Jeffrey Alan Payne - Doczine

MFNA Cultural SatirebyJeffrey Alan Payne1

perform. The combined qualities of being a smart student, having creative leanings andingratiating myself with most of my teachers guaranteed that I got my ass kicked bybullies regularly. They’d catch me on the way home, chirpily carrying a stack of bookson one hip and my clarinet case in the other hand.I gave up the clarinet by high school. No girls ever say, “I want to go home with theclarinet player.” It was always, lead singer or guitarist first, then the bass player ordrummer. The clarinetist was the bottom of the musician groupie sexual food chain.On the other hand, my parents loved it. They’d march me out like a chimpanzee with ahula hoop whenever guests were over so that I could play Tijuana Taxi by Herb Albert orsome other song I had foraged off the radio. That was yet another reason to forgo theinstrument, when I entered my high school adolescent rebellion stage.We lived three miles north of the legendarily terrifying Eight Mile, a street immortalized inthe Eminem film. I lost my virginity to a prostitute at Eight Mile and Grand River, acorner noted for such activity, as soon as I was old enough to own a car in which to havesex in. I could never get legitimate girlfriends of my own in high school, partly becausemy parents forced me to wear my hair like a member of “The Archies”, when everyoneelse was walking around looking like Robert Plant.It was the tail end of the age of free love, rampant casual drug use, and bonding withpeople of all shapes and colors. You weren’t going to make yourself any more popularwith the neighbors if they heard you peppering conversations with racial slurs. I wouldhave never dared to use the “N” word out loud. It was considered the mostreprehensible word in the English language.Our household operated under a doctrine that kids had better behave in an exemplarymanner. My parents regarded children as potential suicide bombers, loaded with acache of “embarrassment bombs” at their disposal. These social munitions deviceswere capable of exploding into parental mortification at any time, during familygatherings or in the middle of a shopping mall. Such outbursts would surely attract “tsktsk” looks of condemnation from other adults. “They obviously aren’t capable of raisingtheir child correctly.”They were diligent, poised and ready, like sentries on the perimeter of a Kandaharmilitary compound, ready to make a pre-emptive strike. Like sharpshooters, theycarefully scanned the room for dubious body language, expertly alert to any movementthat might lead to reputational decimation.I even got into trouble for things other kids did. A temper tantrum in public from ademographic peer would instigate subtle jerks on my arm, with a quiet but forcefuldirective, “You better never act like that.”In the seventies, unlike today, parents were essentially authorized to employ whateverbehavioral modification method they saw fit to instill within their child a respectful fear ofparental retribution.Because of this, I walked a pretty tight and narrow line through my childhood andteenage years. In retrospect it was a good thing. I grew up to be a fairly decent person,3

I think. It was implicit that I behave courteously, help other people when I could, and ofcourse not use racial slurs or profanity. These rules were permanently incorporated intomy lifelong code of conduct and served as a blueprint for future adult behavior.Much of my family-enforced sanctimony became a mere memory, when I entereduniversity. I was nothing but a thinly camouflaged miscreant, simmering in wait toescape the relentless scrutiny of my parents and their extensive security network ofteachers, neighbors and other kids’ parents.Now, I was headed off to unsupervised dormitory living and becoming engaged in thepursuit of higher education. In those days, when you graduated from high school, it wascommonly accepted that you “go to college, if you want a good job”. I did, though nothaving a clue about what I wanted to do with my life.I meandered into school as a Business Administration major at Western MichiganUniversity. Some of my buddies from high school had enrolled there, and it was areputed party school, a fact confirmed by a “Top Party Schools” article in PlayboyMagazine. Females outnumbered males significantly, and this was a period whenacademic society was as outrageously adventurous as it could ever have been. Serioussexually transmitted diseases were yet to be discovered, and marijuana use or bingedrinking were commonly accepted social pastimes. Sometimes these recreationalactivities could even be incorporated into study habits.Though my major was Business Administration, my real driving force was to escape thefamily home and focus on a more genuine interest, the pursuit of debauchery. Myroommates and I liked to refer to our curriculums as “Vaginal Studies” and “FermentationResearch”. To this day, I’m amazed that any learning institution would have toleratedmy presence for four years. Many people were content to merely watch the movie“Animal House”; I felt more obliged to embrace it as a “self help video” for moral conductand acceptable behavior.In lieu of my overt lack of seriousness, one event occurred during university that wouldlargely define the course of my adult life. I met a group of guys who had adopted arather fun-loving bohemian lifestyle and a penchant for broadcasting. They all worked atthe university radio station, and they personified the concept of “cool” to me.Growing up, I had always been intrigued and envious of the big radio personalities likeArthur Penhallow at WRIF, in Detroit. So, the summer after my freshman year, I traveledback to Detroit by bus and took the Federal Communications Commission’s exam tobecome a radio announcer. When I returned to campus, I immediately took my newbroadcast operator’s license and proudly applied for a timeslot on the student run radiostation.It just never occurred to me that I would be so bad at it. My first night on the air becamethe stuff of legend. At my first annual university radio station banquet, I was appalledand humiliated when our program director did an entire stand-up comedy routine aboutme, comparing my performance to Don Knotts as the nervous Deputy Barney Fife on theAndy Griffith Show. My voice quivered, because I was terrified every time I turned onthe microphone.4

The first rule I learned about starting out in radio, is don’t tell all your friends that you’redoing it. Wait until your presentation smoothes out a bit; then, you can invite everyoneto listen. I might have ended up receiving comments about how confident andprofessional I sounded, rather than returning home to my dorm mates’ lack of eyecontact and a widespread avoidance of the subject. “Oh, was it last night you were on?”They would pretend to recollect, knowing that I knew that they had listened. They justwanted to spare my feelings and couldn’t possibly think of anything positive to say.Nonetheless, it became my mission in life to become better. I didn’t want to beremembered as, “Oh, Rick Loonie worked at the radio station for a while,” then in a morehushed and cynical tone, “He sucked.”Over the course of the following summer, most students went home to summer jobs ortheir parents’ pools. I stayed behind and accepted the honorable position of “ChiefAnnouncer” at the university station. What that meant was I performed at least one,maybe two airshifts per day, because there weren’t enough people around to keep thestation on the air twenty-four hours.The fall semester after my original broadcast debut, the student body returned from theirseason of irreproachable frolic to find that Rick Loonie was now a radio star. Actually, Iwas probably only as good as any of the other amateur underclassmen on the air. It’sjust that I was so bad, when everyone had left for summer vacation. At any rate, I wasgood enough to inhabit the most coveted of all timeslots in university radio, Fridayafternoons.I became something of a campus celebrity, a status that I had never encountered before.I took to my new life style with verve and hunger; this provided instant gratification, therespect of my contemporaries, and most of all the lustily expressed adulation of theopposite sex.Women wanted to sleep with me, for no good reason. Sometimes I wouldn’t even knowthem. I’d get a call from a woman during my airshift. We’d chat during songs; then I’dput them on hold while I talked on the air, knowing that they could hear me on hold. Myvoice would be filled with the swagger of a mammal bristling with bravado and the urgeto mate. I’d come back on the phone to the sound of awe and desire.By the end of my shift, I’d be on my way to their student housing apartment to “playsome special requests”. Sometimes I’d put on a long song by a band like Yes, andleave the studio early. By the time “Close to the Edge” was finished, I’d be approachingtheir doorway, where I was almost immediately disrobed and ordered to “talk like you doon the radio”.Seriously, I was implored more than once to sound just like I did when I wasbroadcasting. I once did a weather forecast, while receiving oral gratification from awoman I had met on the phone only hours earlier. She said she also had a thing for thelocal television weatherman, so I guess it was some sort of meteorological fetish.Sex was not the only perk for an up and coming radio broadcaster. Free stuff abounded:concert tickets, albums, meals, drinks. Like the women who were attracted by thepremise of sleeping with that anonymous voice, the invisible being who seemed so5

spontaneously clever and self assured, everyone from business owners to buddiesseemed to want to be close to “the radio star”.Most all of us at the campus radio station held certain things in common: the affinity forfree stuff, the keen appreciation of gratuitous sex, and the desire to “make the big time”.Many of us attempted to emulate our radio heroes. We would all carefully listen to ourfavorite personalities and take note. I would drive through a big city like Chicago orDetroit, and listen only to the talk between songs, no music. It would drive mypassengers crazy.It seems funny now, because it’s not all that complicated in retrospect. But, we regardedradio as an unknown and precise science that must be studied and analyzed.My own “guy to be like” on the radio was an afternoon man known as “the Captain” atWZVO in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He was also the program director of the station,known as Z-Rock, which was regarded as the best radio station in west Michigan bypeople our age. It was rock and roll, not classic or modern like stations in the 21 stcentury. Rock wasn’t really old enough to be “classic” yet, and it was all “modern”. LedZeppelin and the Who were still current, and the Cars were regarded as one of the mostinnovative and unique new sounds we had ever heard.I had to write an essay for one of my broadcast classes, so I chose to profile Z-Rock. Inall honesty, I just wanted a chance to interview “the Captain”, attract enough attention tomyself, and get to know him so well that he would offer me a job as his afternoon showpartner and personal savant protégé. He obliged by helping me with the paper andagreed to critique one of my audition tapes.I took the very best moments from my very finest shows and edited them all together in asparkly three minutes, packed with charismatic distinction and raw under-utilized talent.I made an appointment and hitchhiked the sixty-five miles from my “too small andunderdeveloped for a broadcaster as good as me” college town to the stardomopportunities abounding in the metropolis of Grand Rapids. I thought consciously on theway whether “the Captain” might be so impressed with my tape that he might offer me ajob right then and there.As it turns out, he hated the tape. Hate may be a strong word; “a deeply seeded dislikeand general lack of respect of or use for” might be more accurate. Either way, I left thebuilding while fighting back tears of disappointment. Maybe I was no good and didn’thave any future in this occupation that I enjoyed so much. What would I adopt as anidentity, now that I’ve tasted this life? No “business administration” student was as wellknown as I was, and they certainly weren’t already being recognized for work in theirfield. If they were, they certainly didn’t get free concert tickets, and girls surely didn’twant to sleep with them just because they would get a job as an accountant someday.I took the Greyhound home and moped. I was depressed for a few days, sloggingthrough the university radio airshift that I was once so excited about, but had outgrownon the way to Grand Rapids. Of course, being filled with youthful resilience andoptimism, I perked back up after sex with a groupie I met on the phone and free ticketsto a Foreigner concert. My passion had returned. I worked on the things that “theCaptain” had cited in his critique, and three months later, I sent him another tape.6

Several weeks went by. Finally, I could no longer stand the suspense of not knowingwhat he thought, so I called. When he picked up, time became suspended and all airmovement stopped for one or two seconds.“Uh, Captain,” I sputtered, “It’s Rick Loonie.”“Guess what!” he roared, “You’re being considered for a part-time job here!”For several stunned seconds I stood there with the phone dangling in my numb tinglinghand. I quickly regrouped before dropping the receiver, while my potential new boss satlistening on the other end.“No kidding?” I was able to say.“Yes, Tim Stevens has just left us, and a part-timer is moving into his evening slot. I’dlike to try you on weekends. Can you come in and see me tomorrow around ten?”“Oh yes, I can be there,” I said, secretly thinking, “How am I going to get there for ten?And what about my economics exam?”However, school took a backseat. I borrowed my roommate’s car, and by the end of thenext day, I was an employee of Z-Rock. My friends at the university station wonderedaloud what kind of free stuff you could score working at a station like that.7

2 – The Michael Jackson ProblemOur initial descent into a vortex of irreparable career annihilation began on Friday, June26 th , 2009. That was the morning after the shocking news of Michael Jackson’s death.It was 7:20am on a beautiful sunny Friday morning. I was in the studio with my partner,Jim Mooney and our producer, Cam Elto. No, that’s not his real name, and yes we arejust juvenile enough to name him after a slang term for a woman’s most personal bodypart.Cam’s real name is Ricky Smith; that was boring so we worked hard to find somethingthat would make us start snickering when we said it for the first few days. Ourindustrious effort paid off, and after the initial onslaught of indignant female comments byboth phone and email, the listeners just accepted it and started referring to him as Cam.Not only did Cam have a knack for enticing the coolest high-profile guests to be on theshow when they visited Toronto, he also ran the control board with deft precision. Everytime we would suddenly get onto an impromptu subject, Cam would find the perfectappropriate music, sound effects and drop-ins that may have come from a movie,television show or news clip.He also had a diverse collection of voices and dialects at his disposal. Cam couldimmediately go from Rastafarian to George W. Bush without a breath of hesitation. Heprovided the voices for some of the ongoing characters we created like Ivan-ho theRussian pimp, Ms Marley our Jamaican transvestite figure skater, and Chinese porn starHung Wow. These characters were created to make “on-site reports” during the 2008Olympics in Beijing.That morning, we had touched on the news of the King of Pop’s demise, but we weresaving the meatier stuff for the seven o’clock hour, when we’d be sure to catch the mostpeople driving to work.I started with a lead-in, “What about the rest of the family? What are they going to donow that their meal ticket is gone?”“The kids will probably get all the money, if there’s any left,” Jim replied.“Oh there’s money somewhere. I’m sure he had accountants shrewd enough to burysome cash in the Cayman Islands. Plus, there are probably extravagant trust accountsthat no one can touch, because they’re all in the kids’ names,” I declared adamantly.Jim pondered, “What if the kids say they want to live with their nanny? She probablyspent more time with them than anyone, and if the judge asks them, they may say ‘wewant to live with Latrina!’ Can you imagine the look on Joe Jackson’s face?”“And, La Toya’s! That money she was hoping to get could pay for her to finally move outof the trailer park.” My opinion of La Toya had been cemented when she did thePlayboy spread, with those cosmetically augmented breasts. Then my judgment wasfinalized when news emerged in the early nineties that she was planning on releasing acountry album.8

Cam interjected, “Some bloggers are speculating that the grandparents will get them.”That’s when Jim delivered his first contribution to our downward professional spiral. In avoice that sounded like Michael Jackson as a five year old, he said, “Grandpa, daddyand I always play with each other before I go to bed.”There was a split second where we all went silent and looked at each other. We sharedan inaudible telepathic “Ooh. We’re going to hear about that one in the post-showmeeting”.Our Program Director was used to receiving complaints. He actually hired an assistantwho spent time every day responding to complaints. When you’re trying to be fresh,edgy and funny, appealing to an 18 to 34 predominantly male audience, you sometimespush the fringes of taste a bit. However, large corporate broadcast companies aren’tvery receptive to complaints about jokes insinuating the diddling of young boys. Thepublic isn’t either, especially when you’re attacking a dead North American icon, beforehis body even gets cold.We quickly moved on. Cam triggered our standard phone ringing sound effect. I wasalways the voice that answered, and Jim and Cam usually played the characters.“Good Morning. 93 Rock.”The voice of an adult African American replied, which was actually Jim. Cam wasstanding back from his microphone, so it would sound as if he was yelling in thebackground.“Yeah. Who’s talkin’?”“This is 93 Rock in Toronto. Who’s this?”“This is Tito Jackson.”This was to be another instrumental step the incremental deconstruction of ourbroadcast careers. “Tito where are you now?”“I’m down in N’Orleans with Marlin.”“What are you guys doing down there?”Then came the second series of comments that would throw us out of the frying pan andinto a smelting furnace.“We’re stripping copper wirin’ out of some abandoned homes down here.”“What are you doing that for?”“We’re taking it to the scrap yard. Try to get a little money, so’s we can go down, buysome Olde English 800.”9

there. You know she be spyin’ to see what she can take. Hey fellas, thanks for the info.We talk to you soon….poolside!”“Alright thanks Tito. Have a good trip.” Cam played the hangup sound effect.Jim was back as himself now, “Seemed like pretty cool guys.”“Yeah, and I was happy he took the news so well. You know what? I will guarantee thatthere will be some sort of ‘tribute tour’, featuring all the Jacksons. They’ll show sappyphotos of Micheal on big screens. Janet will do a set of her songs. They’ll cry at the endof every show.”Cam offered, “La Toya will strip.”I couldn’t contain the grin coming through in my voice, “Accompanied by a dance troupeof little boys.”Jim then threw another can of gas on our fire, “Maybe they had him whacked to get thefamily business back on track. Big tour followed by a CD and DVD release. La Toyaand Janet in a Maxim spread…’“Hustler,” said Cam.“La Toya could ride out on that llama from Neverland like Lady Godiva!” I suddenlyrealized we were way behind schedule, “Let’s check traffic now with Latta Myles.”It was going to be an interesting day to read emails. I knew we had pushed a lot ofbuttons and raised some incensed sentiments in the listening public, but we still maintainthat it was funny material, to this day. Our intention for everything we did was simply toattempt to be funny.***At 10:00am each day, we dutifully convened in the office of our Program Director, DaveRay, for a debriefing on that day’s show. We also shared concepts for some of ourupcoming ideas and brainstormed a bit.Dave was in his forties. He had worked in Canadian radio since he was eighteen,primarily in Vancouver, British Columbia. Still maintaining that West coast laid backmanner, he was one of the few bosses we had worked for that actually had quite a bit ofon air experience and talent. He understood how to coach and direct his staff, becausehe had been one of us for so many years.You can respect a guy a lot more when you feel that he knows what he’s talking about,and he knew good talent or a good show when he heard one. Plus, he would neverattack you for something he didn’t like, he would analyze it with you and figure out whatwent wrong. We loved the guy.Instead of his usual “I love snowboarding and doing bong hits” demeanor, today helooked troubled, “Hi guys. Sit down.”11

We did, and he scanned an email on his computer before continuing, “I got a call todayfrom the corporate office. As you know, all of corporate upper management is locatedon the tenth floor of this building, and most of the executives in this company typicallydrive to work listening to one of the company’s radio stations.”“Are we all getting raises?” I was trying to add some levity to the atmosphere. I could tellhe wasn’t happy.“No. Unfortunately, the president of Crowe Radio was listening this morning, and he hadsome concerns.”Jim tried to disarm Dave with a wisecrack, “I know. We should have played the newGreen Day single, but we ran out of time.Dave would usually offer his gregarious “good sport” grin at this point. Not today. Helooked down at his desk as if he was formulating what he was about to say, “Guys,pedophile jokes are a little over the top, particularly when the guy just died twelve hoursago, or whatever it was. Plus, there were some racial overtones that could end up bitingus on the ass.”“We didn’t say anything racist. We never mentioned race.” It was a pretty flimsy retortfrom Jim.“Olde English 800? Stripping copper wiring? And this was corporate’s favorite, ‘LaToya’s skanky ass’.”I looked at Jim. Along with his intelligence and talent was a genuine commitment andpassion for the work. He could become defensive and fiercely protective. Sometimes,when he became extremely offended or agitated, you could see a hint of that that goodole southern boy’s “them’s fightin’ words” look in his eyes.I could see some kind of rant brewing, so I stepped in to the conversation first, “What didthey say?”“They just warned us to be careful. We don’t know how huge the public sentiment istoward Michael Jackson. So far, it looks like it’s going to be some kind of globalphenomenon. Even though we in this room aren’t fans, there are millions out there wholoved the guy, still do.”“We didn’t say anything slanderous.” That was weak, but I couldn’t think of anything elseto defend us, “And besides that Dave, we all know that this guy was a freak. He fuckedwith his face until he looked like some kind of goth Pinocchio.”“With a camel toe on his chin,” Jim piped in, then looked over at our producer, the formerRicky Smith, “Sorry Cam.”“He also admitted to having young boys sleep in his bed. That’s just not normal on anylevel,” I justified every element of this very valid argument in my own mind.12

“I know,” Dave looked both of us in the eyes back and forth, “But we all know that thepublic is fucking stupid, and this is going to be the tragic event of the moment. Evenafter the circus that will be his funeral, CNN and Entertainment Tonight will be campedoutside the family homes to get some scant glance at the kids. “Jim had a glazed-over look in his eyes. He was staring at Dave’s pen, “Tonight on ET,the Jackson kids at Burger King. Which action figures did they pick out?”I was on my standard soapbox now, “Look Dave. We don’t pick on people because ofrace, gender…well maybe women a little bit, and people of different sexualorientations…..alright, maybe once in a while we’ll tell a gay joke…..anyway, what I’mtrying to say….”“We don’t give a fuck who you are. Black, white, yellow, gay, straight, we’re equalopportunity antagonists.” I had heard Jim give that speech before, “He made the kidswear fucking rags on their heads. And he looked like a cross between Elizabeth Taylorand the Pillsbury Dough Boy with a small butt attached to his chin. He turned his houseinto a fucking trailer park DisneyWorld, and he was sued or investigated more than onceon allegations of inappropriate relations with young boys.”“Those cases were never proven,” Dave was glancing at his watch nervously, “I’ve got amanagement meeting in nine minutes. Look, I know what you guys are doing, and Ithought this morning’s show was one of the funniest things I’ve heard you do in a while.Just be careful. I’d lay back on the pedophile references, and be careful with anycomment that might anger the black community. Remember what happened to Imusand Greaseman.”He was referring to Don Imus, who got fired in New York for a comment about awomen’s basketball team. The Greaseman caused an outrage in Washington D.C. thatincluded picketers outside his radio station and losses of advertisers, because of acomment made about black leaders on Martin Luther King Day.“Gotcha Dave. Thanks.”As we walked out, Jim said, “Imus and Greaseman? I told you we were in the big time!”We both knew that nothing had changed because of the conversation in Dave’s office.We were still going to push the accelerator down as hard as we could, as always.It wasn’t that we got some kind of sophomoric adrenaline charge from breaking rules andmaking enemies, we just seemed to be funnier when we offended a few people. Wewere about to take that philosophy to a whole new level.13

3 – Southern ComfortI got a part-time job at Z-Rock, in Grand Rapids, and worked there until I graduated fromuniversity with a degree in Communications. That was not the most universally soughtafter category of Bachelor Degrees at the time. In fact, no degrees were being pursuedby employers at that time. It was the eighties, and the United States had beenembroiled in one of the worst recessions in history, particularly Michigan where the BigThree Automakers were suffering more than any other industry.I had unknowingly exercised a characteristic of bad timing, a trait that would prove to bea common cornerstone for most of my adult existence. I graduated from university at thesame time that many seasoned professionals were out of work and desperately huntingfor any job available.I was twenty-two and took classes in advertising. I had also written and voiced ads forradio. I should be a natural to get gobbled up by some international ad agency thatwould rally around my every creative thought, only in anticipation for my next brainstorm.Ah, life was sweet, and I had arrived.It soon became apparent that I was: (A) delusional, (B) naïve, (C) poorly informed, or(D) all of the above. It turns out that it was a resounding and recurring (D). Oneemployment agency I went to nearly started laughing at the boardroom table. “Son,”they said, “we have twenty year ad executives looking for copywriting jobs right now. Itlooks like you’ve got some radio experience, why don’t you try that? I think you have tomake a tape of yourself.”“Thanks for the tip”, I thought. The problem was that I didn’t have the kind of credentialsthat make you a coveted talent acquisition for the cities that I dreamed of working in. If Istayed in Grand Rapids, there was no way I would work for any station but Z-Rock. Itwas the only rock station in town. I would have been humiliated to have all of myuniversity buddies hear me playing Anne Murray or Lionel Richie.On the other hand, staying at Z-Rock meant working part-time and waiting tables to payrent. I considered myself much too accomplished in establishing my media empire tosuccumb to non-glamorous labor. As a waiter, you don’t get free stuff and women onlysleep with you if they like you.The staff at Z-Rock had been in their timeslots for years; they were the best known andmost loved radio celebrities in the city. Barring the death of one of these on-air icons,there would be no full time openings at Z-Rock for years to come. Plus, I was young,ambitious, invulnerable and felt no loyalty to any broadcast company, girlfriend or familymember.My attitude was, “Watch me in awe. Yes, you can say that you actually worked with me,someday when my morning show in New York is syndicated in seventy-five markets andI’m hosting the Grammy Awards. What was your name again?”I put together a tape that I thought was a major market shoo-in, for sure. I borrowedcopies of Radio and Records, the perennially dominant trade publication of the radioindustry, and scoured the want ads. Of course being a stallion and brimming with talent,14

I was convinced that I was fated and deserved to work in a sunny climate. I sent tapesfor job openings in Miami, San Diego, Atlanta, San Francisco and other desirablelocales.Remarkably, there were never any replies. Plus, I learned another important lessonabout starting out in radio or any other profession, for that matter. Don’t tell all yourseasoned colleagues about your efforts to move on to a full time job in a big market.First of all, they just smirk at you and think to themselves, “Yeah, good luck with that. Besure to send me an autographed picture when you get there.”They know you’re not experienced or developed enough to ever get a job in those cities,but they would never tell you that. Who are they to crush your delusional dreams? It’smuch better to allow you to follow your aspirations toward unknown crushingdisappointments. It might humble you, and you won’t be such an annoying young punk.It’s almost like you are insinuating that you are designed to achieve much bigger andbetter things than they could ever have hoped for. You miserable slogs can settle forGrand Rapids, but a talent like mine is more suited to shine on bigger apples than thisbackwater hovel you call home. They not only ridicule you behind your back for yournaivety, but they resent you for your cocky foolishness.Another reason that you don’t spread information about your intended departure to therest of the staff is that inevitably your boss will find out, and you’ll be on a short-list fortermination. The Captain had been fired after two downward-trending ratings books, andthe new program director never took a liking to me. I was considered somewhat of aliability in that I lived over sixty miles away, was finishing my final university classes, andcouldn’t make it to the weekly staff meetings. He considered that an affront to hisauthority and position.When I called in for my schedule one week, shortly after graduation, I found that I hadnot received any airshifts that weekend. The Captain always had me fill in on themorning show and his afternoon drive slot, during vacations and sick days; I was hisgolden boy, the prime time part-timer. Imagine how taken aback I was to hear that otherpart-timers were working, and I hadn’t even been given a shift. This had to have beenan oversight. Maybe he thought I was taking a vacation this week. I asked to speak tohim.“Bob,” I said when he picked up the phone, “It’s Rick.”“Yeah Rick, I wanted to talk to you.” He hesitated for a moment, “You’ve not really madean effort to fit in on the new plan here and the way we’re doing things. You never makeit to the staff meetings. You don’t listen, and you continue to do things the way you didwhen the Captain was here.”“I don’t think that’s quite true Bob.”“Well it doesn’t matter Rick. Now I hear that you’re planning to move on to a job in amajor market.” I noted a slight hiccup in his voice, almost like he was strangling backlaughter as he said that. “I think it’s time that you moved on to your big job, and we’ll justmove on here without you.”15

“But….you can’t do that. Why would you do that? I’m your best part-time guy.”“I don’t agree Rick, but I’m glad that you think so. Look, I’m going on the air in fifteenminutes, and I haven’t had lunch. Your check will be mailed to you, and I hope you geteverything you want. Good luck.”I started to speak, but I heard the click of the phone as it disconnected. I had just gonefrom rock and roll radio superstar to unemployed schmuck within ninety seconds. Thiswas a devastating development in my professional growth. I was now stuck with my dayjob, the one that paid the rent, at a small clothing store that had absolutely no clientele. Iwas sure that it was going out of business any day, and I no longer had the notoriety ofbeing on the radio. There would be no more free stuff, and I’d have to depend on goodlooks and personality in order to obtain sex now.Radio had been my entire identity, the one thing that made me special. If the clothingstore went out of business, I could very soon find myself with no money to even pay rent.So this is what the real world is all about. No wonder my parents were so bitter.It was close to Christmas and my mom had offered to fly me to visit her, as a Christmasgift. My parents had divorced, while I was at school, and my mom had moved to a smallindustrial town in eastern Tennessee, to be close to her own mother and siblings.Kingsport, Tennessee was a great place to raise a family with a stable economy, strongchurch and community influences, and a town that generally suffered very littlesignificant crime. It was partnered with the towns of Johnson City and Bristol to form theTri-Cities. Bristol had the unique distinction of being a part of both Tennessee andVirginia, with a major thoroughfare that divided the town between the two, called StateStreet. You could stand on either side of State Street and be in either Tennessee orVirginia, depending on which sidewalk you were on.In terms of media market size, the Tri-Cities was ranked somewhere around eighty-ninth.This was much too small for my visions and plans of greatness, but I still took some ofmy “very best stuff” tapes with me just in case I could get a meeting with a programdirector. I was sure that “free stuff” availability was much more limited, but I was positivethat there were single women that would be anxious to be enlightened by the experienceof hearing my broadcast voice and feeling the essence of my manhood.I flew to the small Tri-City airport to be picked up by my mother and a couple of gigglingteenage cousins, who probably couldn’t believe that they were in the presence of adashing relative who had just graduated from university and had a job speaking on theradio. At one point I bent over to tie my shoe, only to rise and find them both staring atmy every subtle movement, anxious to witness the mechanics that locomoted this livingvirile Man God. Perhaps careful observation could reveal insight into the sexy intellect ofthis celebrity savant.The holidays were a fairly perfunctory but very warm and happy affair. We attended theChristmas get-togethers, commonly slathered in cake-like anomalies containing prunesand other forms of unrecognizable “fruit”, along with cookies sprinkled with multi-coloredpellets, cut in shapes designed to roughly resemble some sort of Christmas theme. We16

somehow grabbed a man’s car keys from of his hand and pounced wildly around thecage, shaking them and grinning proudly. The zookeepers had to finally wrestle thekeys away from the primate, enticing him with a bowl of fruit. The monkey chattered withwhat sounded like loud gloating laughter, as the man walked away. The monkey neverlost his wide toothy grin. Now, that same monkey, sporting an 80’s disco haircut and aporn star’s name on his driver’s license, was about to interview me. At least that’s all Icould think about, as I stood looking at him.He took me back to the office, and told me he was glad someone who had “as muchexperience as I did” was interested in working there. Red flags should have risen uponhearing that statement, but I was little more than a naïve college kid with an overblownperception of how good I was. Having a veteran like Ron Jeremy paying mecompliments was a real boon to my semi-unemployed ego. Years later, I would oftenpicture the same scenario with Ron Jeremy the porn star giving me professional kudos,“Great work in the anal scene. I think you really nailed it.”At the same time I was expressing my unquenchable desire to move to their town andwork for their radio station, another gentleman entered the office. The mere sight of himmade me think, almost out loud, “This guys about one evolution away from dragging hisknuckles. It was impossible not to notice his unkempt hair and two to three day’s growthof beard. He was wearing red sweatpants with and orange T-shirt, both emblazonedwith a high school where he undoubtedly survived for three years as a social pariah. Helooked like he had been sleeping in the janitor’s closet and emerged only for feedingsand to relieve himself. I would have placed money on a wager that this guy: (A) alwaysdrank straight from the milk carton, and (B) routinely ordered an extra side order of gravywith most meals.The porn star grinned at me, “This is Wookie, our music director.”“Wookie?” I thought, ”That’s a nickname for the guy in your circle of friends that cannever get laid.”Wookie spoke, “I listened to your tape, and I like what I hear.”“Thanks,” I said, wondering if the monkey-toothed porn star had even listened to thetape or if this was the real guy you needed to impress.Porn star spoke, “We might have an opening developing, and if you’re serious aboutcoming down here, I might have something in the next two weeks.”We chatted a bit longer, thanked each other, and said our goodbyes. My mother waswaiting out in the car when I came out, and she was thrilled at the aspect of having herprodigal son return home to this mountainous womb in the American southland.Within thirty-six hours of climbing off the plane, at Kalamazoo / Battle Creek InternationalAirport, I got a call. The voice had a southern accent and maintained a real backslappin’friendly high end tone.“Hey Rick, this is Ron Jeremy!”18

I wish I had the call on speaker phone; my roommates would have been rolling around inhysterics when they heard his name. “Oh hi,” I stammered.“Listen, we have an opening now at the station. It’s overnights. The salary is onehundred and eighty dollars a week. Midnight till six, and you get Sundays off.”Oh my! How could I refuse that? Plus, I would be spending those hours of solitude on awarehouse lined street in a small industrial southern town. I wouldn’t fit in, and the onlypeople I would know are my mother, a perennially smiling guy with perfect hair and aporn star’s name, and a pompous social pariah with hygiene issues.“Sounds good,” was my reply, “When do I start?”My start date was to be in ten days. I finally had a job in radio, such as it was. My firstmove was to call my mother, who informed me that my father had possession of somesavings bonds that I had accrued throughout my childhood.Back in the sixties and seventies, it was a less flamboyant, more practical anduncomplicated era. You worked, you saved money, you bought a house, you retired.The stock market was for a different kind of person than uninitiated blue collar familieslike us.In decades to come, savings bonds would be largely regarded as having similar status tomarital sex. You don’t end up receiving much interest, but it’s nice to know you’ve gotsomething. I immediately contacted my father.It turned out to be about one thousand dollars. I bought one of those old hippieemblematic cargo vans with shag carpeting on every interior surface and packed up mybelongings, less my trophy waterbed. I sold that to my roommate, assuring him that ithad been very “lucky” for me, a rather disturbing image for the buyer after I thoughtabout it. At six in the morning, on a cold snowy Saturday in the middle of January, I leftfor Tennessee to pursue a new set of dreams. At least the weather would be milder thanMichigan’s.There were no goodbyes, since my roommates considered my departure a reason tothrow a party, the night before. They were all obviously too hung over to wake up.Either that or they were staring at the person lying next to them, wondering what kind of“busy day” they could pretend to have, so their dalliance would leave before they had tobuy them breakfast. I never saw any of them again, and they had been my closepersonal world for the better part of five years.I made the twelve hour trip, stopping several times to stretch my legs and to test the ideathat I might get picked up by some beautiful bohemian girl at a rest stop. She would bea natural beauty, wearing a sheer sundress and traveling barefoot and underwear-less.What I got instead was tapped on the foot by the guy in the next bathroom stall, at a restarea in Ohio. I scurried out of that particular roadside retreat as soon as I could get tothe van, but otherwise meandered down I-75 with the urgency of a man going to thegallows on a “premeditated bestiality causing death” conviction.19

What had I done? I’m going back to the motherland, literally. I had no friends, nogirlfriend, and a job working for a couple of yahoos that probably thought giving awaymovie tickets to the fifth caller “on the Rock Request Line” was innovative radio.Upon my arrival in Kingsport, I spotted a rather shabby looking motel, next to aconvenience store. I thought maybe I could give myself a reprieve: buy a six pack andcheck into a cheap room, watch TV and gather my thoughts.When I stepped into the convenience store, I immediately noticed that the cashier wasone of the most nubile and unspoiled little blossoms of innocence I could ever rememberseeing. At the same time, she was saturated with sensuality and dripping with what Ihoped might be promiscuous desire. Those were the conscious thoughts in my headanyway, after I first laid eyes upon her.I approached the counter with a six pack of beer. When she turned around, I gave her a“you know that I know that you know, I’d love to get to know you better” look thatincluded my biggest “you can welcome me to my new home, right next door at the Renta-NapMotel” smile.She looked at me with eyes that could be described as, well you know that old sayingabout “a deer in the headlights”? It was worse than that, actually. It was more like sheglared at me with “a deer who is chugging bottles of cheap cologne and mouthwash inthe back of the store” look. It occurred to me that she probably got the same watchfulapproach from every male customer who bought anything in the establishment.“Can’t sell beer,” she said with a southern drawl that was somehow disturbing to me. Itmade the double “e” in “beer” sound like two syllables. “It’s Sunday.” She looked up andpointed to the clock, then looked at me as if I had just stepped out of a bus filled with thetime perception and bylaw cognizant impaired.“What do you mean?” I’m sure I had a look of aghast and regret, after I had just driventwelve hours to be in this particular location.“It’s a dry county on Sundays. Can’t buy beer anywhere.”I had heard about places like this, but I came from the land of university keggers, alcoholsold until 3:00am seven days a week, and people that said “beer” with just one syllable.I stared at her for what must have been an uncomfortable amount of time, particularlygiven that I probably gazed at her when I arrived like we were preparing to be in a pornmovie together. She strolls over, locks the doors to the store, and gives me a tour ofmerchandise no customer has ever gotten to see. At least that was the desperatefantasy that I thought about to ease the shock that I was feeling.I left the store in disgust, forgot about the motel room, and followed directions to mymother’s house. When I pulled into the driveway, a front room light came on; she hadwaited up. I grabbed my overnight bag, consisting of a tooth brush, deodorant, a changeof clothes, and rolling papers.I approached the door, and the porch light came on. I heard the sound of voices.Before I could think, “Oh no!” the door opened, and I saw a room full of people. My20

mother was at the door, hugged me and ushered me in to welcoming hugs andhandshakes from people I remotely recognized from my childhood. Believe me, I wasn’tso completely immersed in youthful pretense that I didn’t appreciate the sweetness ofthe situation; it was overwhelmingly kind and caring. I just wasn’t prepared, after atwelve hour life-changing drive, to be suddenly swept into an episode of “This Is YourLife”.My mother was announcing designations like, “She used to babysit you, when you werein diapers.” I would suddenly become uncomfortable with the fact that the woman infront of me had once rubbed lotion and sprinkled powder on my privates.The questions went on for a couple of hours: “How was the drive?” “What was yourweather like?” Finally around two in the morning everyone left. I felt relieved, butencouraged and heartwarmed that this fine group of people cared about me that much.I spent the next couple of days visiting with my mother and the seemingly unendinggaggle of relatives who resided in the area.My young female cousins were delighted that a member of their close kin would betalking on the radio; I got the impression that a phone network campaign had occurred.That fact became evident, as a steady stream of young female contemporaries flocked inour door, along with my cousins on a nearly frenetic time schedule.They would drop in unexpectedly, then nestle themselves in for chattering conversation,residing in whatever room I happened to be in. Gingerly, their darting glances wouldobserve me as I ate a bowl of cereal or blew my nose. I realized that the meter wasrunning on my patience, and I had to make other arrangements quickly.I immediately found a small apartment above a garage, owned by a retired navy officerwho spent most of his days walking around drunk and urinating on himself, along withwhatever surface he happened to be standing on. His arms and torso were adornedwith tattoos, but they had all been inked forty or fifty years earlier. The images nowappeared as indiscernible blotches of faded multi-colored hues, primarily blue. Helooked like Popeye in the tragic aftermath of his career. Olive Oyl has left him for Brutus,and he no longer cares enough to bother eating spinach. He now just walks aroundtelling everyone who will listen, “I used to be able to wind up my fist and fly through abrick wall on just one can of that stuff.”Two days after I settled in to the apartment, I reported for my first shift. I had spoken toboth the monkey grinning porn star and the simian grooming-challenged guy on thephone that week. I was informed that my training was to be performed by the station’sevening personality. It seemed odd to me that the program director and music directorof the station seemed so distant from my training process. No doubt they were both inbed by the time I arrived for my first shift.My new apartment was just a few blocks from the station, so I jumped into my shagcarpeted van and proceeded to Main Street. I was abruptly surprised that I suddenlybecame stopped by an impassible traffic jam in downtown Kingsport. There were youngpeople stopping their cars and talking, while the remainder of our line of traffic sat idle. Ionly knew one way to get to the radio station, and I was in danger of being late for my21

performance training. I opened my window and spoke to a guy in the passenger seat ofa Camaro, “Hey, what’s going on here?”“We’re cruisin’ Broad Street man,” he said with a toothy grinned southern drawl, “Whereyou from?”“I just moved here from Michigan, and I’m headed to my first night at a new job. Can youlet me get through?”“Where you work man?”I couldn’t help having a little tint of pride in my voice, “I’m going to be doing the overnightshift at 96 FM.”“You mean ‘The Rock’? Shit man, what’s your name. You sound like you’re a yankee.No offense.” You could tell that he didn’t make that statement with any type of judgmentor malice. He was just stating a fact.I looked at him for a minute, and thought about the fact that I had always been RickLoonie on the radio. On the drive down from Michigan, I determined that Rick Loonie islike Bob Smith; it has no notable memorability, except to male companionship bereftgroupies. “Yankee Dick,” I announced proudly.“We’ll be listening to you man. We drove a hundred miles to come here.” He and hisbuddy who was driving let me through the line of traffic, giving me thumbs up and bigsmiles until I was out of sight.While I was not only appreciative but somewhat taken aback by their friendlygraciousness, I found it overwhelmingly thought provoking that these guys had justdriven one hundred miles to drive up and down this one city street for several hours on aSaturday night. Things were going to be different here.22

4 – Breaking News: Michael Jackson Remains DeadWe followed Dave’s advice the next morning, making no references to Michael’spenchant for the company of boys under the age of 14. However, the aftermath of idioticstatements by the family and a newfound host of “friends” could not be ignored. Wewere in ecstatic anticipation of the impending circus that would be his memorial service.In the eight o’clock hour, we usually spent some time talking about local sports. TheToronto Blue Jays had been a lot of fun, thus far in the season, achieving first placewithin their division for the first couple of months. We loved going to the games,especially when the Yankees were in town. I had the obvious nostalgic connection withthe team’s name, and anytime they came to Toronto, they were the most hated of anyteam in baseball. Not only were they division rivals, but they had so many players thatwere so easy to dislike.Derek Jeter was booed, just because he was a franchise player, and happened to bereally good. As was Alex Rodriguez, except A-Rod brought out a very special kind ofcollective disdain from the crowd. I don’t know if it’s because of his accusations ofphilandering, including an alleged affair he may have had with Madonna, or the fact thathe admittedly took steroids. That tainted everyone’s opinion of this celebrated andtalented baseball player. However, Toronto fans couldn’t stand him, long before thesteroid disclosure became public or he had ever met Madonna. All I know is that it wasalways a lot of fun yelling, “Hey Lucky Star!” or “He’s juiced!” every time A-Rod came tobat.It was also fun being seated near die-hard Yankee fans that make the trip fromManhattan to be at the Jays’ games. Some of these guys can’t order a hot dog withoutmentioning the word “fuck” within the sentence. They also had some great commentsfor the umpires, who are apparently all “bums”, at least the ones that make calls againstthe Yankees.We were just discussing the Yankee pitcher from the night before. Jim brought up, “Mygirlfriend watched the game with me, and she said, ‘I’ve never seen any human beingspit that much. How do you even generate that much fluid?’ She was right, he spit fouror five times before every pitch.”“You should have shown her how much fluid a man is capable of generating, there Jim.”“No. We were watching baseball. It’s that ‘watching sports’ and ‘renting movies’ time ofthe month, if you know what I mean.”“Again? You should buy stock in Kotex. You could get your girlfriend a job in Researchand Development. She could be the corporate test dummy.” Jim mouthed the words“thanks a lot” inaudibly across the control board. We were frequently open about ourrespective girlfriends’ menstrual cycles. This practice contributed to more than onebreakup.I quickly changed the subject, “You’re right though about that fluid there Jim. What is itabout baseball that requires everybody to spit so much? You ever watch a wide shot ofthe dugout? I’m surprised the bat boys aren’t soaking wet by the end of the game.”23

“They go into extra innings and the bat boys have to change uniforms,” Cam was alwaysgood at throwing in a catalytic comment, “They should put spit guards in front of thedugouts.”Jim agreed, “Yeah, they could have the groundskeeping staff squeegee it off betweeninnings, so the players can see what’s going on during the game.”“That would be the guy with the least seniority’s job. No, we’ll rake the baseline; youclean off the spit shield,” I added. “The poor guy’s yelling at the players, ‘Hey can youstop long enough for me to clean the glass?’. You know something else I noticed lastnight is that the Jays closing pitcher, Jesse Carlson, doesn’t he look like one of thecharacters out of Trainspotting?”“Yeah. He’s all skinny and has all those tattoos, the shaved head. If I saw him on thesubway, I’d think he was probably a junkie or a guy who’s done significant jail time,” Jimreplied.“You’ve never ridden the subway in your life,” I knew Jim was claustrophobic,germaphobic, and just didn’t particularly care for other people. In fact “Other peoplesuck” was his mantra.“He probably doesn’t either.”Cam jumped in with, “He’s got pointy ears too. He looks like a Vulcan.”“That’s it. He looks like a Vulcan crackhead. Can you imagine? He jonesin’ for a hit so,he runs around putting that Vulcan paralyze hold on people, before he robs them for alltheir money.”“I guess this is one more name I can put on our ‘don’t even bother calling to be on theshow’ list.” Cam was our producer, and thus in charge of lining up our guests. Hesometimes had to be very persuasive to talk local celebrities into coming on our show.They’re the ones who had listened to us before; people from out of town had no ideawhat they were stepping into.“Yeah, add another name. How long is that list now?”Jim was laughing, “There are now less people on the ‘call us’ list than on the ‘don’t call’list. You know something else I noticed last night for the first time is Alex Rios is kind ofa pretty boy, you know? He’s not effeminate, but he’s very pretty. He’s got kind ofdainty diva features. I just kept thinking, ‘he would make a great drag queen’.” AlexRios was one of the marquee players on the 2009 Jays team. He was a great player,but he had been struggling at times during the year. For that reason, he had becomethe butt of fan complaints and the subject of ribbing on our morning show.“He’s like the Michael Jackson of the Toronto Blue Jays,” Jim proclaimed.“That’s today’s law suit,” Cam said.24

“That’s okay Cam; that’s why God created the Crowe Communications legal team.”Cam was the one that took the brunt of the legitimate legal challenges. He and DaveRay our program director were the ones that communicated most frequently with thecompany lawyers. Cam would provide them with recorded sound bites from the showand testimonies, if required.“I think they’ve hired a new guy just to attend to the law suits we generate,” Cam almostsounded serious when he said that.“I’m glad you mentioned Michael Jackson, Jim. Can you believe that a month ago, youcouldn’t take a Michael Jackson box set to a used CD store and get money for it. Now,they can’t keep them on the shelves.”Jim laughed, “Yeah, last night I was in line at Walmart.”“Clothes shopping, were you?” We liked to make fun of Jim’s wardrobe. Thanks to Camand I, Jim had gained a reputation for wearing nothing but clothing with someone’s logoon it. That generally meant he didn’t pay for it; those pieces of apparel fell under the“free stuff” category, which was one of the key attractions to working within the industry.“Yeah, I was buying a sport coat. Anyway, there was this ten year old kid in front of mewith his mom, and he was buying ‘Thriller’ with his own money. You could tell that,because she was standing over him helping him count out the change, which I thoughtwas already a little telling. I mean, if you can’t figure out twelve dollars and sixty sevencents, by the time you’re ten, maybe you’re best suited for trade school.”“A job with a nametag might be your destiny,” Cam added.“So I’m standing there thinking ‘This is great. The mom’s teaching the young guy to usehis own money for something he wants’. But, I’m also thinking, ‘Hey, here’s an idea.What don’t YOU pay for it, and let him give you his small change when you get back tothe car.’ That way, I could move on with my life.”“Ten years old, that’s right in Michael’s age group isn’t it?” Cam gritted his teeth as soonas the words came out of his mouth. He rolled his eyes up in an ‘I’m sorry’ gesture.I changed the subject, “Jim, you predicted the other day that there would be some kindof Jackson Family Exploitation Tour in the works. And by golly, here it is. There’s talk ofa tribute tour by the brothers and Janet.”“They didn’t invite La Toya,” Cam pointed out.“She’s touring with a live snake and a donkey,” we could always count on Jim to crankthe subject right down to base level.“Janet’s top could pop off like it did during that halftime show,” I cued Cam for the phonering sound effect and answered, “Rock 93.”“Hey, wha’s up”, Jim answered in his Tito Jackson voice.25

“Tito. We were just talking about your family and the possibility of a Jackson familytribute tour. ““No shit?” We beeped the expletive, “There going to be a tour? Hey Marlin, this dudetalkin’ about there going to be a Jackson family reunion tour!”Cam was answered from the background, “No shit? We goin’ to be back in the money.”“That’s right. We gonna be drinkin’ Heineken.”“I want that in my rider. Heineken. Tell the dude.”“This ain’t him. This that dude from Canada. He’s the wrong number I called.”“Tito, you can’t trust no wrong number with important news like that, especially aforeigner. What’s daddy’s number?”“He changed it, and he won’t give us his new number.”“What about La Toya. She still talk to us.”“You know daddy don’t answer the phone when La Toya callin’. He still upset cause shebroke his car antenna and turned it into a crack pipe.”“Listen,” I said, “We could call La Toya for you, and keep you on the line. That way youcan sort this whole thing out right now.”“Okay then.” Tito and Marlin agreed that was a good idea.Cam played some touchtone sound effects and then a voice recording we had done theday before, using the receptionist at the radio station. “This is La Toya Jackson. I’m notavailable right now. I’m in Europe searching for my brother’s killers, and selling some ofMichael’s belongings at a memorabilia show.” We howled with laughter in thebackground. “Items are also available on e-Bay. Just click on The La Toya Jackson–slash-Michael Jackson collection.”We were laughing, and at the same time Jim was speaking in his Tito Jackson voice,“Hey La Toya, this is Tito. Hey, that toaster oven’s mine. Michael borrowed it when hewas hidin’ out in that trailer, after all the legal shit started. You better not sell my toasteroven. That was a Christmas gift from Mom and Dad.”We were laughing hysterically, when in actuality we knew the entire script already. Itactually did strike me as a funny idea, when we were performing it live. “Hey Tito, I’ll tellyou what. We’ll give you one of our Rock 93 toaster ovens. How’s that?”“Really?”“No not really, but I’m sure you’ll have all the toaster ovens you’ll need after this bigtour.”26

“Yeah. You right about that man. We been practicin’ too, so maybe they’ll let Marlin andme sing this time. I mean, out loud.”It was time to wrap up the bit and go to the hourly news report, “All right Tito. You travelsafely. We’ll hopefully talk to you tomorrow.” Cam played the hangup sound effect,“That was Tito Jackson right there, with Marlin.”“I heard that,” Jim said.“News is next and we’ll be talking to the bands who headlined the Rock-a-Bi-Babyconcert at this year’s Pride Festival, Newborn Youth and Passion Sponge, next on 93Rock.***Dave, the Program Director, seemed pensive when we walked into his office. Wepromptly found out why.“I just got off the phone with the Blue Jays. They are not happy. Did you say that AlexRios was gay or something?”I was immediately on the defensive, “No, we said that he was very pretty, and he wouldmake a great drag queen.”Dave didn’t seem too relieved by that, “Did you also say that Jesse Carlson was acrackhead?”Jim answered this time, “No, that’s not at all true. We said that if you saw him on thesubway, you MIGHT think that he might be an ex-con junkie.”Cam interjected, “We also said he looked like he COULD be Vulcan. Obviously theguy’s not a Vulcan, since there’s no such thing, so why would anyone take our othercomments seriously.”Jim tried to turn the conversation into light humor, “But think of all the tickets they wouldsell if he were. The Blue Jays would have the only Vulcan pitcher in the Major Leagues.”“Not necessarily,” I countered, “That would mean that there is such a thing as a Vulcan,and why wouldn’t other teams have some Vulcans on their rosters?”Cam continued, “Good point, Rick. What if Vulcans all had incredible arms. I meanimagine if you got a Vulcan pitcher that could throw a 150 mile an hour fast ball.”Jim acted as if he had actually given the concept some thought, “Then they wouldn’t letthem play, unless they could figure out a way to handicap the batters who face them.”“Maybe they could just have a rule that the pitch doesn’t count if it’s over, say 100 milesper hour,” I tried to help.Dave was as stressed as I think I had ever seen him, “HEY! Can we have a seriousdiscussion here? I got a sales rep who’s looking for heads, because he could have just27

lost a seventy-five thousand dollar a year account. Plus, you guys can forget aboutinterviews with the players. They can’t take away our private box, because we pay forthat. However, they may not let our AM station have locker room access. I have to calltheir program director back, because he’s pissed too.”I offered, “We could apologize on the air.”Jim disagreed, “It’s probably better if we just don’t mention it and let it blow over. Wecan try to have those two guys on the show, after all this smoke clears.”I had a better idea, “We could dress Cam up like a drag queen and send him down for agame. We’ll sit him right behind the Jays dugout, as a gesture of apology.”Cam was having no part of that, “Hey, I don’t do that shit anymore. You guys almost gotme killed once.”Dave finally had enough of our brainstorming, he spoke in a hushed voice almostsounding like Clint Eastwood in “Dirty Harry”. You could sense he was trying to quell theurge to start screaming at us, at the top of his lungs, “Don’t do anything now. We’ll seehow this sales issue turns out. Just please, for right now, don’t say anything about theJays unless it’s a gleaming positive endorsement.”Jim smirked, “Maybe we could get Cam to give them both massages.”“I don’t do that either.”I attempted to be the voice of sensible reason, before the two of them and theirshenanigans got us into even more trouble with the boss, “We’ll do reports on theirgames and really compliment them. They’re playing well, so it’s easy to think offlattering things to say. Don’t worry, we’ll smooth it all over.”Jim made the mistake of speaking again, “Yeah, whenever Rios hits a homer, we’ll play‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ by Aerosmith, during the report.” Even Cam had enoughsense not to laugh at that, but you could tell he wanted to.Dave just gave Jim a long exasperated look and sighed, “Alright, just don’t do anythingright now. I’ve got a conference call in eight minutes, so just move along and try not toget caught jaywalking or hit by a bus or whatever the hell. Please don’t mention all this,and maybe it’ll blow over. The La Toya Jackson thing was somewhat funny today. Justbe careful, and no racial or pedophilic jokes. I’ve got some sensitive folks who havelatched on to me recently.”We left his office, feeling badly for the man. We got to go play now, and he had to dealwith the consequences of our actions. Those feelings of guilt began to melt away, as allthree of us climbed into a station van, packed with our golf clubs. We headed off toattend a celebrity golf tournament sponsored by a beer company. All of the caddieswere beautiful scantily-clad models.It was a sunny day, short sleeve weather, life was good. On the way, I hoped out loudthat neither Jesse Carlson or Alex Rios were playing in the tournament.28

