Taylor III.
LINDA JOHNSEN, friend
I met my husband John in the late 1970s, and it wasn’t long before I became acquainted with his coworker, Chuck Taylor. Every morning Chuck would pick up John and drive him to their base of operations at Mint Springs Park. Around that same time, Chuck began volunteering at WTJU, where he hosted his radio show, From a Whisper to a Scream. I quickly discovered that music was not only something Chuck loved listening to and exploring but which he loved sharing with others.
Around that time I became involved with an informal music group, and we were desperately in need of some interesting material to perform. As luck would have it, Chuck had a vast record collection and an astonishing knowledge of music of every imaginable kind. He was more than happy to share both with us. Our set list eventually included such unlikely choices as “Video Killed the Radio Star” by the Buggles and “Mission à Paris” by Gruppo Sportivo. To our surprise and delight, we found a receptive audience in places like Poe’s, the Mineshaft and our favorite venue, the C&O Club. Chuck became our mentor and biggest supporter. He took on yet another role by photographing our performances and even featuring us on his radio show.
Because of John’s friendship with Chuck, he also became a close personal friend of mine. Although I left Charlottesville many years ago, whenever I returned to visit I always made a point of seeing Chuck. We would often take walks along the Rivanna River near his home, and it was always a pleasure simply to spend time with him. Chuck’s home was a reflection of his extraordinary curiosity. It was filled with antique furniture and objects, and one room was devoted entirely to his enormous music collection. His equally enormous collection of photographs of virtually every musician and musical group who performed in the area was a remarkable history of Charlottesville’s music scene and of the people who made it come alive.
Chuck was a great admirer of Edgar Cayce, who spoke of death not as an ending, but as a transition from one room into another in the greater cosmic house. I find comfort in imagining Chuck entering that next room now: curious, observant, surrounded by new things to discover, and probably already looking for some music to put on.
BILL DAVIS, friend
Listening to Chuck’s radio show back in the 90s got me hooked on WTJU. I got to know him when he showed up at the Friends of the Library Book Sale where I worked. He became a consultant on the value of folk, jazz, and rock LPs and ended up as President of the Friends’ Board.
His management and dedication to my mind made him one of the great leaders who quietly helped fashion the art and music culture of the Charlottesville area.