5 - Cut from Similar ClothI parked in front of the building on Main Street, so that I could see my car through thefront glass door of the radio station. Warm gracious southern culture or not, I wasn’tsure what nighttime activity might be like on this deserted warehouse populated street.Coming from Detroit, crime was a consistent consideration, just another fact of life.What was particularly concerning, was the two mile lineup of reckless and bored youthoccupying cars on Broad Street just three blocks away. I could picture a carload of goodole boys saying, “I’m bored with driving up and down this street. Let’s go steal orvandalize something, before we head back on that hundred mile drive.”As I approached the door, I was aware of the fact that it was remarkably quiet downtownfor 9:00pm on a weekend night. The city was so silent that it almost seemed to emit aninaudible hum into the air. There was an acrid ubiquitous scent of exhaust plumesbillowing from plastic and chemical plants filling the air. There was also a paper mill onlya few blocks away that emanated a sour fruit-like smell. I pushed the buzzer and waited.Moments later, a figure approached from the darkness and unlocked the door. He wasjust under six feet, average build, hair on the blond side of brown and cut just short of hisshoulders, and he had some non-descript facial hair. It was that look that conveys either“I’m currently growing a beard” or “I was too lazy to shave for the last four and a halfdays”. Actually he looked pretty much like me; someone could easily have gotten theimpression that this was the standard regulatory look for guys in their twenties working inradio.“How you doing? I’m Jim Mooney,” he said with a handshake, “They call me Jimbo onthe air. Ron started that, calling me Jimbo. He thought it sounded cool.”“Rick Loonie,” I could see his look of surprise, “Yeah, I know. Loonie and Mooney,there’s your morning team right there.”“Except no one would take you seriously with a goofy name like that,” he grinned, “Comeon back. My song’s about to end.”We went back to the studio, and he quickly sat down, put his headphones on, openedthe microphone and prattled off a perfect sound bite of information about the song andartist he had just played. From that topic he segued into a tease about his upcomingthree songs, after the commercial break. The entire thirty to forty-five seconds that hetalked was delivered in a seamless stream of thought and articulated in an understatedbaritone voice. This guy was really good.I started to feel nervousness. Why if I sucked? I could just imagine fumbling through myfirst stop set, desperately trying to put together sentences that made some cohesivesense. Meanwhile, I’m aware of my new colleague watching me from behind, his mouthopen in aghast horror and embarrassment for both me and the radio station he workedfor.When the music started, he started explaining the control board and the equipment, howto perform the FCC required meter readings, and the process of recording a weather29

forecast for the automated AM Country station, down the hall. That instructionaldemonstration included a warning on how to make positively sure that you didn’t actuallyrecord yourself screaming “fuck” and having it broadcast across five states. Apparentlythat had happened to Wookie once.“He begged me not to tell anybody,” Jim nearly giggled under his breath with a tone thatsuggested he had absolutely no respect or affinity for Wookie.After showing me where the different categories of records were filed and the mechanicsof the hourly format hot clock, he paid farewell to his listeners and stood up, “All yoursman.” He headed toward to studio door.This was it. My first full time radio job. Don’t blow it. I was half grateful and half panicstrickenthat my mentor was leaving me all alone, in charge of a powerful transmitter thatwas monitored, administered and under protection of the federal government of theUnited States of America.He stopped on his way out of the studio, “If you need anything, I’ll be around. I’ve gotproduction to do.”Production, I’m glad that he had some. It was a relief to have some form of safety net inplace, just in case war is declared against Russia and all the other radio stations in thecity suddenly lose power.In the smaller markets the air personalities not only have to voice commercials, theygenerally produce them, pick out the music and sound effects, everything. Sometimesyou even write them, or rewrite whatever trite drivel some creatively impaired sales repthought would sound clever.However, instead of the production studio, I saw him across the glass from my studio inthe newsroom. He turned on the TV and put his feet up. I performed my inaugural houron the radio, and it actually went quite well, lucid and fumble-free. He was still in thenewsroom, so I walked around the corner and popped in.He had a talk show on the television, and the radio station monitor was on in thebackground. So he had been listening to me the entire time. “You sound good, man.Yankee Dick, that’s a cool sounding name. I can’t wait to see what Ron and Wookiethink of that,” he grinned and pointed to the television, “Have you watched this guy?He’s pretty funny.”“Who is he?”“It’s David Letterman. His show comes on after Carson.”I had heard about this David Letterman. My father said he didn’t care for him, butapparently this guy did. Judging from first impressions, Jim Mooney seemed quite a bitmore like me than my father was. He laughed out loud at the punchline of one ofLetteman’s monologue jokes.30

“You want to smoke a joint?” He said it casually, like he wanted to know if I used milk orcream in my coffee.“Uh, not right now, I have to try to not have too much dead air on my first night. Wheredo you do that?”“Up on the roof,” he gestured to a trap door by the transmitter. He looked at the TV tosee that commercials had come on and said, “Come on, I’ll show you.”Careful to insure that my record still had plenty of time on it, I followed him up a ladderthat folded out of the trap door opening. We climbed out onto a flat tar roof thatoverlooked enough of the street to make you feel as if you had a secret lookout vantagepoint. It was private and quiet, lest for the slight hum emitting from the transmitterantennae at one corner of the roof.“Yeah, I come out here and smoke one after the shift, watch David Letterman and do myproduction. I look forward to this roof every night; it’s going to suck in the wintertime. Imight end up snapping Wookie’s neck one night, because of a claustrophobic anxietyattack.”“I don’t think anyone would much care anyway,” I knew he would commiserate.“Yeah. Ron has Wookie around because he does all of Ron’s work. Wookie is the leasttalented man I’ve ever worked with in radio, and I’ve worked in some tiny little shitholes.”He lit the joint, “Wookie idolizes Derek Kent at Rock 101 in Knoxville. If Derek thought itwas a good idea to put polka music on the air, Wookie would have us playing it everyhour.”“Did you know that Ron Jeremy is the name of a porn star? He apparently has about atwo-foot dink.”“I thought I was the only one that knew that,” he slapped his leg in laughter, “By the way,if it’s two feet, it’s not a dink. It qualifies as a dong.”“Well his definitely qualifies for donghood,” I looked at my watch, “Ah shit man. I got togo. Styx is just about to run out on me.”“Cool.” He puffed the joint and looked out at a couple of drunk guys getting out of a cab,“Good luck with that.”I scurried back down the ladder and returned to the studio, just as Styx hit the final chordof “Suite Madam Blue”. I put on the headphones and talked pretty fluently, feeling gladthat I hadn’t taken Jim up on smoking that joint.When the next song began, I thought about my situation. It included a new apartment, anetwork of family support, a new radio station with a format I liked, and unlimitedpossibilities for potential free stuff and groupie love. Finally, I had this work mate whoseemed like a cool guy; I could get along with him. It occurred to me what a difference itwould have made if it turned out I had to face some arrogant, pompous, people-skillchallenged prima donna every night.31

I could already see that “Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida” and “Thick as a Brick” were going to getsome airplay in the middle of a few nights. Those are two of my favorite songs overtwelve minutes, plenty of time to head up to the roof, smoke a joint with my colleague,and watch drunk guys fall out of cabs.Life was pretty good, right now. At my age, I couldn’t see any reason why that wouldever change.***The months to follow had to have been amongst the best in my life. Our radio stationwas well received. Jim and I became good friends, and it was obvious on the air. Wehad common senses of humor, and spent quite a few hours together during those allnight “production sessions” that ultimately ended up with us on the roof. We’d comeback down and play songs off of great rock albums that were a bit more obscure thanthe bigger hits, but still excellent offerings that most people weren’t that familiar with.Listeners would even sometimes call to congratulate me on my musical taste, and sinceit was three in the morning, none of the management would be awake. Ron certainlywouldn’t be. I asked, “What about Wookie?”“Fuck Wookie,” Jim would say, “Tell ‘em you just ran from the bathroom cause you havediarrhea, and you shouldn’t even be at work right now. You threw that song on to avoiddead air. Don’t take Wookie’s bullshit seriously. We have a theory around here thatWookie’s father fertilized the wrong orifice. I honestly think he could be borderlineretarded”“Sorry Wookie, I have the same diarrhea attack every night around the three o’clock hourand the only thing that seems to cure it is to listen to a classic album cut.”“Yeah. Then you tell him that Jim Fucking Mooney has a tape of him screaming ‘fuck’ onCountry 680. Then tell him to turn off the radio and go to sleep, before your diarrheakicks in again, and you accidentally play ‘Star Star’ by the Rolling Stones.”That song would predictably not be well received in this Bible belted region. Amongother moral breaches of public trust, the chorus clearly features the words “Star Fucker”repeatedly shouted at the top of Mick Jagger’s lungs.I’ve learned that it’s always safe to assume that no matter where you broadcast in theU.S., there is a bastion of right wing conservative reactionaries monitoring and archivingevery broadcast hour. Their motivation is to re-moralize the airwaves and removemiscreants like us that would make orgasm or penis references every chance we could,if not policed. Folksy, flirty humor is fine. You can make a subtle cute little joke aboutDolly Parton having a full figure, as long as you never actually use the word breast. Thatterm is only to be used for describing dinner specials, supermarket sale items andmaybe chirping robins if it’s springtime.Most nights, the first hour of my show was spent watching David Letterman. Idiscovered I could run the audio through my control board on a little audition speaker,when Jim turned on the microphone in the newsroom. We put the television up on ashelf so I could see the screen. Playing records became secondary. Letterman becameour hero. We started to refer to the TV star as “Him” or “He”, inferring that he had deity32

status. We hung on every moment of every show and actually learned from the nuancesof his delivery. It was essentially the early origin and foundation of our humor; wedefinitely felt a common “Dave” perspective on many skews and idiosyncrasies of dailylife.Not only did we enjoy the music we played on the station, and the fact that we got togoof around all night on the roof smoking pot and watching Late Night, we werebecoming aware of a prominent and unfamiliar phenomenon occurring around us:people really liked us. This was not one of those instances where the public seemed toenjoy 96 FM – The Rock as a background soundtrack. The station really meantsomething to people in this rock and roll radio starved market. It was like a unifyingcause, a club, an activity that everyone in our young adult demographic enjoyed listeningto together. “The Rock” as a brand was the hottest radio property in the region. At leastthat’s how it appeared to us.We were always out doing promotional appearances and special events. We never gotpaid for doing them, but our youthful exuberance and adulation hungry egos werealways rewarded handsomely. We would generally be awarded bar tabs for both us andwhatever current girlfriends we brought along. Regarded as the Tri-Cities’ party boyrockers, for whatever reason, Yankee Dick and Jimbo soon came to be considered thefaces that represented the radio station.That was probably because we were the only people on the station who seemed to haveany hip-ness or relevance. We loved the music and knew volumes of information aboutit. We also had senses of humor, particularly during our cross-talk as we changed shifts.We started identifying the “smell of the day”, caused by Kingsport’s manufacturing plantslocated right in the heart of the city.“Today’s smell: cat litter.” The next day it might be banana. Honestly, that’s what itsmelled like on those nights. We knew that it couldn’t be good for anyone to live withthese substances being pumped into the air, but our situation was what it was. This waswhere we were living. We might as well have some fun with it.Our greatest epiphany and breakthrough occurred during my second year at the radiostation. The Rock’s official Halloween Party was presented at a huge establishmentcalled “Harry Taco’s”. Restaurant by day and raunchy pick-up joint nightclub after dinnerhour, the establishment became the usual location for The Rock’s promotions. OnHalloween, the place was almost instantly filled to capacity, with a line stretching out thedoor for fifty yards. Everyone was in extravagant costumes, vying for a one thousanddollar grand prize and a new Harley Davidson motorcycle.Jim and I were the emcees, almost by default. The morning man couldn’t stay out late,and the afternoon “personality” was a lifeless bore with a velvety smooth voice. We tookthe stage, and the capacity crowd erupted, “Yankee Dick! Jimbo! The Rock rules!”It was quite an exhilarating night, as Jimbo and I led the crowd in contests, joked aroundand announced the grand prize winner. Apparently it was not just an epiphany for us.The next day, Ron Jeremy asked us to come and meet with him in his office at 4:00pm.“What’s this all about?” I asked Jim.33

“Don’t know,” he said, “Sounds a little ominous. Usually getting called into the ProgramDirector’s office in the middle of the day is not good.”I did not want my little piece of Xanadu pie to be taken away. We were living great livesfor young guys in their twenties. We played rock and roll for a living, got slathered withfemale attention, rarely had to pay for drinks, and received free concert tickets and coolrecord label shirts and caps.We walked into Ron’s office. He sat behind his desk, perfectly coiffed. Wookie satbeside him on a stool, like a court stenographer or a kid who had just been put ondetention.“Sit down fellas,” Ron was not wearing his broad simian grin. In fact, he looked moreserious than I had ever seen him. “Look, we want to make some changes.”Jim and I glanced at each other. This could be the end of our little rock and roll fantasycamp.He continued, “We’re not very happy with our morning show. It’s just not funny or hip,and it doesn’t sound like a real rock station morning show.”Now we were entirely perplexed. How did this affect us?“Starting Monday, I’m putting you guys on morning drive. Jimbo, you did morning newsat your last station. I want you to do a two minute newsbreak at the top of the hour, andunless the White House blows up, I want you to concentrate on a couple local stories, anational story or two, and something quirky or light to cap it off and go to commercials.Then come back and do one minute of sports and then a quick weather. Our listenersdon’t really care all that much about hearing a lot of news.”He was right. This was the eighties, and our listeners were the twenty and thirtysomething population. Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, the Who, those were themainstream hitmakers in the rock format. The Rock’s audience cared more aboutwhether Mick Jagger was arrested for statutory rape than whether Ronald Reagan wasvetoing a Congressional bill.Ron then turned to me. “Yank,” he had taken to calling me Yank. I was originallyconcerned that the name Yankee Dick might not meet with management approval, asper Jim’s speculation. That notion was quickly quashed at our first aircheck meeting.“Yankee Dick? I tell ya, you’re a wild man!” he said it wearing a one and three-quartermillion dollar grin, “I like that. Yankee Dick, that’s great man.”“Yank, I want you to keep doing what you guys do together on those cross-talks at night,only more of it. You guys are wild men!”Obviously, he must have actually listened to my show at night. Then he said, “Yeah,Wookie always tapes your breaks for me to listen to. He tapes every night, but I only getto listen to one tape about once a week.”34

That explained it. He had that poor pathetic sot, Wookie, sit up all night and tape me.That’s when Wookie decided to speak. He smelled like a cross between cheese puffsand pork and beans this morning, “Now in morning drive, we expect you to stick with theplaylist. None of your adventures on album cuts; we play the hits in the morning. I knowyou pull out some “B” sides late at night, but nobody except you knows about “MemoryMotel” off of the Stones’ Black and Blue album. I don’t care how good of a song it is.”Memory Motel was a fine song by the Rolling Stones, that always brought a tear to myeye. However, it was about eight minutes long, and it had come out many years earlier,so fair enough. This wasn’t the university radio station; it was a business that soldadvertising based on listener numbers.The average professional person didn’t really care about getting a musical educationwhile they were preparing for work in the morning. It was different at 3:00am; many ofmy listeners worked the night shift, generally in semi-solitude. I know that becausescores of them called me and tried to keep me on the phone all night. Either that orthey’ve had a couple of beers and several bong hits; those guys wouldn’t care if I playedMick Jagger belching, while Keith Richards snored in the background.Fair enough. “That’s not a problem,” I said, “Sorry.”Ron started grinning, “That’s alright Wild Man. We dig your stuff, man.”Wookie had a look of spite and jealousy on his face, sitting up on his little stool. Ronwas staring at me with a grin that was wider than most men’s heads; my instincts told meto check to see if he had grabbed my car keys or not. I almost expected him to startjumping up and down on the top of the desk, while picking ticks off of Wookie’s head andjangling my keys in the air, gleefully chattering and playing with himself.“What about Billy?” I asked. Billy Thunder was the current morning guy. He was a bit ofa dinosaur, an icon within the market. He had been on the air for about thirty years, andhe essentially sounded like it. He sleepwalked through his shift, occasionally tossing insome hokey joke that he probably told the first time in 1973.Jim and I often listened to him in the morning, as we enjoyed a couple of beers to rewardourselves for staying up all night. After all, 6:00am was the start of our evening; we evenate cheeseburgers at the HoHum Diner, when they opened at 7:00am. If they servedbeer, we probably would have sat there till lunchtime. This was going to be a completechange of schedule for us.Ron took on a serious tough-guy expression, “I just told him. That’s my decision. I don’thold back, I just tell it like it is.”We glanced at each other, choking back a laugh. Jim once said mockingly, “He’s socute when he tries to act like a Program Director!” We both got a laugh, because it wasso hard to take the guy seriously. However, as it all began to sink in, we owed this guy alot. He was giving us our chance to really make an impression and start our climb withinthe industry.35

He continued, “We got some trade with the Tri-Cities Tribune. We’re going to run an adin their Sunday TV listings to promote the show. You guys think about it and see if youcome up with any good ideas. We’ll need to have the photographer come in and sendthem the copy by Thursday morning.”Jim immediately spoke up in a dry monotonic voice, “Become a Dick lover this morning.”Ron stared at him for a second in disbelief; Wookie rolled his eyes up in disgust. ThenRon suddenly burst into a grin that that looked like it might actually rip the flesh acrosshis cheeks. I could see his entire gums; once again, my instincts said “keep track ofyour keys”.“You’re both a couple of wild men! Yeah, I’m going to like this. Become a dick lover,you two are crazy! Go get some rest. I’ve given you the weekend off to get yourselvesready for Monday.”Wookie was back hovering over his program notes, as we exited the office. We couldhear Ron laughing and saying “Become a dick lover.”Jim looked at me and said, “I was serious about that.”“Yeah, I know. It was a fucking brilliant idea. Talk about cutting through the clutter in themorning paper. I would say we would get tongues wagging with that tagline.”The next day, we were supposed to be there at 11:00am to have our photos taken. Ronwas out for an appointment, which we knew was a haircut and a car wash. He did bothabout once every two weeks. That left Wookie “in charge” of the shoot.He led us into the production studio with the photographer, some low key guy namedGreg from the newspaper. He instructed Greg to shoot us both sitting behindmicrophones. He handed him a sheet of paper and said, “Here’s the copy. I’ve got totake the station van in for new tires.”Ah, the spoils of being a music director at a radio station, this poor guy had the mostunglamorous existence of anyone I had ever met, deservedly so I might add. But that’sbeside the point. He must have to swallow his pride like it was a blood pressuremedication, every single day.As soon as he left, I asked Greg for the piece of paper. He handed it to me, and weread it together. “Get your day off to a rocking start” was what the tagline read. He hadthen drawn very primitive looking sketches of us sitting stiffly at the microphones, smilinglike mannequins.Jim looked up, “Oh no, no, no. Greg, we’re going to make a couple small edits on this.”Greg shrugged and said, “Whatever you guys want.”“You know what? My cousins are eighteen or nineteen years old. They’ve got a bunchof friends that are little tiny Stevie Nicks.” At the time, we thought Stevie Nicks was just36

a walking wet dream in legwarmers. I could see that Jim was already on the samewavelength with me.“How soon can they be here?” he looked at Greg, “How long you got.”Greg shrugged again. In a laid back southern drawl, he said, “Whatever. You guys gota sodie pop machine?” Jim ran him over to buy him a can of pop and to buy time.I called my cute little blond cousin, who lived about six blocks away, “Alison, it’s Rick.Yeah, yeah, I mean Dick. Yeah, Yankee Dick. I was wondering you and some of yourfriends might be available right now to be in our newspaper ad?”I immediately pulled the phone away from my ear, so as not to absorb the full impact ofher shriek directly into my eardrum. Jim walked in about that time, and looked at mecuriously.I was just wrapping up the conversation, “Say maybe about four girls, and if it’s okay,can you guys all bring bikinis? Yeah, that would be perfect. What time? Beautiful, okaywe’ll see you then.” Immediately I pulled the phone away from my ear again. The shriekwas audible across the room.As I hung up, Jim said, “So I guess she wants to do it?”“I don’t care man. She’s not your cousin. Feel free to ‘do it’ all you want. Tell me how itwas afterwards.” I smiled at him; he had quickly become my very best friend.He grinned back at me, “How long before they get here?”I burst into laughter, “Fifteen minutes.” We both howled. Yes, I do believe it’s safe tosay that they all wanted to do it. I could picture them doing their hair and makeup in therearview mirror, while speeding like NASCAR drivers toward Main Street.Sunday morning, the Tri-Cities Tribune featured a full page ad in the TV Guide, placedright next to the Sunday afternoon schedule. It was football season, and we knew thatmany of our down home, beer drinking, football loving audience would be turning to thatpage. The ad showed Jim and I with our feet propped up in the studio, getting ourshoulders rubbed and receiving foot massages from four remarkably beautiful youngbikini-clad southern belles. The tagline read: “Starting Monday, you can get Dick everymorning….(and Jimbo too)”. Then in smaller font, “Yankee Dick and Jimbo. 6am to10am on 96 FM - The Rock.”It was brilliant ad placement. Football was referred to as a religion in East Tennessee.What we forgot, during our brief brainstorming was that Sunday was also regarded foranother event. It was also the Lord’s day, and we were right in the middle of one of thedensest Southern Baptist churchgoing populations in the world.My phone rang at 9:10am. It was Ron, “Rick, this is Ron.”37

“Yeah Ron,” since I had the weekend off, I didn’t expect to hear from Ron. I wasparticularly surprised by the fact that he called me ‘Rick’. He had started referring to meaffectionately as ‘Yank’, ever since my first night on the air.“What is this ad?”“I don’t understand what you mean,” I said.“This ad is obscene! My wife can’t believe it. She nearly started crying.”“Holy fuck”, I thought to myself, then said, “It’s not really obscene Ron.”“It’s the Sunday morning paper! Everyone in three counties reads this, and the first thingthey’re going to see when they’re having their grits and eggs is you two with a bunch ofhalf naked girls, talking about getting dick!” His voice quivered as if he might actuallybreak into tears, “Oh when Win finds out about this, we could have a real problem.”“I’m sorry Ron. We thought it was a good idea.”“Don’t ever do anything like this without telling me, that is if you even have a chance to.Win may tell me to get rid of you both,” he breathed a heavy sigh, “Alright. I’ll get back toyou after I talk to him.”Before I could speak, he hung up. I couldn’t tell if he had calmed down or he was justfeeling complete resignation when he hung up. However, his concern about Win causedme to instantly become concerned too.Winchester ‘Win’ Hargrove was the station general manager. He was a rather loud,back slapping type that was reminiscent of a car salesman. He wore checkered jacketsand ties that often announced some vacation destination that he had been to.The first time I met him, he was wearing an auburn orange and black checkered sportscoat with a tie that proclaimed his brief presence in “Biloxi – The Casino Capitol of theSouth”. He was a high-roller by local standards, hobnobbing with the upper crust of Tri-City society, and claiming allegiance to seemingly every community organization andbusiness owner on the eastern seaboard. You could never go anywhere with him,because some investment banker or real estate agent would stop him on the sidewalk tocatch up on old times.He also looked like a conservative church-going type that would not be pleased andprobably be embarrassed by this vile act of salacious indecency. Right then, as I wasruminating about my potential unemployment, the phone rang again.Ron’s voice sprang through the receiver with such gusto that I actually flinched whenstarted to speak, “Hey wild man! It’s Ron again!”There was certainly a change in his voice and attitude that bordered on schizophrenicmultiple personality disorder, “Yeah Ron.”38

“Hey man, we don’t need to worry,” suddenly it was “we”. That was encouraging. “Italked to Win, and he had already heard from two of his biggest clients. They loved thead. They thought it was the funniest thing they ever saw. Their wives hated it, but theysaid they didn’t give a shit. They said it was funnier than hell, and Win thought so too.”Before I could even reply, he said, “Good work man! Keep ‘em comin’. I’ll see you onMonday morning. I can’t wait to hear what you two wild men are up to!” He wascackling as the phone hung up.I had forgotten that Win’s clients were primarily a group of good ole boy southern moneytypes. They were commonly sexist pigs with an attitude toward immigrants, assertivewomen and northerners. They were now probably on the edges of their seats to see ifWin’s outrageous claims of brilliance would be fulfilled by the new morning show. Thepressures associated with our first show on Monday would now be exponentiallymultiplied thanks to one advertisement.I stood there for a moment, feeling somehow shaken and violated, but relieved and evencockier at the same time. It was noon now, so I could call Jim and tell him about thewhole thing. It wouldn’t matter if we both just got fired, I had wrecked his car andWookie slept with his girlfriend, you never called Jim before noon on a weekend.I quickly recounted the brief morning debacle. He said, “I figured something like thatwould happen. The main thing is that they notice us. We better get together thisweekend and make sure that people are driving their cars into telephone poles, becausewe’re so fucking funny. I’ll be over in a couple of hours.”“Yeah, we need to get this right. We got to smoke ‘em on day one and just keep going.Life is good, if we dazzle them the first week, and we’re capable of that.”“As long as we can both get up,” he paused, “I’m sure going to miss that roof.”“Yeah. We’ll have to start taping Letterman,” I replied.39

6 - Michael Jackson’s Hoedown of DeathMichael Jackson’s memorial service in Los Angeles officially initiated our reticence aboutmaking fun of Tito and Marlin, not that it changed our routine. Jim said that he wishedthey had waited longer to bury him. We were having so much fun writing material basedon the two of them, representing them as the less talented, relatively unknown, downand out brothers of pop culture’s dominant icon and most shamelessly extravagant multimillionaireeccentric.We were going to have Tito and Marlin get arrested, while trying to be served at aDenny’s in Texas. There was Tito and Marlin getting duped into running to buy coffeefor everyone on the Jackson family’s Michael Tribute Tour; meanwhile the private jettakes off without them. Then we were going to have them trying to get into the firstconcert, only to find that their parts have been taken by lip synching stand-ins, “Shit, thatwas supposed to be us lip synching up there!”However, all those possibilities were ruined, after the memorial service. Tito and Marlinconducted themselves with elegance and eloquence in a very heartfelt and emotionalsendoff to their younger sibling. Our material would only be funny if Tito and Marlinremained unknowns, the hapless invisible posse to twelve year old Michael’s rising star.The whole premise was based upon the concept that these two could be portrayed asperennial losers, who never get noticed. In our bits, even their own family membersregard them as untalented and replaceable. The less we knew about them, the funnierthe bits were. Now a billion-plus people around the world had seen them live or on theubiquitous flurry of news clips that followed. Now they were perceived as educated,dignified and sincere individuals.However, La Toya was another story. La Toya stood there at the memorial service likesome kind of mute muppet character, under that behemoth brimmed hat. She had allthe premonitory qualifications of “the crazy sister”, who has been desperately trying toget some limelight of her own for decades. Now, she was wound up like a forty year oldmale virgin at his first strip club. She was going to explode at anytime with the kind ofembarrassment bomb that would make my parent’s concerns about my childhoodbehavior seem pedestrian.Sure enough, ET reported that La Toya went to Michael’s rented mansion, almostimmediately, to start rifling through his belongings. Then, the British tabloids quoted LaToya as proclaiming that her brother had been murdered and she was resolute inhunting down his killers and bringing them to justice. It was ominously reminiscent of theOJ case, when OJ swore to find “the real killers”, then proceeded to scour the golfcourses of America in pursuit.If someone in the family didn’t shut her up, she was going to provide the kind of publicdisplays that make late night talk show and radio morning show hosts anxious to do theirjobs. We already had our receptionist performing the voice, and she was really excitedabout doing it. Like many people that work at radio stations in completely different jobcapacities, she secretly felt the desire to talk on the air. Working in the industry, youbecome aware that everyone around you and most of the listeners you talk to seem to40

think that they possess untold radio talent that is only yet to be heard and embraced bythe masses.All we had to do was call her at the front desk, and explain the script, give her a fewminutes to read over it, and record the bit. She actually did it in one or two takes, andthen she listened to it on her way to work the next morning. Her friends all called to tellher that they “heard her on the radio”, and her kids thought she was the coolest momever to procreate.On this particular morning, La Toya called us from the Neverland Ranch.“Rock 93. Good morning.”“Hello. I received a call from this number.”“I’m sorry. Who is this?”“You should know who it is. You called.” Our receptionist’s voice was permeated withself importance and privilege.“Is this La Toya Jackson?”“That’s right. Who’s this?”“This is Rock 93 in Toronto, Canada.”Her voice immediately became buoyant, “Oh, the press! I loved my brother very muchand I miss him so terribly. Michael was a very special man.“A very special meal ticket,” Jim uttered.I stuck to the script. I didn’t want to rattle our neophyte audio actress, “Well La Toya, wesend our condolences. Both Jim and I were huge fans, right Jim?”“Oh yeah. I’m wearing one of his T-shirts right now,” Jim couldn’t have sounded any lesssincere.I continued, “Where are you?”“I’m at Neverland.”“What’s going on there, some kind of family meeting?”“No, I’m here by myself. I’m just doing some digging out in the garden. Michael used toalways like to hide things like….”“His bologna,” Jim piped in.41

“….large sums of cash, jewelry, sheets and pajamas from the ‘Special Playroom’. Stufflike that. I’m trying to make sure all of my brother’s possessions are in a safe place,inaccessible to his killers.”“Wow, that’s very noble of you La Toya, and courageous.”“And kleptomaniacal,” Jim added.“You can see some of these possessions live on the Home Shopping Network tonight at8pm. The show is called ‘La Toya Remembers Michael’ and tonight’s episode is called‘HD TVs and Home Theatre Systems’.”“Wow,” I whistled, “Well, good luck with that La Toya. It looks like your TV career isreally taking off.”“I’m also working on a pilot. I mean I’m working on trying to schedule a meeting withanyone at any television network that is interested in it. It’s called ‘La Toya Story’, andit’s about a beautiful and abundantly talented princess, who is oppressed by her evilfamily. So, she strikes out on her own to make it as the top star in the soft porn industry.However, she must first try to make a living as a stripper. The pilot episode’s called‘Table Dance for Twelve’.”“Wow, La Toya, that sounds like a blockbuster. Are you sure you want to restrict this totelevision. I think you might have a screenplay for a major film on your hands there.”“I have a movie already in the works. The producer said that Nicole Kidman andPenelope Cruz both wanted the part, but he turned them down and insisted on me.”“Holy cow, La Toya! It must be a huge film,” I could hear Jim let out a whistle in thebackground.“It’s going to be. I play an astronaut who lands on a planet inhabited by beautiful nakedlesbians, who must wrestle for food. It’s called ‘Star Whores’.”“I’d go see that,” Cam interjected.“I’m going to appear on The Ellen Degeneres Show to promote it, as soon as she returnsmy phone calls.”“I’m sure a lot of people will go to see the movie, with a famous beautiful actress likeyourself in the lead role.”“Don’t be silly. People will be more interested in my acting ability than my exotic beautyor my powerful celebrity. I am going to get bigger boobs done though.”“We can’t wait to see those too, La Toya. Maybe you could come onto the show for aninterview, after the premiere.”“Oh, I’d love to. Who is this again?”42

“This is 93 Rock in…..”“Wait. I’m sorry, whatever your name is. I’ve just hit something that’s either part of thesprinkler system or gold bullion. If it’s gold, I have to make sure the killers don’t get it.”“Okay, call us back after the breast augmentation.” There was a click, followed by a dialtone sound effect.“She’s a real go-getter,” Jim was the first to speak.I replied, “You have to give it to La Toya for one thing. She never abandons her pursuitof entitlement to fame. While Janet’s out there engineering silly little juvenile ‘wardrobemalfunctions’ at halftime shows, La Toya’s taking it off for Playboy, just begging forsomeone to look at her.”“I thought she was going to pop them out at the end of the memorial service. She’sstanding up there, trying to get as close to the front as she can. Wouldn’t that have beenthe greatest television moment of our lifetimes, if La Toya had just ripped open her shirtlive and stood there with her headlights all aglow. The rest of the Jacksons are justmortified.”“I told you not to let her in here,” Cam was doing his Marlin Jackson voice.I imitated a generic member of the crowd in attendance at the funeral, “Damn, I was upordering a fourteen dollar bag of ‘The King of Popcorn’ and a ‘Billy Jean Bratwurst’ formy buddy, so I missed the whole thing.”“I wonder if they did sell concessions at the memorial. You go in for a funeral, expectingall this solemness, and the first thing you see is people lined up to buy stadium nachos,with that orange plastic cheese and canned chili on top.”“I bet you’ll be able to buy commemorative T-shirts in the lobby,” Cam said.“And, the little sequined gloves,” I was thinking to myself that this was way too much funto be having at work.Jim spoke up, “I guarantee that you’ll be able to order a DVD copy of that memorialservice, before long. I guarantee it, and I haven’t been wrong yet.”“Your predictions have been right on, so far. You were right about that tribute concerttour.”“You’ll be able to buy a DVD of that, too.”“Maybe they’ll package them together as a box set,” we were running late again, “Alright,we’ve got two of our Toronto Blue Jays named as starters in the All Star Game. Newsand sports are next on 93 Rock.”***Our meeting with Dave that morning was brief and easy. He thought the show wasgood, overall. “The La Toya Jackson bit was funny. Everyone, even the lamebrain43

lemmings in the public, I think recognize that this woman is nuts and an unabashedlytransparent opportunist.”Jim agreed, “They called Michael ‘Wacko’. He was like Paul Newman compared to thischick.” Jim always used Paul Newman as an example of a guy who had his life inperspective; he never got caught in scandals, lived a quiet private life with his wife fordecades, and maintained dignity right up to the end. He never showed a hint ofarrogance or narcissism. Newman was prominent on our list of heroes that includedDavid Letterman, quarterback Brett Favre, and posthumously Peter Jennings. Jim wouldprobably fight a guy for making cracks about any one of them.Dave continued, “There was the ‘sheets and pajamas from the Special Playroom’comment. Hopefully that went by fast enough that no listeners really took notice enoughto write a letter. I’m ‘Complainted’ out this week, and I just don’t want to hear about it.”Little did any of us know that it was noticed, and not by casual listeners. Oh, they werelistening alright, and recording and logging and documenting. Most of all, they werewaiting.44

7 – Rise and ShineJimbo and I worked through the weekend to prepare shows that would make us feel as ifwe met the high standards we imagined we were capable of. To us, that essentiallymeant not humiliating ourselves; in fact, our working mantra became “don’t suck”. Why ifwe were worse than our predecessor? Now that we’re here and he’s not, his show didn’tseem that bad after all.One revelation that had occurred over the last two years was a painfully realisticevaluation of my abilities and my position in the broadcast industry food chain. Making$180.00 per week will open your eyes to these troubling realities. Plus, getting a chanceto travel around to some bigger metropolises exposed me to some real radio talents.This only served to make my own fear of inadequacy even greater. There were somereally captivating personalities out there. We had to make this work.Couple that insecurity with results I garnered whenever I would occasionally get that“itchy resume syndrome”, as I called it. Once in a while, I would feel like testing thewaters to see if I could move on to a big exciting city, with lucrative contracts andexorbitant offerings of free stuff. I’d make an audition tape and send it to job openings inplaces like Miami, where I thought would be an excellent fit for my interest in sunnybeaches and tanned golden goddesses wearing little more fabric than a bandana.It later occurred to me that in the annals of NCAA football, the University of Miami isconsistently ranked among the top five teams in the nation. The reason for that is mostpeople you meet would like to live near a beach with warm weather year round. If you’rean eighteen year old high school graduate, and you’re ranked as one of the best footballplayers in the country, where would you rather live? You could accept the offer from aschool in the cornfields of Iowa, or you could vie for pleasure drenched South Florida,home of ubiquitous breasts, bodysurfing and beverages consumed out of coconuts.Major radio talents undoubtedly felt a similar affinity for such locales.Needless to say, I never got any responses from my methodically random job hunts.Furthermore, the preparation of an audition tape and the extensive listening andscreening of my own work drove me to the brink of self loathing. I’ve heard that mostactors and comedians have the same mindset. Many never watch their own movies, thecritical self analysis is too painful to endure.Outside of the self doubt issue, not the least of our challenges was actually being there.We would have to wake up at 4:00am equipped to expound rational cohesive thoughts.Our biological clocks were set for the opposite side of the time continuum, and as anafterthought, Ron had not been overly generous with our adjustment time. We hadbarely three days to change our chronological lives around.One other truism hung within the recesses of both our minds. It was unspoken, but wewere aware of the fact that we had just passed on from a rather leisurely carefreelifestyle. We now had jobs that carried more responsibilities and pressures. Gettingpeople to listen to rock n roll music at night was just a natural occurrence; however,those same people were not as prone to listening to the Scorpions, on their way to workin the morning. It was us who had to be a reason that people listened, and our successwould be closely monitored by management and empirically reflected by ratings.45

We spent hours writing and producing comedy bits for our first week, and really got akick out of doing it. It was all new and stimulating; there was absolutely no trace ofburnout, disillusionment or repetitive staleness. We would actually laugh at some of ourown bits, which was a good sign, as we were our own worst critics.It was all pretty hokey and primitive material, compared to our later standards. Amongstthe pieces produced was a series of commercials advertising K-Tel type music albumsfeaturing genre specific collections of songs. One was for an album called “PlatinumPunk”, featuring “songs by the bands who hate everything”! “Shoot the dog, kill thepuppies, hang the cat, pour out the guppies! Yeah, yeah!” There was also a version forkids, “Playpen Punk”, “Mary had a little lamb. It’s fleece was white as snow. Marymoved next to a nuclear waste dump. Now that lamb really glows. Yeah.”We made one for a country album called “Songs About Everyday Life”, featuring “top hitsand old favorites” like: “The garbage disposal starting spittin’ up food, and that got me ina really bad mood. Stepped out the door and stubbed my toes, ran the lawn mower onthe water hose. I was so mad I threw a fit and landed face first in a pile of….” We cut offthe lyrics right there, with the announcer’s voice coming in. Our intention was to hurl thelisteners into heaving breathless riotous laughter because of the fact that a naughty wordwas obviously coming next.We also did our first celebrity call-in bit. I had been working on a Ronald Reaganimpersonation. He was easy to do, with so many recognizable mannerisms. Wethought that it could conjure the face of Reagan in the theatres of our audience’s minds.“Well, let me just say that this is a great day for our nation, seeing as you two –uh, well –fine young Americans are broadcasting your outstanding words of patriotism to – uh, well– where exactly are you?” It was actually a somewhat lame bit; it didn’t even really havea punch line. We primarily did it to prove to everyone, ourselves in particular, that wewere capable of pulling it off. It was to become a template for much of our comedy bitsin the future.For our most daring attempt at interactive comedy, we introduced a game show called“Smell Rick’s Finger”. Jim would sniff loudly into the microphone and provide clues as towhat my finger smelled like. It would be some morally innocuous substance likegasoline or pizza; however, it was obviously a tacky double entendre that would have allour eighteen to thirty-four year old male listeners snickering. It would also drive thedevout Bible-obsessed conservative types into a tizzy. However, we never really got anycomplaints; none of those people listened anyway, because they thought rock musicitself was created by, about and for social miscreants. “Smell Rick’s Finger” became astandard part of our broadcast from time to time, for years to come, particularly when wewere out of ideas.Another contest that would become one of our obscure institutions was “Guess theGeek”. We scoured second-hand stores for old records that contained a rock classicthat had been unabashedly butchered by an inappropriate artist. It started when wediscovered an album called “Golden Throats – The Great Celebrity Singoff!” whichfeatured William Shatner performing “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and LeonardNimoy singing “Proud Mary” with very pointed and purposeful pronunciations of “boinin’and toinin”, so as to sound more like the original. We uncovered a cavalcade of46

eprehensible treasures like Tennessee Ernie Ford with a cover of “Let It Be” by theBeatles and the Who’s “Summertime Blues” demoralized by a young Donnie Osmond.With all those safety nets woven over the weekend, our first day we managed to get upin time, and got to the station simultaneously at 4:45am. We scoured newspapers andteletype, made some notes, decided at what times we would run pre-recorded bits andwhen we would talk about news or nonsense.After all of that preparation, our greatest strength turned out to be spontaneous patter.The first stop set was spent talking about the warm sunny weather we were going tohave that week. I immediately pointed out that it was open-toe season, and elaboratedon how much I loved women in open-toe shoes. Jim lamented that he didn’t like wearingsandals, because he could never get his toenails looking to his liking. I asked why hedidn’t just clean them like everyone else, to which he replied, “I’ve got air tight domes. Ican’t get in there thoroughly enough without almost severing an artery and gushingblood from my toenail. Then it looks even worse cause then I got a nasty bloody cutunder by big toenail.”I congratulated Jim on his sensitive disclosure to people that were probably having theirbreakfasts, and gave the weather forecast. We turned off the mikes and agreed that ourfirst effort was barely acceptable, and in fact quite lame. The listener line lit up. Ianswered, “The Rock. Good morning.”“Hello, am I on the air?” a very sweet sounding female voice replied.“Well that depends on what you have to say,” I countered.“Yeah, you could have Tourette’s Syndrome or even worse, you could be one of Rick’sex-girlfriends. Most of them were crazy,” Jim added.“We’ve been on the air for what...six minutes? And Jim already set us up for our firstround of law suits. If you ever dated me, my apologies in advance of seeing you incourt. What can we do for you?” I asked.“Oh, well I own a nail salon, and I’d be glad to come down there and service Jim.”Whoa! Be careful, you’re in the Bible Belt. Jim instantly came to life, “You couldn’t havemade that offer when I was doing evenings? There was no one in the building then!”She laughed heartily. She seemed like a really nice woman; plus, she had a rather sexyvoice. “I meant give you a pedicure.”We both simultaneously said “Oh!” Jim pretended to be disappointed.I chuckled, “Thank God. I didn’t want to have to watch what I thought you meant, andI’m the one that plays the records, so I’m not allowed to leave the room!” That wasabout as naughty as we were comfortable with being at this point, “Smell Rick’s Finger”notwithstanding.“You’ll come down here and do it?” I asked.47

“Well I sure will,” she had that friendly southern lilt to her voice.Jim looked like he had just been dealt a royal flush in Las Vegas, “How about Friday?”He winked at me. “Could you throw in a bikini wax for Rick? You should see this guy ina bathing suit.”“No thanks, but Friday will be fine,” she said.“Ah, she only has eyes for you, Jim. You’re lucky. All my propositions are from girls whojust got out of jail or end up being hermaphrodites.”We asked her name and the name of her salon. Off the air, we made arrangements tohave her appear on the show that Friday. That could be a good bit to end our first weekas Tri-Cities newest morning stars. We played the call on the air, during our next stopset. Now we had something to promote and tease the audience with all week. We’deven put the phone conversation on our sixty second show promo that aired throughoutthe day, so people would hopefully tune in on Friday to join in the hilarity.Ten o’clock came quickly, and we were mentally spent in those four hours ofbroadcasting. Jim said, “Man, it’s like sex. There’s a big build up, and now it’s over thatfast. I actually feel like smoking a cigarette, having a sandwich and taking a nap.”When we reached Ron’s office, he was grinning like a baboon that had just driven aguy’s car out of the zoo parking lot and ended up at a cheap brothel. He was actuallyslapping his knee, “Man, I knew I made the right decision! That was some funny stuff!You guys are wild men!”I thought, “Holy shit, how many times before I get sick of hearing about being a ‘wildman’ from Ron.” Out loud I said, “Thanks Ron. Any comments?”Ron looked like he was straining to think, “Naw, you guys just keep up that kind of highquality wildness, and we’ll be fine! What are you going to do now?” It seemed like anodd question coming from our boss.I wanted to say that we thought he might be going tell us, “Oh, I don’t know. What doyou want us to do?”“Oh man, just get ready for another day tomorrow, wild man!” He grinned, “Listen, I gotto get into the studio. Wookie’s running my board, and he’s got to do all the music logsfor this week.”If Wookie weren’t such a despicably untalented and condescending hick, we would havealmost felt sorry for him. We had actually heard Ron say one day, “Hey Wookie. I gottago take a shit. Run my board for me, just don’t say anything on the air.”The mere fact that you somehow attain the nickname Wookie doesn’t speak highly foryour level of respect at your workplace. That your boss would include a description ofhis intestinal function, as he commands you to perform a menial task that is implicitly hisown responsibility, would outrage even the most downtrodden ego.48

However, instead of being a downtrodden sot, he had an attitude like he was a bigmarket programming consultant. He read the industry journal Radio and Records,religiously from cover to cover every week and liked to drop names of people like heknew them. He also had the aura of a dangerously oppressed and cunning sociopathicstooge, waiting in the corridors of his own quiet humiliation, while preparing to assert hisdominance as soon as fate allowed him the opportunity.His esteem could not have benefited from us inviting him in the studio during Jim’spedicure. When he entered the room, Jim had his feet in a plastic foot soaking tub, rightthen I turned on the microphone and said, “Hey, here’s someone that could use awaxing!” What do you think Wookie? It’s on the house. Your wife will love it.”Yes, someone determined that they should marry this creature. She was actually veryWookie-like herself, but a very nice person. Regardless of attributes, Jim once said, “Idon’t care how nice she is. He could be banging Mother Theresa, for all I care. I can’teven imagine watching an amateur porn film of these two in the throes of their animalhusbandry…..goddamn disturbing to think about.” It told him that the fact that hereferred to Mother Theresa in that situation was, on its own, disturbing.What we did to him that day was in all actuality a very mean gesture, but we couldn’tstand the guy. He protested, but we were emphatic about the idea. The phone rang,during our commercials. It was Ron, “Rick, let me talk to Wookie.”For two minutes we could hear Ron’s voice chattering through the receiver; it soundedlike a phone call on the Flintstones. I actually visualized Wilma getting a call from thepolice, to bail Fred out for shoplifting a Brontosaurus roast or driving their floorless carafter drinking too much grog. Wookie huffed and puffed partial sentences of protest,then put down the phone. “Ron said I got to do it. Just don’t make fun of me in front ofthe listeners. I have a lot of fans myself, out there.”Jim smiled like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, “No problem Wook. We wouldn’t do that.”Wookie took off his shirt and the nice pedicurist and her pretty assistant both gasped inhorror. The young assistant actually put her hand over her mouth to punctuate herrevulsion. At that moment, it was time to turn the mike back on.I described the scenario in front of us and proceeded to describe the progression of hairremoval upon what looked like some sort of mythical creature. We made comments like“You could make a toupee out of the throwaways.”Wookie’s eyes darted around the studio in obvious disgust, mortification and sheerhatred for us. We put a microphone right next to his body as the wax made itshorrendous tissue-tearing noise, whenever the grimacing young esthetician ripped off astrip of wax. Wookie howled in agony and we would howl with laughter. To his credit, Ithink he put on a bit of the pain, to enhance the comedic impact of the event; however,there had to be some genuine skin-stinging discomfort. He was a walking fur coat withnipples.49

When she finally completed his entire upper body waxing, it was 9:50am, ten minutes tillthe show was over. I said, “Now for the bikini wax. I’m thinking a Brazilian.”Wookie eyes bulged with panic, as the young esthetician looked at her boss andfrantically shook her head “no”.***The first week seemed to go well. The dart-throwing beer-drinking crowd gave us theirseals of approval during happy hour victory celebrations, conducted at local pubs. TheJimbo Pedicure Experiment, as we had framed it, was the talk of many patrons at locallyfavored watering holes. Plus, I ended up dating the pretty young pedicure and hairremoval assistant for a few weeks.We’d actually convene at one or the other’s apartment, smoke a bonghit, sip on a beer,and watch Leave it to Beaver or The Andy Griffith show reruns. Within two hours, we’dhave our entire show prepped. We actually even created a takeoff on The Andy GriffithShow called The Arnie Griffovich Show. Sheriff Arnie and deputy Bernie were beset withproblems like a Wendy O. Williams and the Plasmatics concert in Mount Pilot. Wendywas famous for appearing on stage wearing only electrical tape on her nipples, blowingup cars and destroying televisions with chainsaws.People seemed to love the concept. Callers would say things like, “I nearly drove off theroad laughing at that.” We never did a takeoff on Leave it to Beaver, frankly because wecouldn’t think of a comedic show title that sounded any dirtier than the original. Wethought about doing a takeoff on David Letterman and Paul Schaffer, but determinedthat it would a blasphemy to lampoon “Him”.We seemed to gain momentum rather quickly, and the sales staff liked selling us toclients. We made significant supplements to our now $250 a week salaries, doingremote broadcasts at auto dealerships, stereo stores and an occasional night club bikinicontest. It’s funny to think about it now in the twenty-first century, but we often didremotes on a wireless phone that seemed to be about the size of a shoebox.Nonetheless, people were always fascinated by this cutting edge technology. Wereceived almost a tinge of awe when we used the device.The first week ambled into one month, then several. After two years, we were reallysomething of an institution in this medium market heartland. However, the ratings werenot terribly affected. Our morning drive numbers were up from our predecessor, butoverall, the station seemed to be in a stalemate with ratings. We were slightly moresuccessful, but there was not a significant jump or even a continual upward trend.We determined that we already had all the rock ‘n roll listeners, since we were the onlyrock station in the market. There were also pockets of communities that didn’t receiveour signal that well, since the Tri-Cities region is so geographically vast andmountainous.The number one station in the market was perennially a country music FM. Second tothat was an odd contemporary hit station that would play “Careless Whisper” by Wham!followed by “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. It was an appallingly andunappealingly disjointed format; however, they had a 100,000 watt signal that went intothree or four states. Their success was a byproduct of their availability.50

We couldn’t figure out what we had to do to break that ceiling into a higher echelon ofratings and sales figures. The sales staff was definitely getting impatient. Most of theirsales were based on relationships, good ole boys talkin’, sellin’, and buyin’ ads on theradio. Local businessmen knew that the station drew a big listenership within thecommunity, but the bigger companies used ad agencies. Those were driven by mediaplanners and buyers, who looked only at statistics. You had to have the ratings to getthe bigger dollars.That became Wookie’s bargaining chip. He convinced Ron that the ratings wouldimprove if he had more control over the music. He said that he and Ron “were gettingburned” because the announcers had too much freedom in selecting the music. We all“played our favorites” whenever we could, which was true. However, we actually metand talked to people on the street, at events and on the phone. The reason particularsongs were our favorites was because that’s what the people who listened told us theyenjoyed. The station was too small to invest in giant market research projects and focusgroups.Wookie took the top five-hundred songs from whatever trade journal he had comeacross and put those songs into an extremely tight rotation. Then, he added morecontemporary hit artists like Flock of Seagulls and Prince, because that’s what DerekKent at Rock 101 in Knoxville was doing.We instantly hated the format, mainly because we saw nothing but disaster ahead. We’dend up playing “Hotel California” by the Eagles about three times in one week. We gotcomplaints on the phone, and our own personal blue collar, pub crawling focus group offans made comments about how much the format now sucked. The consensus amongthe air staff was that this was a very bad move.Four weeks later, Win announced that he was retiring as General Manager. He wasgoing to live off the investments he had made as a result of nearly forty years of radiosales, buy a place in Florida, go fishing and relax while he dies from the two packs ofcigarettes and twelve shots of whiskey he consumed on a daily basis.Win was a racist, sexist pig, simpleton and smarmy snake oil salesman, but he liked Jimand me. He would often stop us in the hallway to come in and impress somebody hewas wheeling and dealing. He seemed to feel that we would somehow do somethingspontaneously entertaining and funny, based the mere fact that we existed.Those were awkward moments, when he would call us into his office and introduce us tosome hayseed mobile home dealer. The two of them would stare at us for a fewseconds, like they were waiting for a monologue. It was like they expected Paul Schafferand his band to be in the hallway, providing rimshots for our punchlines.We were still too naïve to realize the extent of the ramifications that would reverberateacross our careers, as a result of Win’s departure. However, we knew his retirementwas not a happenstance in our favor, particularly paired with the fact that the music wasnow absolutely dismal, thanks to the cunningly incompetent Wookie.51

We would go home terribly depressed and disgruntled. It began to show in our work.The whole concept of our show was based on our personalities, which reflected that wewere just having a great time and amusing ourselves. Listeners who approached usobviously felt like they were part of our circle of friends. It was like they could sense thatthe two of us hung around doing bong hits and watching old comedies; they wanted totap into that life with us. It was a personal relationship, in which we were the listeners’buddies, and we happened to be the funniest guys at the party.Two weeks later, it was announced that a new General Manager had been hired. Hewould be arriving in a few days. Though we never talked about it, I knew that we bothhad apprehension about the changes going on around us, particularly a new boss.The first time we laid eyes on Don Wycock, it was late on a Sunday afternoon. Wewanted to get some show prep done, so we were in the production studio. Our aim wasusually to get everything done in time to be home for Sixty Minutes. Not only was it agreat show, but it abounded with content that made for great topical comment andcomedy.I had gotten an earring, on the advice of the young girl I was currently dating. It wasremarkable to me, that even in the mid-eighties, our sales manager’s wife asked me atthe company Christmas party what significance it had, and was it the left or right ear thatdesignated that I was gay. I told her I had asked a gay guy I knew, and he told me thatthe only way that you have a clear cut indication, is if you’ve had your butt pierced or not.She never spoke to me again after that.The door opened to the production studio without a knock, and a rather stiff conservativelooking man stuck his head in. He looked to be just over thirty, but he had thepremonitory signs of a bitter elderly man who would someday yell at kids to stay off ofhis lawn.The first thing that drew his gaze was my earring; it became more of a glare than a gaze,after he assimilated the fact that it existed. He introduced himself, and we did the same.I commented on how we were looking forward to working with him. In a haughty toneand with a smarmy smirk on his face, he said, “Yeah, we’ll see.”Great first impression was all we could say to summarize our encounter; all theauspicious possibilities seemed to be there for a positive working relationship. Before Icould say anything, Jim said, “There's something Hitler-esque about that guy.”“Hitler seemed a lot cooler, and he had a better mustache.”***Cataclysm came swiftly and quietly, Don Wycock skillfully took on the role as actingfacilitator of career setbacks and if possible, complete decimation of livelihoods.He began surgically dismantling the infrastructure of our radio station's hierarchy bydriving the acting sales manager into a near nervous breakdown. He placed him in anoffice adjoining his own, and had him jumping for sticks throughout the entire work daylike a Labrador Retriever.52

The guy's name was Felix, and he was a good natured sales guy who had been put intothe position after Win's departure. For a few weeks, everything had been cheerfullyroutine and everyone had been working hard out of the sheer joy and pride in their jobs.I saw Felix just a few weeks after Wycock had arrived. He was at a bar that he hadtaken on as a new client; it was Saturday night. He appeared unusually drunk andseemed inordinately happy to see me.I asked him how he was enjoying his new office arrangements. He said, “It's perfect, if Iwanted to turn into an alcoholic and a drug addict.” Then he grinned and drank a shot ofwhatever brown liquor he just got from the perky little college coed waitress, jerking hishead back hard enough to inflict a spinal injury.A couple of weeks later, he left his short-lived sales manager job. His departure wasperpetrated in the most flamboyant of fashion. While Don Wycock left his desk to get afile, Felix apparently urinated into his coffee cup. Then, when Don sat down to eitherlead or monitor that morning's sales meeting, Felix waited until he finished his cup ofcoffee and announced in front of everyone, “Don, I accidentally pissed in your coffee. “Don apparently gave him a long and quizzical look, like he was examining somethingodd festering in the refrigerator. He gulped and said, “What?”“If you had given me more time, I would have jerked off into it.” He then stood up andbid the other sales people goodbye. They must have felt rather awkward as he huggedeach of them individually, in front of the boss whose mug he had just confessed tourinating in. He looked at Wycock, smirked contently and said, “Some people have livedon piss for weeks. Let me know if you want to try that.”He walked casually out to his already packed car, as the other sales people watchedthrough the large office window. A few weeks later, he was working on the sales floor ofone of his large car dealer clients as a salesman. That client refused to advertise withthe radio station from that point thereafter, having heard Felix's inside stories about thenew management.The car dealerwas also a firm believer in the station's rock and roll format. Many of the good ole boysliked rock and roll themselves and so did all their buddies. Therefore, they assumed thateveryone listened to that kind of music and nothing else.Unfortunately, that did not help us in the new ratings results that were released just daysafter Wycock arrived. The station was down overall, and that included the morningshow.Therein lies another component of my career disassembly. Wookie started nuzzling upto Wycock like a new Christmas kitten. Though Wycock had an obvious disrespect forthis two-legged upright walking man-vermin, he also saw that Wookie would perform anuncompromising volume of drudge work for a chance to be in a self-perceivedmanagement position.The music changed seemingly instantly. There was Wookie who had no knowledge orappreciation of music; he reacted strictly to numbers and what the other stations that heheld in adulation were doing. Then we had Wycock as general manager, who evidently53

lacked any trace of good taste or human relationship skills. Together, they created thisatrocious hybrid of stale old Top 40 songs and Adult Contemporary selections that allbecame mixed with Wookie's rock songs, only they weren't good rock songs.Essentially, we were in the midst of a consortium between the two least visionary andgifted individuals in the building. They had put themselves in charge of entertainmentcontent, though there was nothing even remotely entertaining or interesting about eitherone of them. These two could barely muster up a personality between them, and nowthey were making all the decisions on the radio station's music and image.Ron was terrified. He walked around the office like a frightened little titmouse,completely submissive in accommodating Don's every whim. He was actually workingfull days now, five days a week, and started to convey an attitude of a hardass manager.That became a bit of a joke to the air staff, because we all knew he had gained hisposition on the basis of his lazy unambitious company seniority.Then the boom finally fell, as the hens came to roost, and twilight descended upon whatwas probably the most fun Jim or I would ever have in a work situation. After our showone Friday, Ron asked us into his office, which was odd. Not only did he not bother tohave meetings with us, he was supposed to be on the air at 10:00am. He had recordedbreaks and Wookie was running his board for him, with instructions not to talk for anyreason.We entered his office and sat down. He looked grave and tried to present an air ofauthority, within his own limitations. I couldn't help recalling the wide-smiling primatelabeled with the same moniker as a gigantically-endowed porn star. It had been yearsago, but my mind flashed to my first meeting in his office. It felt fondly nostalgic now. Hehad transformed into a hard-nosed, important decision-making, seasoned programdirector in just a few weeks. When I first met him, he was more concerned aboutrunning out of hair gel than he was about the radio station’s transmitter blowing up.He cleared his throat and spoke, while looking down at his own cupped hands atop thedesk. “There are some changes we've decided to make, especially after the last ratingsbook.”“You mean the book that Wookie built, with his innovative approach to the musicrotation?” Jim was taking what we would later refer to as the Brett Favre approach.That was, “We're losing this one anyway. Let's sling one sixty-seven yards into the endzone and see if I can hit the fruit fly off a pinhead to win this game.” Even if you gotpicked off, at least you went down in prolific style, and you gave the fans someexcitement. In this case the fans were the other people in the office, who wereundoubtedly outside the door listening as intently as possible.“The fact is the ratings are down, and the station's moving in a different direction, sowe're going to change the sound of the music and the personalities. We're incorporatinga different morning show team, to see what happens.”That seemed like a pretty feeble way of terminating your two established heritagefunnymen, who took your brand from virtual unknown to prominent recognition levels.Jim and I had actually walked around parking lots at concerts talking people into letting54

us put bumper stickers on their car. We had lived for this establishment and sacrificedmost semblances of personal lives to commit our energies to its success.I said, “Who did you get to replace us?”He nervously cleared his throat again, “Don wants me to take over for now.”Jim looked just as amused as I felt, “You're doing mornings? Who's going to do news?”He was looking down at his desk top again, “We're going to have Wookie do news fornow.”There was a sob of laughter that burst out of Jim's throat. It actually left him breathlessfor a second and almost unable to speak, “WOOKIE?”Neither of us could hold back. We laughed uncontrollably in Ron's face; this would beremembered as a less than intelligent political move. I'm sure we seemed to be mockinghim. In a way we were, I guess, but in a very sincere and unintentional manner. Thatprobably didn't sway Ron from feeling offended and harboring some form of deepdisdain for us.“I'm offering your old positions back. Jim will do evenings, and Rick, you'll do overnights.Either that, or you can tender your resignations.”I spoke first, “You got to be kidding.”“Look, Don just wanted to get rid of you, but I convinced him that we didn't have anyoneany better at your old shifts. Plus, your audiences know you already.”Jim spat, “That's fucking really big of you Ron. You could also say 'Plus, you're the onlyones that do dick-all around here.’ Rick led a fucking kazoo band of kids paradingaround a goddamn McDonald's Playland, last weekend, as a favor for one of the salesreps. He didn't even get paid for that shit, but we figured it would endear us to theparents out there. That way, maybe they wouldn’t think that our air staff is a bunchdegenerates, because we’re raunchy rock and roll disc jockeys.”He's right, I did. I don't put that particular achievement on my resume, but as Brett Favremight have said, “You take one for the team. You dust yourself off, and you go back tothe huddle.”“If you don't want to take the positions, let me know now. I've got to get those shiftsfilled. Look, I even got Don to agree to keeping your salaries at the same level.” Wewere now making two-hundred fifty dollars per week, so we weren't slathered in luxury.A salary cut now would make our existences almost unlivable.I said, “I guess for now, we've got no choice. You know we'll be looking though.”“Do whatever you want. The new shifts start on Monday. For you Rick, it'll betechnically Sunday night at midnight.”55

“Maybe between now and then, you'll develop a set of balls, Ron.” Jim got up to leave.“What'd you just say to me?” Ron had a hardass “them's fightin' words” look on his face.“Fuck off, Ron.” Jim walked out the door.“This guy's a fucking douche bag, Ron. Wycock will be the death of this radio station.”I followed Jim into the hall. Ron didn't say anything; he just watched us leave. Healmost looked reflective for a moment, as reflective as Ron was capable of looking.Needless to say, the overnight and evening ensemble had lost much of its carefreeallure. For one thing, the music was so absolutely atrocious, it was embarrassing to useour names on the air.The cadaver that performed our afternoon shift had driven the station van in some civicholiday parade. He said the younger guys were giving him the finger, as he drove by,like it was his fault. They were just expressing their discontent toward the radio stationand the people they held accountable for ruining it. The format and image of “The Rock”actually meant something to a lot of people, and they felt as if they had been betrayed.I now detested living in the twilight world, particularly because the same disparate soulson the phone that had coveted my conversation years ago were still there. Nowhowever, I found their simple meandering inarticulate thoughts to be intolerable. Iabhorred my existence so much that I rarely talked on the air. When I did, it was astraight reading of some card that Wookie had written to promote a mortifying newfeature or contest that Don had come up with.Gone now was “Guess the Geek” and “Smell Rick’s Finger”. Instead, Wookie and Ronwere presenting “Beach Boy Trivia”. Seriously, that was their big 7:20am initiative; thewinner won a Mountain Dew beach blanket, beach ball and six pack cooler. The localbingo hall crowd loved it. You'd hear these middle aged women, with gravelly heavysmokervoices and still drunk from the night before, getting all excited about winning afucking cheap beach towel. That's at least how Jim assessed it. I refused to listen.Jim wasn't feeling much more enthusiastic about our new life plan than I did, and afterabout eight weeks, he was offered a news job in Knoxville. Known for the University ofTennessee's Volunteers and a football stadium that housed over one hundred thousandspectators for every home game, it was a place that Jim would find heavenly. Hedecided he had to take it. The station was going to pay him twice the salary he currentlymade, and they offered a form of compensation that we were relatively unfamiliar with:health benefits.We had sent aircheck tapes out as a morning team, but now another ratings period wasabout to start. Everyone would want their teams in place before the ratings began. Itwas as if Jim received a pardon, just as his sentence was beginning. I still faced thewrath of our fate, and I became absolutely morose over it.After Jim left, I stayed on for another few weeks. Wycock had determined that I wasn'tqualified to host an evening show in such a sophisticated market. So he brought some56

uddy from his former station to do evenings. My guess was that everyone would bereplaced by one of his former colleagues, by the time his vision of success wascomplete. It was obvious that he was earnest on creating his own radio station, in hisown image, where he would be a god. Then, he wouldn't feel as uncomfortable aboutbeing a talentless and unimaginative outcast.I thought about pulling a Felix, but you didn't want to establish a reputation for emptyingbodily fluids into your boss's drink container. Not only that, I wasn't from the area; Felixhad grown up in the Tri-Cities. He probably went to high school with half the cops in thearea. I might actually get arrested for such a crude invasion of one's property and wellbeing.I left the job quietly except for a final set I played on my last morning at the station. Itbegan with “I'm a Loser” by the Beatles, and it included a full hour of similarly themedclassic rock songs that we were no longer supposed to play. I dedicated it to “our finegeneral manager Donald Wycock, who is incidentally appropriately named. Theemphasis should be placed on the ‘cock’ part.”I walked out in front of Ron and Wookie's aghast slack-jawed mouth-breathing stares,not bothering to say goodbye. I had lined up some interviews in Florida, and I wasmaking the move south. My mother was sorry to see me go, but she understood howunhappy and violated I felt. She hated the radio station now.The cousins who once pandered to my presence, were now young mothers, universitystudents and mall employees. They seemed almost embarrassed now to know me. Anymember of the Tri-Cities’ hip and discriminating crowd was listening to a universitystation in Johnson City or the classic rock station in Knoxville.I drove out of the city and onto I-75 South feeling a little emotionally bruised andsaddened. Stopping in Knoxville to say goodbye to Jim, I felt a remorse bubbling upfrom my chest as I drove away from the bar where we had our final lunch and salutation.I was headed off into the unknown and might probably never see my close personalfriend, confidante and work partner again. God, that was fun while it lasted.57

9 - Post Mortem Profiteers“Do you know what three things all of Chris Brown’s ex-girlfriends have in common?”Jim asked the question immediately following an entertainment news story summarizinghow Brown had beaten up his girlfriend, Rhianna, right before the Grammy Awards.“What?” I played the stooge.He then smacked his hands together on each word of the punchline, “THEY JUSTDON’T LISTEN!” It was an old joke, but relevant, since Brown had just released a video“apology” on his website that was now being carried by every news agency on theplanet.Then he proceeded with one of the rants that we and everyone that ever listened to ourshow was familiar with, “This guy had everything: an undeserved multi-platinum career,a seven figure bank account, a girlfriend so hot that she probably holds the GuinnessBook of World Records’ top spot for ‘Spank Bank Appearances’, and what does he do?He starts punching the aforementioned gorgeous famous pop music phenom in the backof a limousine, just before they’re both scheduled to be on the Grammy Awards. Like itwas impossible for the dumb idiot to just get out of the limo and take a cab home? Didhe not think that there would be repercussions from this behavior? No one’s going tonotice that Rhianna looks like Rocky on an internationally televised awards show? ChrisBrown is an utterly ignorant and useless waste of human flesh.”“Whew, I think I can speak for both Cam and I, when I say that we’re glad we’re notChris Brown right now.” Cam and I were both laughing. Jim could really get on asoapbox, if he felt strongly about something. We could have furthered the discussion,but our audience wasn’t interested in Chris Brown, except for the detestable controversythat was suddenly and fleetingly surrounding him.I continued, “In two years, no one will even remember that Chris Brown ever existed,except as a footnote on Rhianna’s Wikpedia page. Meanwhile, Rhianna’s career hasjust propelled into hyperspace where only Beyonce and Sean Combs dare to tread,because she has everyone’s sympathy, both male and female. Plus, she’s had the classnot to even so much as comment on the whole thing. She’s receiving empathy fromwomen and admiration from men because…..”“She’s incredibly hot,” Cam contributed to the discussion.“She is, and thank you for mentioning that. Not the hot statement Cam, but Jim’scomment about useless waste of human flesh. It brought to mind something else Iwanted to mention. It turns out that the scavenging continues by anyone who has everclaimed to have known Michael Jackson.”“I saw it on TV last night. I know what you’re going to say,” Jim interjected.“La Toya isn’t the only sleazy bottom feeder to crawl out of the Jackson family tree.Twenty-five days after his son’s passing, Joe Jackson showed up last night on LarryKing Live.”58

“He seemed like a pretty together guy. Well prepared for the interview,” Jim was beingfacetious.Cam said, “Yeah. He prepared at his pharmacist’s and at the liquor store.”“Joe had to have been drunk or on something,” Jim added.“I know. He was slurring his speech, and I don’t think ever finish one coherentsentence,” I said.“He must have found Michael’s stash,” Jim summarized what was on everyone’s mind,“Larry was just looking at him like ‘Oh my God, the guy’s drunk and nothing he saysmakes sense’. It was such great television that he let it go on. His producers must havebeen giving each other high fives in the master control booth.”Cam pointed out, “What’s funny is all of the news agencies are quoting him online thismorning like he’s some sort of authority on what happened. He probably hadn’t eventalked to Michael in years.”“Plus, you know he got paid for that interview,” I added, “Good Morning Americareportedly paid him two hundred thousand dollars to appear on their show. Someoneestimated that Joe’s made about half a mil so far being interviewed about his son’sdeath.”“He should hire AEG to represent him,” Jim laughed.Larry King’s producers must have thought that they needed a second guest, since Joewas barely coherent on live TV. They enlisted contributing interviewee Leonard Rowe, apromoter who had a long history of work with “The Gloved One”. Rowe wasembarrassing to watch as he repeatedly harped on about “foul play” involved in theentertainer’s death. He was adamant in his claim that entertainment promoter AEG wasthe unscrupulous empire that held Michael Jackson under strict financial and mentalcontrol.“Oh yeah, AEG, the evil manipulators,” I segued to con man number two, “And howabout that Leonard Rowe? He kept babbling on about how AEG had Michael in theircontrol and wouldn’t let the people who cared about him, like him for example, get nearMichael. He acted like he thinks they were involved in the so-called murder.”“Yeah, Larry King had a copy of a letter that Michael apparently sent him, telling him thathe no longer required his services, and Leonard Rowe is saying ‘I never received thatletter’. Like Michael Jackson just sent this important business document by regular mail,and it got lost.”Cam was laughing, “Oh, here it is. It must have gotten stuck in with all the flyers. If Ihadn’t been cutting coupons, I never would have found it.”“Never mind then. No worries. I’ll just find another cash cow client like MichaelJackson,” Jim said, “How could anyone trust this guy with their career to begin with? Iwouldn’t trust this guy to iron my socks.”59

“You iron your socks?” Cam asked.“I usually have my man servant do it.”“You have a man servant? That’s creepy,” I continued, “He kept talking about foul play,and Larry just kept coming after him on all the unfounded allegations. I imitated LarryKing’s voice, “Are you saying AEG killed Michael Jackson? He was scheduled to performfifty sold out shows for them. The guy kept coming back with the same words, ‘It wasfoul play’. He was so blatantly dishonest and dumb that he barely made sense, just ameal ticket whore.”Jim said, “Yeah. He’s upset because his free ride just drove off the cliff.”Cam was on the internet, “Did you know that Leonard Rowe’s PR agency is promotinghim for appearances and lectures? Who would go see this guy speak? It says here thathe knows much of the unknown about Michael Jackson’s death.”“Unbelievable! These guys just have no shame,” I cued Cam to play the phone ringingsound effect, “93 Rock...”“Hello,” Jim had practiced the night before to perfect his Joe Jackson impersonation.He, Cam and I were on the phone after the Larry King interview to plan the bestapproach to lampooning this awesome spectacle. Something like this would probablyonly transpire one unforgettable time in our lifetimes. “This is Joe Jackson.”“Joe,” I answered, “I saw your interview last night. You really seem to have a clearunderstanding of the big picture here.”“Yeah, well you know, I love Michael and I love his kids, even though I’ve never metthem. You know, I live in Las Vegas and they live in Los Angeles.”“You said that last night Joe. That doesn’t seem like very far to travel to see yourgrandkids.”“Well, you know, I been busy with my business here.”“What kind of business are you involved in Joe?”“I’m an entrepreneur.”“I get ya. So Joe, you say that you were too far away to visit the grandkids, but you alsostated last night that you and your wife aren’t separated.”“That’s right. We’re still together. We’re very happy and in love.”“Well since she lives in LA, couldn’t you have popped in on the grandkids when youwere making a conjugal visit back home.”“I love my wife.”60

“That’s great, Joe.”“My wife and I are not separated.”“Yeah, but you live in Las Vegas and she…..”“I cherish my grandchildren.”“Alright.”“And I cared very much for my son Michael. And I never beat him. I never beat Michael.I cared for him, and tried to keep the other people that were trying to influence him awayfrom him. They was just tryin’ to take his money. There was foul play. I’m going toprove there was foul play. And I never beat him.”“Okay.”Now Cam spoke as Leonard Rowe, “You right about that Joe. It was foul play, sure asmy name is Leonard Rowe, legendary concert promoter and close personal friend,beloved confidante and trusted business partner of Michael Jackson.”“Leonard, this is a real treat. I feel like Larry King himself this morning.”“Let me tell you, Larry King could’ve had something to do with Michael’s death. Youunderstand?” Leonard Rowe asked the question ‘You understand?’ after almost everystatement he made during the Larry King interview.“So are you saying that Larry King was involved in a conspiracy to murder MichaelJackson?”“All I’m saying is there’s foul play. Lots of people surrounding Michael keepingeverybody else out. Keeping the people that cared about him out. And, Larry King sureis happy to have Joe Jackson and the legendary Leonard Rowe on his show. But I don’tsee him interviewing none of the killers or the people that were surrounding Michael andkeeping the people out that cared about him. You understand?”“I never beat him,” Jim interjected as Joe Jackson, “I cared about Michael. I miss him. Inever beat him.”“Okay Joe.”Cam interrupted. We were trying to capture the awkwardness of the real interview, asLarry King would try to speak and one of the two of them would cut him off with someinane diatribe. “AEG’s a big entertainment agency. Larry King’s a big TV star. Youunderstand what I’m saying.”“Well no. Not exactly Leonard.”61

“Let me explain it to you. Michael Jackson’s one of my closest friends. He called meand said ‘Leonard, I want you to take care of my money.’ You understand? I’m here toannounce my plans for a big reunion tour with all Michael’s family and best friends. Justthink, Jermaine and Janet on stage together with Paul McCartney, Stevie Wonder, LionelRichie, and it’s all hosted by Hollywood superstar Corey Feldman!”“You got Paul McCartney, Stevie Wonder and Lionel Richie?”“Well, they’re not confirmed yet. We’re waiting to hear back from their people. But wealready got Corey Feldman.”“So this is just a plan. This is not actually established yet. Shows aren’t scheduled yet.”Joe started to interrupt, but our Leonard Rowe continued, “Let me handle this Joe.” Hestarted talking slowly like he was preaching some sort of tutorial sermon, “I’m alegendary concert promoter, and Joe has asked me to handle the money on this tour.”“I didn’t ask you for nothin’,” Joe snapped, “I always been in charge of the money on myboys’ tours. And I never beat none of ‘em.”“It sounds like you guys don’t have everything quite firmed up yet.”Cam as Leonard answered, “Everything fine on that tour, you understand? We’re justtryin’ to figure out how to fit all the acts onto one stage, you know. I suggest you orderyour tickets now. Remember what happened on that fifty date tour of Michaels, the onethat AEG stole from me? Those tickets was all sold out in no time. So order yours now,on my website. And remember that one dollar from each ticket goes to the ‘Find theFoul Players Foundation’. That’s right. When you buy a ticket, one dollar goes to helpus find Michael’s murderers. Professional certified private investigators are on the casenow, but they’re not cheap. So we lettin’ Michael’s fans help us to find these callous andreprehensible killers. You understand?”“Wow. Well this is really big news, Leonard.”Joe countered, “Don’t be confused by imitators. The real authentic Jackson FamilyReunion Tribute Concert features Tito, Marlin, La Toya, Rebbie and Randy, hosted byMccauley Culkin, and featurin’ a special appearance by Bubbles the Chimp. Order yourtickets now at Joe Jackson’s Jackson Family Reunion Tribute Concert dot com.”“So you don’t have Jermaine and Janet in your show, just the brothers and sisters thatno one cares about?” I asked.He continued, “The first one thousand tickets sold receive a free Michael JacksonTribute Glove, made from actual clothing owned by Michael Jackson that I found up inthe attic at Neverland.”Cam came on again as Leonard, “And don’t forget, if you want to see a real concert withtoday’s biggest superstars and presented by a legendary concert promoter, buy ticketsto my show. Together, we’ll find the people behind all this foul play. You understand?”62

I could see that the top of the hour was seconds away, and we had to play somecommercials before the news. Dave, our program director was receiving pressure fromthe sales department to make sure that we play those commercials on time, just beforethe news at the top of the hour. The sales people sell these positions based on the factthat people would be listening for the news and wouldn’t miss the ads played one minutebefore the big hand hit the twelve. “Guys, we’ve got to go.”“I didn’t beat him. I never beat Michael.” Jim had to give the bit one more exclamationpoint.I put the perfunctory chuckle in my voice, “Alright. News is next and we’re going to betalking to the assistant mayor about the garbage strike.“We couldn’t get the real mayor?” Jim asked, now back on the microphone as himself.“He’s busy waiting in line to dump his garbage at one of the temporary stations. We’ll beback with news, next.***We dashed into Dave’s office, immediately after the show. I had to go for a prostateexam, and Jim had some voiceover work to do for our agency. His production studiotime was booked for eleven.“Dave was smiling when we walked in, looking at some tacky internet joke that someonehad sent him. He turned the monitor around to show us a video of some German guywith a cameraman running up to women and yanking their tube tops off.”“I’ve seen that one,” Jim said, “You ever seen the one with the naked skydiving chicks?”“Yeah, I saw that one,” Dave would always jump abruptly into meeting discussions, whilewe were still chatting about frivolous topics. “Good show today,” he had a dangling‘however’ in his inflection, “Not one of your best, but still better than anything else I hearout there on this talent-packed Toronto radio landscape.”We sat silently. My mind was preoccupied with the impending indignity of having athorough exploration of my nether regions by a cold rubber-covered male hand, onlyabout one hour away.He continued, “One thing I might urge you caution about is the Chris Brown attack, justbefore the Joe Jackson and Leonard Rowe bit.”The Joe Jackson / Leonard Rowe interview had just happened the night before, so itwas current and topical. The only reason that we talked about pop singer Chris Brownpleading guilty to assaulting his girlfriend Rhianna was that the sentencing was thatmorning. Since she was one of the hottest singers of the moment on the contemporaryhit music charts, the court proceeding was big news.Concurrently, he had also released a very lame apology video on his website; the timingwas impeccable as it showed up on the site as he was about to be sentenced. Hislawyer had devised a plea bargain designed to keep him out of prison, and he released63

the video in what we hoped was a futile attempt to salvage his public image. The guymade all three of us very angry and ashamed to be male.Jim was the first to counter Dave’s statement, “The guy’s a pig. You keep telling us thatwe have to try not to chase away all the female listeners. Well women despise this guy,even the twelve year olds that buy his music. ‘This is not the way my mother andspiritual advisors raised me.’ Who the fuck are his spiritual advisors, Bernie Madoff andConrad Black? It was such a shallow, insincere, posed, contrived load of crap. ‘I’msorry. I apologize.’ Yeah, tough shit you dick! You beat up a woman, a petite, beautifulwoman that trusted you, and you think you can get away with it and just bounce backinto the public consciousness as a good guy, because you apologized on your website?”“Though, we would have been just as upset if she weren’t beautiful. I mean if she werefat and ugly we’d be just as pissed,” I interjected.Everyone laughed at that, knowing it probably wasn’t true. Cam said, “I wish she werefat and ugly. I’d get a lot more rest. If I had a nickel for every spank bank withdrawal Imade over her.”“Starting to develop carpal tunnel syndrome are you?” Jim asked.“Just a forearm strain, and my hand gets a little sore.”“Alright,” Dave broke up the merriment, “My only point is that you guys have gotten a lotof use out of Michael Jackson’s death, and many people are on side. Out of the elevenhundred and ninety-three emails I’ve received, about half are saying that you guys arearticulating exactly what they’re thinking.”“What about the other half?” I asked.“They think you’re juvenile, insensitive, depraved, and you should be fired.”“Maybe that should be our next billboard campaign, ‘Juvenile. Insensitive. Depraved’,”Jim countered.“How about just ‘They should be fired’,” Cam offered.Jim laughed, “Actually that’s not bad. That might work.”“The point is,” Dave was desperately trying to complete his thoughts before the meetingturned into an overall delinquent digression, “When you attack black celebritiesrepeatedly, some people interpret that the wrong way. We don’t want to have to haveyou riding on a float during the Caribana parade as a gesture of apology, just becausesome offhanded remark you made or some bit you did is construed as racist.”“Cam was hoping for a float in the Gay Pride Parade,” I jumped in the middle of Dave’scomments again.“I told you, I’m never doing that again, especially not with Jim.”64

That set Jim off again, “The guy beat up his girlfriend in public! He could be Icelandic forall I care! Why is it that people have such chips on their shoulders? We don’t care whathis race is! He’s a bully, an assfuck, a spineless fuckwad that beats up women.”Cam was looking at his laptop, “Well, he might potentially have been an assfuck, but hegot out of going to jail. They gave him probation and community service. His ass isapparently safe for now.”Dave looked anxious to end the conversation, “Just take my advice and lay off theJackson thing. I realize that last night’s interview on Larry King was a spectacle like Inever thought I’d be able to witness in my lifetime.”“It was better than that time that Mike Tyson and Bobby Brown sang “Monster Mash” incostume on the Jimmy Kimmel Show on Halloween,” I said.“Hey, they’re both black. What are you, some kind of racist?” Jim laughed.Dave looked resigned, “Just be careful and think before you speak….or impersonate.That’s all I’m saying. There are lots of uptight people looking for a cause or someone tobring down in flames. I hear from at least one of them everyday.”We left the office in dour moods. There was nothing worse than having people analyzeand criticize your creative work on the air. It wasn’t easy attempting to come up withsomething fresh, edgy and hopefully entertaining on a daily basis. The perennial chipthat modern society seemed to carry on its collective shoulder became such anantagonizing burden sometimes.Jim left to make some fast money in the voiceover booth, and I was faced with a pendinginvasive violation performed by my doctor’s index finger. Little did I know that I wasalready being thoroughly examined this morning, long before I got to the doctor’s office.65

10 – Welcome to the Penis of AmericaI rolled across the Florida border, accepted some free fresh-squeezed orange juice fromthe Florida Tourism Visitors' Center, and quietly sat at a picnic table in the rest areacompound. There were happy families playing with their dogs and elderly coupleswalking hand in hand, sipping orange juice and no doubt looking for spots in the woodsto have some hot geriatric sex. I just imagined that part, but I did get a brief laugh out ofmyself.That could have been partly due to the fact that I smoked about one joint per hour as Idrove across the state of Georgia. There are great radio stations in Georgia, butapparently none of them reached I-75. On top of that, it was Sunday morning, and I wasdriving through rural Georgia. I occasionally had to laugh at “Pa Perkins”, or whoeverhappened to be on the Sunday morning AM radio hoedown show. It was illuminating, Iguess, to see what was passing as good broadcasting in some pockets of America'srural statehoods.The Tri-Cities seemed so sophisticated compared to some of the stations I heard. Ibegan to think about the fact that I had an envelope of money that included all mysavings, my last paycheck, and some money my mother had insisted on giving me. Iwas on the road with everything that I cared to keep in the back of my van, and a box fullof audition tapes and resumes. I had brought a couple of Yankee Dick and Jimboaudition tapes with me, but I knew working together again would never happen. Jim wasalready entrenched in a good job situation. I would just have to market myself on myown, if I was going to be the next fireball talent to hit America's southeastern peninsula.That didn't happen.My first stop was Tallahassee. This was not only the state capital but home of FloridaState University, another major NCAA football power based in the Sunshine State. Ipictured Tallahassee as a very cosmopolitan fast-paced epicenter of think tanks, and itmay be. However, the station where I applied for a morning job wasn't located anywherein that vicinity. The building was on a dirt road, amongst the abundant perennialevergreens surrounding an auto salvage yard.The program director explained that they hadn't made a decision yet, but it was down tome and one other guy. I took that as a “you're potentially hired”, but I wasn't confidentenough to start looking for apartments. Plus, the program director made a point ofsaying, during our discussion that “Tallahassee isn't Florida, man. This is SouthernGeorgia. Florida is Daytona”....and points further south, I'm sure. Either way, he didn’tsound like a man who was infatuated with his surroundings.I stayed at a nearby roadside franchise motel, and there was a franchise truck stop nextdoor. That was the lasting impression that I got from Tallahassee, a sprawling truck stopof a city.Before the age of Google Maps and GPS systems, you had to actually pull a roadmapout of your glovebox and unfold it. That’s how I found the highway to my next stop, atown called Bainbridge, Georgia.66

Bainbridge was a pleasant little southern berg, with a well manicured and immaculatedowntown. It turned out that the radio station was located right on the municipality’sprimary artery, and I enjoyed convenient free parking, as I pulled up to the radio stationbuilding. Free parking is a plus, I told myself. Actually, I was not overly enthused aboutliving in a small Georgia town that few people probably visit or have even heard of. Thenearest concert would be down the road in Tallahassee, but from the impression I got ofTallahassee, Lynyrd Skynyrd tribute bands would be the kind of fare you'd likely witness.I entered the office and told the receptionist who I had come to see. When he came outto greet me, I must have looked like I was shaking hands with a ghost. There before mewas a Ron Jeremy clone. He sported the same Kenny Rogers-at-a-disco beard andhaircut, maintaining the same perpetual primate grin, which he flashed at frequent andenduring intervals. He even approached me with the same “how you doin', buddy?” typeof handshake that was typical of Ron.Yet, I could not have imagined how the best was still yet to come. He led me into hisoffice, where I met his music director. I think I actually exuded a small audible gasp, as Ilooked at what could have been Wookie's more sophisticated and better groomed twin.The guy had a big booming voice though, and he did seem to have adequate peopleskills at his disposal. Perhaps it was just shell-shocked imagination that provoked thecomparison.Then, I saw the two of them together at work. The Ron-like program director wasmeeting with me in his office, while the Wookie-double was performing the afternoonradio show. I was in the middle of a sentence, when suddenly the Ron-droid startedgiggling and looking through the glass at the Wookie-spawn. He had said something onthe air that Ron-droid found so disproportionately amusing, that it couldn't wait till afterour meeting.He giggled and made reference to some inside joke that they apparently shared. Iturned around to see the Wookie imposter laughing with such unadulterated robustnessthat I don't think I've ever been that amused by any one single thing in my entire life.Suddenly, the Ron-droid jumped out of his chair and ran to the studio door. He slappedthe bellowing Wookie-beast on the back, and they both giggled and tittered with howlingglee. I felt like I was back at summer camp.However, as I left the meeting and headed to my car, I thought, “Well at least they'reeasy-going guys.” Maybe they'd even let me in on what exactly the joke is that drivesthem to such heights of hilarity; then, I too could enjoy being part of the broadcastepicenter of Bainbridge.I took a drive through town of Bainbridge and looked around. The town folk were veryfriendly and outgoing; I could imagine day to day life with them to be quite comfortable.There simply had to be love-starved females within the city limits, anxious to crack thesecret code that might access the virile loins of that new faceless local celebrity voice.Just as the thought crossed my mind, a potential candidate for that very role walked byon the sidewalk. We exchanged flirty smiles, and she even mouthed a sweet littlesouthern “hi” under her breath.67

It's settled then. I could easily live here, sleep with her, and learn to like Lynyrd Skynyrdtributes. I began to feel the inner joy that only a boost in confidence and optimism canbring. It wasn't the cockiness that I had felt years earlier, when I entered the broadcastjob market as a university graduate slathered in the adulation of ubiquitous coeds.That was enough to make a young man's mindset downright delusional. Chalk it up toyouthful lack of exposure to reality. The college campus is an incubator, a purgatorywhere one stations himself as he slowly emerges from the comfortable parental coddlingand protective environment that rent-free living and homecooked-meals-on-demand canprovide.It turned out that Bainbridge was merely the location where their studio resided. Theirsignal carried down I-75 South until you got halfway through the state. I fantasizedabout getting heard by a major corporate broadcast executive. He's driving the family toOrlando, when suddenly he's confronted by the most magnetically appealing voice,extraordinarily hypnotic cadence, and profoundly charismatic personality he has everheard on the radio. “Kids, vacation's going to have to wait, I simply must find thisincredible talent, before someone else lures him away.”Both stations that I visited gave me clear messages that they intended to hire me.Coincidentally, both promised to evaluate and come to conclusions on Friday. I shouldknow the location of my new home and next employer in four days. I only had one stopleft on my “get a gig tour”, and that was Orlando.Now, perhaps my experience in Orlando was inordinately inhabited by encounters withpeople who interact poorly with others. Nonetheless, I found it to be uniquely unfriendlyand equally unwholesome. That's a real surprise, when you've grown up thinking ofOrlando as the home of big-headed happy cartoon figures, who wave a lot. However, Ifound people who were generally impatient with other drivers, I dealt with customerservice staffs that were uncommonly surly, and I met two different people who asked if Iwanted to score some drugs. That was all within the first few minutes in town.Ah, America. Here I am nestled in the homeland of the world's most beloved fictionalcharacters and theme park rides, while convenient sources of crystal meth were onlymoments away. I pictured crack whores, wearing mouse ear hats and eating funnelcakes, as they unabashedly danced and waved on street corners.I arrived at the Orlando radio station that I had picked out from want ads. It was a verydifferent scenario than I had been used to; the building was an actual office building,located in a bona fide downtown business center. There was a buzz of importance inthe reception area. You got the feeling that you were sitting on the same sofa that bigrock stars may have occupied, at numerous points in its history.The program director seemed annoyed that I actually existed and was wasting his timewith my narcissistic interest in providing myself with food and shelter. It seemed as if heassumed that I wouldn't actually show up like I promised I would, during our phoneconversation. This place was at a completely different level than I had been used to.Orlando was a much bigger radio market, they had an NBA team, and tourists flockedfrom around the globe to spend foolishly and fearlessly on items that they wouldsomeday sell at garage sales. Guys who show up in radio station parking lots with the68

totality of their belongings in their vans probably didn't garner a great deal of respect.By the time I left the building, I was convinced that I would never step foot in thepremises thereafter.That was fine; I didn't care for Orlando as a potential long-term home. I wasn't getting avery comfortable feeling from the city. The traffic was undoubtedly horrendous aroundthe clock, and every section of sidewalk would be populated by tourists year-round.Plus, it wasn't even on the ocean. My attitude was “Why live in Florida if you're not goingto be near a beach?”, so I proceeded to go find one. Daytona was a short drive fromOrlando, so I remounted my trusty steed and headed east to indulge in some fruits of myjourney.Arriving in Daytona, I quickly surmised that it was Bike Week. Motorcyclists fromthroughout North America and beyond were congregated to pay homage to beerconsumption, appreciation of the female anatomy and riding or driving aimlessly up anddown Daytona Beach.I found a cheap motel near the beach and walked down to experience the Daytona partylife. There was the feel of a seamy carnival in the air, with a ferris wheel out on the pier,overlooking the vehicle-choked coastline. Along the boardwalk, there were souvenirshops, concessionaires and a gaggle of tourists. However, these visitors were muchdifferent than the families spotted in Orlando wearing their newly purchased corporatecharacter paraphernalia. These were guys with hair and beards down to their pubes,and girls wearing leather halter tops, revealing skull and crossbone tattoos on theirbreasts.I walked into a place, right on the main pedestrian thoroughfare toward the beach thatpromised “Adult Entertainment”, “Live Dancers” and “Sexy Hot Girls”. “Let's get a tasteof all the sin and debauchery that Daytona has to offer, as soon as you hit town,” Ithought. I paid a five dollar cover charge to enter, sat down and fixed my gaze upon theyoung woman dancing on a pedestal in the middle of the room. She was wearing abikini and dancing to “Girls, Girls, Girls” by Motley Crue. I thought probably near the endof the song, she would reveal her beautifully tanned nipples to the cheering delight of thebikers all around me.Then I noticed there were no biker types in the bar, just a couple of middle aged obeseguys and a couple of lone geriatric misfits, who never raised their hands above the table.The next thing I noticed was that the DJ tried to rally a big applause to the skinny littletattooed tramp with stretch marks, who was waving and leaving the stage. Whathappened to the nipples that I felt I had been promised, at least that was myunderstanding when I walked in. I asked the bartender, “Don't they get topless?”He shook his head, “New city bylaw; no nudity inside a bar.” He collected the five dollarsI had just paid for my beer and walked away.So let me get this straight. I can go on the beach and see women in bikinis for free as Isoak in the sun, or I can sit in this dark beer-dank little hovel for five dollars, drinkoverpriced beverages, and watch these trailer park tarts attempt to insinuate dancing.69

I had clearly been had. I quickly finished my beer and left without tipping; I didn't plan onever coming back, even if I ended up staying in Daytona and my apartment was upstairsabove the bar. I stumbled upon a patio bar that served twenty-five cent oysters and satdown to enjoy happy hour.On the beach was a group of guys in bandanas, boots and leather vests who wereholding up signs reading “Show Your Tits”. Much to my surprise and delight, manywomen chose to oblige the request. I had never seen anything like it; we didn't have alot of organized “tit showings” in Kingsport.I thought, “This must be the motherland! You could get oysters for a quarter just a shortstroll from a beach; though you really couldn't lie on the beach without worrying aboutyour head being crushed like a pumpkin under someone's Trans Am. The drivers wereprobably all too busy watching the free topless entertainment to notice someone lying ona blanket.The bonus? The motherland came complete with beautifully visible mother's milkdispensers everywhere, offered for the observation and enjoyment of thrill seeking,intoxicated shellfish eaters. The oyster bar became my new spot, and my favoritepastime had now become betting with myself on which women would actually take theirshirts off, giving their nipples a chance to breathe and to pose for souvenir photos. Ithought about buying a disposable camera, just for that purpose.I did visit four radio stations in Daytona. I'd make a day trip to drop off audition tapes,speak to the program director if I could, and then head back to the boardwalk for someoyster-guzzling and bosom-gandering. On Friday, I made the call to Tallahassee; it wasthe more cosmopolitan of the two. The program director wasn't available for the first twocalls, something that was unnerving a bit. I sat and had a coffee, until I felt enough timehad passed and returned to the payphone.On the third try, he answered. “Oh, uh, hi Rick. Listen we decided on the guy fromCleveland. He was really exactly what we were looking for.”I didn't say anything. I felt a great pressure in my chest and throat.“Thanks for coming by though. It was great to meet you.”“Yeah, well thanks,” I stammered, “Try to keep me in mind, if another opening comesup.”“Sure, will. Thanks, Rick. Good luck.” The phone clicked and there was a melancholydialtone that I listened to for a few seconds before hanging up.Now the game had entirely changed. If the two giggling sophomoric good time buddiesfrom Bainbridge dressed up in Ron and Wookie costumes didn't hire me, I'd be strandedwith nowhere to go. That was how I had actually started referring to them in my mind.Now they were the most important people in the world to me; I would give them nothingbut my undying respect and gratitude from this day forward.70

The thought of working there brought a shuddering cringe from deep inside. It was asmall sleepy southern America town. For one thing, I knew the earring would probablyhave to go. I'd eventually run into some Georgia redneck who wouldn't have thepatience and courtesy to ask me which ear meant that I was gay. I sure wouldn't answerhim the way I had my old sales manager's wife, with an anal penetration joke.The phone picked up on the first ring, and it was the Ron-bot. “Hey Rick. Man, we sureloved your tape, and you seem like a great guy!”“Yeah?” hopeful anticipation was quivering in my voice.“But we got this guy from Cincinatti,” he continued to speak, but I heard nothing. “Blah,blah, blah, really great to meet you man. Take it easy. Good luck.”I thought, “What is it with Ohio! Fuck! These positions were supposed to be mine topick from, and these two guys have to leave their cities to come down here? Cleveland!Cincinatti! They have professional sports franchises, all the biggest concert tours,amusement parks, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, free stuff probably flying out theirasses, and they have to take my jobs? I’m living in a van! I really needed this break.”I stepped out of the vehicle and nearly cried. I was just stunned; it felt like the painfulsensation of a blade poked me from the center of my forehead and slashed me to the pitof my stomach. I muffled an audible sob and saw a biker looking at me like he wasgoing to come over and taunt me for lack of manhood. Bike Week in Daytona was not aplace that a guy wanted to display weakness or emotion, publicly.I went back to my room, just in time to pack before check out. I was now homeless.71

11 - Your Mama’s a RacistJim and I almost cost the station a large advertising account and a near law suit, whenwe implied that the great H1N1 Swine Flu scare was perpetrated by manufacturers ofhand sanitizers. We talked about a boardroom full of corporate weasels sitting aroundbrainstorming, saying, “We’ll sponsor the health reports on all the TV news networks.That way it’ll sound more legitimate.”The guy across the table speaks up and says, “Hey, let’s tell them to sneeze into theirshirt sleeves too, just to see if they’ll do it.” Then they all have a good laugh and go playa round of golf. Before you knew it, North America was obsessed with getting flu shots,using hand sanitizer every time they touched a doorknob, and of course sneezing intotheir sleeves.American overreaction is today’s most prevalent cultural phenomenon, fueled by thepublic’s unquenchable fascination with insipid minutiae and the news media’s undaunteddiligence in finding it. We started referring to it as the “Sarah Palin Syndrome”, namedafter the mob frenzy initiated by the Alaskan governor’s run for national office. Her entirecandidacy seemed to be based upon the fabricated hype bubble that surrounded her.Ironically, the same media feeding frenzy that propped up her campaign eventuallypeeled back enough layers to reveal a cartoonish cardboard cutout of a politician, whonot only lacked qualifications but essential knowledge of any issue not directly affectingthe trailer park deer lodge she lived in.The latest incident of American media overreaction involved a Harvard professor namedHenry Louis Gates, who was arrested for breaking in to his own home. The arrestingofficer was a Cambridge city police sergeant named James Crowley.Gates is black and Crowley is white, triggering allegations of racial profiling. The mediafirestorm traveled far beyond the borders of Massachusetts, after President BarackObama used the word “stupidly” to describe police procedure during the investigation.News teams across the country played the statement over and over, touting the fact thatthe President and the professor were old acquaintances. Obama later suggested thathe and the two men have a beer at the White House and put the incident behind them asa “teaching moment”.Though our jobs were to exploit whatever modern culture’s momentary absurdobsession happens to be, we were typically disgusted with the media and the amount oftwisted attention given to historically meaningless transpirations. We made fun of popculture happenstances and the narcissistic personalities involved because everyone elsein western civilization seemed enthralled by it all, at least that’s what the media wouldlead you to believe. The Henry Louis Gates arrest would have slipped quietly from ourcollective consciousness if the media hadn’t picked it up and turned it into nationalheadlines, as if it was a critical pivotal moment on the dangerously slippery slope ofAmerica’s national race relations report card.It seemed to us that this particular incident had less to do with race and more to do withmale bravado. Testosterone is a powerful substance. If not tempered with rational logic,it can lead to declarations of war, acts of homicide, destruction of friendships andinnumerable instances of inexplicably ridiculous behavior. Once testosterone rears its72

disruptive head, several thousand years of proudly un-evolved manhood take over thedriver’s seat.Take two male dogs meeting at the park. One of them usually urinates on the closestavailable object. Immediately, the other dog urinates on that same spot. In a dog’ssocial strata, this interchange signifies, “That fire hydrant is now mine. Sorry about yourluck. You best move along and find your own fire hydrant.” The other male dog says,“Oh yeah? I beg to differ,” and he urinates, “Now it’s mine, and I’ll fight you for it.” It’sessentially the same issue that has surrounded the state of Israel since it has existed,when you think about it.I suspect that these two grown professional men had a similar exchange:“Get off my territory.”“I’m the police; I can do whatever I want.”“Fuck you, and I'll speak with your mama outside.”“Fuck you right back. I’m a cop and I’ll arrest you if you don’t respect my position.”“I don’t respect your position and why are you pissing on my porch?”Instinctive alpha male pride was the most significant factor leading to Henry Louis Gates’and Sergeant James Crowley’s highly publicized pissing match. Then the professor hadto go and make a comment that included the policeman’s mother in a sentence. Afterthat, well we all know what usually happens then.The news networks would lead you to believe that Apocalyptic armies of Caucasians andAfrican Americans were lining up on both coasts wearing David Duke and Kunta Kinte T-shirts, ready to begin racial civil war. Could this be the tipping point that causesAmerican society to revert back to rural lynchings and urban riots? We better interviewLudacris and the Black Eyed Peas to see what they think. The ensuing parade ofcelebrity quotes served only to exacerbate the impression that this was actually asignificant incident.In actuality, the crux of this controversy is not the erosion of race relations; it’s abouteroding television news ratings. Controversy keeps more people watching, helping toattract advertising revenue. Large pharmaceutical firms can now effectively spendadvertising dollars to market medications that treat restless leg syndrome and a myriadof other newly discovered ailments. We’ve all seen an endless slew of ads during theevening newscasts promoting new drugs that seem to possess an alarming number ofpossible side effects; many of them sound worse than the ailment itself.It’s all part of a miraculous natural cycle that provides smarmy overpaid ad salesmenwith the means to enjoy exotic sports cars and obscenely opulent vacations. Jim and Ihave known plenty of those guys personally; believe me, a news story’s actual impact onrace relations rarely crosses their minds. They merely want their paychecks impacted.73

The morning after Obama’s internationally publicized “mug-a-lunch” get together we feltcompelled to talk about it. The President’s intention seemed obvious to us, or anyoneelse with any common sense. By arranging the “beer summit” as it became known, heput an old school spin on an unfortunate verbal brawl that became national news. Twoguys acted hotheaded and juvenile. The president says “Let’s sit down together likeregular guys, have a couple beers and a few laughs. It will probably turn out we have alot in common, and we may actually end up liking each other.”The president takes on the role of the diplomatic buddy, serving up beer and helping topatch things up between these two crazy loveable lugs. A brewery should have sent afilm crew to make a commercial. Gates and Crowely end up hugging and declaring theirdrunken emotional male bond, “I love you, man”. Then, they talk Obama into showingthem the room where “Clinton did it with the intern”. Ultimately, the President ends upconducting a field trip for two guys with anger management issues and a mutual curiosityabout White House philandering.Understandably, this event created enough headline fodder to be unignorable as a topicon our radio show. We perform approximately two hundred and forty live broadcastsevery year, so we’ve got to take whatever’s out there. Whether it’s NFL star MichaelVick going to prison for dog-fighting, Dick Cheney blasting his duck-hunting buddy in theface, or Britney Spears revealing her Brazilian-groomed tiddlywink to the paparazzi, wecover every news story with the same lack of regard for famous people’s feelings.However, it’s not in any way personal. It essentially boils down to the fact that we’redesperate to fill all those broadcast hours with material, and “The Beer Summit” newsstory contained all the ingredients that could make for good material.However, there was one element at this historical meeting that did not fit. That oddpuzzle piece occurred at the actual “Beer Summit” itself, and it stuck out like a penis in apunchbowl on all the news reports after the meeting.“What the hell was Joe Biden doing there?” Jim asked, articulating the question on theminds of probably most people who saw news footage. Seated at the table was the cop,the professor, the president, and hey who’s that other stiff looking white guy with hisback to the camera. Is that Joe Biden? He looks like the uncool friend that everyone ina social circle simply tolerates. He’s not that bad of a guy, and he seems earnest toplease. He’s just a little, you know, below standards, but he’s trying hard to correct thatand weasel his way into the good graces of the cool guys. Obama must have seen himlingering around wistfully and thought “What the hell guys, let’s let Joe come.”“Obama just wanted him there so he could keep an eye on him,” I answered, “Every timeJoe gets out sight of his handlers, he says something to embarrass the administration.”“Maybe they didn’t want the white cop to get nervous. He’s out there alone with twoblack guys, they both think he’s a racist pig. He’s liable to get his mayonnaise-white asskicked and his body buried in the rose garden by the Secret Service. Biden makes it amore balanced playing field.”“Yeah, they needed another token white guy. Then they thought, ‘Hey, Joe’s office isdown the hall, he’s about the whitest dude that ever lived’.” I reenacted an imaginary74

phone call between Obama and Biden, “‘Listen Joe, it’s Barack…..Yeah, yeah, Mr.President. That’s fine Joe; you can call me by my first name’, as he glances at the otherguys and points at the receiver with a look that says ‘what a stiff’. ‘Joe, I want to inviteyou to the Beer Summit out in the back yard. Yeah, you can come. No don’t be bringingno wine spritzers; we’re drinking beer. You like drinking beer, right? Alright then, that’sokay. Just don’t bring spritzers, and no don’t bring no sushi either. Just sit there, try notto talk, and act as white as you can’.”Cam looked up from his laptop, “Biden didn’t drink real beer. It was a brand calledBuckler, a non-alcoholic beer.”I said, “Maybe he’s got a problem handling his booze. Even if he doesn’t, I’m sure someGeraldo Rivera type sleaze-journalist will pose that question, ‘Is Joe Biden an alcoholic?He refused to drink alcoholic beer at the White House meeting, today. We’ll have thisbreaking news at eleven.’ You know somebody at CNN has probably already thought ofdoing a speculative story on this.”“Maybe he’s the designated driver,” Jim laughed, “He’s like the guy in the fraternity that’sa chick repellant, so he’s only allowed to hang out with the cool members if he stayssober and drives.” Meanwhile, I cued Cam to play the phone ring sound effect.“Good morning. 93 Rock….” Motely Crue’s song “Girls, Girls, Girls” was playing in thebackground. That song had come to represent strippers to me, ever since myexperience at the bikini club in Daytona all those years ago.“Ricky! What’s up?” Cam had just gotten comfortable with his Barack Obamaimpersonation, and this was our first time using it. It sounded pretty authentic, on thefirst listen, better than the guy who impersonated him on Saturday Night Live.“Mr. President. How are you? How did the Beer Summit go yesterday?”“Rick, we’re still here. Billy Clinton came over, and he took us to a place he knows of,where he has a tab on the house account and a Platinum All Access Mmembership.They’re open twenty-four hours, but only when Billy’s in town.”“What is it? A yacht club or one of those places where rich guys sit around and smokecigars?”“Hey Billy, Rick just asked if this was a place where rich guys smoke cigars.” There wasan audible roar of laughter from a crowd of guys in the background. “Funny you shouldask that Rick, Billy was just telling us a great cigar story. Did he ever tell you the oneabout ‘fire in the hole’?”“No, I don’t think I’ve heard….” Before I could finish, there was Bill Clinton’s voice in thebackground; actually it was me impersonating Clinton. We had prerecorded the bit andplayed it back as if it was live. Playing both Clinton’s character and my own voiceanswering him created too many possibilities for embarrassing errors on live radio.“Is that Rick? Let me talk to him,” Clinton’s voice rose from the background, then on thephone up close. “Rick, I was just telling these guys one of my cigar stories. This intern75

asks, ‘‘Where does that secret doorway go, Mr. President’, and I answer ‘I’ll show youwhat that opening’s for. How would you like to enjoy a nice cigar’.” Again, a thunderousreception of laughter from the guys at the table followed.Cam interjected as Barack Obama, “I wish I had followed you into the presidency Bill.When I got here, my predecessor had left nothing but copies of Hustler magazine withfelt-tip mustaches and funny hats drawn on the models. They must have thrown out allthose battery powered things you were talking about.”“Hell, I took all those with me! By the way, those were my magazines too.” Clinton’sresponse drew another roar of laughter from his cronies.I joined the conversation again, as myself, “So which exclusive club are you at, Mr.Clinton?”“It’s called The Pink Oyster. They got some real fine entertainment here, I’ll tell ya.”Jim yelled from the background in a voice that was supposed to be Henry Louis Gates,“Oh, I think she might be a real bad girl, Sergeant Crowley. She’s already assuming theposition! Only I think she’s gonna search YOU and see if you’re packin’ heat!”“Henry, you and Jimmy finish up those cleavage shooters. I got the Private VIP Roombooked for happy hour! ” Clinton came back like he was closer to the phone andwhispering, “Yeah Rick. Jimmy and Henry are getting’ along just fine. Barack was right;having a beer between two guys can sure straighten things out. But table dances andkamikaze cleavage shooters are even better! Hold on Rick,” Clinton yelled into thebackground, “Barack, put the bill in your mouth first. Yeah that’s right. Now crawl downthere and stick your face up in the air. That’s it. How’ you like my friends, Tanya?”Then to me he said, “I know all the staff here. Hell, I interviewed most of ‘em for theirjobs.”One of the saleswomen in our office lent her voice as a stripper in the bit, “That’s quite agun you have officer! Maybe you should handcuff me and put me in a lineup!”“Yeehaw,” Clinton hooted, “Way to show your authority, Jimmy!”I finally responded as myself again, “Mr. Clinton, you don’t suspect that anyone might geta video of this and start spreading it around the internet?”“Hell Rick, I already made videos of Congressmen, Senators, foreign heads of state, andFox News analysts in here. I got Rush Limbaugh with a can of whipped cream, NewtGingrich with a strap-on, and Bill O’Reilly in an oil wrestling ring. I even got Dick Cheneypolishing his cane up at the bar.” I turned my Clinton voice away from the phone, “That’sright Barack, now take the blindfold off! Yeah, now you can use the blindfold to wipe offyour face!”We used two women from the sales staff to provide one voice clearing her throat and theother yelling, “Barack, what are you doing?”76

“Cherry Pie” by Warrant was playing in the background; it came to an abrupt silence.You could hear Jim’s voice as Henry Louis Gates whispering, “Uh oh. Hey Sargeant,let’s go out the back. I know another place, where it’s not so hot.”Bill Clinton’s voice spoke up sheepishly, “Hillary. I’m glad you’re here. I was justthinking about you.”Our sales woman “Hillary” spat, “Shut up Bill. I knew I’d find you two here. They’re allthe same Michelle. Don’t…don’t speak to me Bill. Just get in the car.”The other sales woman did a decent impersonation of Michelle Obama, “What were youthinking? I am so embarrassed right now. No, no, just…just don’t talk. We’ll do plentyof talking at home, after you shower and get sprayed with disinfectant. Uuhh,” she letout a disgusted sigh, “If anyone got video of this I will kill you.”Bill Clinton spoke, “Rick, we got to go.”Hillary’s voice came back, “Who are you talking to? Hang up the phone now, Bill. Whatis wrong with you? I should have taken Linda Tripp’s advice and gone for a nicesettlement. No, no, no….don’t speak!” She came to the phone, “Whoever this is, I hopeyou got your voyeuristic little jollies out of this, you sick fuck!” We beeped the “f” wordout and then the sound effect of a phone being hung up and dial tone.We let a second of silence pass, then I spoke to my two colleagues as themselves, “Wellit sounds like the Presidential Beer Summit was a pretty good idea.” Cam and Jimerupted into the obligatory laughter, designed to elicit the same reaction from listeners.Jim said, “You would think that Hillary would have come to expect it by now.”“She’s a good woman,” Cam voiced the opinion shared by most everyone during thefinal two years of Bill’s presidency.“Yeah, she sure is Cam,” I laughed, “News and sports are next, and we’ll tell you howyou can qualify to see Green Day and U2 on 93 Rock’s Jet Set Concert Junket. Allcoming up on 93 Rock.”***When we got to Dave’s office, he was typing on his keyboard, and seemingly unaware ofour presence. He finally looked up, “Oh sorry. I was sending an email to my wife. Wejust got a puppy, and she’s pretty excited. It’s definitely a child substitute. I actuallywalked in on her calling him her ‘beautiful baby boy’ one morning.”Jim said, “Hope that the dog can keep her occupied for a few years. That biologicalclock of hers will starting running like a stopwatch, and you’ll be on a beeper to come theminute she’s ovulating.”I offered, “I know a guy that does cheap vasectomies in his basement. If you want I’llgive you his number. He might even do me a favor and perform a housecall for you rightat the office. We’ll do the show in here live, with webcams.”“Uh, no thanks; I’m good,” he said, “Actually she said that she wishes it could talk.”77

“Your penis?” Jim blurted.“No the dog, you idiot,” Dave actually belly laughed at that.“No you don’t,” I had lived with dogs a number of times in my life, and I spoke with theauthority of having pondered that exact point. “What would he say? ‘Throw the ball. Iwant to go out. Now I want to come in. Can I have a treat. I’m hungry. Throw the ball.’Everyone says that they wish their dog could talk. It’s like saying, ‘Gosh, I wish I had aneleven inch penis’. But when you speak to a guy that has an eleven inch penis, they say‘No, you don’t want one’. It takes so much blood to fill that thing that they nearly faintevery time their girlfriend starts to take off her panties. On top of that, chicks are afraidof it half the time. Everyone seems to think that would be the greatest thing ever, butactually it’s not…from what I hear, anyway.”There was a second of silence. Everyone assimilated the statement I just made, andwere busy thinking of a comeback. Jim was first, “Apparently Rick knows a lot of guyswith eleven inch penises. I guess the bathhouses are full of them, eh Rick?”Cam was grinning on the other side of me, “You notice he didn’t say HE had an eleveninch penis. He just collects information on them. What’s your favorite bathhouse, Rick?”Jim had to jump in with a wisecrack, “Rick frequents the Butt Barn.”I looked over at Dave, “Why didn’t you stop me from saying that?”Dave looked at me nonchalantly, “I enjoyed that. I’m glad you felt comfortable enoughwith us to speak freely about your lifestyle. But you know guys, this is really not aproductive meeting.” He stopped and read an email on his monitor, then frowned, “I’m inthe middle of doing budgets, so I didn’t really have a chance to listen to your show.Anything to report?”The three of us shrugged and shook our heads. Jim said, “Just another unmemorabledrop in the daily bucket.”We all got up to leave. Dave looked as if he just thought of something, “Hey, speakingof things that might be unmemorable, have any of you guys heard from a woman namedViolet Dumet?”We all shook our heads again. I said, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”“Well she’s must have been sending emails with MP3’s attached to the President ofCrowe Broadcasting – Radio Division. They eventually trickle down the corporate chainto me. I don't know how many ears they reach along the way, but she's complainingabout content, your show in particular. She’s with a group called Morality Media; I guessthey monitor the airwaves for dick jokes or something. If she calls or emails, don’t talk toher or conduct any kind of correspondence with her. She claims to have contacts withthe CRTC, Canadian Broadcast Standards Council, and the federal government inOttawa. Her submissions to us chronicle six months of your show, with dozens of78

excerpts that she refers to as examples of obscene, racist, profane and hate-filledcontent.”“Hate filled?” I thought, “That's pretty strong.”“Well you get those every day, dude,” Jim asked, “Don’t you?”“Yeah I do, and thank you for that. It’s really some well-spent time in my day, answeringcomplaints from listeners because you guys did a bit about Bernie Madoff blowing hiscellmate or whatever.”“That’s why you get paid the kind of bucks you do,” I said.“You guys make more money than anybody in this building.” It wasn’t true, but healways acted like it was. His phone rang. He looked down and said, “Alright, I’ve got totake this. It’ll be my first non-puppy phone call since I got here this morning. Just don’ttalk to this wacko, or any other one for that matter. Let me handle these things.”“We always do,” before I finished my sentence, he was picking up the phone.As we walked down the hall, I said, “It would suck to be Dave.”“I don’t know. I like dogs. I even like wives, as long as they’re not mine,” Jim wasmaking light of my point, but he knew what I was referring to.“I wouldn’t want to have to deal with the complaints. Plus, he’s got corporate to dealwith.”“Yeah, well just be thankful that we’re able to leave right now, and he’s stuck there onthe phone.” Jim looked over at Cam, “Sorry Cam. I guess you’re not able to leave rightnow.”“Actually, I can in about half an hour,” he answered, “I do a lot of my work from home.That’s why God created cell phones and email.”“Is that what you do? Jim and I thought you were here working all day.”“Sometimes eleven hours straight,” Jim nodded.“I wonder if he’s getting paid too much?” I spoke directly to Jim.“Fuck you both,” Cam shook his head, “You guys better never talk about anyone gettingpaid too much. You heard what Dave said.”“What part? There was a helicopter landing somewhere across the street, and I prettymuch concentrated on that the whole time. It was the best meeting I ever attended inthere; I wish they’d land a copter every day. What did he talk about, anything we did?”Jim probably wasn’t even kidding; he never paid any attention at the meetings.“He said not to talk to Violet Dumet,” I said.79

“Ah, I banged her last night, but there was no talking.” We could always take anyconversation down to the most base level. It was just a talent we were probably bornwith; though it didn’t really develop until we got behind a microphone together.“Good, because it looks like she’s definitely trying to fuck us.”Looking back, that statement was almost prophetic. Though, it turns out we wereentirely capable of doing that to ourselves.80

12 – Lionel Richie and Love on an ElevatorSuddenly, I was seemingly at the greatest crossroad moment of my life. I could go backto Tennessee, live with my mother, and schlep around the countryside begging arrogantbackwoods program directors to give me a job running religious tapes on Sundaymorning. That had to be better than sleeping in my car and living on cheap oysters.I had talked to an old college radio buddy in Houston. He said that the city wasbooming, and I could get a job doing something, “maybe even radio”. I asked if hethought I could, at the very worst, get an overnight shift at the lowest rated radio stationin the city. He said, “I don't know. Can you speak Spanish?”I didn't. Not very well anyway, and I certainly didn't feel comfortable driving into the jawsof a monstrous city like Houston, with nothing but an old party mate as my only person torely on. I conjured a scenario: my buddy gets a girlfriend, so he asks me to leave.Apparently she feels self-conscious screaming “Si! Si!”, during the throes of passion,with me in the next room lying on the couch and laughing out loud at Letterman.As a result, I end up on the street living in my car, constantly on the move to escape themortal danger of roving Mexican gangs looking for homeless gringos to gut and Houstonpolice who have little tolerance for vagrants. I’m sure the local authorities would look atme and think, “Great! Here comes another homeless schmuck to graduate into a life ofpetty thievery and panhandling.”That possibility was probably very remote, some would conclude even “overly dramatic”if not “paranoically delusional”. However, I was probably right in my assumption that alarge city like Houston could prove difficult and problematic, especially for anunemployed naïve small town white guy with very little money and all his belongs in avan.My other option was closer and represented a family tie. I had a cousin Robert who livedin West Palm Beach. From what I could determine, he was gay and lived with hispartner. I met them both at Christmas one year, for a maximum of two hours. I'm surethese two would be beside themselves over the euphoric premise of a distantheterosexual relative showing up with his van full of belongings. “I'm homeless! Can Ilive here? Just carry on with your lifestyle. Pretend I'm not here. What's for dinner?”I called. There was a shocked silence, then an “okay, I'll give you directions”.He greeted me at the door graciously. His roommate, who I assumed was his boyfriend,greeted me much less warmly than my cousin. In fact, I thought I noted a stifledsentiment of catty displeasure. That was understandable. I'd feel the same way, butunfortunately I had nowhere else to go for the night.We sat down in the living room and had a brief chat about the traffic and the weather onthe way there, all of the perfunctory topics that people discuss in such an awkwardcircumstance. They set me up on the sofa, and my cousin yawned and stretched, givingthe universal signal that they were about to retire.81

I laid on the sofa, thinking about what was going on in my life at this worrisome juncture.I was dead tired, but I laid there for a long time thinking about the friends I left inTennessee. Now, here I was sleeping on the sofa of relative strangers, who would growto resent me with each passing hour that I inhabited their living room furniture.The sheets smelled of Polo cologne. The thought flashed through my mind as towhether they sprayed their sheets with this expensive fabric deodorizer, or if thesesheets had been previously used, and by who. What possible infractions of moraldecorum may have occurred on these linens?I chose not to think about it. They certainly smelled better than the convenientalternative. The van smelled like Doritos and empty beer cans; it contained all theambience of a frat house on wheels. I slipped off to sleep, trying to intoxicate myselfwith unrealistically optimistic thoughts.The next morning, my new temporary counterparts left me a key and pointed out somebreakfast food selections. They were being as kind and welcoming as the situationcould possibly allow, and I expressed my sincere appreciation. I got dressed, stoppedfor a Jamaican meat patty and coffee for breakfast, and followed the directions that theradio station receptionist had provided for me to Boynton Beach.The program director at the station had either forgotten to write our meeting into hisdaytimer, or he had hoped I really wouldn't show up. He was impatient, even curt to me,expressing the fact that they wouldn't make a decision until the next week, and thankedme for stopping by. On the way out of their parking lot, my van started to overheat, and Ihad to get some water from their kitchen to cool my radiator. That, I'm sure, made agreat lasting impression. “This guy's a true winner, in every sense of the definition.I drove to the next so-called interview, my confidence ebbing a bit on the way. I wasbeing treated with such disregard at every job location I visited; it was a sharp contrast tothe respect I had received in Tennessee. They regarded me as a effusively giftedwunderkind, a living breathing entertainment machine with no “off switch”.The next station had an overnight position available, the lot in life that I was most wellacquainted with. What they didn't have was any programming that was even remotelycompatible with my lifestyle or taste. It was an easy listening station called “The Wave96.1 FM.” I heard the announcer on air say, “After our newsbreak, stay tuned for AnneMurray, Abba, and we'll be boogying on the flipside with Lionel Ritchie!”“Holy shit,” I actually thought aloud, “Boogying on the flipside?”I knew “Dancing on the Ceiling” was the obvious selection coming, so I knew that he wasflirting with the listeners to get them excited about one of their favorite good-timesingalong jams. I appreciated his presentation, I just didn't know if I could do it. Howcould a person stay up all night, when they had to listen to this monotonic music andguys who talk like an automated funeral director?I met the general manager Bill Busca first. That struck me as very unusual; at somestations, air staff rarely speak to the General Manager. Being interviewed by him was areal anomaly. It turned out that Bill's father owned the station. I found out later his dadhad bought the Wave 96.1 property to provide a hobby for himself and a job for his82

prodigal son. Bill had apparently floundered around for years as a mid-thirties Mastersstudent, with no sense of direction whatsoever. He had more degrees than athermometer, but his talent and demeanor showed no inclination toward the radioindustry.His dad had made his fortune in the muzak business, providing those light backgroundsongs for dental offices and elevators throughout North America. Now he had his sonhome, heading up “South Florida's Sweet and Light Favorites Station: The Wave – 96.1FM”.Honestly, that was their slogan. I was appalled, and I knew that Jim and all my buddiesback home would never let me hear the end of it. I must insure that they never gainpossession of a recording of any of my shows, should I get this job. Thank God therewas no such thing as radio stations streaming their audio on the internet, at that time.The general manager seemed to like me, particularly because I had a university degree.This was something he could relate to, given there was hardly enough room on his wallfor all of his diplomas. Next, I met the program director, a man who seemed to beresigned to near apathy. He probably never got to make any decisions, since hisgeneral manager was heir to the ownership and obviously of the hands-on managementdiscipline.They said they'd call me in a couple of days. I said thank you, and tried to listen to theradio station on the way back to my sleeping sofa headquarters. I told my cousin and hisboyfriend that I thought I might have a possible job at “The Wave – 96.1”. The boyfriendexclaimed, “Oh, I love that station.” Why did I not doubt that?Two days later, I got the call. It was clearly a case of “be careful what you pray for”.They liked my tape; more realistically, they probably liked the fact that I was quiteobviously desperate. They knew a guy that would work for two hundred dollars a week,when they saw one.My experience with both employers and women is that they can smell the desperation onyou. Move to a new town, try to meet a girl, and no one wants anything to do with you.Then, you finally get a girlfriend; you feel that confident bravado seeping back into yourspirit. Suddenly, you start receiving multitudes of offers for everything from homecookedmeals to fellatio on the freeway.The same is true of employers. Go into an interview with that hopeful, pleadingsentiment in your eyes and they seem to think you aren't worth the time spent talking toyou. It might be body language, pheromones, or the fact that you're one rejection awayfrom collapsing on their office floor in heaving uncontrollable sobs, begging them not tosend you back to the incarceration of your own miserable failure.At any rate, they gave me the job, and I started the following Monday. That gave me afew days to get used to staying up all night again, and to find a place other than mycousin's Polo permeated sofa.I was driving through the small coastal town of Lake Worth, when I saw a signadvertising an apartment for rent. After buzzing the superintendent's entrance code, I83

gazed through the window as I waited for her arrival. It was a nice clean building, withnot entirely tasteless carpeting, wallpaper and paint. I watched as the elevator dooropened and nearly gasped. There before me was an absolutely stunning, gorgeouslysparkling, healthy and wholesome redhead with a perfectly petite, but bountifully nubilebody.My mind began racing. I could live here, in this building with her! I pictured myselfmaking a nice dinner, inviting her over, enjoying a nice bottle of wine and, oh my! Youlook stressed! I think you'd benefit from a gentle shoulder massage. Might as wellmassage your back too, while we're here. Hey, I just remembered that I happen to havesome aromatherapeutic massage oil right here, next to where you're sitting. All of thesethoughts occurred in the time it took her to approach the vestibule. For a quick fleetingsecond, I pondered whether I smelled like Polo. I wondered if she liked Polo.The door opened, and she spoke in the sweetest, most feminine voice I could everremember hearing at the time, “Can I help you?”I stood there for a minute gawking at her; thinking back, it was an embarrassingly longpause. I must have looked like a Labrador Retriever who just discovered a cheese trayon the coffee table.She frowned as if she was concerned about my well-being, or at the very least mymental frailty. “Did you want to talk to the superintendent?”I snapped out of my fugue, “Oh, uh, yes. I'm sorry, I just got a job at The Wave – 96.1FM, and I just remembered I had to fill out some paperwork. That's what I was thinkingabout. That was all.”“The Wave? I don't listen to that station. Isn't that the menopausal matron musicstation?” She looked embarrassed, “Sorry. That's what my boyfriend and I used to callit.”Boyfriend? Better hold off on buying the massage oil. At two hundred dollars a week insalary, I didn't even know if I could afford the apartment. “Yeah, well, it's a living. I usedto work at a rock station.”“Which one?” I was afraid she'd ask that.“It was in Tennessee.”“Oh,” she looked quizzical, “So did you want something?”Yeah. I want you to dump your boyfriend and let me move into your apartment. I knowwhere to get some sheets that smell like cologne. “I was interested in the apartment forrent.”“Would you like to look at it?” She turned sideways to reveal her profile. I was againmomentarily catatonic, when I saw her slender but well endowed build. She looked atme expectantly, so I followed her toward the elevator. The elevator actually had muzakplaying, which was unusual for a small apartment building. I wondered momentarily if84

my new employer was responsible for the string quartet version of “Honky Tonk Women”that I was listening to.Within the small confines of the elevator, I could smell her fragrance. It was notoverpowering or even artificial in its makeup. It just had a clean fresh smell that I couldimagine blessing my pillow cases and sheets, so I could bury my face in them andpretend she was still there. Maybe I could let her borrow some pillow cases and sheets,and then never wash them after they were returned.She brushed her hand through her ample mane of hair; I could nearly have had a wetdream, had I been asleep. The elevator doors slid open, and I was actually disappointedthat the ride was over. Normally I got terribly impatient waiting for an elevator to arriveon its floor, but I could have ridden this one up and down all day. I'd wile away the day,smelling her scent and watching her run her fingers through her hair, as I stood thereawkwardly mute in my own puddle of anxious physical fantasia.The apartment was a nice plain small one-bedroom, with a community balcony thatfaced the ocean, right outside the apartment windows. You couldn't see the ocean, butyou just knew it was there, moments away from that balcony.The rent was two hundred and eighty dollars a month. She said they required first andlast month's rent, along with the equivalent one month amount for security deposit. Ididn't have that much; twenty five cent oysters and dollar beers can really add up. I said,“Could I give you half now and half on my first paycheck. I've been on the road for thelast week, and right now I'm staying with my gay cousin and his boyfriend.”“Oh. You're gay?” She almost looked disappointed, which really made my heart flutter.“Gay? Me? Oh, no, no, they’re just letting me stay there, while I find a place.” I wasstammering, but still commandingly convincing in my claim of heterosexuality.“Oh, that's good. I mean it's good that you’ve had a place to stay.” She smiled sweetly.What a nice girl. “I'll talk to the owners and let you know. Where can you be reached?”I gave her my cousin's phone number and shook her hand. There was a slight, almostimperceptible linger in her hand shake.“My name's Julie,” she said and smiled.“I'm Rick. I look forward to your phone call.” And, when I said that, I meant I reallylooked forward to her phone call. In fact, I doubt if I'd think of anything else for the nextfew hours.I drove away from her building and headed to the beach. Sitting there with the wavesrolling in, I felt really at peace for the first time in many months. I had weathered utterdisregard and rejection from employers, the fear of homelessness, the embarrassmentof barging in on my poor unsuspecting cousin's life, and the kind of digestive cycle thatonly living in your van and eating truck stop food can provide for you.85

Now, I had a job. It looked pretty promising that I was about to have my own place, anda female infatuation to occupy myself with.I thought to myself, I'm not exactly “dancing on the ceiling all night long” but life wasactually on an upswing. Then, I chastised myself for using Lionel Richie lyrics in my ownthoughts, even metaphorically. I pledged never to turn into a guy who said things like“boogying on the flipside”, not ever.86

13 - Dysfunctional RealitiesIt was one of those days when there were almost too many topics to choose from. Weusually had a “set list” like a live band; we identified the “must comment on” topics, andlet the other pieces fall as the show progressed.We were among the first people to wake up in the morning, and our devoted minionswould be awake within an hour or two. We didn’t have a lot of time to make elaborateplans or ponder decisions.Radio is a very spontaneous and reactive medium. Whenever a news developmentoccurred, we had to be ready to change the entire direction and spin of what weintended to do on a second’s notice. Television is now like that, after the inception ofCNN and all its spinoff networks.We also now had the internet to contend with. Jobs like ours had become moredemanding in the twenty-first century, and listeners were harder to capture and holdhostage.We started on the topic of Madonna’s new album. The queen of self-promotion was onher “Sticky and Sweet Tour”, and it was announced that she would allow her fans to helpdecide the songs included on her new “Celebration” greatest hits disc. We generallyacted as if we held Madonna in complete disdain; the truth was that you had to admireher staying power and consistently innovative marketing approach. It was just that sherepresented a genre of music that many of our listeners loathed, so we had to take aless than supportive approach to her career.“So Madonna’s allowing her fans to go on Twitter and Tweet their choices for songs togo on her new album. Have you voted yet, Jim?”“I told her not to release it,” Jim answered.“Really? They give you that option?”“Well no, but I just said ‘Madge, I think you should hold off. You’ve given us enough joyand art already. Just hold off and go adopt some Third World babies and become aspokesperson for Kabbalah, or something’.”“Wow, you call her Madge?”“All her close personal friends call her Madge.”“And what does she call you?”“Usually like ‘Oh baby’ or ‘my big hard stud’.”I gave Jim a look to say “Man, our detractors for indecency on the airwaves were reallygoing to get their money’s worth today.”87

“Another thing, and this is really just weird, Bob Dylan is releasing a Christmas album.Among the old favorites included are ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ and ‘WinterWonderland’.”Cam spoke from his position at the control board, “That’s just wrong. That would get meout of the Christmas spirit.”Meanwhile, Jim started imitating Bob Dylan singing “I Saw Mommy Kissing SantaClaus”.I said, “I can’t think of anything appealing about that. You know who else has aChristmas album is The Jackson Five, and ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’ is on it.”Cam spoke up again, “Maybe that’s what happened to Michael. He never recoveredfrom seeing that.Jim nodded, “So he turned himself into Peter Pan’s effeminate twin.”“Now, La Toya says that there was a conspiracy afoot,” I changed the subject.Jim laughed, “What, a conspiracy to lock her out of the house, so she’ll stop stealingeverything that’s not bolted down?”I continued, “There’s also a theory that he’s still alive, faked his own death. There is avideo of a figure that looks like Michael Jackson jumping out of the L.A. Coroner’s vanthat the body was riding in.”“Yeah, but people did the same thing to Elvis. Elvis was dead for years, and there werestill reports of him showing up at a Burger King and eating six Whoppers.”Cam jumped in, “How did they know it was him? What did he do, show up at a fast foodrestaurant wearing his white sequin jumpsuit?”Jim impersonated Elvis, “Gimme some gravy on them fries.”I led the conversation into our next topic, “Not to let this tremendous publicity opportunityslip away, the other Jackson brothers have announced that they’re going to be featuredin a reality show.”“I think reality and the Jacksons is an oxymoron,” Jim cued Cam to play the phone soundeffect.I pretended to answer the phone, “Good morning, 93 Rock.”Jim was on the line as Tito Jackson, “Yo, what’s your name again?”“It’s Rick Loonie at 93 Rock in Toronto,” I answered.88

“Yeah, Dick. So listen here. This is Tito Jackson, here to announce that the Jacksonbrothers are gonna start up a new TV show starring us, the Jackson brothers!” heexclaimed in a voice dripping with pride.“We were just talking about that Tito.”“Whatch you mean?”“We already heard on the news about the new show. We’re obviously really excitedabout it.” I said facetiously.He let out an exasperated moan, “Damn. I was supposed to get to tell everybody. I betJermaine already went ahead and announced it. I’m going to kick his glory mongerin’ass, when I see him.”We all staged amused laughter. I said, “We still don’t know what the show’s about Tito.Could you fill us in on that?”“Okay, well the four Jackson brothers all going to be livin’ together,” he started, “only welivin’ together in a ho house!”“Really?“Yeah, it was my idea! I hope Jermaine’s not sayin’ he thought of it.”I put a purposeful superiority smile in my voice, “No Tito, I don’t think anybody’s steppedup to take credit for that.”“We’re coaching the ho’s to become a new singing group. Then, we take them into thestudio at the end of the season. Look out, because when we release their album, we’llbe makin’ even mo’ money.”I whistled, “Wow, I don’t think there’s ever been a show like this done before.”He acted like he was really excited to tell us the next part. Jim was cracking us both up,“An’ each Jackson is in charge of one uh ’da ho’s, an’ all of their customers have to gothrough a rigorous interview with that ho’s Jackson pimp, before he hire her to do dabusiness.”We were silent for a beat, acting like we were letting it sink in. “Tito, I think I smell a bighit here. You guys might be looking at an Emmy nomination for this.”“We don’t care about that. We just want us some money,” the studio cackled at that,“Listen man, I got to go. We starting the ho interviews this afternoon, and I got to go buyme some new pimp clothes before they get here.”“Okay Tito. Thanks for the exclusive,” the phone sound effect of hanging up was in thebackground. ”What do you make of that Jim?”89

Jim came back as himself, “Astounding. They’re really on a roll. Entrepreneurs just liketheir father.”Cam said, “Maybe La Toya will come in for a ho interview.”“How awkward would that be?” I laughed, “That just gave me the creeps, thinking aboutit.” Then I went back to standard business, “We’ve got news at the top of the hour.Right now, here’s the new song from Metric on 93 Rock.”The song started, and we put down our headphones. The hotline immediately lit up,meaning it was either Dave or somebody on the programming or sales staff.I picked up the phone, “Yeah…”It was Dave. He had a solemn sound to his voice, “I need you guys to come straightover, when you finish.”I hesitated, taken back a bit by the ominous tone and obvious urgency of seeing us,“Sure. No problem.”Before I finished speaking, he had hung up.***Dave’s door was closed, which was unusual. I tapped and heard, “Come in.”He was sitting and facing his computer, but his eyes didn’t look focused on the monitor.“Sit down,” he said.There was a brief awkward silence. Then he looked at us seriously, “That was the mostracist bit I may have ever heard on the radio, this morning.”We looked at each other gingerly, Jim finally quipped, “You’re not just trying to flatter us,are you?”Dave didn’t smile, “You remember that wacko that I mentioned, Violet Dumet?”We all looked at each other quizzically, then nodded like we remembered what he wastalking about.“Her and her virtue-loving group have officially sent a letter of complaint to the CanadianBroadcast Standards Council. It’s about one hundred-twenty pages long, documentingcomments you’ve made and bits you’ve done. They’re particularly disturbed by theMichael Jackson bits, that they claim should be reviewed and considered as hatecrimes.”“Give me a break,” I said.“No,” he sighed, “Canadian law says that it is illegal to ‘publicly incite hatred’. Part of thedefinition of ‘inciting hatred’ is ‘communicating statements in a public place that incites90

hatred toward an identifiable group in such a way that there will likely be a breach ofpeace’.”“Well at least there’s no breach of peace,” I said. It was a desperation comment. Allthree of us were at a loss as to how to respond to the gravity of Dave’s disclosure.“You don’t get to read all of my emails. There are a few guys out there that would like to,uh, let me see. Here it is, ‘I’d like to bitch slap those redneck racist sons of bitches. Whydon’t they go back to whatever American southern shithole they licked their way out ofand take their bigot hatred back down south with them.’ I quote.”“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” I asked.“They’ve started coming in more frequently, since the Michael Jackson bits. I don’t knowif they’re connected with Violet and her wacko group or not.”I could tell Jim was seething, “Is she nuts? We’re not racists, we just make fun of stuffthat’s going on. We hardly ever do race bits, and the Michael Jackson story is too weirdand sensational to overlook. It’s all anyone on the news has talked about for weeks.”He shifted in his chair like he was going to stand up, “What about the other stuff we do?We had a woman on that could make sounds from her vagina that sounded like it wassaying ‘I love you’. That’s a hell of a lot more offensive than La Toya trying to sell all ofMichael’s shit.”“Actually, Violet mentions that interview in these documents. That only happened, what?Last week? She’s very well written, articulate and thorough. Those are the qualities thatcause me the most concern. She knows how the system works. Plus, they seem tohave someone listening and recording at all times, particularly when you guys are on.”He pulled another page out from the papers on his desk, “Violet points out that you alsodid a bit about Barack Obama trying to slip a dollar bill into ‘the most luridly inappropriatelocations on a woman’s anatomy, while she was stripping for money’. She claims that bitwas misogynistic, and encourages object violence toward women. I’m sure she’s busywriting an amendment right now elaborating on the Jackson brother ho brothel right afterher latest amendment about the pussy talker.”“What do you suggest we do?” I sincerely wanted to try and smooth the situation over.Jim was also trying to be helpful, “Do you want us to call her, apologize or something?”“No!” his spontaneous reply came. He leaned forward in his chair, “Don’t do anythingright now. I’ve asked Violet to come in and meet with me. She doesn’t want to see youguys; seems she thinks you’re vile and revolting purveyors of iniquity, she says.”He looked at his watch, “In fact, she’s going to be here any minute. Why don’t you guystake off? Go through the sales department, so there won’t be any chance of meeting herin the hallway.”I had never seen Dave like this before. He looked unusually tense about thesecomplaints. We quietly said our “good lucks” and walked toward the sales department.91

“Give her a free T-shirt or something,” Jim chimed as we were leaving.After we walked a few feet, Jim muttered quietly, “We’ve had complaints before. We’vemade a career out of them. I’m convinced that’s one of the things that keep so manypeople listening to us. He knows that, too. I’m sure this will blow over. Remember, it’salways a small group of wacko extremists that make the most noise.”“Yeah, well don’t forget, those are the kind of people that helped George W. Bush getelected,” I knew that would strike a nerve with Jim, “and Dave seemed really shaken upabout this for some reason.”As I finished my sentence, we passed a window into the reception area. There on thesofa in the waiting area was a woman, who was rising for Dave’s perfunctory handshake.She looked very serious and exuded an air of confidence, even elegance. She was inno way the dowdy puritanical church-going senior that we had envisioned; in fact Jimdescribed her later as “pretty hot”.She was smartly dressed in a suit that looked like an Armani, or something comparable.Appearing to be in her early forties, Jim was right, she was stunningly gorgeous.Carrying a briefcase, her posture and movements conveyed the self-assured ruthlessmoxy of a lawyer. She was also extremely dark skinned.”I looked over at Jim and Cam, “Violet Dumet, I presume,”Jim nodded, “She’s black.”“And female,” I added.“Man, did she ever catch our show at a bad time. We’ve been offending her on twolevels: her own gender and race. She’s probably the worst person in the world to havebeen listening to us since Michael Jackson died.”I agreed, “She must think we’re always like that, which has led her to construe that we’reracists devils and misogynistic pigs.”“I might be a racist, a misogynist, a hate criminal. But I tell you what, I’d love to bangher.” Jim was at base level again.“I’d classify you more as a misanthrope with a sexual addiction, and there’s very littlechance that you’ll ever be in a position to do that.”Cam almost moaned as he said, “Holy shit, imagine what she thought of today’s show.”92

14 – Life Can Be a BeachThe phone rang at 8:00am, the morning after I scored my new gig at “Lionel Richie &Phil Collins FM”. It seems that 8:00am was a little early for Mitchell's taste; Mitchellturned out to be my cousin's boyfriend's name.I had honestly just learned his name two days earlier. I immediately forgot it when wewere introduced. I had been on the road for days, and I didn't realize that we would endup with such an extended history together. It would have been unforgivable to ask,“Wha’d you say your name was?”Most of the time he attempted to separate himself from me, anyway. If I was present, hewould retreat to their massive master bedroom; it included a hot tub and two privatebaths. Either that or he would suddenly be “going out”, usually returning with severalshopping bags from high end Palm Beach boutiques.Early on, I had detected a tint of disdain every time he looked in my direction. Whocould blame him? I was squatting on their lives.Even if I was part of Mitchell's family, he seemed like the kind of guy that would pretendhe wasn't home, if his own cousin called. I could picture a relative sitting outside thecondo in a van, all their modest ragged belongings packed in the back, the body paintand windshield covered with sun-dried bugs. Mitchell would be incessantly peekingthough the coral colored blinds, “He's still there. Let's go out the back. We should parkour car on the next street, next time he dozes off.”At the beginning of my second week in their home, he imparted his own caring advicethat I should consider packing it up and go crawling back to wherever I came from. Thestatement was cleverly veiled as a compliment, “I admire your determination, because Iwould have said 'this is not going to work out, and I'm going back home now'.”Gradually, our forced conversations developed a civility that bordered on sincerity,occasionally even faint warmth. It seemed as if firsthand knowledge of my relentlesseffort and mortified desperation convinced him that I wasn't a lowlife layabout, some conman who had just lost his job and the trailer he squatted in, because of addictions tocough syrup and paint thinner. I was anything if not ambitious, and I truly detested thefact that I had to ask this large favor of making my home base on their sofa.I knew that his suspect assessment of me had turned the corner toward acceptance,when he returned from one of his seven hour shopping sprees, with three Hugo Bossshirts that he presented to me as a new job gift. “You're going to be under constantpublic scrutiny,” he assured me, “That's the most popular station in Palm Beach. All thegay men listen to it.”I'm sure he was right about the gay men. I had already resigned myself to the possibilitythat I'd be getting breakfast invitations from callers, again. The difference might be thatthey're not all from women anymore. In Tennessee, you didn't have many guys offeringto make you breakfast when you got off the air. Now that I'd be working in South Florida,for a station that managed to play either George Michael or Wham! seemingly everyhour, I had no doubt invitations were bound to happen.93

He may very well have been right about “most popular station in Palm Beach” too;however, Palm Beach was a mere tiny derivative of Palm Beach County. The peoplethere just had more money. That didn't even necessarily mean you'd get moreadvertisers who wanted to reach them. It wasn't as if you'd ever see one solitary PalmBeacher set foot into Sammy's Stereo Hot House - Where the Deals Are AlwaysSMOKIN' HOT!Essentially, I had nothing in common with my listeners. I was speaking to either gaymen or the kind of women that would never date me. I could picture pulling up to a poshPalm Beach station sponsored event in my van, telling the valet that the driver’s doordoesn't work from the inside, “Just reach through the window and pull it shut from theoutside, man.”So even in this triumphant moment of gainful employment, I was not as jubilant as I hadexpected to be. Frankly I missed home and people who cared about me. I took thephone from a scowling freshly awakened Mitchell, “Hello?”A soft, feminine voice spoke, “Is this Richard?”“Uh, yeah, Rick.”“This is Julie Patrick from Green Leaf Apartments.”A small spark jumped in my chest, and I was suddenly sitting straight up rigidly attentiveto the voice speaking, “Yes, Julie. Is this good news?”“Well the landlord is not too keen on letting someone move in without the full amount upfront.” My heart sank, as I looked over at Mitchell, who was no doubt straining everyauditory nerve to hear what was going on, “But, I talked to her and told them you seemlike an honest professional guy. Then, I told her where you were going to be working.She's about seventy, so she loves your radio station. She asked me if you could helpher win the Birthday Game.”The Birthday Game was no doubt the brainchild of Bill the general manager. It was selfexplanatory.They call out a birthday in the morning, if it's your birthday, you win someform of cash. I really wasn't all that interested in the sum of cash. They didn't let me doanything like that on overnights, and besides, I didn't think it would take an instructionalseminar to grasp the concept. I could read the liner cards in the studio and pretty muchbecome an instant expert on the Birthday Game. I must say though, the idea that mylandlady of seventy years old was an avid listener somehow struck me asoverwhelmingly unexciting.After a second of silence, she said, “I don't think she was kidding. She really does thinkthat you might be able to help her win, somehow. She's a widowed, retired, rich Jewishlady from New York. You know, Early Bird dinners, bridge clubs, lawn bowling, andradio contests. She's very cute, actually.”I was picturing the landlady sitting in her Palm Beach condo, with hot clocks on the wallthat mapped out each radio station and what time they played their contests. I finally94

thought of something relevant to say, “So when can I move in? That seemed like alogical and coherent inquiry.“You can pick up the key any weekday between nine and five. Or I can meet you at theapartment, when you choose to move in. What day were you thinking?”“I'll have to get back to you. I have to recruit some help, for a couple of my things.”She left the specifics for our rendezvous open. I promised to call her, when I knew thedetails. I hung up, pondering why I could never speak in a socially competent manner tothis woman. I looked up to see Mitchell bouncing on the pads of his feet, gently clappinghis open hands. He looked like a baby seal at suppertime, and I instantly wonderedwhether he was genuinely glad for me or just happy to be finally rid of me.“So you got it!” He stretched the phrase “got it” in a high pitched singing voice, which Iwould be quite content never to hear again. However, I was touched by the fact that heseemed to care at all, and he had given me some really expensive shirts after all.“Yeah, I could move in tomorrow,” it was a Saturday, and I hoped that might make forconvenient availability of some non-paid hired hands.“Oh, that's wonderful, Ricky.” I really hated being called Ricky, but coming from Mitchell,it just seemed natural. I half expected it, and it was an obvious term of endearment.“I've got plans with my family tomorrow, but Robert will be available. I'll tell him.”Generally, Mitchell's “family plans” involved him and his gay cousin in a cabana on SouthBeach or somewhere, drinking girly cocktails and strutting their perfectly tanned,hairlessly waxed bodies around in bathing suits that made Speedos look like coveralls.At least they could pull that look off. You would much too often see pale, fat, hairy,middle age rich guys wearing beach garments like that. It was as if everyone aroundthem were too intimidated to tell just them, “You know your chances of getting laidplummet exponentially every nanosecond that you're seen in public wearing that thing.”I assumed attracting sexual partners was the only forethought involved in that particularwardrobe selection to begin with. They must have some misguided misconception thatpeople found them sensuously irresistible in these little elasticized hankies that theywere using to cover their genitals.Before I was aware of it, Mitchell was already on the phone to my cousin Robert, “Heneeds some help Robert. Tomorrow. Get your haircut next weekend, you don't evenneed a haircut. You are so handsome already, darling.”I started to speak and say that I could make due on my own, but Mitchell stuck his indexfinger in the air with a stern look that instructed me not to speak, “He's your cousin, andyou should help him. He loves you very much, and he's your only family in Florida. I'lltell him you're happy to help; in fact, you can't wait to see his new place.”95

He smiled at me, sharing the inside joke that I was listening in, “Okay darling. I'll seeyou after work. I'll wear something special!” He did that sing-song inflection with hisvoice again.My mind immediately turned toward thoughts of what I could find to do this evening. Ididn't want to be in the way, nor did I care to even witness Mitchell's idea of somethingspecial to wear for Robert.The next morning, Mitchell was gone before I even had time to open my eyes. I heard“ta-ta-ing”, and he ran out the door for early appointments. As I was falling asleep thenight before, I heard murmuring conversation about a nude beach; he probably went fora complete Brazilian body wax and new sunglasses to complement the look. At leastthat was the thought I entertained as consciousness crept into my head.My cousin was very generous with his time that day, as he accompanied me to my newhome. There was a feeling of exhilaration, but a tinge of sadness and nervousness.This was about to become my new world, and everything I ever regarded as security andsupport was nowhere nearby.I buzzed the Superintendent's apartment, and the same feminine voice made me swoonand flutter as its sound emanated from the small plastic speaker. She said she wouldmeet us upstairs in a few minutes and buzzed the door to let us in.We stood on the communal balcony and looked east toward the water. My cousinpointed out, “You can see the ocean on the horizon, and you can feel the salt air from uphere. I think you did well. This is almost like oceanfront, only on a budget.”I agreed and Julie appeared with my key and a page of information that she said mightprove helpful: maintenance numbers, hours of laundry accessibility, etc. She left quicklyand I returned my attention to my cousin. I had noticed that he was keenly inspectingJulie's features, as she spoke to me.“Rick, I don't even do women, but I would fuck that girl without a minute's hesitation,” hegave me a look that said he wasn’t joking.“Really? I do “do” women, and in her case I would do a lot more than that,” as weheaded toward the door, I turned back around to say, “That’s the kind of woman youmarry, if you’re lucky enough.”“I'll make sure to tell everyone if they ask that you do women,” he started laughing, “Oneof our gay neighbors asked me about that. Apparently he saw you running in those littlegym shorts of yours, and you’re now currently number one on his spank bank list.”“Thanks Robert, I’m going to have to go into therapy now, but I’m sure that’s veryflattering on some level. We had quite a few laughs that afternoon. By the time we gotall my stuff in the apartment, it was getting pretty hot. We bought a six pack of beer andstood on my new communal balcony making comments about the physical desirability ofany passerby under the age of 70.I even joined him in evaluating the men, and he in turn commented on women. It96

seemed easier for him to switch sides than me. I just kept thinking of what my buddiesback in Tennessee would say if they were listening to this conversation.He finally left around four in the afternoon. I stood there on the balcony looking at thehorizon, where I knew the ocean was only a few blocks away. That was nice to know,but suddenly I really felt extremely homesick and a little anxious. Here I was, starting awhole new life. I thought out loud that I should be excited, but in reality, I had never everfelt so alone.***I liked to convince myself that this new job would be a brainless sleepwalk, reading cardsabout the “Birthday Game” and trying to act enthused about sharing the same repeatedlandmark musical accomplishments of artists like Michael Bolton or Boy George. I evenpracticed saying “The Wave 96.1 – South Florida’s Home for Sweet and Light Favorites.”In reality, I was very nervous about my first shift. The guy that was to guide me throughthe intricacies of the station's format and equipment operation was the eveningannouncer, Jonas Welk.Jonas was African American, in his early thirties, and married with two kids. His wifemust have had an excellent job, because Jonas could not have made much more thanme, doing the evening shift. I was consistently concerned about paying my own pittanceof rent, and this guy had other people that depended on him.He was very much like me in his perception of the world, which he regarded with anattitude of bemusement and a tinge of incredulous cynicism. We could have been agreat morning team. When we got on a topic that exhilarated us, we just sparked on allcylinders. There was a great chemistry and mutual appreciation of each other,especially when it came to sense of humor.Coming to work and seeing Jonas was the one event I looked forward to every evening.I’m pretty sure he felt the same way, because by the time I arrived, he had a virtualchecklist of subjects on his mind to talk about. Many of those chosen conversationthemes involved our workplace, which was absolutely ridiculously entertaining towitness.One of the funniest nights I had, since the early days with Jim, was the evening thatJonas reported that the station was getting “Color Weather Radar”. I thought he wasjoking at first, but why would he make up something so ludicrous. He stared at my face,after he told me, just to enjoy my reaction.“What?” I finally blurted, as I nearly choked on a sip coffee. He was already in tears; Icould tell he was just waiting to share the news with me. “Do they realize that we're onthe radio? What the fuck difference will Color Weather Radar mean on the radio?”He leaned back in the studio chair and wiped his eyes, “I know man. It had to be Bill'sidea. He probably saw it on the eleven o'clock news and thought 'We'll be the onlystation in South Florida with color weather radar'. Not only does it make no sense,because the audience can’t see it, but this is South Florida. It can be raining one place,and clear and dry two blocks away.”97

Bill seemed like a very soft bodied, spoiled and pampered boy who had never grown up.He was a megalomaniac with acute insecurities, and he was convinced that his opinionwas absolute, simply based upon the chance fortune provided by his father’s lack ofcondom use. Since we worked at night, we didn’t have to experience the silliness of dayto day life at the Wave 96.1 office place.It would have been nearly impossible to trudge through the night, if Jonas hadn't beenthere to either rant or joke about the situation we were in. I told him once in a while that Iwished he didn't have all the responsibilities of being Mr. Mom, because we would be agreat pair to hang out together. He would look wistful; once in a while he’d lament thathe’d love to pick me up after my shift with a cooler of beer and a couple fishing poles. Iwasn’t really a fisherman, but that sounded like a great way to spend a day.After he left at around 1:00am each night, the workplace became pretty desolate, darkand quiet. While I was on the air, there was no one anywhere in the entire officecomplex. I never even saw a security guard, if there was one. The request line was alifeless vacuum, inhabited by the same lonely losers, who were stuck in the samenocturnal lifestyle as me.There was Loretta, the phone sex hostess. She apparently didn’t get a lot of businessafter 3:00am; that’s when she usually called. Loretta had better hope that her companynever adds online cameras to their service; she would instantly be looking for a new job.I happened to know that Loretta, Tamara on the sex line, was sixty years old and “fullfigured”. You’d be surprised what people share on the phone with an overnight discjockey.One night out of boredom, just for a laugh, I talked her into sharing an example of whatshe would say if I had called in to her service. I immediately made her stop after aboutthirty seconds, I was afraid I’d develop spontaneous chronic erectile dysfunction. I feltlike I wanted to take a shower after listening to her idea of sensuous rhetoric. It was themost disgusting thing I had ever listened to, and I suddenly became immensely gratefulthat I was fortunate enough to play Lionel Richie for a living.Another regular “sidekick” was Raji the convenience store night manager. He was apoor working stiff trying to pay for his daughter’s university with his second full-time job,working overnights at Tiki Mart. Raji was America’s dream immigrant. He worked hard,and he impressed me as intensely honest, responsible and decent.He loved NFL football, so we would often spend two hours discussing the league afterMonday night’s game was over. He made me laugh when he tried to pronounce BrettFavre’s name; it always came out of his mouth as Fahv-rah. I didn’t bother trying tocorrect him, it might have been embarrassing to him. I certainly wouldn’t be able toassimilate into Pakistani culture as successfully as he had into North America’s.Steve was another regular. He was the night watchman at a trucking company. I don’tknow why he picked me to call. I’m quite sure that he didn’t listen to the station. Heseemed to think that I was one of those late night radio talk show hosts who talks aboutaliens, conspiracies, and JFK murder theories. He continually obsessed over thosesubjects, which was occasionally interesting from a casual pedestrian perspective.98

The problem was that Steve was anything but pedestrian in his fascination. One nighthe actually played a cassette tape for me over the phone about Armageddon orsomething. I got coffee, heated a sandwich in the microwave, checked the teletype andwent to the bathroom while he was holding the phone next to his cassette player. I toldhim it was really alarming and too specifically detailed not to be true; though I hadn’teven listened to it.I was nice to guys like Steve, partially out of fear. He sounded like the kind of guy whocould develop an obsessive hatred for someone who discounted his theories andallegations. He had also made occasional references to weaponry. I was cautious notto spark any sentiment of retaliatory anger that might be stewing under Steve’s securityguard surface. If he got upset at me, he might actually figure out what radio station Iworked for and pay me a visit one night with a semi-automatic high voltage bug zapperor some paramilitary device he built in his garage.These were my peers, my personal relationships. They all originated out of loneliness,boredom, and even paranoia. It was a spooky experience being the only one awake inthe middle of the night and talking to who knows what kind of personality in thatquagmire of a city. Yet, it was comforting to have some kind of human contact; it madeyou somehow feel safer and more relevant.That same desperation pheromone that wafts off of an individual, at job interviews andfirst dates, was pungent even across phone lines. The conversations usually startedwith a song request, and then their depressing lament would eventually emerge: “I lostmy husband last year.” “I just recovered from a life threatening and terrifying disease.”“That bastard was fucking his secretary the whole time.” You grew accustomed tohearing them, and if you were in the mood, you would even listen.This was not the same overnight shift that I experienced as the local rock ‘n roll guru,entertaining a young party audience. Those people were passionate about their music,their lives, and whatever they were drinking or smoking that night. I’d pick up the phoneand immediately hear the howling and cheering in the background, just because theircall got through. They’d make a raucous request for Ted Nugent's “Wang Dang SweetPoontang” and scream in unison, hoping to get onto the radio. Sure, they weresenselessly drunken fornicators, but their enthusiasm was infectious.Now I took calls from sobbing middle aged women requesting “Fire and Rain” for theirdead cats, because “he used to love to cuddle”. Though the sentiment was entirelydifferent, it was just as infectious. I’d be somewhere between confirmed existentialistand suicidal paranoiac by the end of some of those nights.I soldiered on by thinking of nothing but the daytime and the accessibility to the blessedbeach. The theory I had developed was that we spent those first nine months of ourprenatal lives in amniotic fluid. Therefore, we found bodies of water to be calming,mesmerizing, infatuating. No matter how many times you sit and watch its ebb and flow,it both comforts and stimulates you on a very primal level. The mere fact that I put somuch thought into why I like lying on a towel on a garbage strewn belt of sand was asure sign that my vampiric isolation was really starting to wear me down.99

Graveyard shift existence aside, there seemed to be a uniquely difficult socialenvironment, inherent to South Florida. That was especially true if you were earning thekind of salary I was. The gap between the “haves” and the “have nots”, was evidentfrom one block to the next. My twenty minute drive to work through West Palm Beachconsisted of high end residential areas, dreary warehouse districts, modest middle classneighborhoods, and crime infested beehives where crack purchases and hooker hiringswere merely an eye contact away.There was also an indigenous distrust of newcomers. Because of the transient nature ofSouth Florida, there was an ever present trepidation that everyone you met could be adrifter with a record of conning underage girls and seniors with dementia.The most overt evidence materialized, when I spoke to a woman at my bank aboutsecuring a modest car loan. My old van, by Palm Beach County standards, made melook like I had just come back from selling tofu and opium at Grateful Dead concerts.Plus, I had experienced two consecutive breakdowns already, in neighborhoods thatwere not conducive to being outside your car at night.The loan officer was very nice; she said that while she thought I was probably a “veryresponsible and forthright man”, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Welcometo the sunbelt” was what she said as she denied my loan. That statement became mymetaphor for South Florida.Banks and other institutions assumed that most people below the wealthy class,populating South Florida, were potentially transient escaped cons. It is true that SouthFlorida seems to be the region chosen by nine-out-of-ten transient ex-cons you readabout, but that inconvenient truth made life a real challenge for working class stiffs.Jim would pontificate on the phone about how I was “living in paradise”. I told him thatall the “Golden Coast” stuff you read in the tourism brochures might be true forvacationers. “For us people that live here, it’s more like the 'Golden Shower Coast'. AllI'm doing is getting pissed on.”My existence during the winter and spring months consisted of the same repeatedroutine: come home, work out, listen to my previous night's show on tape while havingbreakfast, then head to the beach for girl watching, tanning naps, and a couple of beers.The days were essentially peaceful and pleasant, though not particularly eventful orfulfilling.Then came summer. I had been warned by one of the locals, “Wait till summer. Youwon't be able to do anything but sweat and scratch yourself.”“I already do both of those things,” I told him, “Besides, I lived through winter my entirelife. Summer can kiss my ass, compared to winter in Michigan.”I was wrong. My apartment had no air conditioning, so daytime sleeping was nearlyimpossible. From May until September, South Florida was like living inside a vagina.The air was like breathing gravy; that ambience was complemented by the presence ofmosquitoes, fire ants, and roaches the size of mice. Skin tissue transformed into itchinfestedminefields of heat rashes, mosquito bites and jock itches.100

I spent an entire day off at a public health clinic, because I thought I had somehowcontracted herpes. I hadn’t had sex since crossing the Floridian border, so I wasconvinced that I had been infected from a toilet seat or some other pathetic non-sexuallyrelated source. My privates were like nothing I had ever seen before; they looked like anovercooked Italian sausage. I was panic stricken every time I pulled my pants down,which now had become an obsessive minute-to-minute behavior.I thought to myself, “Like it wasn’t impossible enough to find a girlfriend before, wait tillshe feasts her eyes on these red swollen lesions covering my already unpopular lovetool.” I could picture her telling all of her friends, which would have the equivalent effectof having my photo placed on posters all over Palm Beach County, “WARNING: DONOT FUCK THIS GUY”. There would be a small inset photo of my red bloated penis,covered by a big red circle and a slash mark.Three hours passed in the health department clinic waiting room, where screaming kidsran rampant, throwing toys and plastic chairs at each other. The experience culminatedby spending about forty-five seconds with a doctor. He abruptly told me to pull down mypants. After contemplating my penis for approximately eight seconds, he said, “You gotjock itch. Go buy some medicated powder.”I took the walk of shame back through the waiting room. There were at least fourchildren screaming at the top of their lungs. The thought occurred to me that maybe Icould salvage the day by finding a vasectomy clinic that would accept my credit card.Then I remembered that I didn't have a credit card. The thing I regretted most was that Ihad just sacrificed a beautiful day off for the sake of hypochondria, but I also felt a senseof relief that I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life in forced celibacy.As a young man with testosterone coursing through his veins, the thought of my sexualsocial life being virtually over would have meant rethinking my reason to live. I imagineda tremendously melodramatic fallout after word spread of my condition, picturing newsheadlines: The Palm Beach Post, “Radio Rash Carrier Is Infection Risk”, the MiamiHerald “Lesioned Lover Strikes Single Community”, Broward County's Sun Sentinel“Should Blister Boy Be Quarantined?”Immediately after leaving the clinic, I went to the closest drug store I could find andbought the most expensive medicated powder they had in stock. I got out to the parkinglot and poured a generous heaping dosage down the front of my pants. Frankly, the itchwas so intense that I was tempted to do it right in front of the cashier, but she had thelook of a potential Wave 96.1 FM listener.I could picture myself brushing the excess powder away from my pelvis, just as she said,“I recognize your voice! Are you the nameless overnight guy on my favorite radiostation? I leave it on at night, because it puts me to sleep.” I wouldn't be namelessanymore after that. Next she'd be telling her gaggle of friends, “I think that guy on theradio has some sort of incurable penal fungus or something.”I brought the container to work, so I could re-administer treatment throughout the night inmy private medical facility located just above the waste paper basket in the studio.Sitting down in my isolated easy listening sanctum, I put on my headphones and101

prepared to recite another compelling recitation of whatever musical gems had justfinished playing.“Wave 96.1 FM playing South Florida's Sweet and Light Favorites. That was MichaelJohnson with 'Bluer than Blue', and before that the Carpenters with 'Rainy Days andMondays'. You won't need to worry about carrying your umbrella today. South Floridaskies will be sunny, with a light breeze Westerly at 5 to 10 miles per hour, not perfectsailing weather, but a great day for the beach, with that high hovering around 85degrees. Right now, it's 75. On the way, Simon and Garfunkel and a request for someJim Croce.”There really hadn’t been a request for the song. I made occasional references torequests trying to create the impression that I inhabited a nexus of popularity that madeit nearly impossible to answer all the calls that came pouring in.On top of that, I had never been on a sailboat in my life. I merely pretended to knowvitally pertinent and specific information on sailing conditions. It got so boring recitingthe same weather forecast every twenty minutes. The only thing that seemed to changewas the wind direction, so I would occasionally turn into South Florida's newest sailingaficionado broadcaster.I was also very adept at evaluating how nice of a day it was going to be to play golf,even though I never played, myself. One thing I can tell you, if I were lucky enough tobe sailing or golfing in the morning, I wouldn't be up at this hour listening to Bread andAbba.I played the last commercial into a soft chorus of singers harmonizing a Percy Faith-likeversion of the “Wave 96.1” jingle, then came “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”. One night when Isaw “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” on my song list for the fourth time in one week, I toldJonas, “If Jim Croce hadn't already died in a plane crash, I'd jump in my car and go killhim myself.”He laughed and said, “I feel that way about Barbara Streisand.”I looked up from the control board and saw that a phone line lit up. I didn't have to pickup the receiver, I could hear the caller through my headphones, and speak to them onthe microphone. I recorded every caller, just in case someone said something remotelyintelligent or relevant. I played those rare phone calls on the air for the same reason Ilied about getting requests for songs.It was 2:30am, so I expected to hear a bizarre middle age spinster say something like,“This is the anniversary of the day my best friend went into a coma; could you play'That's What Friends Are For'? It’s her favorite song. I have the speaker next to herhead.”Either that or my headphones would explode with festive effeminate male voices at anafter-the-gay-bars-close party, requesting “YMCA” or “something by Barbara”.Meanwhile, revelers in the background giggle and make comments like “He sounds sooocute”.102

A young adult female voice answered, “Hi, could you play a song for my grandmother?She turns eighty-six today, and she's listening at the nursing home. She just loves yourshow, so can you play something by Black Sabbath, and dedicate to Gram-Gram fromher little Cuddles?”I found that there was no possible way I could reply to that statement without expletives,so I finally made an attempt at professional diplomacy and blurted, “Are you serious?”She giggled, “What do you think? Would you have played it and dedicated it that way?”“I'm a grown man. I'm not going to say 'Gram-Gram' or 'Cuddles' on the radio in front of,I don't know, there must be at least two or three people listening right now. Besides that,we don’t play Black Sabbath on this station, and you know that. Who is this?”“It's your landlady,” she said it with a lilt in her voice that suddenly made my heart jump.She actually called me. Her attitude toward me had routinely seemed to be one ofdisinterest, if not total disregard and apathy.“What are you doing up at this hour?” I pictured her lying there, vigorously pleasuringherself, while she listened to me forecast the weather and gently tease her with apromise of songs by Kenny Rogers and Spandau Ballet on the way.“I'm taking a summer graphic arts course, and my big semester project is due tomorrow,”she paused for a second, “And besides, I've listened to you before. How could I not? Afamous celebrity in my building, who plays all this really cool music? I really liked theway you introduced The Carpenters a few minutes ago. I could tell you used to findKaren really hot.”“I did actually. Too skinny though.”She laughed out loud, and the entire complexion of my night suddenly transformed. Shesaid that she was done working on the art project, but still could not sleep. I told her thatshe had come to the right place, because our programming was designed for sleeping.She laughed at that too, and we talked for two hours.It turned out that she was a Canadian girl from a small town in Nova Scotia. Thatexplained her genuineness and her aura of decency and kindness. She struck me asquite obviously a very beautiful soul.In her twenties, she had moved to Toronto and became a legal secretary. Her move toFlorida happened as a lark. She had always dreamed of living on the beach in a warmclimate.The price she paid was a decline in standard of living and professional stature. Ratherthan working for one of Toronto's most respected litigation attorneys, she now ran anapartment building that catered to guys like me, who couldn't come up with the fullsecurity deposit.She finally said she had to go to bed at about 4:30am. I was now only ninety minutesfrom freedom, so I asked her, “Would you like to go to the beach tomorrow?”103

She laughed at that, which made me say, “What?”“Oh, it’s just cute. You probably still go to the beach on every day off, I bet.”“Yeah, well that’s because it’s there, and I live near it. Other people do it too, I’m told. Infact, I’ve seen some of them there.”“You’ll get over that. In a few more months, you won’t be able to remember the last timeyou were at the beach.”“I don’t know about that,” I thought about telling her my prenatal embryo in amniotic fluidtheory, but thought better of it. Deep thoughts like that are better saved for futureconversations. “Think of all the fantastical activities you can enjoy at the beach.”“Like what? Getting skin cancer and developing wrinkles?” She had me there. It wasn’tadvisable to spend too much time in the sizzling Florida sun, but it’s the reason we allattempted to live in the “Sunshine State”.“What would you suggest instead, then?”I could hear the sleepiness seeping into her voice, “I’ll go to the beach with you. Whattime?”We agreed upon noon, and she finally hung up. The phone call had rejuvenated me.The rest of my airshift sped by. There was a profoundly warm tickle that welled insideme. It seemed to tug at my mouth, making it impossible not to smile, even when I played“Dancing on the Ceiling” for the fourth time that week.I thought to myself, “I actually got a date with the most beautiful girl I think I’ve ever met.”Then I thought, “God, I hope that medicated powder works.”104

15 - Dynasties, Deaths and DownfallsThe morning after the Violet Dumet meeting in Dave's office, we were back on the airwith feelings of dread churning our stomachs. Not since our early days in Kingsport,when we worked for “that asshole Wycock" as we mutually referred to him, did we feelsuch malevolent forces of doom surrounding us.We weren't able to get in touch with Dave all afternoon. However, there was somethingabout this incident that had really spooked him or angered him toward us. We couldn'tput our finger on it, but there was something worrisome about his worry.Our sports talk that day concerned Brett Favre, one of our favorite quarterbacks, whohad just agreed to come back and play football for the Minnesota Vikings. Anyone whoever enjoyed watching a football game could not help but love to watch this guy play.He had a well deserved reputation as a "gunslinger", a guy who says, "Well we're aboutto lose anyway. Let's try a sixty-five yarder into the end zone. Sometimes he gotburned, but when he was on, you could almost hear the cheers and see the beer beingspilled on floors across North America.Personally, we were thrilled to have him back. There's nothing like exciting sports andsome controversy to make our lives and our radio program more enjoyable. We diddiffer, however, on our opinions about the decision to return.Jim expressed his first, "He's a legend, already. He's regarded as one of the greatestfootball players...probably best athletes....of an era, at least one of the most bankablesports figures. You could go to a remote fishing village in China and ask people," heswitched to what he considered to be a Chinese accent, "Oh, oh Bret Favre...he somegunsinger. He be careful he not get intercepted."Cam and I howled at the Chinese fishing village allusion, mainly because it was such abad accent. I don't know where some of Jim’s stuff comes from. Regardless of whattopic he's talking about, it was a hoot to listen to the guy get wound up on one of hisrants. He pursued an opinion with a blindly animated conviction that made theexperience worthwhile just to witness. For more years than I'd like to think about, I'dseen this phenomenon occur daily."Why would you take a chance to maybe tarnish that legacy by having a lackluster year?The last thing everyone remembers is that, 'Oh yeah he didn't even make the playoffshis last season.’ I'm not saying he won't. I hope he goes to the big show. I love the guy.And not only that, why if he destroys his knee on this last hurrah? He'd be living withpain for the rest of his life. He’s forty; those things stick with you after a certain age."Cam seemed to agree, "Plus for Minnesota, this is a one season era. What are theygoing to do next year, when he does finally retire?"I wanted to move on. We were also starting to receive criticism now about...what do youcall it, oh yeah..."talking too much". I quickly summarized my opinion, which would bethe last one spoken. I always thought it made me seem right, when mine came last.Like I automatically won the debate, just because I was the one that got to say, "We'regoing to play the commercials now."105

I was pretty sure I was right this time, though. "For Minnesota, it's the marketing windfallof the decade. They sold somewhere around 2500 season tickets the day he signed.They'll sell enough number four jerseys to pay his salary for the year; those will becollectors' items. Plus, every network affiliate in North America will want to carry thegames. If a network affiliate doesn’t have an NFC team in their city, I bet more oftenthan not, they’ll say 'let's carry the Vikes, cause everyone's interested in how BrettFavre’s going to do.”The guys nodded, but didn't say anything, which was odd considering we were doing aradio show. "As for Brett, he loves to play football. You know how it is, we love our jobstoo. But sometimes we're so burned out, we can't stand the thought of waking up in themorning. So, he goes back home. He's sick of all the 'BS' from the agents, the teammanagement, charities, the fans, those television network sportscasting lowlifes. He justwants to go hunting and fishing. Then he gets home, and his wife is bitching becauseshe wants to have a yard sale or wants him to help her pick out a granite countertop orsplash guard or something. And he just starts to say, 'What on God's green earth was Ithinking? I could have been playing football for a living, right now. Chicks wanted me toautograph their breasts, so they could later have my name tattooed above their nipples.If I don't get out of this house soon, next time I'm going to take that shotgun into thewoods and blow my own head off.’ By March every year, he’s probably a bigger threatto himself than any defensive end in the league." The other guys laughed in agreement.I continued, "So now he goes back to the game he loves playing more than anything.He makes a bundle of cash; 'cause you know that he's going to be the King of theProduct Endorsment Deals this year. Plus, he gets to miss out on running to pick upiced coffees for his wife's friends, just so he can escape the yard sale for a few minutes.Best of all, he gets one more year of nipple signings.”"Oh yeah," the other two nodded in simultaneous agreement. It was sincere andheartfelt agreement, too. Like an implicit gender pact: whenever a guy can make goodcash, play football for a living, sign nipples and miss out on all his wife's irritating andemasculating projects, that's just an awsome gig. He has earned our admiration. Mostguys would testify, "You had me at nipple signings!"I shuffled the papers in front of me for effect, “Now....in other news......”Jim chuckled, “You mean there are other things going on, besides the Brett Favrestory?”“No, that was the only thing that happened since yesterday. Anderson Cooper'sdevoting his entire show to it, tonight.”Cam interjected, “Larry King's going to do a five-part special report from Vikings trainingcamp.” Then impersonated Larry King, “Climax, Michigan, you're on the air with BrettFavre.”“As important as that is, yet another public figure is gone from the earth's surface thisweek, another addition to this infinite summer of celebrity death, tragedy and shamelessbehavior.106

“Is that what they're calling it? I wonder if there's a graphic yet," Jim pondered."It seems a little wordy for the lower third of the screen. Maybe they could just call it TheSummer of Ridiculous Overkill," Cam suggested."Don't be silly Cam. It doesn't have to be summer for us in the media to spank a story todeath. They don't call us investigative journalists for nothing. And here on this show wepresent all the news that's fit to attack, that's our promise to you, our listeners."Jim offered, "How about Summer of Celebrity Sadness?""I like that one. It’s expresses our pain a lot better," Cam suggested."I've lost track now,” Jim pondered, “We've had Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, M.J., whoelse?”Cam said, “Farah got screwed by Michael Jackson. I mean...well, figuratively."“That's a weird image in my head Cam,” I laughed.Jim did a Michael Jackson impersonation, “Farah, I'm going to wear the gloves on bothhands. I don't want to get that stuff on my fingers. It drives my monkey into a tizzy.””The scent of sex drives the monkey and the llama to go into a mating marathon, and anew species is created at Neverland. It could be Michael and Farah's legacy to theworld, along with Beat It and Charlie's Angels.”I was causing us to run really late now. We perennially ran late, which upset both salesand programming, as well as our helicopter traffic reporter who once waited five and ahalf minutes before doing her scheduled report as we conducted an "in depth newsinterview" with a dwarf dominatrix. I could picture our helicopter pilot saying, “We'realmost out of fuel. I can't keep circling.”Today in particular, we seemed to be having a real problem with focus, “Anyway, gettingback to Cam's point......there were so many deaths, that the media deemed Farah's tobe less significant than Michael's. You didn’t see a lot of big tributes to her, becausethey were investigating every nook and cranny of the creepy sideshow that wasMichael’s life.”“She got bumped,” Cam added.Jim yawned, “For those of you still there, thanks for listening in on our private thoughtsand conversations.”“I know, I've just been informed that it's Tuesday. This conversation lasted all night.None of the audience can even figure out what the hell we're talking about anymore.”“Brett Favre,” Cam offered.107

“No we're going to leave that hot storyline to the big news organizations to mull over.Right now, I'd like to talk about a more obscure story that you may not have heard about.Senator Edward Kennedy of the Massachusetts Kennedy's was laid to rest this pastweekend.”Jim asked, “Did you watch the service?”“No I recorded it so I could enjoy it over and over again.”Cam tried to say something serious, “Did you notice that here's a guy whose wholefamily have been historic figures for almost fifty years, and they're not making this sometacky publicity grab. They're actually conducting themselves with some dignity. Nocrazy sisters popping up and talking to any tabloid that will cut her a check. No 'tributetours' by the surviving Kennedy family members.”Jim made the point, “He was a U.S. Senator. What could they do on a live tour, spendmoney and argue?"Cam interjected, "They'll have a big Pay per View event: Robert Kennedy Junior drivesa car off a bridge and escapes like Cris Angel. Afterward he'll say, 'Uncle Ted taught methat stunt', and everyone will start crying. It'll be really sad, but exciting at the sametime.”“What a cool idea Cam, thanks,” I was ready to cue the phone ring sound effect, “RFKJr. is probably the most newsworthy Kennedy now. He's in the public eye, because ofhis environmental initiatives. Did you know that RFK Jr. once got busted for possessionof heroin?”Cam read from his laptop, “That's right. It was 1983, at Rapids City airport in SouthDakota.”“I'm willing to bet he didn't do a lot of hard time,” I cued the phone sound effect, “Goodmorning, 93 Rock.”“Is this the radio station?” It was me on recording, doing a Robert Kennedy Juniorimpersonation. He was easy to imitate, because he had such a distinctive voice. Hesounded a bit like Elmer Fudd, only with good pronunciation.“Yeah, this is 93 Rock, Loonie and Mooney in the Morning.” We still hated that name.“This is Robert Kennedy Junior.”“Hi Robert. We were just talking about the great tragedy that recently beset your family.”“You heard about the bugs?”“Bugs?”“Yeah. The bedbugs. They're all over the Kennedy compound. The exterminator saidhe'd never seen anything like it, before. Imagine how pissed off my relatives are at me!108

They all came down for that funeral thing. Now they're covered with bites and burningtheir clothes in the backyard, saying 'Don't even come near me, Robert and so forth.”I came back as myself talking to Robert Kennedy. “That sounds like quite a sceneRobert. How did something like that happen? Are you saying that you're getting blamedfor this?”“Well I've been attending the domiciles of some friends of mine that currently reside indwellings that some might refer to as abandoned buildings.” He emphasized the last twowords as if he were using his fingers to make quotation marks.“Robert, what were you doing there? Are you working on some sort of homeless reliefinitiative?”“No, I'm back on the shit again.” We edited “shit” with a beep. “What can I tell you? Ijust love the stuff. I can't get enough of it. I'm getting ready to snort a blast right now.Excuse me for a minute.” I snorted loud inhales into the microphone, and then sleepily,"Oh yeah. That's mighty fine. Don't mind if I do."Then suddenly, there was a sound effect of someone emptying the contents of theirstomach. Sure, it was an invariably tasteless thing to put on the radio, particularly aspeople munched their breakfast bagels on the way to work. However, our audience hadcome to expect this kind of behavior."Robert, are you okay?" I tried to sound concerned."It makes your high better," he said breathlessly, "Wish you were here."“Oh, me too Robert. It sounds like a good time. So how long have you been back onheroin?”“Ever since I started dating my new girlfriend, Amy Winehouse.”The guys started laughing, “Really, how long have you two been dating?”“Three days. We're on our fourth date now,” he started to yell, “Amy! Baby! Wake up!Your head's in the urinal again!”We all exploded with laughter, hoping it would translate to vicarious hilarity for thelisteners. Then, one of our saleswomen who had the perfect cigarette tarnished voicemade her debut as our Amy Winehouse impersonation, “Ah shit. My hair smells like thatblue disc in there. What the fuck are you doing letting me pass out in a fuckin' urinal?You're an asshole, and so is your motherfuckin' family! Fucking Kennedys”We obviously beeped all the profanity, but just enough to make the words legallypermissible. There was no question as to what she was saying.I spoke up again as Robert Kennedy Jr., “Look what I got you honey. It's another blast!”His voice got soft and romantic, “Cmon baby, this will make you feel better. Cmon, it'sfor you. I saved it till you got conscious, again. I knew you'd be in a bad mood cause I109

accidentally pissed on your head. It's so dark in here with all the windows boarded up,and I was stoned.”The the sound of two loud snorts followed. Amy's voice became a soft sleepy purr, “Ohbaby, I love you so much. You're so sexy. You make me feel just like Marylyn Monroe.”Suddenly came the sound of Amy retching, the guys roared with laughter again.She was still purring, “Oh, that's so good. You love me baby? Come here give me akiss.”Jim spoke up, “I don't know if we should be listening to this.” In the background thesounds of kissing and quiet moans.Robert Jr. spoke again, “Sorry guys, Amy's been in feeling down ever since that funeralthing on the weekend.”I came back as myself, “Oh, was she close to Senator Kennedy?”“No she never met him, but she worked really hard on a new version of 'Rehab' in UncleTed's honor, and the rest of the family said she couldn't sing it at the funeral. Even whenshe walked up front and took the microphone from the priest.”You could hear the intoxicated woozy “la la la's” from Amy in the background. Then shesuddenly launched into lyrics, “Ain't goin' to rehab, baby, cause I'm Ted Kennedy. Ain'tgoin' to rehab, baby…….”Suddenly there were shouts in the background, “FREEZE, POLICE! Put your handswhere I can see them!”Robert Kennedy’s voice spoke back to them, “Hey can you guys spare any change? Ihave to get the bus back to the Kennedy residence, where I’m sure this can be all sortedout compliments of Mr. Benjamin Franklin, you understand what I’m…..”Robert let out a grunt, and the voice of our policeman growled, “Shut up! Who’s on thephone, your drug connection? Who’s on the fucking phone?”We ended the bit then, with a little beep and click as if the phone was being hung up,“Wow, it sounds like they’re very happy together.”Jim responded, “They’ve got a lot in common. That’s why.”“What a fairy tale love story that is. Coming up next, the girls from Hooters are coming into tell us about, I don’t know. What are they going to talk about Cam?”“Who cares?” he shouted from the background.“That’s right. Who cares? Good attitude buddy. The Hooter girls will be here, alongwith comedian Carl Urk. Here’s a song we weren’t allowed to play for a couple ofmonths after Hurricane Katrina. It’s The Hip on 93 Rock.”110

I played “New Orleans is Sinking” by the Tragically Hip and returned to our own sinkingship in the studio. Our meeting with Dave was coming up in a few minutes, and we wereall anxious to find out exactly how big of a torrent we were facing.***Dave seemed to be in a reasonably chipper mood, all considered. We had tried to callhim all afternoon the day before, to find out what happened at his meeting with thefearsome Violet Dumet.The first thing I noticed when we walked in his office was her business card sitting atop apile of “to do” papers, in his inbox:Violet DumetPresident, Chief Executive OfficerMorality Media“How’d it go with the wicked tempest of Ontario?” I couldn’t wait to hear about it.“She was quite clear on her objectives.”“What are those? Converting every morning show in the country into pro-life discussionpanels?” Jim asked sardonically.“Followed by the Abstinence Hour,” Cam offered.“Be honest Dave, do you think Violet’s ever taken one in the rear entrance?” I couldn’tresist making a nasty comment; I was up most of the night because of this woman andher fanatical frigid agenda.“I don’t know. We didn’t get that deep into it.” With that, Jim hand motioned and madesound effects of a rimshot, punctuating the dirty joke that Dave wasn’t even aware thathe had made. Between us, we could usually find something dirty in most everyconversation.He continued, “She was very composed, quite articulate and well educated. Herconcern was that some of your material went over the line of decency and good taste;she was also quite convinced that some of your comments and comedy bits exceededthe boundaries of racial respect, bordering on racist hate material.”Those allegations set Jim off like spontaneous combustion, “That’s absurd. It’soutrageous! We satirize whatever situation happens to be in the news. There justhappened to be an abundant number of black stories in the news, for a few weeks.”I also felt I had to add, “Yeah Dave. You know what our deal is. We lampoonstereotypes and poke fun at hypocrisy. It’s all about making fun of belligerent redneckattitudes and exposing them. Plus, there are certain stereotypes that we all know aretrue, but no one actually has the balls to come out and make fun of it. I mean, theredoes seem to be an inordinate percentage of Asians who are perhaps lacking in drivingskills. Therefore, we came up with Wally Wong, Toronto’s worst cab driver. Fair111

enough, that’s a racial stereotype that we make fun of, but this black thing is justunfounded.”Jim continued, “Yeah, I mean Michael Jackson died. Thus begins the family freak show.Who’s not going to make fun of that? So they happen to be black; it’s not our fault. Wewould have done the same thing if they were Swedish.”“I know that,” Dave made gestures as he spoke as if he were attempting to restore calm,“She has her opinions, as do her ‘followers’ or whatever her right wing group of buddiesrefer to themselves as. She presented their concerns, as a matter of public record. Asyou know, we have to include these comments in our public file as responsiblebroadcasters.”Jim looked at me, “I told you we were responsible broadcasters.”Dave continued trying to make a serious statement between our sophomoric wisecracks,“She had a number of issues we discussed. In fact, based on our conversation, I’m surethat today’s drug references and utter disrespect toward a freshly deceased political iconmay have flapped her panties a bit.”“They weren’t black,” I interjected.“You’re right, Rick. Good call,” Dave continued attempting to convey a completethought, “I’m sure that some of the qualms she had about what she determined were‘hate filled racial slurs’ and ‘objectifying violations of women’ were partly attributable tothe fact that they were directly offensive to her, as a black female. I did manage toconvince her that the mention of ‘hate crime’ or any hateful intent at all was completelyabsurd.”“So she thinks we’re a loveable couple of pigs, now?” I wanted to get this conversationover. I was tiring of this one lone wacko dominating our thoughts, when we could havebeen actually producing positive ideas to further the show.“Tell her ‘There isn’t a guy in that studio who hasn’t banged at least one black girlbefore.’ Maybe that might help.” Jim was obviously tiring of the subject, too. He alwaysmade some tasteless joke to end a discussion or redirect it into something he’d rathertalk about.Dave didn’t laugh; he just rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, like he hadjust developed a spontaneous migraine. I steered the conversation toward a topic Ithought he’d enjoy talking about, “So how’s the new puppy doing?”“He chewed up both my webcam and my mouse last night. He managed to dig underthe backyard fence, so I spent most of Sunday afternoon looking around theneighborhood for him. Now….well nobody knows this….but Theresa is pregnant. Sothere’ll be two new babies in the house soon, or should I say two living beings that I’mresponsible for.”“Man, Dave. You’re not going to get ‘Father of the Year’ with talk like that!Congratulations man!” I reached across the desk to shake his hand.112

“Yeah, congratulations Dave.” Jim shook hands with Cam joining in right behind.“You seem a little nervous about it Dave,” I noted his understated acceptance of ourgood wishes.“It’s just a lot to take in all at once. I got this little guy that’s like a lightning fast two yearold with razor sharp teeth whose mission in life it seems is to destroy everything of valueI own. Now, I’m going to have a pregnant wife. I don’t have any idea what to expectfrom that. I usually try to work late when she’s on her period; now I’m afraid it’s going tobe nine months of non-stop menstrual moods. Not to mention that after watching mybeautiful petite little bride balloon up like a bloated bag of emotions, I’m awarded a tinyfragile little poop and vomit machine.”I struggled to say something, anything, but thought better of it. Dave continued his rant,“Then it’s the money. Thank God for good ole Canadian health care, but there are stillthousands of dollars to be spent: cribs and nursery accoutrements, highchairs, carseats, formulas and bottles, little clothes that are grown out of in a matter of a fewmonths….”Dave stopped himself, realizing that he was unloading all this private and personalbaggage onto members of his staff. He looked up appearing embarrassed; we just satthere looking back at him in somewhat stunned amazement.Jim was the first to speak, “Don’t worry Dave. Most men on the planet have gonethrough it, or they will before their lives are over. Look at it this way, how many men doyou know that would love to sit and watch your wife breast feed?”Dave’s eyes opened wide as all three of us raised our hands simultaneously. He leanedback in his chair and laughed, “How much do I owe you for this therapy session?”I answered for all of us, “You can make it up to us by giving us our wakeup calls everymorning at 4:00 am. You’ll probably be up anyway.”Jim said, “Maybe we can video conference. Then all of us can watch the baby’s morningbreast feed, while we have our coffee.”Cam reminded him, “We’ll have to buy him a new web cam, since the other baby ate it.”Dave sighed with good humored resignation, “What was the reason you guys came inhere again? Oh yeah, your show, it’s fine. Keep up the good work, and try not to attractany more heat in my direction. I’ve reviewed Violet’s documents, and I don’t really thinkshe has a leg to stand on, unless you do something really outlandish that just screams‘We’re racist misogynistic perverted pigs!’ So, just go easy for now, and let me try to getover my impending nervous breakdown before you draw any more antagonism, okay?”“We’re going to be clean as your momma’s laundry Dave. Don’t you worry bro.” I roseto leave.113

The other two followed me out the door. Then Jim paused to turn back around, “JamesRichard would be a nice pair of names for a boy.”I poked my head back into the door, “Or if it’s a girl, you could combine our friend’s firstand last names and call her Cameltoe.”“Goodbye fellas.”He was already on the phone by the time we closed the door behind us.We walked silently to our morning show office. Jim finally spoke, “That poor schmuck.”“I know. Our problems are so minute, compared to someone like him, to begin with.Now, he’s having a kid. I don’t know if I could ever prepare myself for that.”“I’d probably consider changing professions for one thing,” Jim said, “I don’t know howguys with families in radio can even sleep at night.”Cam didn’t comment. He just turned and walked down the hallway to the productionstudio.114

16 - The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear SunblockThe day of our date, I didn’t sleep much after work, and I summarily abandoned allelements of my usual morning routine. However, I was careful to groom: nose hairpurge, eyebrow trim, ear hair removal, and even my own fumbling attempt at a manicureand pedicure.I was delighted to see that the high-price medicated powder I bought was already wellon the way to completing its job. It should have. If it were possible to overdose on thestuff, I would have been in the ICU by dawn. I couldn’t have exposed my privates to anymore of the substance if I kept a plastic bag of it strapped to my scrotum.For once, I was thankful that I worked in isolation. I wouldn’t want one of the youngwomen in the office observing me scrutinizing and powdering my exposed manhood. Idid however vacuum the control room; the morning guy would have thought I was usingcocaine all night. I don’t know what would have been worse, the possible accusation ofdrug use on the job or having to admit the real reason that the control room carpet wascovered with white powder.Naturally, by the time we were scheduled to meet, I was about as witty andknowledgeable as a guy who digs the trenches for outhouses, but I was counting on thefact that I had kept her up too late. Maybe she was as borderline catatonic as I was. Asit turned out, that wasn’t the case.The knock on my door rapped sharply at 11:59am. She was as chirpy as a Jack RussellTerrier at a ferret hunt. She had made tofu “imitation chicken” sandwiches, which Ithought might be the most unappetizing food offering anyone had ever suggested to me.Her explanation was that she was considering vegetarianism, and I was apparentlyreaping the tantalizing benefit of this lifestyle experiment.On my own behalf, I had packed a cooler filled with six beers, a bag of sea salt andvinegar potato chips, and two pomegranate popsicles that I bought simply because theconcept sounded so exotic. They had partially melted on the way home from the store,but I had carefully crafted their reformation. They looked almost normal, and I packedthem deep in the cooler ice to insure their continued stability.I then removed two of the beers to include wine coolers that I remembered Mitchell left inmy refrigerator. He suddenly showed up one night, wearing a brightly flowered Hawaiianshirt, knotted at the bottom of his rib cage to reveal his obsessively crafted abdomen.He said he came to inspect my new sanctuary and carried with him a housewarming giftof a vase sculpted like a naked gladiator. As my mind started racing about where I couldstore it unseen in my apartment, while still having instant accessibility in case he showedup unannounced, he said he just “loved my little bachelor nest”. His one suggestion wasthat I acquire more plants and wall hangings, which he promised to find for me. I wasalready picturing a collection of naked gladiators with behemoth phalluses occupying mywalls as he left with a “ta ta honey” and a peck on the cheek.I had felt quite pleased with my efforts at providing refreshments, until she arrived withher non-meat lunch. Still the most embarrassing issue for me was the matching beach115

ag and cooler that I was forced to carry. I only owned one of each, and they werepromotional gifts from a record label. Everyone on the Wave 96.1 FM air staff got one,and I’m sure that some of them probably carried their bags proudly. However, Ipersonally found toting fluorescent turquoise “Mariah Carey MTV Unplugged” beachaccessories to be somewhat unrepresentative of my personality.She immediately noticed it, “So you’re a big Mariah Carey fan.”“Oh yeah, I have all her albums. I’m following her around the country on her next tour.”She laughed, and I loved the sound of it. Her laughter had a very robust confidenceabout it, and it had a genuineness that implied that she liked to laugh freely and openly.“My, did we get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”“I might have if I ever went.”She gave me a concerned look, “You haven’t been to bed at all?”“I’ll sleep on the beach. That ought to make for an interesting and fun-packed date.”“This is a date?” She gave me a smile that said she didn’t mind me calling it that, “Icouldn’t possibly date one of my tenants, conflict of interests and all.”“I’ll move out. Let’s just forget the beach part and sleep together.” I couldn’t evenbelieve I had just said that.“You’re not my type. I like dumb guys who are unemployed and buy me lingerie forevery gifting occasion.”“You know a guy like that?”“That was my ex-boyfriend.” She picked up her beach bag and started heading towardthe door.I grabbed my Mariah Carey equipment and followed her, my mind still dwelling on theterm “EX-boyfriend”. I didn’t want to pursue the subject just yet. Put that one in the fileand ask subtly probing questions throughout the day. At some point she’ll finally crackand spill the beans, telling me everything about her relationship status to date.We arrived at the beachfront twenty minutes later. I spread the old blanket I had broughtand with unspoken chivalry spread her towel on top of half, before I attended to my own.I looked up to see that she had removed her wrap and was standing before me in a twopiecebikini. My reaction was an embarrassment; I made an audible gasp and stared ather with my mouth literally dropping open. She was the sexiest and most nubile humanbeing I had ever seen in person.She noticed. “Have you seen a bathing suit before?” she asked, “I could run back andget my burka, if you would be more comfortable with that.”116

“What are you talking about? I tried to feign indignation, but I was secretly thinking,“How much more effectively could I possibly fuck this up?”“You’re cute,” she patted the side of my face, “I’m going into the water.”I followed her. We splashed around, I body surfed a couple of times, and we headedback to our small beach camp. She immediately started to apply suntan lotion. Was shetrying to make me actually go insane with insatiable lust? I had to pretend I was staringat a seagull eating a hot dog wiener. Otherwise, I might entirely creep her out bydrooling on the blanket like I had brain damage and jamming my hand into my ownswimsuit like a pervert peeping tom.Then came the greatest test I may ever have faced as a man. She said, “Will you putsome on my back?”That was all she wrote. I was actually trembling like a Border Collie waiting for hismaster to throw a tennis ball. “Sure,” I said, using all of my years of radio experience tomake my voice sound as casual as possible.I squirted a bit on her upper back and tried to be as sexy and sensuous as possible as Ispread it across her lightly freckled frame. “How’s that?” I asked, “Do you want me to dothe front too?”“I already got it, but thanks,” she gave me a “you’re-very-funny” look, laid down andclosed her eyes.I tried not to look at her, because the embarrassing spectacle that was starting todevelop inside my swimsuit would soon be impossible to hide. I was once called to theblackboard in eighth grade math class, after spending most of the period getting ampleeyefuls of classmate Missy Krazinski’s deliciously developed bosom.Amongst the male student body, you could not find a stranger to Missy Krazinskiadoration. Her breasts were the standard of which all other mammaries were judged.I was forced to stand in front of my entire class with an unmistakable erection that I thinkeven the teacher noticed. At least I could make a run for the water, if that happenedhere. I could feel the warm rush of blood already starting to migrate into the region. Ifshe rolled on her stomach and removed the straps on her bikini top, I was making asprint into the ocean.We lay there for about a half hour in the sun, took a dip in the water, then repeated theprocess. She suggested we attempt to choke down the chicken tofu sandwiches. I atemine heartily; though it was absolutely revolting. “Revolting” is a strong word; it wasmore or less just entirely tasteless.During lunch, I introduced Julie to a game I invented while watching people on the beachone day. The format challenges your innate sociological sensibilities, by requiring you tomake subjective judgments on other people; I call it “Gay or European”. The premise issimple: spot a guy with a flamboyantly revealing bathing suit, and determine whatcategory he falls in, gay or European. Occasionally you'll even come across a “Daily117

Double”, but the simple fact is that you don't see quite as many heterosexual NorthAmerican guys wearing those little pelvic slingshots.An exception to that rule is that one particular breed of middle aged, mid-life crisis riddenmale who unabashedly inhabits a tiny skin-tight meat sling, outlandishly inappropriate forhis size, age and body hair density. Generally, these individuals simply make so muchmoney that none of their friends, families or spouses have the nerve to tell them thateveryone within an eyeshot is either laughing at them or cringing with disgust.The same guy’s probably paying for everything during the vacation, so why upset thepleasant status quo with a reckless fashion commentary? The guy could tie a bananapeel around his penis, and his guests would be fine with that, as long as he keepscompensating the cocktail waitress on their behalf.The topic arose at lunch, because there happened to be a plentitude of over-exposed“case studies” strolling around right at that moment. None of them were sporting enoughfabric to make a proper bandana, so I began by making a few discerning evaluations,just to teach her the game.After I got done explaining the concept, she said, “You sound like Don Cherry,” andlooked at me like she expected me to understand what she was talking about.“Who’s Don Cherry?”She looked at me like I asked her where babies come from, “You don’t know who DonCherry is? That’s right. I guess he's not that famous in the States. He’s a pretty bigcelebrity in Canada, a former hockey coach who does hockey commentary now. Hissuits are outrageous, all plaids and stuff. He gets himself into trouble occasionally forsaying something that offends people, but it’s like you expect it from him. People tune into see what he’s going to say next. He’s always talking about European guys andcomparing them to North American guys, like they're a bunch of helmet-wearingpansies.”I was stunned. Could it be that she's a sports fan? If so, I could have just hit the richestvein in the entire “girl mine”. A beautiful woman who loves sports is considered themother lode. Men dream of it. I had finally found something that I could really commitmyself to: watching the Super Bowl with Julie, while having hot steamy sex during thecommercials. A man's idyllic dream of perfection was sitting right before me, covered inSPF 35.“Do you like football?” I nearly panted as the words came out.“Not really. I'm a hockey fan. I don't understand football.”Ooh, a stumbling block, but she's still trainable. “I can teach you everything you need toknow about football.”She crinkled her nose up, “I'm not really interested. I've watched hockey with my friendssince I was a kid. Saturday nights were a big deal, when I was growing up. You know,Hockey Night in Canada.”118

“Is that when they play?” I asked. They must play more often than that, surely.She looked at me incredulously, “That's just one broadcast you twit. Hockey’s on allweek long, during the season. Hockey Night in Canada is just one time slot that's atradition. Every Saturday night, every sports bar in Canada has the CBC on.”“Is that the only channel you get up there?” My grin told her that I was teasing her.“Typical Yank! Yeah, that's the only channel we have. We watch it in our igloos. Then inthe summertime, we put on our parkas and cross-country ski to work!”“Do you have moose and caribou running loose everywhere?”She rolled over on her stomach, and said, “I happen to like baseball too, but I'm nottalking to you anymore.” With that she unfastened her bikini top to insure a strapless tanon her back, and I scurried over to the ocean to submerge my midsection.***The rest of the afternoon proceeded very pleasantly; we chatted at length about Canada.She obviously had a lot of pride in her country, and I could tell she liked talking about it.I told her that I had been intrigued by the city of Toronto, ever since an old friend hadvisited there and spoke very highly of the city. It had a reputation for being very safe,clean and cosmopolitan.She touched my chest lightly a couple of times, while expressing herself in conversation.I pictured myself doing the same to her, but thought better of it. She even seemed to beteasing me a little as she ate one of the popsicles that I packed in the cooler. She wouldlick the side of the shaft sensuously, then slowly slide the frozen cylinder phallus into hermouth and move it back and forth. Then again, that could have merely been my anxiousimagination at work. After I thought about it, that’s how most people eat a popsicle, but itsure was fun to watch at the time.That night at work, I waited for her phone call. If she called tonight, that would be a clearindication of interest, in my mind. After four o’clock came and went, I resigned myself tothe fact that she must have gone to bed. That didn’t mean that my fornication campaignwas doomed to failure; after all, she had been up until almost dawn talking to me, thenight before.I had to figure out a way to take her out again. I had already used up the beach option,which was the only activity at my disposal with a totally free admission fee. I’d have toprovide a legitimate dinner and movie to totally clear the pathway to her inner regions. Itruly sensed that one or two real dates could reopen the entrance ramp to her sexualsuperhighway, and the ribbon cutting ceremony would be awesome.The problem was with my salary. Dinner and a movie in West Palm Beach might as wellhave been a condo mortgage, on my income. Then I thought of it! The radio stationwas presenting Anne Murray in concert, and I could easily obtain tickets to the event!119

Julie was Canadian; I bet she loves Anne Murray. I couldn’t wait to tell her. She mightyank me into her apartment and straddle me right there in the living room.The next day I lingered around the apartment building, waiting for the opportunity toshare this good news. Finally, I saw her coming up from the laundry room with amaintenance man. I pretended to carefully micro-search my mailbox for anycorrespondence that I could pretend to read in the lobby.After she said her final “goodbye” to the washing machine guru, I moved in. “Hi there!”She smiled at me, and lightly touched my cheek. “I told you to use my sunblock. Lookat you. You got burned.”“It’s not bad. It’ll turn into tan. It was all worth it for one of those chicken tofusandwiches.”She didn’t laugh at that, so I moved on, “Hey, I got some tickets to the Anne Murrayconcert on Saturday night, and I……”“Thought that since I’m Canadian that I love Anne Murray? Funny you should mentionthat! My entire family walks around singing “Snowbird” all the time. Sometimes we wearour Anne Murray T-shirts to church! I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not related to her insome way.”I stood there in a stunned fugue-like state. Had I just done something wrong? Sheacted like I had just shown up at a bar mitzvah with canned ham.Then she smiled, “Actually I like Anne Murray, and I’m positive that you’re really probablynot a huge fan. I’d love to go. It’s very sweet of you to ask. I’ll make dinner before wego, say five o’clock.” With that she trotted up the stairs, leaving me alone in theapartment lobby.How excellent is this? Not only was she going to the show with me, but she was goingto make dinner. This was going to be a totally free evening, and it might even help usherin my celebrated return to the coveted “free stuff and frequent sex” status that I had oncegrown accustomed to. Life was good.***I prepared myself for that evening in every possible way, diligently grooming anddeodorizing countless pockets of potential hygiene shortcomings and uncouth growths.I had never ever performed such a complete cosmetic scavenger hunt before. An FBIforensic team with bloodhounds could not have been more thorough in identifying odorsources or hair follicles.Nostril hairs trimmed, toenails clipped, dabs of cologne strategically applied near anddirectly upon my private regions. The cologne was not only intended to enhance andencourage close intimate romantic contact with my lower extremities, it was also adesperate attempt to mask the smell of medicated crotch powder. I now seemed to beaddicted to the stuff.The addiction was both physical and psychological. I loved the cooling, soothing tinglingsensation that signaled healthy scrotal rejuvenation. Then, there was also the120

subconscious confidence that can only come from knowing that your penis doesn’t looklike a raw souvlaki.On occasions when my schedule didn’t allow frequent opportunities to slather my netherregions with the inconvenient and messy medicinal dust, I actually experienced panicfuelledhypochondriacal fantasies.I even had a dream where I was standing in the buffet line at a formal social event.Suddenly, my pants explode like the Incredible Hulk, during his transformation fromBruce Banner into a green-skinned super-thug.The entire room is startled by the explosive sound of bursting seams. Shards of zipperscatter across the room like shrapnel. Out of the corner of my eye I see three humanshapes, one moves toward me and a face that I immediately recognize as Julie issaying, “Uh Rick, these are my parents.”Meanwhile, they and everyone else in the room are transfixed upon my grotesquelyswollen and deformed member, emerging from the debris like a tiny Loch Ness Monsterwith measles. Then, the once proud ambassador of my loins plops into the punch bowl,like a pus-encrusted stalagmite. Waves of tropical punch gush onto the floor and sprayall the members of Julie’s family, who are now lined up and waiting to meet her new“special someone”.Julie’s mother and father give each other disapproving looks. People behind me in thebuffet line are either sobbing or retching in revulsion. With an unnaturally amplified voicethat echoes above all the commotion, I hear Julie scream, “I hate your penis!”That’s when I wake up and immediately run into the bathroom to apply copious amountsof powdered jock itch remedy. Three days prior to Anne Murray`s arrival in West PalmBeach, and the first potential public appearance of my penis in South Florida, mysituation started improving at an admirable rate.That was until the actual night of the date. It turns out that the nearly exhausted bottle ofPolo that Mitchell had given me, when mixed with jock itch powder, creates a chemicalreaction that is equivalent to napalm. Ten minutes before I was expected to arrive fordinner, I was standing in the shower, splashing cold water on my genitals, and makingsounds like a little girl who just found a spider in her lunchbox.After the firestorm inflicting my sensitive region had de-escalated to a point of mere milddiscomfort, I felt as confident as I could, given the fact that only hours earlier I had adream about party guests screaming, “Oh my God, look at all the scabs!”I was having genuine anxiety attacks. Me, the former aficionado of free stuff andrecipient of gratuitous groupie gropings was nervous about going out with this girl.I had actually bought a basic Canadian facts book at a tourism store. Reading it fromcover to cover, I memorized the name of every Canadian province. Not only that, Icouldn’t wait to expound upon subjects like the Alberta tar sands or the lobster industryin Nova Scotia. Don’t even get me started on “Anne of Green Gables” or the Acadianancestry that evolved into Louisiana Cajun culture.121

I learned that the Canadian one dollar coin was coincidentally called a “Loonie”. Thatseemed like rather cartoonish title for a national currency, but since it that was theirnational negotiable tender, I didn’t want to mar our evening by offending her with sillysemantics.While in the studio the night before, I read every Celine Dion CD cover in the building.I’m quite sure we had all of them; it seemed like we played one of her songs about everyeleven minutes. While I personally maintained a strong opinion that she sucked, we alsohad other artists I was allowed to play like Bryan Adams, The Guess Who, GordonLightfoot, and possibly the greatest of all, Neil Young. I pored over album notes,devouring any knowledge that would help me to become the quintessential intracontinentaldate.In a matter of days, I had transformed myself from self-absorbed American cultural loutto a hairpin triggered weapon, just waiting for an opportunity to fire off information thatmany Canadians probably didn’t even know about their own country. I pictured mobsand minions of Canadian parents lined up, offering generous dowries in exchange fordefloration of their daughters.“I’ll have to rent storage areas to hold all the maple syrup and moose jerky,” was one ofthe many thoughts I tried to amuse myself with, as I read dry historical and geographicalinformation about the land of Rush and CFL football. This wasn’t the kind of book thattold stories about Keith Richards getting arrested for heroin possession or Mick Jaggersleeping with the first lady. I was engulfed in facts about the great prairies and freshwater supplies.After this, if I converted to Judaism, I could be South Florida’s most eligible bachelor. Allof my neighbors were either Jewish or Canadian it seemed. One of them would surelywant to fix me up with their daughters. I could picture myself at a Hanukkah dinnergathering. The elderly relatives all gathered in a corner whispering, “He seems like anice man, that new boyfriend, but what is it with eating all the bacon? And he endsevery sentence with ‘eh’, like he`s asking a question. What’s that all about? Oy vey!”I was perhaps getting a bit ahead of myself. I still had this one evening to get throughbefore I started running ads in the Miami Herald as a Canadian male escort service.Descending the stairs, my heart was racing in anticipation of whatever form of spiral-cuthoney-glazed tofu ham she had chosen to accompany an undoubtedly flavor-bereftmacrobiotic rice dish. The combo would be accompanied by a casserole full offiddleheads or some other exotic vegetable matter, probably covered with organic wildberry and ground hazel nut chutney. I rehearsed expressions of approval andcomments concerning the dinner’s deliciousness, while walking in the stairwell.I was met at the door by a modestly exposed, sensibly tanned and alluringly freckledcleavage, along with an aroma that could only originate from meat roasting in an oven.She had already developed the singular capacity to anticipate my thoughts andreactions, before I even realized I was having them. “It’s pork roast,” she said with a tonelike she was translating foreign words to a refugee.122

“Did you make that for me? Because I loved those tofu sandwiches at the beach….”“You hated that sandwich. I watched you choke it down and try to smile at me. At onepoint, I thought you might actually throw up.” Thus began a history of her ability to rebut,complete or comment on most everything I said, before I could even finish articulatingthe sentence.“That was one of the most considerate gestures I’ve seen a man do in quite a while. Itwas especially thoughtful of you to run into the ocean, before you got sick in front of me.That was beyond the call of dutiful chivalry, and I thought, ‘He has his faults obviously,but he’s at least sensitive about a girl’s feelings.” She gave me a smile and a wink.I didn’t dare confess that there was a more pressing reason that I made the sudden dashinto the water, mainly an erection that was ready to tear the Velcro seam out of my swimsuit. That would have instantaneously transformed me from nice sensitive guy toperverted one-dimensional loutish sexist pig in one brief confessional gesture.I made the careful decision to continue listening, attentively. I was told that women likethat, especially if they suddenly start talking about their feelings or the feelings of one oftheir friends. The secret, according to the women on “The View”, is to act genuinelyinterested in what they’re saying and retain enough to ask intelligent questions.Then suddenly something unexpected developed in the adjacent room. Over Julie’sshoulder, I could just barely snatch a glance of about two-thirds of a television screen.On that screen was what appeared to be the first quarter of the Miami Dolphins – GreenBay Packers game.My favorite quarterback, Brett Favre, was playing in one of the last regular seasongames of the year. However, I was going to be busy watching Anne Murray rippingthrough a turbo-charged set of passion pumped anthems like “You Needed Me” and“Danny’s Song”.Maybe there would be a TV in the lobby or at least in the auditorium lounge. I couldsneak out for bathroom breaks or to freshen our drinks, get snacks, and catch a fewplays each time. I should save most of my bathroom breaks for the fourth quarter, just incase it’s a close game. Frankly, if it were between watching Brett on a last ditch scoringdrive or listening to Anne Murray perform “Shadows in the Moonlight”, I think I mightactually feign diarrhea, first date or not.My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noticeable change in the tone and volume ofher voice, “Would you like me to bring the television into the hallway, so you can juststand and watch it from the vestibule?”I murmured something remotely apologetic, just as she forecast my thoughts again, “Youbetter not sneak out for ‘bathroom breaks’ during this concert, just so you can keep upwith the score. I’ve had those kinds of dates before, and I swear if you pull that stunt, I’llgo home with Anne Murray’s tambourine player.”Changing the subject, I said, “What about the vegetarian lifestyle? I thought you weretotally committed to not eating ‘anything with eyes’ or however it is you sprout-munchers123

put it.” I realized that I had just delivered a big truckload of sarcasm before our first dateeven began, but she might as well get used to it. If this was going to go anywhere, she’dbe listening to quite a lot of involuntary snide remarks, day to day.It was not lost on her. She darted me a look as she reached into her refrigerator to getme a Corona. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a vegetarian. The food choices are solimited and I’m not sure that I’m even equipped to do it properly. I’d probably turn into asickly emaciated pariah. I’d never get invited to dinner parties, because of my ‘specialmenu needs’.” She used her fingers to create quotation marks, as she said that, “Plus,I’m sure that you’d be off eating a burger every chance you got…..”She stopped speaking, suddenly cognizant of the fact that she had divulged anunintentional level of honesty. I nearly prematurely ejaculated right then and there; thatwas nearly an actual statement of intent. However, I captured my trademark coolcomposure, no doubt cultivated from many years working on the radio. I had to. Therewas no ocean nearby to hide in to disguise the explosively candid physical gesture thatwas nearly ready to happen.Now we both stood there so rigidly upright that our spines were curved backwards. Shewas the first to gain her dating game composure and said, “One of the stereotypes thatmay be true about Canadians, me at least, is that we do actually love our comfort foods.I’ve made pork roast and mashed potatoes with gravy. Plus, I scooped up a rare find atthat little produce market where no one speaks English! We’re actually going to havesome fresh fiddleheads in a butter sauce!”Bingo! Fiddleheads, just like I predicted. My fertile mind and keen instincts were stillmulti-blade razor sharp. You don’t spend as many years as I did as a single unattachedradio personality, with access to free stuff and enthusiastically receptive women, withoutpicking up a few life skills. In fact, that was how I segued into my next comment, “Funny,I was just thinking about fiddleheads earlier. That’s great, and don’t worry about themenu. I’ve been a bachelor my entire life. I’ll eat most things and enjoy them.”She was looking at me oddly. I self-consciously brushed the front of my chin, thinkingthat there might be some lime pulp stuck there from the Corona. However, she spokewith an almost incredulous tone in her voice, which was quite flattering. “Come on.You’ve never been married?”“No,” I looked at her, my brow furrowed because I couldn’t understand why she foundthat so hard to believe, “Why?””Well, you’re a good looking guy. You have what most women would think is a cool job.I know how much you make, because of your lease application, but it’s still veryinteresting. You have a great voice on the radio, very sexy….”I wish I could tell you what she said after that. However, her voice faded to a dull hum,as a choir of angels inside my head started singing, “She wants to fuck you! She wantsto fuck you! Hallelu-u-u-jah!”In retrospect, I guess many would consider that a pretty sleazy way of thinking, but afterall, I didn’t come down here to discuss our two country’s diversely different political124

systems. I had wanted this woman from the moment she walked out of the elevator toshow me the apartment. I mean I wanted her to be with me all the time, always, fromnow on.At that moment, I caught myself openly looking at her ample and perfectly formedbosom, so much for that much touted cool composure. She caught me doing it too,which was very awkward for me, so I diverted my eyes back to her face. That seemedlike the right thing to do, at the time.She didn’t register any real signs of moral offense, no open gestures that said “Youdisgust me”. In fact, she actually followed up her statement, before I started listening tothe “fuck me” choir in my head. “You know who you reminded me of, the first time I sawyou?”I shook my head, but I had a feeling I knew what she was about to say, “Mel Gibson.Has anyone told you that?”They had. About once every two or three weeks, the young girl behind the counter at adeli or the bartender at some franchise pub would make the same comparison verbatim.I found it embarrassing because for one thing, nothing could have been further from thetruth; secondly, how do you even respond to a statement like that made from a totalstranger, “Thanks!” or “Really?” or “Who’s that?”In this case, I went with my “impress the girl with my charismatic self-deprecating humor”approach. Recreating a scene from “Braveheart”, I reared my head back and in amoderately amplified voice yelled, “FREEDOM!”She stared at me for a moment. The look on her face registered an emotion that wassomewhere between pity, revulsion and astonishment. It was expression you might giveto someone on a city bus, who was obviously off his medication.“Please don’t ever do that again,” she said with a complete deadpan delivery. Iimmediately knew that this was a girl who could put up with my frenetic, observational,minute-to-minute flow of inane consciousness. In other words, this freckle-cleavagedbeauty might be my soul mate or at least the closest thing they’ve made to one.At that moment, I heard the voice of the play-by-play announcer rise to growlingexclamation: “TOUCHDOWN!” That was followed by the booming voice of the colorcommentator expounding on how many quarterbacks in the NFL, besides Brett Farve,could have made that throw. “That was just a rifle shot of a throw and an impossiblecatch in the middle of coverage. Un-be-lievable! Brett Favre is on fire today!”There was a voice inside my head that was screaming, “Shut up! Stop talking about it!You guys are killing me.” When all of a sudden, she interjected, “Hey look, why don’t Iget the rest of dinner ready, and you sit in the living room and drink your beer. You don’tmind that do you? Is there anything in particular you’d like to watch? Is football okay?”“Football would be fine,” I must have looked like the family dog who just saw theThanksgiving turkey fall on the floor. Could this really be happening? Could thereactually be a woman that is this cool and this beautiful, one that might even consider125

sleeping with me? Not only that, but I was still able to get to the television in time to seethe replay of the touchdown.Dinner turned out to be delicious. I had to restrain myself so that I wouldn’t shovel myfood down like I just got released from a North Korean prison; I didn’t get to eat porkroast, with mashed potatoes and gravy very often. Even the fiddleheads were tasty.Living alone and working on the opposite side of the chronological world of conventionalemployees, I usually subsisted on a regimen of sandwiches, leftover pizza, and anoccasional Tupperware care package from Jonas’ wife. I’d rip into those containers likea coyote who just found a box full of veal chops. The food would be half gone before I’deven look up to ask Jonas what it was.He’d always have some reply ready like, “Oh, that’s my wife’s deep-fried donkey dicks.”I’d compliment her on them and finish off the rest.There was also the occasional healthy tangent. I’d exit the nearby supermarket onpayday, shopping cart brimming with fresh vegetables and whole grain products.However, I found preparing and eating salads by myself to be such a lonely experience.My mind flashed to those moments when I would be sitting at the dining room table, withthat lone plate of salad placed in front of me. The TV would be blaring in thebackground with Mary Hart indulging some current celebrity about their recent projectand quizzing them on how they feel about victims of a recent mudslide or tsunami. “WellMary, when I see those people swimming through raw sewage looking for their lovedones, it just makes me glad to be able to help by attending this $5000 a plate dinner withmy lingerie model girlfriend.”This was so much better. I didn’t care about quality of food, or even that NFL footballwas on instead of Entertainment Tonight. It just felt good to be where I was at thatmoment.She finally spoke, “We’d better get going soon, if we’re going to be there on time.” Thusbegan a procedure that would repeatedly occur any time I ever went anywhere withJulie. She would start worrying way too early that we needed to leave, if we were goingto “be there on time”.Actually, I had an inkling of hopeful imagination that portrayed her saying, “Let’s forgetAnne Murray and stay here. I could get naked and join you on the sofa. You can watchthe game, while I provide you with immeasurable pleasure.”That didn’t happen.***I would never have believed that I would be able to say this, but Anne Murray wasexcellent! She had a large band, including a small orchestra. The light show wasn’tPink Floyd caliber, but it was more extravagant than I expected.126

She even made self-deprecating jokes. Positioning herself onto a stool to sing someballads, she commented on how short her dress she was, “Last night, there was a guy inthe front row, using binoculars.”Julie laughed at that, and actually sang along with a couple of songs. I could tell shewas having a good time. After the concert, we agreed that it was a very enjoyable show,much more hip and dynamic than either of us had expected.I suggested we have a drink. She said that she knew an authentic Canadian pub on theway home, where I could witness “Hockey Night in Canada”, for the first time. I said,“Sure. What the hell, eh?” She thought that was clever, and I thought that a few drinkscould be the perfect catalyst for some erotic frolicking later on. Everyone goes homehappy.The bar was called the “The Wild Beaver Pub”. There was a loud and rowdy crowd, butthey all seemed polite and friendly. Just as we settled ourselves in front of a largescreen and ordered two pints, “Coach’s Corner” came on. I finally saw the larger-thanlifeCanadian icon, Don Cherry, in the flesh.I could tell that she was watching me with amusement to see what I made of thisanomaly of conventional attire and commonly accepted broadcast etiquette. His suitwas a turquoise and yellow tartan spectacle, and his partner stood there and tookunmitigated abuse from the guy. He wouldn’t even let him speak. I found out later thatthe guy’s name was Ron MacLean, a respected sportscaster, who got paid a multimilliondollar salary for taking that abuse.Within seconds, Don Cherry made some outrageously politically incorrect commentabout European guys playing in the National Hockey League. I had never seen anythingquite like it on television, and frankly couldn’t see why it was so appealing to millions oftelevision viewers each week, not to mention the roomful of people I was with, who grewfifty percent quieter as soon as Don Cherry’s image came onto the screen. I laterbecame one of them, actually turning up the volume when Coach’s Corner came onbetween hockey periods. There was something inexplicably appealing about hispresence and diatribe; you were always wondering what he was going to say next.I told Julie, “That’s what I would like to do. I’d love to be able to entertain people and saywhat I thought was funny. I was pretty close to that in my last job. I don’t particularlywant to be the next Howard Stern.”She let out grunt of disdain, when I mentioned his name. Then she leaned over and puther hand lightly on my thigh, “Believe me. You’re not destined to spend the rest of yourlife introducing Anne Murray songs and giving the ‘color weather radar’ report. What thehell is that anyway? Why do you need ‘color radar’ on the radio?”That was it for me. She understood. She had confidence in me. Her attention to thedetail in my life suddenly made me feel very proud. At that moment, I finally understoodwhat it was all about. If just one person in the world thinks you’re something special, thatalone makes you something special. I believe everybody craves that, whether theyknow it or not.127

A feeling surged through my body that nearly made me jolt in my seat. It’s a feeling thatis immediately addictive and meaningful, at the same time. All I could think of to saywas, “Thanks for saying that. Sometimes you begin to wonder…you know, how goodyou are. And I have no idea why any radio station would think it’s a good idea topromote ‘color weather radar’.”“Plus, it’s South Florida. It could be raining at our apartment building, and it’s entirelyclear here.” She had just articulated my thoughts. I could talk to this person, and sheunderstood what I was saying. She was the first person, except for Jonas, who listened.I told her a bit about Jonas Welk, and how he and I were like-minded pariahs of thetwilight. If we weren’t actually on the air, most of the office staff wouldn’t even know ournames. It was a lonely existence in the middle of the night.When you did get to mingle with others, it was the kind of job that most of the feedbackyou got wasn’t positive. Either your boss would pick apart your aircheck tape, or you’drun into some drunk reprobate at a bar gig who would elaborate on how he “heard youfuck up the other day on the radio”.Little did I know that someday I’d be receiving screaming voicemails from angry soccermoms whose kids heard me impersonating Mickey Mouse trying to put on a condom. “Itwon’t work Rick. My three little fingers are too fat.” “Try taking the gloves off Mickey.”I told her about Jim Mooney, “He’s the one guy that I would choose to do my show with,if I ever had the chance. If we could get a gig where they turned us both loose, we couldbe the funniest morning show in whatever city we worked in. I know we could.”“Hey, it ain’t over till last call. Which it is.” She looked up at the waitress, “You can bringour bill.”She dug into her purse to pull out a credit card, which I immediately protested. “Hey, I’mgetting this.”She smiled and reached over and touched my forearm, “Honey, you forget. I know howmuch those ‘color weather radar people’ pay you. I’m your landlord; I got a whole file onyou. Plus, you got us eleventh row seats for a show. It was a really fun evening. Youcan get the cab if it’ll make you feel better, but right now, I’m paying for this.”“You made a great dinner,” I protested.She put her forefinger over my lips and whispered, “There is no room for negotiation orcause for discussion, so why don’t you go flag us a cab while I pay this. Please.” Withthat she gave me a small peck on the cheek, and I ran like a well trained puppy to flag acab. This was unbelievable! She actually made contact with her lips!Suddenly, I was back in eighth grade math class and Missy Krazinski had shown upwearing a wet T-shirt. The cab ride was going to be excruciating.When we arrived back at the apartment building, I walked her to her doorway. Sheturned and looked at me, “That was a lot of fun. Thanks for a great evening.”128

She turned and unlocked her door, her body language alluded to finality for this Saturdaynight, still so full of potential. I stood there, feeling both disappointment and incredulousdismay; I had never actually gone on a date with a girl and not slept with her. At least Igot the concert tickets for free.“Okay, well thanks for joining me, and thanks for a great dinner, and the chance to watchHockey Night in Canada and try Alexander Keith’s for the first time.” I just stood thereand grinned, I would assume very awkwardly, as she opened apartment door.We stood and looked at each other for a moment in the open doorway. She finallyreached over and grabbed hold of my shirt collar, “Get in here,” she said and pulled meplayfully into her apartment.I closed the door behind us, and I never looked back. Life was good.129

17 - Kanye Get Fired for That?We knew better than to perform the fateful bit we had in mind, the morning after the MTVVideo Awards. At the same time, we felt the idea possessed solid comedy merit and ahealthy helping of our trademark “push the envelope in the audience's face” irreverence.We learned that some good ideas are probably better left in the think tank.Kanye West had acted in such a loutish fashion that no immunity for hip-hop swaggerand shameless self promotion would make his behavior forgivable. His outburst duringTaylor Swift's acceptance speech was the kind of thing you would expect from thedrunken best man toast at a trailer park wedding, “Have a good time with her tonight,buddy! All the rest of us have!”We didn't care much about Taylor Swift's feelings and certainly not the honorabledecorum and integrity of MTV Awards shows. Between the three of us, not one personhad heard a single one of her songs.However, when someone is that delusional about his own importance, whether it be onlive TV or at an all-night laundromat, we would be remiss in our responsibilities not todrag him out and give him a public spanking on our own terms. It was time for Kanye tobend over and get what’s coming to him.So we put together a piece of comedy that we felt would have our listeners laughing,long after they arrived at work. The matter of record occurred at approximately 8:12 amthat morning.“Did you guys watch the MTV Video Music Awards last night?” I asked the questionrhetorically, knowing there was very little chance that either of my colleagues hadwatched.“Oh, I wouldn't miss it,” Jim replied, “I ordered a transcript, so I can read along with theDVD I burned.”“Well, then you couldn't have missed the Kanye West debacle that occurred.”“Kanye? Debacle?” Kanye West was one of Jim's rant triggers; it turns out Jim's not ahuge fan his work or even the mere fact that he exists. “I must have been in thebathroom during that part. Tell me more. Did he sing another beautiful and movingballad about his dead mama?”“Nope. Turns out there was a public outburst.” Both Jim and Cam simultaneouslyblurted “No!” followed by quips like “Cmon!” and “You gotta be kidding!”I continued, “When Taylor Swift, who is muy caliente by the way......”“Is she Hispanic?” Jim asked the question that would later end up as a bullet pointhighlight on a complaint document.“No, I was just expressing my own Hispanic side.”130

“Oh, I thought that was your feminine side,” Cam tried to turn the conversation awayfrom any trace of ethnic themes, and he was right. Unfortunately, he hadn't been with usthe previous afternoon, when we came up with dialogue for the bit. Advising us that hehad to attend to an appointment with his wife, he left us alone in the studio to do our ownshow prep. Having his more prudent perspective may have deterred us from pushingour luck at this jeopardizing juncture.“Thanks Cam. I am feeling bloated and moody today, now that you mention it. At anyrate, when sweet little Taylor Swift....”“The caliente one,” Jim clarified.“Right. Ms Caliente was delivering her acceptance speech for winning the Best FemaleVideo award, when Kanye ran up on stage and started ranting about how Beyonce'svideo should have won instead.”“That's so unlike him,” Cam snorted.“What a dick!” Jim seemed intent on pushing the envelope this morning. Using the word“dick” on the air wasn't going to matter all that much in the end. We were about to shovethe entire mail truck into Lake Ontario.I cued Cam to start the prerecorded bit. It began with our signature phone ringing soundeffect. We actually had listeners and clients tell us that they would immediately turn theirattention to the radio, when they heard the phone ring. One listener said it was like aPavlovian response.“93 Rock,” I picked up the imaginary receiver.“Hello,” replied a rather meek, sweet sounding feminine voice.“Who's this?” I asked. It was actually one of our young interns, who was excited to belending her voice to one of our “comedy vignettes” as she called them. She made uspromise that we wouldn't divulge the identity of the voice, like anyone she worked with,her family or her circle of friends wouldn't immediately be able to tell it was her.“Hi Taylor. We were just talking about you. Congratulations on your award last night.”“Oh thank you,” she put on a very demure sounding tone, “But I had like the mostterrifying experience ever!”“Well, why don't you tell us and the listeners exactly what happened.”“It was awful. I was like so scared!” She was perfect on her read. We did the bit in onetake. Jim said it was as if she was channeling Judi Dench. She gave us a puzzled look,so he changed it to Amy Adams, which made her smile. We didn't know if she soundedlike Taylor Swift or not; that didn't matter. Most of our listeners probably didn't evenknow who Taylor Swift was.131

The intern's voice quivered as if she was ready to cry, “They had just given me myaward, and I started to talk, when this black man ran up on stage and stole my award,and I was like 'Oh my God, I've just been mugged by this black man’.”I could hear Cam laughing in the background; only it wasn't his usual performancelaughter, designed to vicariously influence the listener. He hadn't been there during theproduction, so this was the first time he had heard this. I wasn't sure whether he waslaughing at our content or at the fact that we were doing exactly what we weren'tsupposed to.She continued, “He started making these creepy noises like he was trying to speak, onlyit didn't make any sense.”“Well Taylor, that was Kanye West,” I offered.She let out a perfect valley-girl mall-rat “Eeyyuuu”, like his name conjured a revoltingimage. “Eeyyuuu! Oh my God!”“Taylor, I've just been informed that Kanye's on the other line, and I think he wants to talkto you. He probably wants to apologize.”“Just don't let him know where I am. What if he like tries to like steal my award again?”she actually sounded like she was crying.“Don't worry, we'll make sure you'll be like okay,” Jim mocked her use of the word “like”,peppered throughout the monologue.I supposedly switched to another phone line, “Hello, 93 Rock.”Jim performed as Kanye West. We weren't sure how much it sounded like him; we hadonly watched a few YouTube interviews of both of them to prepare for the recording. Itdidn't really matter; chances were none of our listeners had any idea what Kanye Westsounded like either. If they did, they probably didn't care.“Hello Rick. This is Kanye. I really appreciate you letting me appear on this fine andsuperlative radio program to provide an explanation for my behavior last night.”“We're happy to do it Kanye. Taylor's on the other line listening right now.” Our TaylorSwift impersonator left out another “Eeyyuuu”.“As I am a brilliant artist and subject to expressing and following my feelings at all times,I sometimes get taken hostage by my own emotions and my diligence in revealing to mymillions of fans the true essence of the complex nature of myself.”“I getcha.”He continued, “I am here today to reveal the reason and motivation behind the emotionaland poignant expression of my inner sensibilities as an artist, a vital and virile man, andmusical and cultural genius at last night's awards ceremony.”132

“That would be great Kanye, feel free to express 'your feelings' to our audience. Youdon't mind if we record this do you?”“I hope you do record it, so you can run this statement every hour, during your newsbroadcast, for days to come. The population of the world is interested in Kanye West,and I want the world to know what's truly behind the universal spirit of Kanye West'sbeing.”“I'm sure everyone's interested in knowing that Kanye.”“Well Rick, as you know, I sometimes compose a song to explain how I'm feeling at anygiven moment. It's something that us musical savants and prophetic wordsmiths oftendo. I did the same thing at the Grammys, as you recall, the same night I won the topaward for best artist of all time, right after my dear Mama passed on to heaven.”“Yes, we remember that Kanye. That was such a beautiful singing performance.” Ilooked over at Jim who was rolling his eyes up and shaking his head. He even let out an“Oh yeah”, nearly involuntarily under his breath.“So I wrote a song about last night's events. I want to explain where I was comin' fromand what was goin' through my head, when it happened.” A hip-hop beat started playingin the background, “I want you to have the first listen to what I'm sure will be aninternational smash hit, bigger than Michael and Janet Jackson....Elvis.....FramptonComes Alive....that Pink Floyd dude. Everybody.”“Wow,” I whistled.“I've been moved in my truest emotional nucleus by a certain lady, who has aroused myinner most romantic calling. This could be the lucky woman who calls Kanye her man,and Rick, I wanna share these feelings with you, as well as my latest future multiplatinumpiece of art with you right now.”“Kanye, this is very special,” I was actually laughing at our own humor, because I knewwhat was about to come. “What a treat, and this is an exclusive of the Loonie andMooney morning show. If you big news networks are covering this, be sure to spellthose names right.”Jim started to rap as Kanye, each word representing the equivalent of one complaintletter submitted to the CBSC within twenty four hours:“I wanna to show Beyonce my unit,I hope she’s gonna wanna poon it.I'm gonna give 'er every drop of goo'in it,Right now I wish that we were doin' it.”Our intern Taylor Swift let out a horrified scream, and I pretended to rebuke Kanye forhis behavior, “Kanye, that's very inappropriate.” Taylor continued to shriek, “Don't worryTaylor. I'll put him back on hold,” I comforted.133

“Oh my God! He's so scary,” she sobbed, “I think he might be like tone deaf orsomething.”“Yeah, well you remember that tune he tried to perform about his mother at theGrammys.” Jim said.“Don't worry, Taylor. Maybe he's done trying to sing. We'll check to see.”I supposedly clicked the Hold button again,“I wanna feel the contours of your butt,Press my face right down in your rut,Put my thing deep up in your gut,Make you moan like a dirty.......”We cut off the “slut”, not that it mattered at this point. We'd already just done enough toinsure our morning show would be regarded as the most offensive, complaint ridden andpenalized broadcast program in our company's history.Taylor was screaming again, and I came on to put Kanye back on hold. “Taylor, Taylor,don't be distressed. I've got him on hold again.”Our Taylor imitator was crying, “Please don't let him take my award! He's like so scaryand mean! He stuck a note in my pocket onstage that said he was 'hung like a yak'. Ididn't even know what that meant, and then my girlfriend told me, and I was likeeeyyuuu!”I could hardly hold back my own laughter, simply because she was so good at this.“Taylor, I'm sure we can get his attention, and he's just about to apologize.” I clicked theimaginary “Hold” button again. We caught Kanye in the middle of a lyric.“...feel the power stored up in my balls,As I probe your juicy inner walls....”Taylor screamed, the guys laughed, and I said, “Alrighty then. We'll have to check inwith Kanye later, I think.”Jim said, “Check one more time!” I clicked the imaginary hold button again:“It's on top of you, I wanna score,Enter through your backstage door,I wanna hear you moan just like a.......”The intern screamed, “Hide the trophy. Oh my God, he's so icky!” She slammed theimaginary phone down. The boys in the studio were still laughing, as were a couple ofpeople standing outside the studio door.“We'll be back with traffic, sports, and later on the actual Stanley Cup will make anappearance right here in 93 Rock studios.” I turned around to find that Cam wasn't atthe control board. In fact, the microphones were still on.134

Jim started to speak, “I wonder if Violet was listening.”I made a slashing motion across my throat. Jim's eyes widened, as he clenched histeeth in a cringe. I went over and turned off the microphone.Cam came walking in the studio door looking either angry or distraught, whatever it was,I had never seen our ”laid back surfer boy with a laptop” producer look so distressedbefore.“What the fuck was that, Cam?” Jim was nearly yelling.“The Stanley Cup just left!” He was speaking almost under his breath; his jaw was sotight that it didn't look like his lips could touch. I found myself thinking that he looked likeJoan Rivers from the nose down; that could be something we talk about on the air.When Cam gets angry, he looks a little bit like Joan Rivers.Cam's next outburst focused my attention again, “What the fuck were you thinking?”“What are you talking about?” My head was in “show mode”. While I was keenly awareof everything going on in the studio and within my headphones, I always felt a little slowand dopey, when it came to concurrent happenings within our real environment.“That bit wasn't even funny. It was just plain nasty.” He was gesticulating and shiftinghis feet, like a man with a nervous tick. “Now of all times, you guys had to do this. Wegot some lawyer bitch zealot doing everything but bugging our home phones. We gotthe coolest boss in the world, and you just shat on his fucking desk! This guy protectsus, man! You have no idea how much shit he takes over us, and he always absorbs theshit FOR us!”“What's that got to do with the Stanley Cup?” Jim asked, “And leaving with themicrophones on? And it was too funny! You were laughing.”“I was laughing because I couldn't believe you were doing it. Neither could the fuckingNHL! They just walked out with the Stanley Cup, because they didn't want to bringprofessional sports' most exalted trophy in, right after there's a guy talking about draininghis goo into Beyonce on a live Canadian radio fucking broadcast. We'll be lucky if wecan get anybody from the NHL, now. There's probably a memo being issued to teamsand staff, as I speak.”“Hey come on guys, we have a show to finish.” I tried to be a prevailing cool head.“We have eleven minutes before the next break.” Cam looked absolutely exasperated.I had truly never seen him like this, ever. “Here's the thing guys. I laughed at that bittoo, because I'm in the target demographic. Violet Dumet is not.”“Why is everyone so worked up about this one bitch?” Jim asked.135

We had seen our fair share of zealots and reactionaries come and go. They werealways threatening to contact our advertisers and tell them they'd boycott theirbusinesses, if they didn't stop advertising on our show.Our clients would look down at whatever tiny little ancient church lady was in front ofthem and start to laugh. “I don't think you probably frequent my business anyway, dear.I own a strip club. But you're very cute, and here....this is a four-pack of passes forladies' night. We have male strippers every Wednesday. And here....here's four tokensfor complimentary table dances.”The little old ladies would fume and storm out of the establishment, usuallysimultaneously chattering about their confusion, dismay and disgust. How could such anunsavory business represent itself with those cute billboard-size cartoon characters onthe sign outside, with giant letters reading “The Cock and Beaver”.“Dude, if you guys had been here yesterday afternoon and talked to Dave, you wouldhave learned that Violet owns stock in this corporation.”“There's a chick down at my favorite Rub 'n Tug who owns stock in this corporation.Who gives a shit?” Jim was probably kidding, but I was pondering the fact that he mayhave just admitted to receiving erotic massages often enough to know how themasseuse invests for retirement.“Apparently Dave does. He's really stressed about this chick, and he's probablyabsolutely fucking freaking in his office right now, if he was listening.” Cam the prophetspoke, and the hot line light started to blink, meaning that Dave was listening. He wasundoubtedly calling to express his feelings about our recent “comedy vignette”.“Yeah,” I answered expecting a raging screaming program director on the other end.What I got instead was a very controlled, but obviously very troubled Dave Ray, “I'vesent Eric up to run the board. We'll use drop-ins until Mandy can get in to take over.”Eric was a part-timer, who did fill-in shifts and weekends. Mandy followed us on the air,at 10:00am.I was stunned. I felt as if I was standing outside my own body watching the hollowfragile vessel that used be me, “What about our 'Best Of' stuff.”I was trying to portray a very cool and professional demeanor. Complicit in whateverpunishment or circumstance I obviously deserved, but at the same time, a concernedmember of the corporate team and a noble advocate of quality broadcast standards.Dave didn't concur, “No, don't run the 'Best Of', just come up.I looked at Jim, “He wants us to come over to his office, right now.Jim nodded, “Best Of?”I shook my head and looked him in the eye. I didn't have to answer. He could see that Ihad already resigned myself to certain impending doom.136

He urged me, “Don't get melodramatic. You know how you worry about shit. We'll justgo up there, the three of us, and find out what we need to do to fix whoever's panties gotruffled.”“I'm not going,” Cam said with a remote matter-of-factness in his voice.Jim tilted his head like a dog who was trying to understand a new word, “What do youmean?”“He wants me to stay down here and run the board.”“He said he was sending Eric to do that,” I sensed that we were getting bamboozledhere.”“Whatever. He doesn't want me to come. I'm not going.” He turned back to the controlboard and pretended to be busy checking the program log.Jim and I faced each other. Both of us were expressionless, but our eyes reflected theacknowledgement that our friend, show producer, and motivational coach Ricky Smith -aka - Cam Elto was deserting us.***Dave was very methodical and extremely committed in his maintenance and protectionof station programming and on-air staff. No one in sales, for example, was to approachthe air staff with complaints. That kind of sentiment needed to be communicated throughDave, himself. He cushioned the air talent from day-to-day negativisms, aggravationsand trivialities, so that they could concentrate and better function as engaging andentertaining show hosts.His protocol proved to be beneficial in many ways. Number one, there were literally nofist fights between air personalities and sales reps. This was an event that had beenquite prominent at some of my previous radio stations; it was like part of the routine. Iwitnessed more than one dust-up in the production studio, or even worse, at a liveremote.Nothing says, “We’re a company of top-notch broadcast professionals!” more clearlythan a slug-fest between the air personality on-location and the station’s salesrepresentative, right in the middle of Downtown Used Cars’ annual Founders Day Sale.That’s why I found it unnerving when several people became quiet and peered over thetop of their office cubicles, as we walked through. I guess it’s not easy to hide the factthat we were supposed to still be on the air. The mere fact that we were in the office,rather than in the studio, was in itself quite telling.Dave’s door was ajar, so I gave an obligatory tap and we both walked in, automaticallyclosing the door behind us. We knew this one was bound to be a closed door meeting.It was actually very dramatic. Dave had his back turned, leaning backward in his chair,his feet resting on the window sill, his fingers resting against his temple. He remindedme of Michael Douglas for some reason, both by his resemblance to the actor and thefact that I could remember Douglas framed in a scene like this before. I couldn’t137

emember the specific movie that the pose came from, but the comparison served tosomehow ease my tension.That brief mental diversion instantly snapped to an ending, as Dave spoke without eventurning to face us, “You guys do realize the things you say and do are being broadcast,right?”Jim sputtered, babbling an excuse that we had thrown the bit together on a brieftimeline, since the Kanye West incident was still fresh in people’s minds and Cam wasaway at an appointment. The thing he probably shouldn’t have said was, “You shouldfeel fortunate that we are so diligent toward our work that we conferenced by phone towrite this and came in late, recruiting whatever talent we could get our hands on toproduce it.”“Yeah, you’re a fucking model corporate citizen Jim. Now cut the fucking bullshit.” Theveins in Dave’s neck were bulging. This was a different Dave; perhaps being a puppyownerand expectant father was taking its toll. He drew a deep breath, “You know thateven in the best of times that bit pushed the envelope way past our broadcast standards.Plus, frankly guys it wasn’t even funny. Compared to what you’re capable of? That wasshock humor. It was like comparing one of those ‘Jackass’ movies to ‘My CousinVinnie’. The difference is how funny and clever the content is, not look ‘hey, look howfucking obstinately obscene we can be’. That kind of shit wears thin on anyone over theage of 18, very quickly.”Jim fired back, “Apparently not, since we dominate our demographic in every singleratings book.”Dave looked at him like he was a naïve child, “Jim, that’s not exactly true. Your trendshave not been heading in the direction we had hoped they would. That’s the case forthe entire station, not just you. However, the largest factor of corporate office’s concernis that Crowe is applying for some more licenses, a couple of FM frequencies out westand several digital TV channels. It’s not as easy to persuade the CRTC that you areresponsible broadcasters when they tune in to one of our flagship stations and hearKanye West talking about entering Beyonce’s backstage door!”I had been silent, poising myself to be the voice of reconciliation and understanding,“Alright, you know what? Dave, you’re right. We sometimes take it as a personal affrontwhen we’re attacked like we have been from the Mighty Maidens of Morality, or whateverthose Violet people call themselves. Then, sometimes we get this chip on our shouldersand actually try to push their buttons even harder. I don’t think it’s even a consciousreaction; that’s just the way we are.”Jim then ruined my unifying moment by saying, “Yeah, we’re artists, dude. Don’t try tostifle our creative vibe, man.”Things might have gone better, had Jim not said that. He was obviously wagging his assright in the face of Dave’s authority, at the very worst time.138

I had never seen Dave explode before, but it was positive proof that the Type B passiveaggressive types do hold back, right up until there’s a crack in the dam. Then, look out!The flood waters are violent and everyone in spitting distance may be at risk.His reply to Jim’s smartass remark would become one of legend in our history as aprofessional team. It started with a head bow, like a guy that was about to transform intoa werewolf.Slowly, his head rose, “I have covered asses for you fucking juvenile prima donna piecesof shit for five years. I’ve had to explain your behavior at more than one seniormanagement meeting by justifying it with your ratings. Well, your Average Quarter Hourtrends have not yet gotten you into trouble, but there has been concern expressed aboutthe fact that females in focus groups revile you. That fact is backed up by ratingsnumbers too, by the way. Women think you’re pigs.”I interceded, before Jim could start another verbal tussle. I could just see one of his,“That’s not what your wife says!” comments coming at any second, and I couldn’timagine anything worse at this juncture.“So what can we do to fix this?” That was the most reconciliatory approach I could thinkof. Plus, I had a dental appointment at noon, and I didn’t want to spend the next ninetyminutes watching Jim and Dave pissing on fire hydrants. Let’s get this over with, so Ican beat lunchtime traffic.Dave seemed to have regained some of his trademark composure, “I have no choiceguys. You’re both suspended, until further notice. You’ll continue to receive your salary,but you will be asked to sign forms attesting to your agreement to a disciplinaryprobation period.”Jim immediately lost his bravado. He was suddenly pale and perspiring. He actuallylooked like he could cry. The Mooney estate had enjoyed quite a significant number ofmaterial acquisitions, as soon as our last contract was signed. It was our biggest oneever. Now, the look on his face betrayed the fact that he was terrified of losing this gig.He appeared as if he could actually be sick.I seemed to be the only one in the room capable of speech, “How long do you think thismay go on for?”“I hope that any smoke clears by next Monday, so consider this a free vacation.”“Thanks dude,” Jim was groping with the gravity of our situation. The money wasobviously important, but so was the fact that we no longer knew how to cope with ourlives without our show.“Here’s the thing,” Dave now seemed to be his usual cool and composed persona, “Notonly does the company have applications under review by the CRTC for new properties,but as Cam may have passed on to you, Violet and her little group of aggravators arebuying stock as fast as they can click their computer mouses. We’ve done someresearch into their modus operandi. It’s not hard; they like to tout their conquests.They’ll have all of their ‘members’, if that’s what they are, start buying up stock in media139

corporations. It’s all very innocuous, because they’re buying stock as individuals. Theremust be quite a few of them, and they have pretty deep pockets.”“These people must have a lot of time on their hands,” I didn’t even know if thatcomment made sense. I just felt compelled to say something.“Well, it’s profitable for them. They only invest in solid growth companies, like Crowe.We’re poised to gain more assets this year, and the company growth may break allprevious records by the end of fourth quarter.”“I hope we’re all here to celebrate that,” Jim now looked absolutely morose.“Well, if they have anything to say about it….” Dave’s voice trailed off as he realized hesounded like he was speculating about our collective doom, “Anyway, they gain someclout as significant stockholders, then they come together as a lobby group, and seniormanagement would be remiss not to give them their due share of a forum. What isconveyed to the president of the company, and any other senior VP that will listen,trickles down to me. Trickle is not the right word actually, Violet gets pretty expedientresults.”“So what exactly do they want?” I was now growing weary of this conversation, and Ineeded to leave for my teeth cleaning. Though it now looked like I would have lots oftime on my hands this week for personal matters.“You know the mentality, Rick. These are people who seem to be annoyed by the factthat they possess penises and vaginas, so they don’t want anyone to talk about them,especially on the radio. One smaller corporation, that they only own a minimal numberof shares in, recently adopted a new “code of standards”. It pretty much keeps the airtalent as constrained and clean as a Billy Graham Christmas special.”“So we’re fucked,” Jim had a knack for fatalistic sentimentality, when it came to anypossible fork on our career highway. He came by it honestly; both of us had been“fucked” before, as he described it.“Not necessarily,” Dave had a gleam in his eye, “I’ve already got corporatecommunications working on a press release, attesting to the fact that you were sooutrageous that you were given a disciplinary suspension. For the Violets of the world,that means ‘Fucking right! Teach those nasty bastards a lesson!’ For your core listeningaudience and hopefully a good share of the less committed radio public, this translatesinto ‘Wow! These guys must be really controversial. Let’s see what we’re missing.’ Ihope we can turn this into a positive on both levels.”“You’re a genius, Dave. That’s what I keep saying. This guy should be cloned.” I wasbeing serious; Dave was one of the shrewdest when it came to both gaining publicityand keeping corporate politics intact.“For now, just look at it as some extra bonus vacation days. Hopefully we can put apositive spin on all the components and get this bullshit behind us. Everyone goeshome happy, for whatever reason, and we all keep our jobs.”140

It was good to see that everyone had calmed down to an amicable level. The finaloutcomes of our discussions were now positive, and once again, the future lookedbright. We didn’t take into account that the weather is usually bright and calm, justbefore a tornado touches down.That’s when Dave delivered the blow that felt like Mike Tyson had put on brass knucklesand took one good clean uppercut to my scrotal sanctum, “Oh and there is one morepiece of news, that you are going to find upsetting. Cam has requested that he betransferred to Rob Rhino’s show, as producer.”“What?” We both nearly shouted the word simultaneously.“He doesn’t want to have to get up at 4:00am, anymore. Plus, you know Rhino is solid.As long as this station plays rock music, he’s going to be an icon in this city. He’s amusic historian who’s interviewed everyone that ever played, seen every show, andwhether it’s Billy Joe Armstrong or Geddy Lee, Rhino probably has the guy’s cellphonenumber on speed dial.”Jim looked livid, “So what’s your point?”“You guys live on the precarious edge, simply by the nature of the show you do, theshow you HAVE to do for your audience. On the drive home, people enjoy Rhino’smusician stories and special guests. There’s really nothing that can topple the guy,because he’s the best at what he does, and what he does is safe. You guys, on theother hand, are on a completely different playing field in the morning. If you’re not flirtingwith wrist-slaps every minute of every weekday morning, you’re not doing your jobs.”I spoke this time. I was also incensed, “So what are you saying? Cam no longer has thefortitude to weather the danger? Why didn’t he talk to us, himself, rather than have youtell us this?”“He loves you guys. You’ve been together since the beginning, but some things havechanged in Cam’s life now.”“What? Is he receiving estrogen therapy?” Jim appeared to be blindly enraged, so whathe said barely even made sense.“No, his wife is pregnant. They just found out on Friday.”I don’t know why I reacted like I did, but I suddenly burst into laughter, “What is it withyou fucking guys? Are you both on fertility drugs?”Jim was now laughing too, probably a nervous expulsion of the shock anddisappointment we both felt, “They got the two-for-one package at the fertility clinic.”“Yeah, they assisted each other in producing samples. Cam’s saying ‘Oh, don’t goDave, I’m not done yet!’ Dave’s tapping his foot and looking at his watch.”I don’t know if it’s a common thing for guys, or just guys with our particular personalities.When faced with sadness, crisis or disappointment, we make unapologetically crude141

jokes to deny the magnitude of our emotions. It does nothing to constructively solve anydilemmas, but we feel more manly if we act unfazed by whatever happened.Dave seemed to be intrinsically aware of this trait, “I’m sorry guys. He was reticentabout telling you. You guys gave him his break, his start. He’s been with you since hestarted working at this station as an intern.’We both nodded. I could remember young Ricky Smith following me around like aneager puppy.Dave leaned back in his chair, “You tortured the poor little bastard, but he was what?Twenty-two years old? His buddies back at the Ryerson University radio station musthave thought he was a god.”Jim nodded, staring into space at a mental image in his head, “We were there on theuniversity campus, broadcasting our show during frosh week when he met his wife. Hetold us later on that she wouldn’t even talk to him before she saw him acting all ‘incharge’ at our live broadcast.”“Guys, he’s grown up, he’s about to have a family, he wants to have a normal life withregular working hours. Getting up at four and going to bed at nine makes quality timewith your demanding pregnant wife a rare commodity. Then, you have a baby.Everything changes.”Jim grinned, “How would you know?”“I’ll tell you in about seven months.”There was a moment of silence, as we all absorbed and processed the extraordinaryevents of the morning. We were now in trouble with the corporation, our producer hadbailed, and we were going to be mentioned in the local press for our suspension. It allmanifested into one very strange and melancholy mood.We bid Dave farewell; he promised to keep us in the loop. We were due back at work onMonday, unless something drastically changed.As we walked through the glass paneled production studio area, we could see Camediting excerpts from that day’s show for promos. They were sixty seconds long, andthey served as a teaser, to hopefully make people want to tune in the next morning andhear more. He obviously didn’t know that the station probably wouldn’t be promoting ourshow too much for the next few days.We snuck out of the building without making much contact with anyone, other than a nodof recognition. We were mortified by the proceedings that had occurred, and essentiallyjust wanted to get the hell out of the city and become anonymous for a while.We both knew exactly where to go, and without a word of acknowledgement ever beingspoken. Jim said, “You want to take separate cars?”142

I shook my head, “No, let’s travel together this time. I don’t want to have to make thatdrive living inside my own head. I’d end up driving my car into a canyon or something.”“Yeah, we’ll travel together, and go like Thelma and Louise.” Neither one of us laughed.143

18 – Mostly Cloudy with a Chance of ChangesMy life was unequivocally good. Everything remained very calm and stable for a littleover two years.I continued to spend the wee hours of the morning serving up musical sedatives forchronic insomniacs and other people like me, taxed with the responsibility of keeping theworld running overnight. However, I was so content with my “beachfront accessibility -sex on the ready” lifestyle that it probably represents the most unambitious period of mycareer.Not to say I didn’t send out tapes and resumes, but it was with no sense of urgency ordesperation. Occasionally, I replied to ads in locations outside Florida, if the opportunitylooked inviting enough. I never told Julie about applying for them. Unless they offeredme a job, there was no reason to breed insecurity in the relationship. Everything wasgoing too well.We essentially lived together. That made all the difference in the world for my outlook.Though many consider South Florida a tropical paradise, filled with bikini-cladhardbodies and ubiquitous hedonism, the reality is that it’s just not as much fun unlessyou have someone else to relate to and enjoy it with. I could no longer even imaginegoing down to the beach all by myself and spending the day. Where was the fun in that?She still had to maintain her own apartment; her home office, as apartment buildingsuperintendent, was her living quarters. She didn’t want “dating a tenant” to become anissue; though it seemed that just about everyone in the building had seen me leaving herapartment, looking disheveled, acting guilty and smelling of sex. I would usually stay ather place because she had more…what do you call it? Oh yeah, furniture. My placewas pretty sparsely decorated.I called the apartment my life raft. Whenever conditions became too turbulent, I couldalways bail out of the situation and escape to the safety of my raft. I even stored nonperishablefood items and a suitable supply of beverages at all times, in case I foundmyself “out to sea” for more than one night. I shuddered at the thought of life without anescape vessel, trapped on board the Love Boat, helplessly sinking into an ocean ofintimacy, drowning in murky waves of scented candles, potpourri and estrogen.At least that’s what I told everyone; I actually liked living with a woman and havingaccess to all those good skin and hair products. I also enjoyed being amongst objectsand belongings that conveyed a sense of taste. There are qualities about femininetouches in living spaces that most men are ill equipped to even appreciate, let alonethink of. That is because women are more inclined to be “nesters”, while men arecharged with the role of being “hunters and gatherers”. That’s why I did most of thegrocery shopping.Another feature provided by having my own apartment was accommodating our steadystream of visitors. One suddenly acquires a network of close friends and intimate familybonds, after moving to a place like South Florida. You were more than a friend, then;you became a free bed and breakfast.144

Whenever we had guests, we would put them up at my place. That way, I got to enjoyJulie’s superior box spring and mattress, while our guests could have their own privatequarters to walk around nude and fornicate freely. It didn’t matter to them if my bed waslike sleeping on a lumpy mound of clay. My buddies were so deluded by sunny beachesand round-the-clock drinking that they’d be happy to sleep on lawn furniture, if they sleptat all.I practically had to cover everything with plastic sheets whenever Jim came down. Oneof the little southern trollops he brought with him actually burned her back on my toasteroven, because apparently Jim had her leaning back on the kitchen counter while hepleasured her in some form or fashion. Then there was the time that he actually kickeda pane out of the window, at the head of my bed. They must have been gettingparticularly frisky, when his foot went right through the glass. He suffered a small cut,and I had to explain to my building superintendent girlfriend what had happened.Jim either brought some hot little big-haired rock and roll barfly, that was at least adecade younger than him, or he’d busy himself attempting to seduce anything that didnot display evidence of possessing a penis. Either way, Julie was subject to meeting anumber of chain-smoking “tramp – stamped” good ole girls in low-cut tops and “fuck-meboots”. Adding to her impression of Jim, and all he stood for, was the fact that when Jimleft Tennessee to vacation at a beach, most of his sentences began with, “Why don’t weget some beer, and….”However, she was amicable and courteous to Jim, as he was to her. He just appearedto be a heathen, because he was blowing off months of pent up pressure. His job was alittle more stressful than mine; my day to day challenges didn’t much surpass thinking ofa clever way to introduce a new Celine Dion song. Plus, Jim had to deal with the egosand annoyances of office politics. I on the other hand seldom saw anyone else thatworked at “The Wave”, except for Jonas Welk, who was my best bud south of the Floridaborder. That was all about to change.***Seeing Jim always instigated feelings that I should be accomplishing more in my career.I had always been driven to transcend whatever current professional situation I was in,but the past couple of years had been almost like a pseudo-vacation. I had a lowpressure job, I lived within walking distance of the beach, it was sunny and warm all thetime, and I had a gorgeous girl who adored me only thirty seconds from my door. Thedown side was that I made a subpar salary, the format did not particularly suit me, andno one got to hear me, unless one of the daytime announcers took a vacation and Isubstituted.I was working on putting together a dynamite new tape and resume, when it came timefor my bi-weekly aircheck meeting. Every two weeks, each announcer was scheduled tosit with our program director Russell Bick for a session of self-improvement andmanagerial ass kissing. It was the only time I got to see the daytime people. It took thedimwitted receptionist two months before she finally acknowledged that I was employedthere.I walked by her with a smiling nod. She did little more than scowl, probably assumingthat I had eaten an errant chicken salad sandwich that had belonged to her out of therefrigerator. Since we were there when no one else was, we were viewed as deviants145

who were probably up to no good. I can imagine that they pictured us in the studiohaving nightly booze parties, smoking pot, snorting cocaine and banging groupies on thecontrol board. After that, we would rifle through everyone’s belongings and scavenge alledible substances out of the staff lounge.When I reached Russell’s office, I was surprised to see that Bill Busca, the generalmanager, was there. They both greeted me. I sat down and Russell closed the officedoor. This looked very ominous.Thoughts immediately swarmed my mind as to how exactly you could make a comebackin your career after getting fired from the overnight job at The Wave. It had never beenperceived as a bastion of trendsetting uber-talent by the rest of the industry. Gettingfired from there would be like having chronic tuberculosis in a professional sense; no onewould even entertain the idea of meeting you.Russell spoke first, “Rick, we asked you in today, not for your regular aircheck session,but to talk to you about your performance.”“Uh-oh. Here it comes,” I thought.“We’re making some changes.”My mind was racing, “Why if I have to give up my apartment? Would Julie let me stay inher place until I could find something else? Even in lieu of raises, I still wasn’t makingenough to have any savings. I lived from one paycheck to the next. My beloved life raftwould be gone. I’d be stranded without so much as a paddle. Why if I actually had tomove back to my mother’s. What humiliation. I pictured myself sitting in my mother’shouse, trying to think of reasons not to jump off a freeway bridge, as Mom nattered awayabout how she heard that there were job openings at Walmart. “Maybe you should putin an application there.”He continued, “Monte is no longer going to be with the station. He’s finished when hegets off the air today. No one knows as of yet, besides Bill and I, so keep that quiet untilthe memo goes out to the staff.”Monte was the classic stereotypical radio personality from the 70’s and 80’s era.Working at some of the big radio stations in Miami, he was known as Monte Tickle. Hisoutrageous antics and laugh-a-minute delivery had made him a real South Floridacelebrity.Then the typical turnaround came: drugs, alcohol, young girls, some say even youngboys. He left Miami in relative shame, bouncing around places like Daytona, Orlandoand Tallahassee, most of the places that had refused to hire me, as a matter of fact.Changing his name to Monte Everette, the once brilliant ball of fire was now reduced tocard reader.He did very little on the air to enhance what had been written for him by the promotionmanager or program director. I heard that sales people and clients routinely wrote hiscopy, when he broadcast a live remote. Any senses of incentive, ambition, or pride146

seem to have been stripped from him by booze, pills, cocaine, and continual downwardspirals fuelled by subpar performance and absenteeism.He continued, “Bill and I want to put you in the afternoon drive slot.”My involuntary reaction was one of selfless concern, “What about Jonas? Wouldn’t hebe next in line for that spot?” I knew that Jonas would really enjoy having his eveningsto spend with his family; he had been doing that same evening shift for years. I wouldstill get to move up in the ranks by taking his position, seven until midnight.They both looked at me incomprehensibly. Perhaps they were touched by my sense ofselflessness or incredulous at my lack of voracious determination to succeed, bysnatching this opportunity right out of the jaws of my perceived rival.Either way, it was Bill who answered first, “We like having Jonas in the evening slot.He’s got that sound of a smooth, laid back, sexy guy, but he also sounds warm andaccessible. It’s like having Barry White play you a private session of seductive lovesongs from his bedroom. His female numbers are the highest of the whole day, so if it’sworking well, we’re not going to tinker with it.”Russell now got his chance to act managerial, “This was a decision that Bill and I made,based on your overall performance. Plus, everyone liked the way you sounded whenyou filled in for Monte, while he was in rehab.”“You were really funny,” Bill interrupted him.Russell continued, “And you managed to do it without being off color or just plainsophomoric and goofy.” He was right. Monte was incapable of doing much of anythingbesides double entendre jokes and silly little one-liners that would probably be bestreceived by the little girls he used to date.“My wife can’t stand listening to Monte,” Bill blurted out. So that was the issue. Bill’swife thought Monte was lewd and juvenile. Therefore, Bill thought so too. He startedexpressing his discontent to Russell, whose overt objective was to protect and maintainhis own ass.“My wife really liked you, when you were on afternoons that week.”Say no more. Bill’s wife likes me. I just got offered a promotion, because the generalmanager’s wife enjoys listening to me. That seemed so unorthodox and so intrinsicallywrong in every business sense, but I was starting to warm up to this idea. There was butone variable of concern, “Will there be more money?”They glanced at each other. Before Russell even had the opportunity to pretend he wasin charge of the department, Bill blurted out, “We’re willing to offer you five hundreddollars a week.”Sweet great grandmother of Mary! You got to be kidding me! I had received modestraises over the past two years, but this would double my income instantly. In retrospect147

it’s hard to believe I lived on any of the salaries that I got paid in those days, but at thattime, five hundred dollars a week felt like Donald Trump money.“I can work with that,” I tried to hold back the beaming smile that was threatening to ripmy face apart. I didn’t want to seem too excited about marginally emerging from thedepths of extreme poverty.My mind was already calculating how much more disposable income I’d be enjoyingevery month. Even more important than having someone special to share your beachblanket with, money was the one thing that helped make your South Floridianexperience more like the people’s in the brochures. It was an expensive part of Americato live in, and those that did not possess enough cash to personify the brochure lifestylewere loathsome to those that did.This is an area that contained rotting crack house tenements within a ten block radius ofmulti-million dollar mansions. The Kennedy Compound, in Palm Beach, was probably afive minute drive from a corner where crystal meth was sold like lottery tickets.As we all agreed that I would start on Monday, and get the weekend off to adjust mybiological clock, all I could think about was Jonas. “So Jonas knows about this, and he’sokay with it?”Russell gave me a mannequin-like corporate smile and wink, which rather creeped meout a little bit, and said, “Everything’s cool. He thinks you’ll do a great job. He’s happyfor you. ”Yeah, I bet. They were speaking earnestly in top secret hushed tones as I left,undoubtedly about high level corporate decisions like color weather radar. I turned thecorner to run right into Jonas.“Hey man, what’s up!” He beamed from ear to ear, having just spotted his best workbuddy in the hallway, “How’d the aircheck session go?”He obviously had no idea of what had just transpired in Russell’s office. Those lyingsacks of hyena shit had not told him yet. I felt instantly embarrassed, dishonest andterribly sorry for knowing already what Jonas was about to be told. He was beingpassed over for a promotion, and I was the eager beaver that would be stepping on hisforehead on my climb up the totem pole.“It went fine. I’m off for a couple of days. I’ll see you Monday.”He looked surprised. We usually spouted out everything going on in our lives to eachother, “Oh, I didn’t know you were off. You hadn’t mentioned it. Are you and Juliegetting away for a couple of days?”“No, well yeah, we might.”He gave me another quizzical look, “Okay man. Everything alright?”“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you on the weekend.” He watched me walk away.148

Now he knew something was going on. Much as we loved working with each other, wehad an implicit agreement not to have much contact on days off. We saw each otherevery day in the studio, so socializing during our weekends would feel a little too muchlike our jobs. Ironically, the nucleus of our friendship was born from our commiserationon the disgust we felt for guys like the ones I had just left back in that office. Now, I wasBill and Russell’s new golden boy, and Jonas was still one of those creepy refrigeratorforagingnight people.I wish I felt better about this life changing development, but I wasn’t experiencing theunmitigated joy that I would have expected. Jonas had been slighted, and I hadbenefitted from that slight. Though I didn’t perpetrate any of it, I still had a hollow guiltyhole that seemed to reside right in the middle of me.The second reason that I felt mixed emotions was the realization that I was now going tobe spending my weekdays with these two cheap-suited snakes. How would I deal withBill walking up and springing his latest innovative idea on me.Would I be able to convincingly look him in the eye and tell him that color weather radaris an excellent feature to promote on a television ad and billboard campaign? “I knowlisteners are going to flock to our dial position, if you tell them we have that, Bill!Everyone will be dying to see what it looks like on the radio!”Ironically, I had just made a major move to an afternoon drive slot in a relativelyrespectable radio market. Why was it that all I could think about was how great it wouldbe to find another job, at a different company?***Julie was ecstatic, spouting “Congratulations!” and “I love you’s!” in every direction. Itwas quite touching and cute; she was genuinely exhilarated by my news and very proudof me. She even called her parents and insisted that I call my own mom to tell her.Then, she immediately started planning a celebration dinner with a few of our closestfriends.Personally, I just wanted to relax and get rested up. My general attitude towardentertaining was “other people suck”, I just want to watch the game. However, there wasnothing but baseball and NASCAR on television, and I wasn’t particularly a fan of eitherat the time. My love affair with the Blue Jays was still years from being consummated.That left me with no excuses; I would have to bite the bullet, help clean the house,probably shop and/or cook, smile, make conversation, and indulge someone’s naïveinterrogative interest in radio. That always happened at every social event.Actually, she ended up inviting some of the more easy-going and less plastic of thepeople we knew. I tried to call Jonas to invite him and his wife, but there was no answer.I didn’t know if it was in good taste or not, inviting him to a dinner to celebrate his loss.The weekend was over in a wink, and Monday had me feeling somewhat nervous,particularly about assimilating into the daytime office culture. I arrived feeling unusually149

sheepish, but the receptionist actually smiled at me and said congratulations. It turnedout that her name was Eileen; I finally found that out after two years working there.Russell asked me to come in at noon to be instructed on the formatic nuances of theafternoon drive shift. He saw me coming down the hallway and said, “Rick, how are ya?Go have a seat in my office; I’ll be right there.”Minutes later, he swept into the doorway carrying a steaming container full of whatsmelled like Chinese food. Kicking his office chair back away from his desk, he plungedbackward into the seat and immediately started shoveling heaping forkfuls of a noodleand shrimp substance into his mouth. He took two bites and loaded another on to thefork, before he spoke to me. I thought to myself that he must be an unfathomably busyman, because this seemed like an oddly rude time to start gorging himself.He hungrily mashed the swell inside his cheek, making smacking lip noises that wouldhave gotten him kicked out of some of the finer restaurants on Palm Beach Island.“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t even have time for lunch today.”Funny he should mention that. Jonas and I often wondered what it was exactly thatRussell did all the time, since he wasn’t on the air. Undoubtedly he lived his life inside ofan intense think tank where profound management decisions like The Birthday Gameand color weather radar forecasts were hatched and implemented.He finally swallowed and came up for air long enough to start explaining how I shouldconduct myself in my new position. It was not a terribly demanding format to work with.Anyone who had ever been on the air could have facilitated the mechanics of the job.If I wanted to continue the trend set by Monte, all I had to do was sound like I was tryingto coax a feral cat out of a dumpster. The wild man that at one time embodied thenotorious Monte Tickle had been reduced to sounding like a bad Mister Rogersimpersonator, after he arrived at The Wave.“Coming up next: today’s weather and we’re going to fly high with music from TheEagles,” he would say in a hushed tone, as if he was trying not to wake up any little girls(or little boys) sleeping in the studio.I was quite convinced that people had a reasonably good handle on that day’s weatherforecast, by three o’clock in the afternoon. However, I’m sure Bill had to justify to his dadwhy he spent money on a radar device that painted a mural of South Florida in vividreds, blues and greens that only the person on the air could actually see.Other than little stipulations like reciting the same unchanging weather forecast twice anhour, I was delighted to see that there seemed to be a hands-off policy regarding myperformance. I tried to emulate the personality I thought they wanted in the afternoon,without totally abandoning my own identity.I even made a couple of comments that I considered to be humorous quips, and I couldtell that I would enjoy working with the afternoon traffic and news anchor, Isabelle Butler.She was no Jim Mooney, but she was incredibly beautiful and seemed to possess aquick sense of humor. It turned out that this could be a pleasant daily routine, after all.150

At five o’clock, the office people departed. Russell and Bill both came in to the studioaround six, to tell me that I was “sounding good”. Everything was going even better thanI had anticipated. Then Jonas arrived.There was an explicit possibility that we both recognized: they wanted the white guy onin the afternoon. This was a station that aspired to capture the affluent upscale PalmBeach county professional female demographic; a white guy would be much easier toblend in with that kind of local social landscape.I had thought about that all weekend, and I knew Jonas did too. It was an irrefutable factthat the entire air staff and most of the support personnel were white. Jonas was thetoken. He personified Equal Opportunity Employment Commission standards by hismere existence. They had put him in the evening timeslot, and that was where theyintended to keep him. I would have gladly traded places with him, because I thought hedeserved this promotion.However, I was surprised to see him smiling with true genuine joy, when he walked intothe studio. I knew him well enough to know he was not putting on an act to placate myguilt-ridden sensibilities, by showing me what I hoped to see. In fact, he seemed almostecstatic.“Hey man, congratulations! You sound awesome on the air!”“Thanks,” was all I could say. It came out as a stammer.I looked at him and he was staring at me with a smile that seemed to split his entire headin half. His eyes were sparkling. This was a man who was dying to share something. Iobliged him finally, by opening the door for his explanation, “What?”“I got a gig, man. I’m giving my notice on Monday, because they won’t let me stay onthe air, after I tell them. Or maybe I’ll call Russell at home, on the weekend. I don’t wantto leave them in a lurch on Monday. Best to keep good relations, ya know. I mean, Bill’san idiot, but he’s never really done anything bad to me.”I was stunned. One of my lifelines, the comrade who was always quick to remind mewho I was in a positive sense, was leaving. I don’t know if I would have survived thoseearly days after moving to South Florida, if it weren’t for the friendship andencouragement of Jonas Welk. I was already saddened, and he hadn’t even left yet.“Wow. Where are you going?” was all I could say.“I’ve just been hired as Assistant Program/Music Director at PowerTrip 101 Dot Five, inMiami. I’m also going to write and voice their station promos.”PowerTrip 101 Dot Five was a radio station with a successful heritage in Miami, carryinga large percentage of the African American listening audience that represented much ofthe South Florida population. They had an urban, R&B, hip-hop playlist, but they alsodid some really cool oldie flashback vignettes. They might play part of the famous MartinLuther King Jr. speech from 1963 and follow it with a top hit from that year like “You'veReally Got a Hold On Me” by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. That helped attract151

some older loyal listeners, and even the station’s younger core audience got a kick outof hearing those classics, from time to time. It was a “uniquely Miami” radio station.My head was still reeling from the news, “That’s a pretty expansive job, man. You’regoing to be a powerful man over there.”“Yeah, well I want to take you with me.”I wheeled around in the studio chair and looked at him. His smile and his look ofabsolute confidence told me that he was sincere and determined. Before I could sayanything, he continued, “They need an afternoon guy. The guy in there now, C-Ray,wants to get back into producing music full time. Between you and me, they wouldprefer to hire another white guy to fill his spot. C-Ray’s the only white member of the airstaff, so they like having that one EEO flag to wave. The guy’s got to be cool, though.”“I’m not cool,” was the only response I could think of.His face crinkled with a look of feigned disbelief, “Man what are you talking about?You’re cool. You sound cool. Yeah, what the fuck, you’re cool.” He said the laststatement like he was almost trying to convince himself.“Dude, I am the least cool, most white guy on this peninsula. There’s nothing about methat’s cool, and I know nothing about the music or the language that those people areprobably using.”The last statement sounded so racist that I saw him grimace with a double take. Iquickly back pedaled to make my point sound better, “I mean ‘those people’, thelisteners who are hip and into the whole cool nightlife and the new R&B music scene.”“That sounds familiar. You know who else talks like that? My grandmother. Well, youbetter read some magazines and do some homework bitch, because you’re getting a callfrom Cecil Banks, the new program director. He and I served in the army together, andhe’s assembling his team. He trusts my judgment, and I told him about you. He’s callingyou sometime next week to go out to lunch and talk.”“Holy shit”, I thought, “a boss that actually takes you out to lunch?” Why that couldalmost be construed as showing your air talent some respect. That’s almost unheard ofwhere I’ve come from.I slapped a piece of paper down on the control board in front of Jonas, “Write downsome names of R&B magazines.”He picked up a pen and smiled. I couldn’t resist saying, “And don’t call me bitch.”152

19 - This is It?The impact of having Cam depart our triad of trust severely impacted our spunky teamspirit. He was the engine that kept the show fresh and edgy, but at the same time undercontrol. He was our most genuine barometer of good taste, and if there was anythingpracticed on the show remotely resembling prudence, it probably came upon Cam’ssuggestion.We got to keep him for four weeks; that’s when Rhino’s producer was leaving to work forCrowe’s station in Vancouver. Cam promised us that he wasn’t leaving because ofcontroversy or job paranoia. He simply wanted to lead a more normal life, since he wasgoing to be a father. Getting up at 3:30am severely limits your quality family time. Plus,he probably wouldn’t be getting abundant sleep time, with a newborn in the house.Though he wouldn’t admit it, we were sure that the other concerns probably factored inmore than he was willing to admit. I had been chased across of MegaMart parking lot bya soccer mom before, loudly pontificating about what a “fucking asshole” I was.Apparently, her young daughter had been in the car with her once, listening to one of ourmore salacious bits.That kind of incident was embarrassing enough for me, but Cam would have his wife andnow his child with him. His picture wasn’t on the side of buses, like Jim’s and mine, buthe was pictured on the website. Some magazines and newspapers had done profiles onus, and Cam’s face was usually prominently displayed at the top of those articles, alongwith ours.There would be that potential sheepishness of having your kid explain to his friends, histeachers, and other parents that your dad lined up interviews with hermaphroditestrippers for a living. That doesn’t even take into account the fact that Cam frequentlyprovided voices for characters that were occasionally deemed racist, misogynistic ormerely in bad taste.Cam was very good at doing character voices and impersonations, so that’s why wecalled upon him almost daily to provide one. We asked again that morning for him tohelp out on another Tito and Marlin Jackson bit. He politely declined this time, so wewere going to manage the call-in bit without him. We would have to get used to workingwithout him anyway, but it made for awkward tension in the studio that morning.We came out of the song with the usual patter. I could almost feel Jim’s excitementabout discussing the previous day’s football games, particularly the Minnesota Vikings.They had played against Green Bay, Brett Favre’s home team for sixteen seasons. Hehad returned to Wisconsin’s Lambeau Field to a loud chorus of boos, as he stepped ontothe field. Jim was so wound up to start ranting, that it was all he could do to restrainhimself until we talked about it.I mentioned it first, “So Brett Favre gave the Cheeseheads a good stern lessonyesterday.”Here it came, “Yeah, and can you believe that those teat-squeezing mullet heads booedhim, as he came on? Here’s a guy who gave them the only notoriety they had for153

sixteen years, except for being known as a bunch of dairy farming douche bags. He’sstill got a steakhouse right around the corner from the stadium; it’s on the street ‘BrettFavre Pass’ by the way. He’s probably done more for that skank-hole town than themayor and the entire city council, and they boo at him, just because he’s playing for adifferent team? Well guess what? You can take those goofy Swiss cheese hunks thatyou wear on your heads and put them away come January, because I doubt if you asspackersare even going to make it to the playoffs.”Even I had to cringe at “ass-packers”. Cam put his head in his hands; he apparentlydidn’t want to contribute anymore. I didn’t realize having a baby could make a guy sotimid and righteous all of a sudden.I spoke instead, “At least they can go watch the other teams in the playoffs, whileenjoying a nice meal at Brett Favre’s Steakhouse.”“Yeah and hey farm boy, try to remember to use silverware when you’re eating the steakthis time,” he must have thought about this the entire night, after the game was over,“The fact that he owns a business in the town is probably the only reason he didn’t runout on the field, flipping the bird at both sidelines.”“That and the ten thousand dollar fine he’d get. Could you imagine if Brett Favre ranaround the field extending his two middle fingers up in the air?” I had to start bellylaughing, just picturing the scenario.“He runs into the end zone and starts pointing at his ass and patting it, throwing kisses.”“There’s your Sunday highlight reel,” Cam actually said something.“Cam! Hey buddy, when did you get here?” I was getting ready to run the bit, and didn’tthink Cam would want to be identified as being too close to it, the way he’d been acting.“I’ve been in the bathroom sudsing out my dainties.”“Is that what you kids are calling it now?” Jim replied.“By the way,” I said.I was about to divulge Cam’s big news about the pregnancy, when Jim made theinterjection instead, “Cam’s got some big news!”“That cam shaft of his has been busy!” Cam darted his eyes at me with a panickedexpression.Jim didn’t see the look on his face, “He was just cleaning it and it went off.”It was too late now, so I just wanted to make the announcement quickly, “That’s right andit ricocheted inside Mrs. Elto. Congratulations Cam. Our little brother here is about tobecome a daddy!”154

Jim was whistling and clapping, “I’ve met Mrs. Elto, and I can certainly understand whyshe was at risk of getting pregnant!”“That’s right. Cam’s wife is smokin’ hot and a nice girl, too.”He was now looking at us as if he was almost touched in a kind of “pride among guys”type way. Having your male buddies offer respectful compliments about how gorgeousyour wife is usually makes a man’s chest puff out a bit. Plus, every expectant fatherbasks in a certain testosterone-based esteem by letting everyone know that there’s“good ink in the ballpoint”, so to speak. Cam didn’t seem too eager to spread the newsto the listening public, but that was probably because his wife wasn’t keen on sharingpersonal matters with a bunch of potential degenerates.“Thanks Rick. I’m sure she’s going to be quite flattered. There is, however, the smallmatter of us not having told our parents about this yet, so ‘Hey mom and dad, you heardit here first!’ Grandkids are on the way.”“Oh man, I didn’t know that you hadn’t told anyone yet.” I did feel very badly. Cam’swife would never speak to me again.“You should put the sonogram pictures on our web page,” Jim turned the conversationback to our usual base level perspective again.“Yeah, can we go with you guys to your birthing classes? We’ll record those too for thewebsite, and of course during the delivery, we’ll go live with a special interactive web andradio event.”Jim was right on board with that idea, “We’ll produce a music track to play during thebirth, with songs like ‘Having My Baby’ by Paul Anka.”“We can have an online contest, featuring a baby pool. The winner gets to deliver thebaby,” I suggested.“Then we can have the guy come in the next day, so we can all smell his hand.”Jim probably traveled well beyond the line of good taste with that one, so I determined itwas time to move on. “You should take your wife to a movie Cam. You know what wasnumber one at the box office this weekend?”“I’d be willing to guess Michael Jackson’s movie.” I’m sure he already knew, since hewas the one who printed the list for us.“Jim, what do you think?”“Astro Boy,” he also had a list right in front of him.“Wrong. Cam’s right.”Jim pretended to be disappointed, “Damn! Alright Cam, what did we wager? Do I haveto perform oral again?”155

Cam cringed, and I thought, “My God. Dave’s going to have a lot to say at the meeting,today.”“Alright. Cam was correct. It was Michael Jackson’s rehearsal documentary ‘This Is It!’with a box office of twenty-three million.”“No! You gotta be kidding me! A documentary is in first place? It must be really good!”Jim was being sarcastic. All he talked about was how much he thought it was “bound tosuck”.“That’s only in North America. It was released world-wide.”Jim spoke in what remotely sounded like an East Indian accent, “We could not affordmutton to go with our rice this week, because we spent the mutton money on tickets tothis inane film about an effeminate man with a funny little nose. My children they lovethis little character. I thought he was a cartoon, but then he grabbed himself andwhooped like a seal.”I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at how bargain-basement offensive Jim’s entirecomment had been, “Mutton money? Yeah, tonight we’re having sewer rat on toast, butwe did enjoy some delicious buttered popcorn at the theatre, last night. I wonder if theywill actually try to get it out on DVD before Christmas, thinking they’ll make a fortunecashing in, while people still remember the guy died.”“Nothing would surprise me at this point,” Jim articulated what most people wereprobably thinking. After the bizarre high-profile post mortem shenanigans that hadalready occurred in full view of the public eye, it wouldn’t have surprised me if theystarted auctioning off the guy’s ashes.I cued Cam to play our phone ringing sound effect, “93 Rock. Good morning.”Jim was performing the voice we had determined that Tito Jackson would sound like ifanyone ever took note of his voice at all, “Who’s that?”“This is Rick Loonie again. Is that Tito?”“Yeah, this is Tito Jackson here, with an amazing new offer that is perfect for everybodyon your Christmas list. It’s the new DVD by the legendary Michael Jackson. It’s called‘This Is It’, or something.”“Wow, Tito that just opened in theatres. How can you already have it for sale on DVD?”“This is a special limited edition DVD, recorded live at a special screening of mybrother’s powerful new movie. It’s more powerful than ‘Gone with the Wind’ and a lotbetter than that ‘Avatar’ bullshit.” We beeped the word “shit”; there were plenty of beepsyet to come.“Tito, you’re not saying this is a pirated copy of ‘This Is It’ on DVD, are you?”156

“Ain’t no pirated…shit whadda you sayin’? Ain’t no motherfuckin’ pirate ships aroundhere. I’m offerin’ the public a special limited edition recording of this historical piece ofquality filmmaking genius, right here. This the highest quality recording, filmed with onlythe latest state of the art rented camera…well, I should say it would be if that bitch LizTaylor didn’t keep gettin’ up to go to the bathroom. Motherfucker got up about six times.I finally said ‘Hey you bran eatin’ bitch, sit your big ass down. I’m trying to make atimeless historical special offer here, and you fuckin’ the whole thing up’.”“Tito, you’re not allowed to sell that.”“You sound like that other bitch Oprah Winfrey. She sittin’ behind me, all up in my ass,talking ‘bout violatin’ federal law. I said ‘What’chu gonna do about it, send Steadmanover to kick my ass? I ain’t afraid of that pussy-whipped motherfucker.”Even Cam was starting to laugh. If we were to end up going out, we might as well leaveeveryone something to remember us by. It was almost as if the more pressure we felt totone down the shock value of our content, the more determined we were to offendsomeone, particularly our new arch-nemesis from Morality Media.Jim continued, “Only 273 copies of this limited edition masterpiece exist, until somemoney start rollin’ in; then I’ll make some more. So order yours now and receive aspecial Michael Jackson artifact for free. See look here, this is Michael’s own personalrectal thermometer. Order now, and you can have this motherfucker.”“Wow,” I droned in the background just to break up the monologue. Jim was almostready to start laughing himself.“Oh yeah, you can own this genuine Michael Jackson artifact, if you order now. I got allthose left hand gloves he used to throw out, buncha eye makeup and lipstick, little tinypairs of underwear, all kinds a shit.”I was betting on the allusion about “little pairs of underwear” to be the first topic onDave’s agenda, when we reconvened in his office.“There was only one Michael Jackson and only one opportunity to own some of his shit,so call now. Operators are standing by,” he then yelled off to the side, “La Toya, yousittin’ next to the phones? Cause people gonna be callin’.”There was a pause, in which you could hear the female intern we recruited to play LaToya yelling in the background, “We only got one phone, and it smell like ammonia.”“That’s cause Michael’s cat pissed on it. I got his litterbox as one of my genuineartifacts. So, call now!” The sound effect of a phone ringing went off in the background.“Holy shit La Toya, somebody callin’ already. Hey man, I got to go make some moneyhere. Listen, if you want one, I’ll give you two dollars off on your first purchase, just forhelping me out on the radio, yo.”I think the “yo” probably didn’t help our case, but we were literally all wheezing withlaughter. This was definitely much more offensive than even the stuff that got us intotrouble to begin with.157

“All right Tito. Good luck with your new venture.”In the background, Tito was yelling at La Toya, “Whatchu mean they hung up. You doin’something wrong. Shit La Toya, that was our first sale. Gimme that motherfuckin’phone.”Cam played the phone click and dial tone sound effect, and I proceeded to tease theupcoming features in our next hour, “Tito must not realize that he didn’t give his phonenumber. How are people going to order?”The other two murmured something, and I continued, “After the news break, we’re goingto be talking to a man who claims that he has the H1N1 virus. He’ll be calling us fromhis sickbed, and we’ll have the Ontario Health Minister live from his office to talk aboutthe vaccination program. Also, the winner of our Stripper Talent Search will tell us howher audition went in Montreal.”As the commercials started, I looked over at Jim and Cam, “I think it’s safe to say thatDave won’t be too happy.”Cam was staring at his laptop, “I don’t think it matters. Look at your emails.”I maximized my Inbox and saw an email from Crowe Communications corporate, it said:“Dave Ray is no longer employed with Crowe Radio Division. We wish Dave all the bestin his future endeavors. His replacement is to be announced later this week.”I slumped my head on the control board, then directed a comment at no one inparticular, “I wonder if we caused this.”158

20 – Brother, Can You Spare a Token?I showed up at home that night with a handful of Hip Hop, R&B, and Urban musicmagazines, along with the usual People and US. I was nearly bubbling over like avolcano with the news about my opportunity to become PowerTrip 101 Dot Five’s dulcetthroatedtoken white personality.Julie was waiting at the door to jump up into my arms and wrap her legs around mymidsection, “You sounded great! Even better than overnights! You’ve got more energythan you did on that shift, and you sound smooth and confident! I was nearly driven tomasturbate, I was so proud of you, but I decided to wait until you got home instead!”She then reached down and pulled a small bandage from the top of her right foot,revealing a small butterfly tattoo. It was actually very nice work, intricately detailed withsoft pastel mixtures of red, blue, green and yellow. It instantly reminded me of the colorweather radar screen, a fact that I chose to keep to myself.“Wow, that’s –uh, nice,” I unconvincingly stuttered, “What brought that on?”“Some of my friends and I had a lunch outing this afternoon, since I had the day off, andwe all ended up getting a tattoo. This is my first one.”“Yeah, I know,” I stared at the butterfly as I spoke. It was rather femininely sexy, and Iloved women’s feet, especially when they were attached to Julie’s dainty little barefootand bikinied body.However, all I could think about was my first landlord in Tennessee and the ambiguousblotches that covered his body from tattoos gone stale with age. There was also the factto consider that we had evolved into a tattoo culture; everyone and their mother nowseemed to have one. If you really wanted to be an individual, don’t get a tattoo.She read my face, “You don’t like it, do you?”“Are you kidding? I love it!” And with that, I picked her up. She wrapped her armsaround my neck and her legs around my torso again. I carried her into the bedroom,and we celebrated all of the new disclosures and fortuitous events of the day in the mostintimate and enjoyable manner.That is except for the disclosure about PowerTrip 101 Dot Five. I didn’t want to sidetrackthe opportunity for a great session of sex, by surprising her with information that mightforgo the moment. I waited until we were having dinner.“So, Jonas got a job at PowerTrip 101 Dot Five. He’s going to be Assistant ProgramDirector / Music Director and their promo voiceover guy.”“Good for him! That’s good, right?”As with most laymen on the street, Julie didn’t really have an accurate perception of theradio industry. Most people seem to assume that the station that they and their friendslisten to is the top station in the market. I even met advertisers who felt that way. You’d159

un into guys whose wives owned a high-end gourmet delicatessen and supermarket,and they’d want to advertise on a rock station.“It’s the top station in the city,” they would beam.The salesperson would sit stiffly, hoping that you wouldn’t turn on him and spill thebeans. I would sit there thinking, “You dumb sonofabitch, this station would be bettersuited for promoting Hungry Man Dinners, not goat cheese crusted escargot in garliccream sauce.”I think that my disdain for radio sales people developed during instances like that. Mostof them would sell hamburger to a cow, if the cow could sign a contract. The cow wouldhave to pay in cash and in advance, of course.I told her, “You and I don’t listen to it, but it’s one of the top stations in the Miami / FortLauderdale metro. Plus, it’s a bigger market. He’s done well for himself.”“That’s great, but I know you’re going to miss him. He’s one of your best friends.”There it was, the opening I was looking for, “Uh well, he wants me to go with him.They’re going to have to replace their afternoon guy, and he’s the lone white personalityon the whole air staff. He said they’re looking for another cool white guy to take hisplace, someone that can blend with their urban sound and personalities.”I looked up from my plate to see her looking at me, literally slack-jawed. Her mouth wasa gaping hole of shock and disapproval. Finally, she collected her thoughts and spoke,“You’re not cool. In fact, you’re probably the most uncool and whitest guy south of theMason Dixon line.”“No I’m not! How can you say that?” I obviously didn’t want to admit that I had just saidthe same thing about myself, less than two hours earlier.She put her fork down on her plate with enough force to let me know she was genuinelyupset, for some reason. Her head bobbled emphatically as she spoke, “You still crywhen you hear ‘Tears in Heaven’, because ‘Eric Clapton was in so much pain when hewrote it’. You don’t think I know, but I can tell that it’s not really ‘allergies’ as you alwayssay, when you run to the tissue box with your head turned away.”“It reminds me of my mother, because I played it for her on her birthday.” I had actuallyplayed “I Can’t Drive 55” by Sammy Hagar that day, because Mom always drove aboutten to fifteen miles per hour below the speed limit, but I wasn’t about to admit to cryingover a song. That’s the kind of thing she’d tell her friends, and they’d tell theirboyfriends, and I’d be the laughing stock at every cookout and beach volleyball gamefrom that day forward, “Hey Rick, you need a hankie? Eric Clapton’s on the radio!”She was acting so unreasonable that I had to mentally calculate if she might be on herperiod. No, that just happened last week, so what was her problem? I asked her that.She clasped her hands together and rested her chin atop them, “You just got your firstbreak, since I’ve known you. You’re going to consider throwing that away and driving to160

Miami every day, so you can impersonate a black guy trying to sound hip on the air?You don’t even know the music!”“I can learn that.”“And, you didn’t even discuss this with me?”“That’s what we’re doing now!” My temper was starting to bubble up inside me. Whywas she acting like this?“It seems like you’ve already made the decision.”Then, I opened my mouth and said something that I would come to regret for quite sometime, even if she eventually forgot about it, which she never would. Not ever. “Youdidn’t consult me before you got your new tattoo this afternoon!” I punctuated the words“new” and “tattoo” with a snarl that bordered on disgust.“It’s my body and I happen to like it!”That’s when I really dropped the bomb that sealed my fate, “Why don’t you just get aunicorn with a giant cock tattooed on the small of your back. That way everyone can seeyou coming, when you’re tramping around with your slutty hose-queen friends?”I don’t know why I even said that. I instantly regretted it, and I looked at her face thatregistered first shock, then anger. Underlying those emotions was a dagger of hurt; herlook translated, “How could you say something like that to me. I love you.”There was a very brief split-second where she looked as if she was still teetering fromthe insensitive and insulting blow that I had just delivered. At the same time, I could seeher mind racing to determine how she should react to my statement. Then, she steppedforward and gave me a sharp push with both hands, “Get out. Just get out.”“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I was backtracking now to absolve myself. I don’tknow why I was so rude. My only excuse was that I had been under a lot of stress, eversince all of the revelations concerning my career had unfolded.“Just get out. Please. I don’t want you here.” She walked over and opened the door.The elderly woman across the hall was in the hallway, with a concerned stare thatscanned Julie’s apartment and finally rested upon me.I quietly walked out, giving the woman a curt nod and a poor attempt at an offhandedfriendly smile. She glared back at me as if she might be in some danger of having hergroceries stolen by some hotheaded hooligan. I heard Julie’s door close behind me, as Iwalked toward the elevator.I wasn’t even sure what had happened back there. It just got very heated, almostinstantly. I felt badly, because I hated being at odds with the one person who had beenmy best friend and supporter, from nearly the minute I arrived in Palm Beach county. Ihoped that I didn’t do any permanent damage, but I was also sure that the phrases161

“unicorn with a giant cock” and “slutty hose-queen friends” would someday come back tohaunt me. That much I knew for sure.***Cecil Banks was a large gregarious man with a shaved head and a big smile you couldliterally see your reflection in. His teeth were so white and perfect that you immediatelyboth admired him and felt a certain dread and insecurity about your own less-than-pearlyincisors. He had a very strong resemblance to former New York Giants running back,endorsement model, and TV commentator Tiki Barber; if that wasn’t enough, his physicalsize and machismo were both giant. His handshake engulfed my own tiny little girlyhand like a catcher’s mitt. Even heterosexual guys probably could not help thinking tothemselves, “This guy must have a penis the size of a bridge support.”To make matters worse, he was respected as an industry genius and a successfulprogram director in one of North America’s largest markets. If you were a radio guy, youhad to look at him in awe, thinking, “Life is so unfair. Look at him! Is there anything thisguy doesn’t have?” Then your next thoughts are mental notes to keep him away fromyour wife or girlfriend. He was just smooth enough too, to seduce your spouse intomeeting him in the cloak room for a surreptitious quickie after dinner.We sat down in the small Cuban diner he had suggested for lunch in North Miami. Hiscall had come just as Jonas promised, within two days after his departure from TheWave. I showed up to the meeting with a “What the hell, I have nothing to lose attitude”;after all, it was a free lunch.I didn’t even mention it to Julie. She and I had mutually decided to “take some timeaway from each other”. Living only two floors away might have been taking its toll on therelationship, and we thought a little space might be well prescribed. Quite honestly, itwas her idea. I didn’t know what I had done that was cataclysmic enough to warrant thismutually agreed upon restraining order, but the business of your life must continue, evenif you are heartbroken.Of course, that didn’t mean that I was allowed to see other women. She could observeall the comings and goings of the building from her living room window. The four-storybrownstone building was home to several widowed seniors and three or four youngcouples. It would be fairly obvious if a girl left in the morning with smeared makeup andnightclub clothes on that she: (A) undoubtedly came from my apartment and (B)probably wasn’t there to sell me Amway products.Maybe it was time to refresh my way of life anyway, with all new relationships. I couldmove to Miami, work the agreeable hours of an afternoon shift in a major market, andpractice what little Spanish I knew on hot Latino girls. They could probably teach me torattle their tongues in that particularly festive Spanish language manner. I could neverquite do that.The scenario sounded good in my head, but I really missed spending time with Julie. Icouldn’t imagine someone else’s company to be anything more than unfulfilling.On the other side of my life, I was a bit nervous about becoming South Florida’s newking of hip hop. I knew nothing about the music, except for what I had read, and Iactually detested the stuff. I had always been adamant that anyone could sample162

someone else’s music and rap over the top of it; though both the media and the publicacted like these guys were geniuses. My concerns were soon laid to rest.After some small talk about the Florida Marlins and the upcoming Dolphins season, weenjoyed a great lunch, consisting a large sample tray of Cuban dishes. Then, as coffeearrived, Cecil moved a bit closer to me and lowered his voice.I swear I could see little sparkles coming off his teeth, just like special effects on atoothpaste commercial, “You probably wonder why I would be interested in hiring a whiteboy from Tennessee to work afternoons at an urban station.”I instinctively reacted like I was getting interrogated for a job interview, “I did grow up inDetroit.” Which was true; though I never listened to anything but rock n roll. I justhappened to come from a city where Motown was born, and there was still an activeurban music scene, including numerous hip hop and R&B radio stations.He laughed, “Yeah. Yeah. That’s great, but I’m going to tell you something that very fewpeople know outside of Jonas, me and a few select executives in the corporation.PowerTrip 101 Dot Five is going to no longer exist as it is now.”“Really? Why is that?”“Have you seen the ratings over the last year? We’re now battling head to head with twoother big budget urban stations, and there are at least three other smaller stations thatplay dance, pop and urban. We’re trending downward, and our number one competitorHot 95 is gearing up to give away about twelve cars during the Fall ratings book. We’rein danger of losing even more market share, so we enlisted a company to conduct someresearch.” He paused to sip his coffee.“What did the research find?” I watched his face. It was obvious he was purposely tryingto make me anxious, with his dramatic pause.“The market lacks a radio station that addresses younger listeners, particularly males,who are not into that whole club music scene. They’ll listen to it when they’re in the gym,because that’s what’s being played. They’ll endure it at a club, because it’s a means toan end. It’s something they have to tolerate in order to get laid. But, when they go totheir cars, they’re listening to Pearl Jam and Oasis on their CD players.”He took another sip of his coffee. I thought, “How much fucking liquid does this guyneed to consume? He’s had two glasses of water, a glass of wine, and now coffee. Iwas nearly twitching in my chair from the suspense. Tell me what your point is! You’rekilling me over here.”Leaning back toward me, he continued, “We’ve got a classic rock station with twenty-fiveyears of heritage; no one’s going to crack that audience. However, they won’t touch aband like Foo Fighters, even though they’ve been around for fifteen years.”“So do you know anything about that music?” I was trying to be careful not to offend theguy, but it seemed like a stretch for someone to be entirely proficient at programming amodern rock format, after working for R&B urban stations his whole career.163

“Shit, Rick. I could program Yiddish folk music, if I had enough research and focusgroups to work with. Plus, we’ve got a commitment from the company to spend somemajor bucks on this. You know what we’re doing for our fall launch?”I waited with anticipation, while I watched him take another sip of coffee. He had to bedoing that for the suspense effect. No one’s that fucking thirsty. He finally finished thecup and motioned for the waitress to bring more. This guy must have to urinate everyhalf hour.Finally, he turned his attention back to me, “We are presenting a show that only ticketwinners from our station will be able to attend. This deal was just consummatedyesterday, and it may be the biggest promotion ever perpetrated in the Miami market.”The waitress showed up with another teapot full of coffee. I was running out of time. Ihad to be on the air in two hours. One bad traffic jam, and I’d be late for work before Ihad even worked one month in my new position. If he ordered dessert and cognac now,I thought I might snap.One more slow savory sip, and he returned to our conversation, “We’ve worked a dealwith the promoter to be the exclusive presenting station for U2, when they come toMiami. That includes a special performance at a small venue, yet to be named. It will beattended by five hundred listeners who will get a special “up close and intimate”performance by the world’s biggest band.”Hey bigshot, you trying to impress me? You’re talking to a guy who has given awaytickets to Anne Murray and the Palm Beach Drama Society’s theatre-in-the-roundperformance of Othello. Bloody hell, I would kill somebody for a chance to work at aplace where they presented contests like this!As if this all wasn’t enough, Cecil then turned to the topic of compensation, “I knowyou’ve just been moved up at The Wave, but we want you in this position. Jonas feelsstrongly that you’re the man for the job, and I’ve heard enough to know that you are too.You worked in a rock format in your previous position right?”“Yeah, for several years.” My head was about to explode. I had never been pursued byan employer before. I usually had to do everything short of fellating the interviewer justto get a call back.“Perfect. We’re willing to start you out at fifty a year. I know it’s not a lot, but once someratings start to come in, I’m hoping to get you up to a level comparable to the rest of themarket.”The challenge now was to try to appear composed. This coffee-swilling purveyor of mynoontime meal had just quoted a figure that was more money than I had ever madebefore. It’s actually sad to admit. I’m sure many of my buddies from university were intosix figures by now, but I had to follow my heart and settle for destitution in exchange forfree stuff and convenient sex partners. Now, I could have it all!164

I finally spoke in a calm voice, tempered by years of training. The test was whether Icould keep my words and saliva from bursting out of my mouth like John Belushiimpersonating a zit in Animal House, “That would be fine. It’s more than I currentlymake.”“No shit? I thought you guys at The Wave were making ALL the money.” With that, hishuge white billboard smile spread across his face, and we both had a tension breakingbelly laugh. Tension breaking for me; Cecil didn’t give a shit. I’m sure he could find fortydifferent people to fill this position, before he even left the restaurant.Promising to get back to me by the end of the week with paperwork, he never evenasked me if I wanted the job. He knew as well as I did anyone would have to be crazy orlazy not to take advantage of a career changing, life altering opportunity like the one Iwas just given.***The next couple of months were rather bizarre, as I left The Wave to become the newafternoon announcer at PowerTrip 101 dot five. Cecil instructed me to stay very genericand just read the cards. I didn’t even mention my name on the air.No one seemed to notice. I had a couple of callers who either told me I sucked orinquired about the personality I replaced. I’m sure the executives were evaluating me,but no one really commented on my performance. They were all looking ahead to thenew format.Slowly, a colorful staff of personalities that had become legendary celebrities in theannals of Miami radio and urban music was dismantled. One by one, they werereplaced by people like me, who didn’t mention their names or say anything outside ofliner cards filled with promotional copy and public service announcements.The WHIP 101.5 went on the air on September 1 st , three weeks before the beginning ofthe fall ratings book. The “dot” was now pronounced “point”; “one-oh-one-point-five”sounded more rock and roll than the previous alternative.Jonas had created some ID’s and drop-ins; those are the short announcements betweensongs that tell you what radio station you’re listening to. Some were so racy that theywere barely fit for broadcast. However, whether it was shock factor or comedic content,they either made you laugh or made you think, “I can’t believe I just heard that on theradio.” The whole presentation helped create a radical swagger that was designed topermeate the pubs, jobsites, automobiles, and lifestyles of young adult male listeners.I had some background knowledge of the music from my previous incarnation at TheRock in Tennessee, but I spent the weeks after meeting with Cecil cramming for my firstday after the format change. I could tell you how many tattoos Dave Grohl of FooFighters had and where Bono of U2 liked to hang out when he was in Miami.I studied local press, like the Miami Herald and the Sun Sentinel, cutting out articles fornews and comments. I had always done that in my previous jobs, but given the chanceto entertain an audience pool of millions, I was especially fixated on the obscure oddminutiae stories that make people laugh or shake their heads in disbelief: Broward165

county man gets penis stuck in ice maker, police bust 83 year old man for selling Viagra,University of Miami student trains dog to identify horny women by scent.All of the media campaigns for the inaugural launch premiered the weekend before thestation transformed on Monday morning at 12:01am. There was an extensive TVcampaign featuring several of the station’s core artists like Nirvana, U2, REM and GreenDay. We also had billboards all over the Miami/Fort Lauderdale metro, and bus signageidentifying the “The WHIP 101.5 – The ROCK That’s Changing Your Life NOW” hit thestreets that Monday.My first day on the air, I was anxious, but in a positive way. I wasn’t nervous; it was afeeling of exhilaration, like I was about to play in the Super Bowl or join Mick Jagger onstage. I looked forward to receiving the excited calls from listeners, “Wow! This is agreat station! It’s about time someone played some decent music in Miami!”I strutted into the studio feeling as cocky as the day I arrived in Tennessee, full ofarrogance fueled by the adulation of insomniac redneck fans. The WHIPS’s middaypersonality, an attractive but hardened looking rock and roll radio woman called MaxiMillion (I say “called” because there is no way that was her real name.) was shaking herhead as she peeled off her headphones.“Shit,” she said, “It’s great to be hated.”“What do you mean?” I looked at the phone, and all request lines were ringing.“Well I don’t speak Ebonics very fluently, but I’d say they’re pissed.”She immediately grabbed her bag and scuttled out of the studio. Her contemptuousstride looked like a woman who just discovered her gynecologist was really anunemployed 40 year old charlatan, living in his mother’s basement. I watched herdeparture with my head cocked sideways like a dog trying to understand the mechanicsof a wind-up toy monkey.I settled in behind the control board and got organized. I still had eleven minutes until Ihad to actually speak, so I put on my headphones to answer and record my first phonecall at The WHIP 101.5 FM.“Hi, The WHIP….”“Yeah, why don’t you go get a job at some Caucasian station MOTHER FUCKER!”Man alive, this guy was screaming at me. I understand why Maxi was running for herlife, before a bomb threat got called in. “Thanks man, but I already have a job.”“You punk bitch mother……” I cut off the call. Somehow I had pictured myself receivinga warmer welcome than this. By the sounds of that call, I probably shouldn’t answer thephone for the rest of the day. I might even have the security guard walk me to my car.Come to think of it, the security guard was a young black guy, wearing lots of bling andwhat I refer to as a hip hop haircut. He didn’t look too happy either. I was later informed166

that he was good friends with all the personnel at the PowerTrip. He actually dated thepromotions director, who was summarily fired when the format changed.Great! The guy that’s paid to protect me hates everything I stand for and may have acause for vengeance. I pictured myself in the parking lot, screaming for help, as I wasswarmed by gang members looking for an initiation trophy. Meanwhile, my only vestigeof rescue has his feet up on a desk, listening to Fifty Cent on his MP3 player, laughingas giddily as a man on mushrooms, while he watches me on security camera.***I pulled into the apartment building parking lot at 8:30 that evening. The traffic on I-95was brutally slow, and I realized that this was now my life: three hours per day in traffic.I walked in to my apartment and the phone rang. It was Julie, and she didn’t sound toowell. Her voice was quite shaky. I asked her if she was alright, and she suggested that Icome downstairs to see her.This had become a rare occasion. Since our self imposed “break” from one another, Igot busy preparing to become Miami’s next radio superstar. Meanwhile, she wrappedherself up in her last semester before graduating with graphics and marketing degrees.That graduation occurred rather unceremoniously at the end of the summer; I wasn’teven invited, which was poignantly disappointing.Could it be that the pressures of school clouded her sense of rationale and clogged upher libido? Maybe she was missing me so much that she had spent the afternooncrying, while listening to my afternoon show in her bra and panties. Now, the urge wasso overwhelming that she was quivering with lustful anticipation. That would account forher shaky voice.It turns out it wasn’t about that at all.She answered the door with her eyes red and swollen. She carried a soggy tissue, and Ilooked around to see empty cardboard boxes scattered throughout the room. Shewalked toward me in a distressed scurry and hugged me tight. Her head was on myshoulder as she sniffled repeatedly.“What’s wrong?” I tried to sound as concerned and understanding as I’m capable of, as Iwondered to myself, “Is it something that raw passionate sex might help?”She finally pulled back to arms’ length and looked at me. Her eyes were little wrinkledwrecks, her voice a scratchy whimper, “A lot has happened in the last few weeks.”I looked at her and waited for her to continue; she led me and sat me down on the sofa.“The apartment building is being sold. It won’t affect the tenants, but the company that’sbuying it has their own corporate people who will care for the building. All I really do iscall up the repairmen when something goes wrong. These guys have their own networkof handymen, so you’ll probably be in better hands than you were with me.”“You did a great job….”167

She interrupted me, before I could complete my gratuitous compliment, “Luckily, I finallygot my degree, so I’ve accepted a job doing graphics for two lifestyle and tourismmagazines.”“That’s great!” I was overwhelmed suddenly with such a warm attraction to her that Iblurted, “You could live in my apartment if you wanted, until you got something better.We could try it out?”She looked at me sweetly, as if she was evaluating me in the kindest way, probably withmore regard than I deserved. “You are such a sweet guy. Seriously, I hope that yourealize what a special person you are. You’re talented, creative, and you have awonderful soul.”I had never had anyone say anything like that to me before, “Do you think you’d like totry that then…..for a while, just to try it out?”She clasped her hands over mine, “You know that my mother’s been ill. She’s gotdiabetes, and there are other related issues. She’s just not doing well right now. Plus,my father had a heart attack about four weeks ago. He’s barely moving right now, andhe’s got special diet concerns, as well as she does. The winter’s coming, and they can’tshovel snow, put in storm windows, bring in wood for the fireplace. They really need meright now, so I’ve accepted a job with a company in Halifax.”It actually felt like I had some sort of jolting spasm go up from my stomach to my chestand finally up to my throat. I could physically feel a wave of sadness and evenembarrassment welling up inside my body. She was one of the only people who reallyknew me, and she loved me for it. I would miss her so terribly.The only reaction I could think of spontaneously was one that would make her laugh,“Where’s Halifax?”She gently pushed her hand into my face, laughing, “You dick. What a yankee. You’rea dick yank!”“Well because that’s the only thing I’ve been doing lately.”She leaned against me, affectionately and laughed, “I’m going to miss you and our liveshere. I’m sorry that we’ve been a bit estranged lately. I’ve been wrestling with thesethings for weeks now, and I have no choice. Everything sort of fell in place, like I wasmeant to go back there. I just wish you were going with me. I don’t think I ever reallyloved a guy before this. We just had a lot of fun being together. You always made melaugh. I loved every minute of it.”And that was it. I spent the night; she left two days later. I made her some tofu chickensandwiches for the road; she thought that was great. After she drove away, I went to myapartment and cried, right up until it was time to go to work.I drove south on I-95 unable to think about much more than the visual mental image ofJulie’s car pulling away, as she gave one last wave in her rearview mirror. My mind justkept repeating the same words, “Everything sure is going to be different now.”168

21 - Tiger Feeding FrenzyBefore it became apparent that Tiger Woods was a serial slut, Jim and I assumed thatthe first girl to surface was perpetrating what we called a “celebrity fucking”. There wasa day when such lascivious indiscretions were kept secret; now suddenly it’s a badge ofhonor for women to go public with private intimate affairs. After sex, they’re on thephone with the tabloids before the guy even backs his car out of their driveway.We still don’t know for sure if John F. Kennedy really did sleep with Marilyn Monroe.That was the sixties; in those days, even the press would turn a blind eye to suchembarrassing transgressions. If John F. Kennedy had sex with Marilyn Monroe in 2010,she’d be in front of the White House the morning after, waving her semen soiled pantiesin the air and announcing the results of the DNA test.We used to blame Ted Turner for initiating these increasingly consistent worldwidephenomena. His ingenious vision led to the creation of CNN, which became the genesisfor a new society of insatiable news zealots. Then came the internet, and we no longereven had to be near a TV to get instant news.The problem with this new omnipresent collective consciousness is that there just reallyisn’t enough authentic news going on, to fill twenty-four hours of content. To counter thelack of real information and truly notable occurrences, news agencies began toincorporate two easily achievable methods of creating what could be idly defined asauthentic news.By repackaging the same information with a different spin each time, they make itappear as if they’re going to tell people something they haven’t already heard, eventhough it’s the same rehashed story. “The latest reports indicate that there is no crisis,nor has there been one. We will continue to follow developments as they occur, withupdates every fifteen minutes, here on your number one source for news….”The other tactic is to manufacture news stories out of insignificant events, usuallyinvolving the personal life of someone famous. The stories often involve illegal behavior,intoxicated outbursts, or licentious dalliances. The media operates on the assumptionthat the public loves learning about downfalls and difficulties of people more famous orsuccessful than they are. The latest celebrity to take on the scrum onslaught was theworld’s greatest golfer and apparently a pretty decent lay, too.While the entire world marveled at his superstar skills, it seems that every cocktailwaitress and convenience store clerk that ever conducted a transaction with TigerWoods, ended up in his hotel room. Predatory news reporters and paparazzi piranhasdescended upon his exclusive gated Florida community, nearly faster than theambulance that picked him up after his car accident.He conducted a press conference that conveyed no information, except that he’s humanand isn’t perfect. Meanwhile, an entire community of blondes began to line up for theirfifteen seconds of fame, and maybe even a cash reward if their story was dirty enough.He disappeared, saying he was giving up professional golf. Meanwhile, his wife startedgetting followed around town like Di and Dodi; someone actually photographed herpumping gas, to illustrate how she was no longer wearing a wedding ring.169

Both Jim and I felt like it was a topic we would prefer to avoid for a number of reasons.For one, the news coverage had already been so unabashedly and outwardlyvoyeuristic, it was as if a conspiracy had been launched to clinically dissect and destroythe man’s reputation, personal life, and livelihood. Though we had never let principles,conscience or empathy stop us before.Secondly, Tiger is African American, and we were concerned for our own professionalsurvival. We were already under some scrutiny, because of the fervor in which weravaged the Jackson family. The follies that occurred after “Wacko Jacko’s” demise hadprovided us with what might be regarded as a little too much material to work with.Apparently, we were supposed to be terribly saddened by his passing, judging fromsome of the emails we received. Many regarded the material as racial humor; weconsidered it merely making fun of the surviving Jackson’s blatant grabs for cash andfame. Plus, there were tremendous backlogs of eccentricity stories surrounding Michaelhimself.However, Tiger Woods was not a reclusive freak. In fact, he was highly regarded as aprofessional athlete and all-around good citizen. This was a modern day hero for grownmen who idolized his superhuman prowess at a sport they all loved to play. He was arole model for the rich, who regarded him as elite even in their own coveted prima donnasocial circles. Donald Trump would probably ask the guy for an autograph, if no one wasaround.Another part of our quandary lay in the fact that David Letterman had been in a similarsituation only weeks earlier, and we didn’t dwell upon the subject at all, mainly becauseLetterman had been our undisputed idol for decades. Arguably, the situations differed inthe fact that David Letterman had quickly confessed with as much dignity and honesty asanyone could, under the circumstances.Tiger reacted to inquiries over embarrassing details surfacing after his accident withwhat appeared to be awkward panic and a shroud of secrecy. Any media veteran knowsthat when there’s that much smoke, there’s bound to be some fire. Once the initialadultery allegations surfaced, every hotel maid who ever walked in on him nakedstepped in line for her interview with the tabloids.Since it was front page news in every paper and magazine on the planet, we figured theViolet Dumets of the world would have to give us a break on this one. Jim started outtalking about the remote broadcast he had done at a local mall the night before.“Hey, I saw Tiger Woods at my remote last night. He was at the drug store buyingtampons.”“Really, that’s a coincidence. Elin Nordegren came over to my place. Let me tell you,those tampons weren’t for her.”“Really? Was it a grudge lay? A revenge boning?” Jim could be assured of plenty ofemails over those questions.170

“She did keep saying things like, ‘That’s for Las Vegas!’, ‘That’s for Florida!’ I was justhappy to be there for her, at a time like this.”Jim laughed, “Yeah, I bet. So no one knows where Tiger is these days, do they?”I cued the board operator to play the phone ringing sound effect; he was a younguniversity graduate who was trying to work his way up the food chain. Cam was nowproducing Rhino’s show in the afternoon. He was sleeping in, showing up around noon,and receiving much less heat for comments made on the show he was producing. Rhinowas all about music news and artists interviews; we were there to essentially shock thelistening audience into consciousness and start their day with a laugh.“Hold on. Let me get this….93 Rock.”“Rick, Jim, this is Barbara Walters.” We had conducted a number of talent searchesamongst the staff, and it turned out that another salesperson, Connie, could nail theBarbara Walters voice and character like no one we had ever heard before. She evenmanaged to impersonate Barbara’s odd little speaking mannerism, “Bah-bwa”, withoutover exaggerating it. We loved using her.“Hi Barbara. What’s up?”“I’m about to capture the first live interview with Tiger Woods. I’m standing outside themen’s room at an exclusive country club in Florida, where Tiger has just finished a roundof golf. Let’s go see if he’s ready to talk to me.”“Well this is exciting,” I said to Jim.In the background you could hear the sound effect of a door opening, and then, therecording we had made of Jim urinating in the studio washroom. He purposely jet powersprayed directly into the water so that it would sound even more obscenely realistic.“Hello Tiger!”The sound of urinating immediately stopped, minus a couple of drips we left in at theend, to make it sound even more authentic. We had an intern impersonate Tiger for us;he had the same kind of low key voice and speech pattern.“Barbara, what are you doing here?” His voice sounded outraged.“I came to help, Tiger. Do you feel like cwying right now?” We both laughed out loud.Barbara making people “cwy” was one of our favorite clichés, and who needed a goodcry right now more than Tiger Woods.“No, I just want to wash my hands. What are you doing in here? I don’t want to talk toanyone right now.”“Do you know that I’ve interviewed at least six presidents and hundreds of the world’sbiggest stars?”171

“I don’t care. Barbara, this is really awkward. Would you quit staring?” Suddenly heshouts, “Hey”, then back to Barbara, “Thanks a lot Barbara. The guy in the next stall?That was paparazzi. He just took a picture of my penis! Now, I’m going to have to lookat that on tmz.com.”“Never mind that, Tiger. Let’s talk about your feelings. How many adulteresses did youhave sex with?”Then came the booming voice of yet another member of the office staff. It wasStephanie, the station’s payroll accountant. Stephanie was a large woman who weimmediately recognized had a voice and cadence very similar to Oprah’s. We tried torecruit her immediately, but only recently did she get over her stage nerves and allow usto use her for some Oprah bits.She bellowed, “Wait a minute! I’ll handle this. I’m going to interview Tiger Woods,PEOPLE! Then, I’m going to give everyone in the audience their own golf cart.”Applause exploded in the background.Tiger spoke, “Who are all those people outside the door? This is nuts. You’re bothnuts!”Barbara said, “Opwah! I was here first. I have this exclusive.”Oprah shouted, “Don’t talk to her Tiger. She’s an adulteress herself. She even admittedto banging a married man in that damn book of hers, which SUCKED by the way.”“You arrogant bitch! I’ll tell you what sucks is that fucking shit magazine of yours.” Weedited the words precisely enough to make them legal for broadcast, but stillrecognizable to the profanely trained ear.The door opened again in the background, and I entered the scene using my Bill Clintonimpersonation, “Ladies, ladies, please! Now this is something that can be worked out. Isuggest a wrestling match in olive oil or a fight with seltzer spray bottles.”“Bill, what are you doing here?” Tiger spoke again.“Let me tell you something Tiger. I’m an old hand at this kind of situation, and the bestthing to do is climb right back on and ride another pony. I’m talking about you and me, acouple of local females, and we’ll take that fine yacht of yours out for some nice deepsea fishin’, if you know what I mean.”“No thanks, Bill.”Clinton continued, “And let me tell you the most important words you’ll ever hear in yourlife. Continue to deny, until you must comply. Don’t forget that.”Barbara Walters spoke up again, “Okay, Tiger. I’ll sleep with you, if you do an interviewwith me.”172

Oprah bellowed, “You despicable skank!” The sharp sound of a hand smacking skinfollowed, along with sounds of a physical scuffle with both our actresses grunting andscreaming. We actually banged on the microphone windscreens lightly with our handsand slapped ourselves to create the impression that there was a physical altercationunderway.Bill Clinton’s voice was audible in the foreground, “You know Tiger, this wouldn’t be badif these chicks were a little hotter.”Next, you could hear a knock on the door, “Tiger, it’s me Dave Letterman. Listen, can Isleep on your couch again, tonight?”Jim had perfected a pretty fair Letterman impression over the years. We both agreedthis sounded like a joke that Letterman would make about himself, “So we have not yetdisgraced the master, grasshopper,” was how Jim justified it.There was a sudden sound of breaking glass, and shocked outbursts from the twofemale TV hosts. Barbara shrieked, “Tiger’s jumping out the window!”“He’s running way from you, you hairlipped whore!” Oprah punctuated the last twowords in the sentence with another loud slap.In the foreground, Bill Clinton spoke up, “Hey Dave, you wanna head down to thecountry club lounge, see if we can find us some pros to straighten our shafts? If youknow what I mean.”“Will you come on my show?”“Sure, Leno gives me the creeps. I keep feeling like he’s going to try to sell me a timeshareproperty, during the interview.”“He looks like a side show carnival freak. He’s got a face like a canned ham. I’mpositive he’s had a chin implant. Plus, look at the studio! I have a talk show set in mygarage that I practice on, that looks better than that stark cheap-ass piece of shit!”My Clinton character responded, keeping the conversation at a consistent level ofoffensiveness, “So what do you say, Dave? You want to accompany the oldCommander-in-Chief on a ‘piece mission’? I know where to find some pretty diplomaticambassadors, if you know what I mean.”“Do you think you can get Hillary to do my show, too?”“Dave, you know I haven’t spoken to Hillary since the election! She’s busy working onthat global village of hers, and I’ve been on a lecture tour that makes Tiger Woods’ lasttwelve months look like house arrest.”“How about Monica Lewinsky? That would be a ratings killer!”“She’s not returning my calls, but I do know a Swedish flight attendant with gymnasticstraining.”173

“Ah well, I promised my wife I’d go look at wallpaper samples with her. Then, we’regoing to see a movie that her friends told her about. It’s a romantic period piece set inthe Victorian era. Apparently, her friends cried through most of the film, so I’m lookingforward to that.”“Dave, brother, you should’ve just paid her a couple mil to pretend to forgive you andforget about the whole thing. Look man, if you change your mind, just text me with thecode ‘69’. I’ll know it’s you.”Meanwhile, the gaggle continued shouting in the background. Barbara Walters said,“He’s getting into that SUV, see the one with the cwumpled bumper.”Oprah responded, “Come on, we’ll take my car. I brought my Ferrari. Maybe if we wearhim down, he’ll do both of our shows.Letterman spoke up, “Can I come? I’m a big race fan.”Oprah shouted, “It’s a two-seater. Get out of our way.”“Will you guys do my show?”The yelling faded into the background, as I said, “It sounds like Tiger’s managing to staybusy even without his golfing career.”“You know, three months ago, I would have thought he had made a deal with the devil tohave the life he lives. Playing golf for a living, married to a bikini model, a potentialbillionaire.”“He’s going to be okay, Jim. Don’t worry too much about him. Plus, there’s a world fullof cocktail waitresses just waiting to let him shoot a drive down their fairway.”“I wonder if he dog-legs like Clinton.”“I’m sure we’ll find out, before the media is done with this story. Damn media.” Then,back into show schedule mode, “Your traffic is next, and we’ll check in with the foodbank to see how the ‘93 Rock Holiday Harvest Food Drive’ is going.”***Dave’s new replacement had arrived, and what a piece of work this guy was. You couldtell before even speaking with him that he wasn’t part of the accounting department. Hishair was purposely awry, sticking up all over his head in different directions. He hadsome sort of blond highlighting done, and he seemed to have a penchant foroutrageously colored patterned shirts.His name was Dirk Nixon, and he had come from somewhere in the U.S., Detroit orChicago, I think. When some people joined a new company, they usually tried to be verynice and gracious for the first couple of days. That didn’t seem to be a concern of Dirk’s.He had been ravaging through the station format like a Tasmanian Devil, makingchanges to the hourly clocks and music rotations by his second day.174

We were about to head into our first post-show meeting with him, thinking we have agreat “in”, being fellow Yanks and all. As it turned out, that didn’t seem to be the case.We walked in, sat down, and he looked both of us in the eye, seemingly surveying andevaluating us. You could feel judgments being passed upon us almost spontaneously.Not since our introduction to Donald Wycock did I feel so much like I was in someone’shostile crosshairs.He spoke with a rather hoarse-sounding but booming voice, “So I listened this morning.I’ve been listening for a while now.”Jim responded first, with a natural line of questioning, “Wha’d ya think.”We weren’t expecting his retort, “Do you guys really think those fucking character call-inbits are funny?”That was another thing about the guy, he peppered every sentence with profanity, evenin front of female staff members and management. He just didn’t seem to care aboutdecorum, only his own agenda and getting everyone to comply with it.I spoke to my new supervisor for the first time, since our initial casual greeting in thehallway, during his first walk-through. “What do you mean?”“I just don’t know that they’re that fuckin’ funny. I mean, I get it. You guys can soundlike famous people, but I don’t know if it’s worth the time for the listener to sit throughone of those bits of yours.”Jim was immediately offended, “We get good response. I mean, look at our ratings! Wedominate our demographic.”“Dude,” I had never had a boss that referred to me as Dude before, “I’ve seen the trends.You’re not gaining any growth in our key demos. That’s why I’m here, to help you fixthat.”Jim was steaming. I could tell when he was just about to blow a head gasket, and rightnow it looked like his skull was about to crack open. “What makes you qualified to dothat?”I couldn’t believe that he had just said that to our new boss, first day, first meeting. Itwas fair to construe that this working relationship could be a tad bit strained, already.“You know what makes me qualified to do that. Because I’ve done it before; only I hadmore to work with at that place. Why are you getting all fucking angry and defensive?Like I said, I’m here to help you, not harass you.”“What makes you think it’s okay to talk to people that way? You don’t even know us,and you’ve obviously already conducted your thorough evaluation.”175

“I don’t want to know you. That’s the fucking problem with most program directors. Theyget to know their staff, and next thing they have personal relationships. Now they realizehow funny and warm and likeable these guys are in person. They lose sight ofobjectiveness, which is integral to understanding the listeners. Those guys listeningdon’t give a shit if you just pulled a big fucking cock out of your mouth, before you turnedthe mike on. All they want is weather, traffic, sports and a couple of laughs before theyhave to show up at their own miserable jobs, that morning.”Of course being the eternal mediator, I tried to turn the vehemence volume down acouple of notches, “So what do you propose to do, to help us?” I used my fingers toinsinuate quotation marks, framing the words “help us”.He reclined back in his chair. The body language alone was quite arrogant, “What Ipropose, first of all, is don’t feel like you have to create some lame fucking character bitto be funny. Just as we already discussed, if you do feel like you simply have to do one,make sure it’s fucking funny.”“And how do we do that?” I was already picturing myself jumping up on his desk andkicking him repeatedly in the teeth.“You ask me. Any of those bits need to be okayed by me, before they go on the air.”Jim nearly lunged across the desk at him, “Oh yeah? Are you going to be up at 4:00am? Because that’s when we do most of our show prep.”“Don’t worry, I’ll be here, if you have anything that has to be run by me.”“You’re going to be here at 4:00 am?” My inflection was half-asking a question and halfdeclaring a dare. There was no way this guy could tell me he was going to be in thebuilding at that hour.“I usually arrive by 5:00 am. That gives us an hour for me to make love to your egos,before you go on the air. However, if you bring in some lame fucking character bit, youregos are going to be bitch slapped, and you’ll have less than one hour to make up forthe hole in your program. I have no doubt that two high-paid stars like yourselves caneasily handle this arrangement.”I was starting to get the distinct impression that this guy really didn’t care for us.However, we still had two years in our contract, before he could get rid of us. Otherwise,we’d be “high paid stars” who were getting paid not to work. That was a clause in ourcontract; if Crowe Communications determined that they didn’t want us working at 93Rock, they could pull our performances off the air. However, they would still have to payus, hence we could not work for any other radio station in the Toronto market, until thecontract period ended.Dirk Nixon leaned back even further in his reclining office chair, stretched his arms outwith a long yawn, and looked at his watch. “You guys, I’d love to sit and chat allmorning, but I’ve got a bunch of people coming in for interviews, starting at eleven. Let’scontinue this conversation tomorrow morning. I’ll see you around five.”176

With that, he turned to his computer monitor, as if we were no longer in the same room.I had literally never seen anything like this guy. His arrogance was like a palpablestench that filled the office.We walked out, as if we were both incapable of speech. It was a difficult judgment callwhether to climb right back into this guy’s face, or on the other extreme, kiss his ass. Itwas too early to tell.By his own perception, he controlled the swinging pendulum of our fates. He could fireus, or he could appropriate a budget to put us on TV commercials. Our futures could goeither way, and he was the one who would decide. Quite clearly, he knew we knew that,and he wouldn’t be hesitant to articulate the fact at any time.As we walked down the hallway, dumbstruck, Jim finally spoke. “Maybe we can get ajob, wherever Dave goes.”177

22 - Departing the Penis PeninsulaThe tear strained voice on the phone confessed, “I came home today, and I found a wineglass that I had finished, along with my empty coffee cup. There were stains andresidue, and it reminded me that you always picked up after me. I have a bad habit ofleaving things setting wherever I’m done with them.”“I’m not very good at vacuuming and mopping,” I tried to identify something that would fitrelevantly into this sudden discussion about innermost feelings.“I miss you terribly,” she sighed, “It’s been pretty lonely here.”I was mystified by the fact that I had a beautiful woman on the phone, calling from 2000miles away, telling me how lonely she was. She was the one with the vagina! I shouldhave been the one pining away and saying how much I missed her.However, I was traversing the length and breadth of the South Florida metroplex,introducing myself to new intimate friends, while sampling new hair and skin products atevery stop. Each woman whose home I entered exposed me to a new exotic overpriceddesigner emollient or body-building moisturizer. My complexion and scalp must havenever looked better. I’m sure I often walked into the radio station smelling of apricot orlavender and thinking about the negligee I had become acquainted with the night before.The radio station debuted with gangbuster results. We were number four in the marketoverall, and my afternoon daypart was number one in adults 18-34, not just males butadults. The average age of the loins I probed hovered around twenty-five, with achronological ceiling usually in the low to mid thirties.Sure the conversation always lacked depth. I’d find myself answering questions like,“Have you ever met Marilyn Manson?” or “Can you get tickets to Lollapalooza?”In return for my reply, I’d get statements like, “Oh yeah, I compete in gymnastics for fun,my real job is a masseuse, and I teach yoga.”I accepted and came to terms with the fact that my best girl ever had now put so muchgeography between her and I that our union was never meant to be. She representedthe most cherished interlude of memories I had ever experienced in my life, but thattreasure chest was now closed and buried. I had to go back out into the theme park oflife and start climbing back on rides.It didn’t hurt that the station was doing so well. I was once again receiving free stuff soabundantly that I was actually giving most of it away. Bar and restaurant ownersconsistently bought me drinks and meals, and I could get tickets to nearly every event inthe state.I was moving at such a blinding speed and indulging in so many vices and pleasuresthat I really didn’t have time to be brokenhearted. Besides that, none of the listenerscared if you were hurting and depressed; they had their own heartbreaks to deal with.They wanted to turn on the radio and hear that the party never stops.178

It didn’t for nearly two years. The WHIP 101.5 was everywhere, on buses, billboards,bumper stickers. The station was playing in stereo shops and even on the portableradios the street vendors carried on their hot dog wagons.By that time, a couple of other stations in the market were playing a lot of the same stuffwe were, only they would play the modern rock that was more in the contemporary hitcategory. They’d mix that with some pop hits from the Top 40 charts and create a hybridformat that was a bit more palatable for the mass audience.We liked to think of them as less sophisticated and “dumbed down”, but they were takingsome of our audience share. Along with that, their music selection was building legionsof younger more shallow listeners, who thought whatever had been released six monthsearlier was now classic rock.Nonetheless, our station and the format seemed to be producing strong results, when Ileft for vacation after my second year working at The WHIP 101.5 feeling right on top ofthe world. I was living the life that all young broadcasters dream of, from the first timethey turn on a microphone at their university’s student radio station. Life was indeedgood.***Embarking upon the most ill-conceived vacation plan I ever attempted, I talked my buddyBurt into traveling with me. I wanted to visit my mother in Tennessee, and he had neverbeen there.He listened as I described heavenly hiking trails through the Smokey Mountains. Basedupon my alleged knowledge of census data, he was entirely convinced that two out ofthree women in Tennessee were afflicted with some form of nymphomania. I couldn’timagine that anyone would believe anything so preposterous, but as the day ofdeparture drew closer, Burt clearly couldn’t wait to get there.The main stumbling element in my holiday strategy was that we decided to take a crosscountry Greyhound bus trip. We could’ve afforded to fly, but that seemed like so muchneedless rushing around and so little enjoyment of scenic paradise. Plus, Burt didn’tparticularly want to go through airport security.The decision was made that this would be a phenomenal life experience. We wouldreally get to know our country at its grass roots, as we lay back and let a qualifiedprofessional do the driving. Meanwhile, our lack of driving responsibilities would allow usto act like a pair of heathen tribal chiefs, hosting hedonism in the back of the bus withour newfound transient friends.I don’t know what would have ever made us think we could do that.Preparing carefully by packing a cooler with twenty-four beers on ice, we were lookedforward to climbing on board and cracking a cold one. Though we couldn’t smoke it onboard, Burt had enough marijuana to stuff a throw pillow. We thoughtfully accounted foreach extended stop, and rolled specific joints for each phase of the trip.On the day of our departure, Burt announced that he had just acquired a bagful of freshGeorgian cow field psilocybin mushrooms. As we approached the bus terminal, he also179

informed me that we had both just ingested a handful of them on the pizza slices he wasso keen on us devouring before we left his house. We were quintessentially preparedfor the party road trip of our lives.The first wall that we collided with occurred at the bus terminal. Dressed in Hawaiianshirts, straw hats and sunglasses, we must have presented quite an image for the busdriver. He looked like a guy who had already seen everything a passenger couldattempt to perpetrate. As we approached his bus in our ridiculous party garb, heimmediately asked us what was in the cooler.I said, “Sandwiches.” He demanded to “see those sandwiches”. The contents of thecooler were then promptly dumped into a nearby dumpster, or we would not be allowedto board the bus.Now we were on the road with no beer. “We might as well have driven ourselves,” Burtsaid.He had a point, except he overlooked the fact that I, for one, was now starting to feel aswacky as we both looked. Burt had apparently packed both mini-pizzas with “Woodstockweekend” size portions of hallucinogenic drugs.We had sat in two separate rows, because there were only twelve people on the wholebus. This gave us both a private module in which to stretch out. The first stop wasOrlando; as soon as the bus parked, we ran to the closest pub and downed a couple ofbeers for the road.Upon returning we were suddenly shocked and dismayed to see that the bus wasentirely full, except for our seats. We couldn’t even sit together, because fresh newpeople had now situated themselves in the seats next to ours. We could have tried totalk them into moving. However, in our present condition, it had been all we could do toorder beers and pay our tabs.To make matters worse, what ended up getting seated next to me was a perturbedlooking middle aged man who could easily have been a cross between a DEA agent anda Basset Hound. The mere sight of him as we approached our seats sent Burt intotearfully hysterical laughter; of course, that got me started too. Our amusement did notset well with my new seat companion, who looked at me like I was higher than a satellite.The fact that I undoubtedly smelled of marijuana and beer probably helped to create thatimpression.Contributing to our uncannily obvious guilt was the fact that Burt somehow talked agroup of university student passengers into joining him in a chorus of “Magic Bus” byThe Who. After a boisterous follow-up of “Squeeze Box”, which even got three middleaged ladies across the aisle singing along, Burt actually got out of his seat and startedwindmilling his air guitar like Pete Townshend. He had only gotten through the first threelines of “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, when the driver pulled over to the shoulder of thefreeway.In my condition, a disgruntled Greyhound bus driver with capacity to throw us off his busapproximately thirty miles south of Macon Georgia, in the middle of the night and high on180

mushrooms, was a concern. We followed him off the bus and faced him. The moon wasfull, and we were in the middle of what seemed to be moonshine and coon dog country.The driver was a very large Caribbean man, based upon his accent. He had a retroseventiesafro and a handlebar mustache, which made him look a bit like a dark skinnedversion of Gene Shalit from the Today Show. I told him that, when we stood at the sideof the road. He didn’t seem to be terribly flattered.He studied our faces, “How many them ‘sandwiches’ you boys have today?”We both spoke at the same time. Burt said “none”, which was absolutely ludicrous. Isaid something ambiguous like “not many”. He looked at us and nodded with a calmresolve.“Look, I don’t know how much motherfuckin’ fun you thought this trip was going to be.You start singin’ on my goddamn bus again, and I will throw your asses out in Macon.Fuck with me too much, and I’ll even have the police waiting in Macon. You boys DONOT want to go to the Macon jail. Now, do we have an understanding?”I said very calmly, “Yes sir.”Burt, in his drunken, hallucinatory, pot glazed condition launched into some nonsenseabout me being a well known radio personality in Miami. The driver watched him speak,blinking occasionally, perhaps out of disbelief.Finally he spoke, “Really, can I have your autograph man?”Burt actually thought he was serious, until the driver’s voice became very stern, “I don’tgive a fuck if he’s advisor to the goddamn President. If I hear anything louder than asnore from you high-ass motherfuckers one more time, I’ll throw you by the side of theroad without your luggage. And this is ‘Deliverance’ country; you don’t want to bewandering around out here alone. Now get back on the bus, and shut the fuck up.”I slinked into my seat, feeling as conspicuous as a known terrorist with a bounty on hishead. That’s the moment when it occurred to me that neither of us had brought a book,magazine or newspaper. We didn’t even have portable audio systems, so we couldstrap on headphones and escape to our own private places. There were still fourteenhours left to travel, and since we were under the influence of hallucinogens, there wouldbe no way I was going to sleep.At one point, we were surrounded by a chorus of loud elderly snores. That sound effectsent Burt into gyrating hysterics. I think he may have actually trickled urine down his leg,in his effort not to laugh. Given the number of senior citizens around us, I can’t positivelyblame the stream down the middle of the bus on Burt.All I know is that it came from his proximity and that urine has a very unique anddistinctive odor, after several hours in the muggy southern American heat.The stench of urine on the bus, whomever it may have come from, started to becomequite unpleasant. Combine that with the unfortunate fact that someone on the bus181

suffered an attack of the vilest flatulence I could ever imagine escaping from a humanbody. I assumed it was one of the octogenarians riding shotgun with us, because it hadthe distinct residual pungency of rotting body parts.The next thing I heard turned out to be a very fateful sound. It was unmistakablysomeone vomiting. I turned around to see that my most pessimistic fears were beingvalidated.It was Burt. The combination of hallucinogenic matter grown in cow excrement, copiousamounts of alcohol ingested within lightening fast bus layover timeframes, and therevolting odor of human bodily functions proved to be too much.He ran back to the bus’ restroom, but the damage had been done. There was now apuddle of his stomach contents rolling down the bus aisle toward the driver, and hewould surely know where it originated. The only question in his mind was which one ofus it came out of.As I had feared, when we got to Atlanta, the police were waiting at the bus station. Theytook us into custody, based on testimonies that we had proven to be suspicious ofintoxication. This allegation was deduced largely from reports by the driver and onemiddle aged lady, who had the look of a hard-drinking heavy-smoking casino slotsregular. Apparently the nauseating smell that we all suffered during our last couplehours on the road had made her violently ill in the middle of the aisle, as well. By thetime we got to the Atlanta bus station, our vehicle was like a shifting wave pool of puke.Burt must have had a sixth sense about the impending arrest. He surreptitiouslydumped the remaining mushrooms, his bag of marijuana and as it turns out, a vial ofcocaine that he later explained was “going to be a surprise for when we got there”, intothe Greyhound toilet. He came back to his seat almost beaming over his ingenuity, “Ieven shat on all the stuff, so if they want to investigate, it’s not going to be easy.” Icomplimented him on his industriousness and thoughtful planning.The only contraband he forgot was a joint, actually about one third of a joint, which hehad put in his cigarette pack. Since his sweatshirt had no pockets, he asked me to carryhis cigarettes for him.When we arrived at the Atlanta bus depot, you would have thought O.J. Simpson wasdisembarking one of the buses with plastic explosives strapped under his coat. It musthave been a slow night for fighting crime, because it looked like they had employed acouple of SWAT teams to intercept us.Imagine my surprise, as well as the police officer’s, when he pulled that fateful cigarettepack from my pocket. Here I was, arrested for possession of marijuana in Atlanta. Mymind was already speculating about what the jail would be like, “Whach you in for dude?Marijuana? Me? Sodomy and aggravated homosexual assault. You wanna share mybunk?”I was taken in to booking, then placed in a holding cell with a young university studentwho was picked up for drunken disorderly. That was a relief. I had expected to be182

sitting shoulder to shoulder with Crips and Bloods; then to liven things up, they wouldthrow in a guy who was a Grand Wizard for the Ku Klux Klan, in full hooded regalia.About ninety minutes passed before an officer called my name and I was led to thebooking area to be discharged. Burt had paid my bail. He had also paid a lawyer tohave the matter disposed of quickly and painlessly. I pled guilty to simple possession ofa controlled substance and paid a two hundred-fifty dollar fine. The whole matter tookless than a day, so we decided to rent a car, drive the rest of the way, and finish off ourvacation.I watched every single mile for the rest of that trip, desperately wishing we had flown.When we arrived at our destination, we could have both kissed the ground. OurTennessee vacation had officially begun.Here is a universal rule for any vacationer. If you’re visiting someone who’s hosting youon your trip, the people you’re visiting are not on vacation. They are most likely rigidlyentrenched in their own day-to-day realities. You, the vacationer, are a major disruptiveintrusion on their lives. While they may be genuinely happy to see you, it’s just notpossible for them to stay up late and party with you every night. If you stay too long, bythe time you leave, they’ll barely be able to tolerate the fact that you know them.Therefore, we didn’t have a large crowd of revelers to join in on our intended festivities.We spent most of our time languishing in my mother’s house. If it weren’t for theunfortunate incidents on the bus, Burt would be walking around like a guy Keith Richardshires to carry his stash. Instead, we were having tea with my mother and watchingOprah.Mom tried to entertain us, but we couldn’t expect Mom to go hiking with us through theSmoky Mountains. By the same token, Mom’s house wasn’t very much of a party pad,for two single guys on vacation from Miami. “Hey Mom, why don’t you lay out somemore lines, while Burt rolls one. Is everyone’s beer okay? Call some of the cousins,Mom. Burt’s horny.” Even though Mom did her best, and everyone was as hospitableas they could be, it quickly became apparent that this would be remembered as the mostdevastatingly bad vacation experience either one of us ever had.An unspoken dread on both of our minds was that we still had to face the trip home.There was probably no way they would let us back on a bus. Our tickets wereundoubtedly red flagged, and we’d be searched right at the ticket window to see if wehad purchased any more contraband. We discussed flying, but we were unable to findflights on the correct day for anything less than exorbitant cash outlays.Our experience in Atlanta had drained all of our cash; we determined that we couldn’tafford to keep the rental car and didn’t want to pay for a flight. That left us with nochoice but attempt to board another Greyhound bus.To our surprise, there was not a word spoken about our previous appearance on the busline. We had halfway expected posters hanging from the walls emblazoned with ourmug shots, like “most wanted criminals” at the post office.183

It was as if the kind of disturbance we inadvertently created must happen all the time.Let’s face it, if you’ve ever ridden a bus cross-country and seen some of the people onboard, throwing up and singing a few songs is probably barely noticeable compared tosome of the debauchery that goes on. If you don’t have a loaded AK47 and your penishanging out of your pants, they probably barely realize you’re even there.We dragged ourselves onto the bus and prepared for our tour of the “armpits ofAmerica”, as Burt called the locations that we were witness to on the Greyhound circuit.Every bus station seemed to be situated right across the street from large neon crosses,with the words “Jesus Saves” emblazoned across the roofs.These were obviously homeless shelters, and usually inherent to homeless shelters isan abundance of homeless people, who congregate outside the adjacent bus stations.As you can imagine, folks in a homeless situation often have needs for things that theycan’t obtain on their own, like cash, cigarettes, alcohol or people to sell crack to.After being confronted by drunken drag queens outside the Atlanta bus station, and abar fight with pool cues in Chattanooga, we finally became wise enough not to even lookoutside the depot doors. If nothing else benefitted us from our experiences, we did gainknowledge of a seamy and downtrodden underworld that exists in every city we stoppedin. I saw enough to know that I would do anything in my power not to live within thesprawling tragic subculture that I witnessed.By the time we arrived in Miami, I felt more drained than if I hadn’t even taken a holiday.At least I had talked my neighbor into picking us up at the bus station and cookingsteaks for us when we got there. His name was Bob, and he had become my bachelorBBQ and beer drinking buddy, since Julie moved away. I think the two of us may haveeaten red meat every night for months at a time; sometimes we didn’t even servevegetables.We used to joke, “Why even use silverware? Who are we trying to impress? We couldjust eat the meat with our hands like cavemen.” We didn’t though.After dragging our luggage from the confines of the Greyhound’s exhaust-steepedluggage compartment, we walked to the street to find that Bob had arrived right on time,with his trunk open. Thank God for Bob, and thank God we were back home.Piling into the car, I climbed in the front seat next to Bob. He pulled out of the parkinglot, making small talk about the traffic, the weather, and one more thing. Bob suddenlyarticulated the unforgettable words that would be the bane of my existence from that dayforward, “Hey, ‘Mister Beautiful Music’ himself……”Bob did not frequently make utterly inane comments, so when the words had finallypenetrated my bus weary brain, I replied, “What?”“Haven’t you heard?” He turned on the radio.Anne Murray’s “Snowbird” was playing, and I thought, “Great. That’s what I reallywanted to hear.”184

Then, the song ended and Maxi Million came on the air, “The new Cozy 101.5 FM. Thatwas Anne Murray with ‘Snowbird’. Before that, Lionel Richie with ‘Dancing on theCeiling’ and Celine Dion with ‘Where Does My Heart Beat Now’.It took a full second or two before the gravity of the situation actually became clear in mymind, “They changed the format?”“Yeah. Happened Monday.” Bob was cognizant of the fact that this was a devastatingshock to me. Burt was covering his mouth with his hand, convulsing in tears, as if it wasthe funniest thing he had ever encountered. He later explained that it was the irony ofmy situation that had sent him into his breathless guffawing tirade. I was right backwhere I had come from, all my old musical friends in tow.Right then, Maxi said, “Coming up next, music from Michael Bolton and Air Supply alongwith your Color Weather Radar report.”That sent all three of us into uncontrollable laughter. It was ironic, and it suckedmiserably. Somehow though, I could see the humor in it; this had been one really badweek.Burt managed to put together a sentence, while trying to catch his breath, “The morethings change, the more they stay the same.”That sent all three of us into another burst of hysterics. I thought to myself, “I can eitherlaugh about it, or kick open the door and roll out onto I-95.”Right then I considered climbing back on the bus and returning to Tennessee. I had noidea what was going to happen or what I was going to do, but my world suddenly feltvery hard to face.***“Oh man, I didn’t know how to get in touch with you, or I would have called,” Jonas’ voicehad a frantic edge to it. I knew he was just as surprised as I was that our tiny kingdomhad been overtaken by purveyors of easy listening music and promoters of bridal showsand cookware.“What happened?” I had already figured out the answer before Jonas spoke.“Bean counters, the guys in the corporate costumes, held meetings with salesmanagement and consulting firms. It seems that our format was underperforming insales, because our demographic was perceived as having less money than the 25 to 54age group. Then they analyzed the market and determined that, believe it or not, therewas still an opening in our radio landscape for yet another limp-dicked white breadsoccer mom radio station.”“How can that be?”“Because all the other stations that played this shit started picking up the pace. No onewanted to be perceived as ‘your grandmother’s radio station’. All of a sudden, that left185

an older high-income audience with no one to address their lame ass taste in music.Poof! Shazam! Presto! Now we are your grandmother’s radio station.”“Bloody hell, it never ends! We’re right back where we were at The Wave.”There was a pause on Jonas’ end of the line, “Uh, well, not quite.”“What? Have I been fired?” My mind was already starting to race with possible options;none of them would be pleasant. Avoiding homelessness would be paramount amongmy concerns.“Not exactly,” Jonas paused, “The bean counters determined that the station would bemore profitable, if we didn’t have live announcers. Now, all the shows are pre-recordedinto an automation system. We all get our shows’ song lists along with our schedule ofstopsets, you record all of your breaks and try to pretend that you actually exist. Onlyyou’ll already be home by then, listening to yourself and being embarrassed that peoplethink you really must love Culture Club, because you play their music on every show.”This was almost worse than being fired. “So I still have a job?”“That’s the thing. You have to option of staying with the new station, but all of oursalaries are now cut in half.”“What? Is that even legal?”“You’re only considered part-time now. They’re paying you guys by the hour. You’ll onlybe working twenty-five hours per week, but the good thing is that you can come in almostany time and record your show. Hell, come in the middle of the night if you want; thenyou won’t have to put up with anyone’s shit.”I didn’t even ask him what part-timers got paid per hour. I didn’t want to know. I didhave to ask, “Why did you say ‘you guys’, when you mentioned the new part-timearrangement?”“I’m not part-time…..yet. I’m the new program director. I’m the one that has to load allthis shit into the system, and believe me, I do have to put up with everyone’s shit.Everyone. Some of the announcers think I was in on it, because we worked before atThe Wave. You know, same shit, different city. They think I helped orchestrate thewhole thing, but you know as well as I do, I’d just as soon….”I didn’t give him time to finish; my mind was moving too fast. The first person to sayfame is “fleeting” must have worked in radio. Every time in my life that I felt like I was ontop of the world, someone changed the world. Mine was spinning right now.***The weeks that followed were perhaps the most miserable of my life. I would go in to theradio station, “The New Kozy 101.5 FM”, at around 1:00pm each day. The recordingprocess took me an hour or two. Then I’d produce commercials, if the sales peopleactually sold something that week. They were practically giving away the air time, sinceall the rock and roll clients of The WHIP scattered like bedbugs in a house fire.186

My social life had all but evaporated. The women weren’t as keen on flopping into thesack, now that all the backstage passes and rock star meet and greets were gone.Some of the bar owners that used to buy me rounds barely even spoke to me; manyacted as if they were actually angry at me, for some reason.On top of that, I was back to my traditional lifestyle of having little or no money. This hadall caused me to submerge into a monk-like existence. I was so depressed that on somedays off, I would barely get out of bed. If I had a colostomy bag, I probably would havejust stayed in a prostrate position until I had to trudge back into work.One evening, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and heard the sweet tone ofJulie’s voice, “Hi. How’s everything going with you?”“Man, where do I start?”She gave me a sympathetic sigh and said, “That doesn’t sound good.”I proceeded to briefly describe a synopsis of my fortunes. She listened intently; eitherthat or she was doing something else while I was talking. She didn’t make a sound. Isuspected she might be watching Oprah or thumbing through a catalogue. However,when my sad saga came to a close, she responded by asking me specific questionsabout everything I had told her. It was almost as if she cared what happened to me; Ieven said so. I was probably fishing for the opportunity to hear her say it.She did, “Of course I care about you. Don’t be silly.”She then proceeded to tell me that both of her parents had passed away. I instantly feltlike a self-indulgent crybaby, complaining about my tiny disappointments when she hadsuffered such tragic losses. “Oh, I’m so sorry Julie.”She also informed me that she was no longer living in Nova Scotia. The company sheworked for had an opening at their corporate headquarters in Toronto, so she movedthere to become digital media director for a large ad agency. I was proud, envious andeven more downtrodden to hear that her professional life was going so well. Now, I felteven more like a true underachiever. It was as if my career was imbedded in an infinitequagmire of failures.Then she said the words that changed my life, “Why don’t you come up and visit?There’s lots to do in the city. I know how muggy and disgusting it gets in Florida, duringthe summer. It’s really quite pleasant here in May. You could come, and we’ll celebrateyour birthday.”My birthday was in two weeks, and I still had some vacation time that I could use.Suddenly, I wanted to go to Toronto and see her more than anything in the world.“Really?”“Of course, REALLY. We’ll have a great time. I don’t really know anyone here yet, andyou sound like you need to get away from there for a while.”187

I was so excited at first on an emotional level. I was so badly in need of a trip away frommy life that I hadn’t even yet thought about the inevitable prospect of sex. There was agood enough reason alone to book a flight.“I would really like to come and see you, and experience Toronto.” It was a done deal.I left the day before my birthday and arrived at Pearson International Airport on a warmFriday evening. It turned out that my birthday fell in the middle of a long weekend,something referred to as Victoria Day. The more common reference though is the “May2-4 Weekend”. Some marketing guy at a beer company must have thought of that,because Canadians call a case of twenty-four bottles a “Two – Four”.Imagine a holiday that is entirely based upon the idea of drinking beer! Then, theyschedule it near the end of May! Pure genius!The weather was surprisingly warm. For Americans who are uninitiated in anyawareness or knowledge of Canada, which is most of us, there is a summer. It’s actuallyquite nice, in fact.Canadians are amused, baffled, even resentful that Americans know so little about theircountry. There are dozens of stories of Americans showing up in August with their downparkas and ski equipment. They arrive to realize that it’s ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit.That’s some well researched vacation planning.I passed through Immigration and Customs and entered the vast cavernous terminal. Itwas like an anthill full of people, every nationality, age and size were represented. In themidst of this oceanic expanse of humanity stood Julie, smiling.Years later, when I looked back upon it, it was as if she was highlighted like the little girlwearing the pink coat in “Schindler’s List”. I felt an overwhelming tingle of joy swellinginside my chest. I noticed that I actually had involuntary tears trickling out of my eyes,and then I realized that she did too. This was already better than my last vacation, and Ididn’t even have to eat mushrooms.We chattered about her job and the city of Toronto, as we clipped along at walkingspeed on North America’s busiest highway, the 401. We passed the CN Tower, theemblematic fixture of Toronto’s famous skyline. Then there was the Skydome, theworld’s first fully-retractable motorized dome stadium.I made a mental note that we’d have to try to see a Blue Jays game, while I was in town.I hated the team, because they had beaten the Atlanta Braves in the World Series.Since we lived in such close proximity to Atlanta, the Braves were fan favorites inTennessee.However, I promised Julie I would buy and wear a Jays shirt and cap, if she took me to agame. Little did I know how many times I’d later be on my knees in front of the televisionpraying for a Jays hit, with the bases loaded at the bottom of the ninth.We got to her apartment. It was a clean and classy apartment building, located in the“trendy” neighborhood at Yonge Street and Eglinton Avenue. The area was given188

nicknames like “Young and Eligible” and “Young and Singleton”. Inexplicably, I felt astab of jealous disappointment and concern, when she told me of this fact.The first thing I noticed about her apartment was that it only had ONE BEDROOM! Istarted to remember things I had tucked away in my “forget about her file”, like our firstdate and how exciting it was to unwrap her breathtakingly beautiful package on that firstnight.I guess I was a lot more hurt than I would allow myself to admit. I just jumped into theSouth Florida singles life as a rock and roll radio personality, to try to forget that I actuallyhad an ache inside that was omnipresent. I had done a good job of ignoring it, until themoment I saw her standing at the airport. Right now, she was the most important thingin the world to me, all over again.We went out to dinner that night at a great Italian restaurant around the corner, andcame right back home. The rest of the night continued as I had hoped it would. I hadalso blocked out the fact that she was the most ideal woman I had ever been able toclaim as “my girl”. She was perfect for me in every way, and I had to figure out how tokeep her in my life.The second day, we drove to Stoney Lake, where her work mate owned a cottage.Apparently most people in Toronto who can afford it have a house or condo in the city;then, they buy a cottage near a body of water that they use for “summering”. I looked atthis quaint little charming cottage and thought, “It’s all I can do to keep my apartmentvacuumed, and you maintain TWO residences, because you want to?”Her friend was a cute thirty-something career girl, and her husband liked drinking beerand NFL football. He liked NHL hockey too, but I was as of yet uninitiated to the thrill ofa magnificently fought Stanley Cup battle. We went water skiing, and enjoyed acookout.The cottage next door was occupied by a lesbian couple, and one of the girls couldthrow a football better than I could. We played catch out in the lake, and she explainedto me that Toronto was a very gay-friendly city. There was a real “live and let live”attitude city-wide, and there were indications that Ontario might someday grant gaymarriages.The next morning we left and returned to her apartment, where we purchased an all-daypass on the subway and just walked around. She showed me Chinatown, where youcould purchase cheap souvenir trinkets by the thousands, inside tiny claustrophobicstores.In the market for a squid? You’d find a plethora of them of them hanging in dozens ofshop windows.We went to Kensington Market which seemed to be Toronto’s version of GreenwichVillage, funky clothing retailers, second hand stores and head shops. At the same time,there were exotic bakeries, fresh produce shops and great bohemian grassroots barsand restaurants.189

The result of the day was that I loved the city. Then, the moment I had been waiting forsince my plane landed, I mean besides the sex. We were going to see the Blue Jaysplay the New York Yankees! In the rankings of my vacation experience, sex wasnumber one. This occasion ranked such a close number two, that I think Julie wasactually worried about me. It probably seemed unnatural to love any one experiencethat much, but I did.I ate the hotdogs, I drank the eleven dollar cups of beer, and I yelled nasty slogans atthe Yankees, just because the home team deserved my devotion. I was a guest of theircity, after all.The following day, I had to go back home. My heart just sank into my stomach, when wewoke up that morning. We had a nice breakfast at a traditional downtown one-ownergreasy spoon, neither of us very chatty or chipper, as we looked down at our plates. Theride to the airport was somewhat silent.I checked in, and we walked around until it was best for me to pass through immigrationand progress toward the boarding gate. I touched her face and stroked her chin lightlyonce, then kissed her.“I had the best time ever,” I tried not to tear up, “I would love to live in this city.”She said, “You can!”That was all she had to say, and I never looked back.190

23 - Accomplices and Co-conspiratorsThe first time I met Manuel “Manny” Goyshevitz I instantly declared, “I wouldn’t trust thatguy any further than I could ejaculate into a high wind.”I actually told him that once, and he countered with, “I knew this guy in Saskatchewan.He was jerkin’ off in a cornfield, during a wind storm. Long story short, he actuallybreaks his own dick. Came running to me, crying that he needed a ride to the hospital.When he came out of emergency, he shows me. They used surgical tape and twopopsicle sticks to make a splint around his dick. Can you believe that? Two fuckin’popsicle sticks for a guy with a broken dick! That’s the reason I make sure you guys getextended health care coverage in your contracts.”That ended the conversation, because I had no idea how to respond to that.Jim once said to him, “Manny you would fuck your own grandmother up the ass, just tosteal her wallet.Manny came back with, “You know Jim, what they used to say about the Titanic? If itain’t broke, don’t fix it. And sure, the ship sank. There were probably enough lawsuits toput the company out of business, but look at it now. It became one of the biggest boxoffice movies ever, not to mention James Cameron ended up with Oscars flying out hisass like shrapnel. I slept over at Cameron’s place a couple times just before he made‘Terminator’. I’m actually the one that said to him, ‘How about Schwarzenegger as theandroid?’ What people don’t know is James Cameron is a great cook. He makes thisclam dip….”Jim snapped, “Manny, what the fuck are you talking about? You don’t even make anysense. I forgot even what the point was.” Like many of us, Jim then stormed out of theroom rubbing his forehead and murmuring to himself. There was no use attempting orhoping for any rational communication.Manny’s retorts would never get him a spot on an academic debate team, but he alwayssilenced his opposition by saying something that barely made sense. You felt like youwere talking to OJ’s defense team, every time you disagreed with him. People becameso dumbfounded, they didn’t even want to pursue the conversation any longer.It didn’t take long for us both to conclude that this was Manny’s defense strategy,confuse your adversary until he can’t remember why he was adversarial. That’s whenwe became two of a handful of people that the tactic no longer worked on, and he knewthat.What he couldn’t produce in the form of rational logical arguments, Manny made up forin his ability to make deals. If you needed a chunk of weapons grade uranium, Mannyprobably knew someone, “Yeah, I used to scalp tickets with a guy at Maple LeafGardens. He’s always got uranium. How much do you want?”Descended from a Columbian mother and Jewish father, Manny inherited a ruthless andfiery Latin passion combined with an entrepreneurial economist pedigree. His entrancesusually brought to mind the “bull in a china shop” cliché, but at the same time, he could191

e the most elegant, charming and charismatic man in the room. His departures oftenincluded at least one woman half his age, along with the names and net worth of everyperson in attendance.Flashing a diamond earring the size of an acorn, Manny would adorn himself in Armanisuits, accessorized with two hundred dollar T-shirts, and handmade Italian loafers thatwere more akin to sandals than shoes. He wore the trademark haircut of men in hissocial and professional strata, a silver ponytail with sideburns, accompanied by acarefully manicured goatee.There are thousands of “Manny types”. We’ve all met one, but there was definitivelyonly one Manny. Always the generous and gregarious orchestrator of hospitality, even ifit wasn’t his own home or even his party, he managed to create a Rolodex of namedropsthat would make even the most well-connected entertainment reporters gasp withenvy.He once said to me, “I had lunch with Ozzy on Monday.”I asked, “Ozzy Osbourne?”“No Ozzie fuckin’ Nelson,” he would bluster, “Harriet and Ricky were there, too. Theywanted to see if I could get them on your show for a special ‘Dead People Week’. Nowwhere was I?”For all of his annoying personality traits, his exhausting persona, and his overt selfabsorption,Manny took care of those within his flock. Jim and I had made more moneythan we ever dreamed we would, after meeting Manny. Not only was he our agent, wewere actually in business with him.One year after he had negotiated our contract with Crowe Communications, for themorning gig at 93 Rock, we celebrated an extended contract renewal by pouring a goodportion of our paychecks and a significant portion of our savings into a business calledEar to Ear Productions.The schematic that Manny presented to us was brilliant. Manny opened an office onAdelaide Street, right downtown. It included a fairly sophisticated audio productionstudio; there was a television production studio right next door, and of course, Mannyestablished a relationship with them before we even leased the property. That gave usaccess to both sound and video production capabilities.Manny bought an opulent cottage in Muskoka, one of Ontario’s prime cottage real estatesites. They call it “The Malibu of the North”, just two hours outside Toronto. Cottageowners and visitors to the area include Martin Short, Goldie Hawn / Kurt Russell, TomHanks and Steven Spielberg. He selected this particular cottage property because itincluded a squash court in the basement.Manny had never picked up a squash racquet in his life; he had bigger ideas for thedownstairs. He recruited a sound engineer and technical guy named BruceBartholomew Lee to become the fourth member of our team.192

“BB” as we called him was the product of a Chinese immigrant father and an Americanhippie mother, who met each other during university in the sixties. His father lovedBruce Lee, and his mother introduced him to BB King, who he also came to love. WhenBB was born, they threw in the “Bartholomew” just because they thought it soundedgood next to “Bruce”, and they needed another “B” word to name their child after theirtwo favorite entertainers.BB built a recording studio at the cottage that probably rivaled Abbey Road or MuscleShoals. Then he split his time between Muskoka and Toronto, maintaining both studiosand even mixing and recording projects, when time allowed. Otherwise, we had a rosterof contract guys that would come in as sound engineers; most bands and someadvertising agencies prefer to use their own people anyway.For our part, we wrote copy and devised marketing campaigns for clients that Mannywould lure to our services. He would often bring us to presentations, because we couldget the advertisers excited with “fertile creative minds”, as Manny referred to them. Plus,we had a bit of star power, because often the advertisers knew us from the radio.We concentrated on smaller companies that didn’t have their own ad agency undercontract. They didn’t feel like they were big enough to support a full-time agencycommitment, so we would show up and provide them with everything under one roof,less expensively. In five years, we had developed quite a roster of advertisers, andsome fairly well known musical acts used our Muskoka studio.Manny would scout a young band that exuded genuine commercial potential, and we’dbring them into the studio at a cheap rate. The only stipulation for our generosity wasthat Manny and Ear to Ear Productions would represent them as management.Manny would make similar arrangements with advertisers, if he could. Acting as theirmedia consultant, he’d schedule a remote broadcast with 93 Rock and specify that eitherJim or I would be the ones broadcasting from their locations. Ear to Ear Productionswould take an agency commission, Jim or I would make an extra grand or two sitting at acar dealership for three hours, and 93 Rock got business based upon our celebritybankability. Everyone benefitted, and it didn’t hurt our job security to be responsible forsales revenue pouring in.After work, Jim and I would usually spend time at the Adelaide Street office; we had ourcars parked underground there, because Manny worked out some kind of extra specialagreement with the landlord. Plus, we would go in quite often to record a voiceover ormeet with a client. Sometimes we’d just go to our “office away from work”, as we calledit, and eat our lunches, watch TV, even take a nap. It was like our clubhouse.We used the Muskoka cottage in a similar fashion. Manny would entertain clients there,and we would use the sprawling place for our little weekend getaways. That is unlessJim wanted to take a date to the cottage, on any given weekend. Julie and I weren’t thatcomfortable and certainly couldn’t sleep well, when Jim’s companion would inevitablystart screaming raging orgasmic outbursts and knocking bedposts against the walls.Since Julie was away, and Jim and I had some time off work due to our suspension, weimmediately packed some things to get away from the city. Manny was already there; he193

said that he and BB were working on a gansta rap album for some Toronto teenagerswhose parents were paying for the studio time.There was a hockey game that night, and we stopped in Muskoka to load up with beerand various party foods. We wanted to be far away from Toronto, before rush hour,which usually began at about 3:00pm. Muskoka was like a different country. Peoplespoke to you and smiled, said “thank you”, and engaged in small talk. It was like amystical magic land, where nice people had migrated to open bait shops and beerstores.Manny met us coming in, wearing a rare pair of shorts and 4-NIH-KASHUN T-shirt. Thatwas the name of the rap group they were recording. Apparently the group and theirproud parents had just left, so we had arrived at the perfect time. We were in no moodfor tolerating other people, at this point. It was all we could do to listen to Manny’sbullshit.“Don’t worry about Dave Ray. I’ll take care of Dave,” he confided, “I helped Dave get hisgig at the station, too. That’s supposed to be in the top secret file, so don’t sayanything.”We emphatically suggested that was not a good idea, and we could handle it. Heassured us if push came to shove, and we were facing any type of termination threat, hewould bring our contracts over and wait while they cut us severance checks.We immediately got down to the purpose of our visit, which was drinking heavily. Jimwalked in with two Coronas, and complained that Manny never kept limes at the cottage.He explained that he had been drinking gin and tonics all day, with the parents of therappers. At the same time, he was convincing them that their kids’ talent deserved anentire album, which he would be happy to produce at the Muskoka studios. Before theyleft, one father had already written a check for more studio time, so Manny was in hismost festive of moods.BB came upstairs, every half hour or so to refresh his drink and smoke a cigarette. Hewas a very laid back guy, with an expansive knowledge of all things technical. Thoughhe said he couldn’t play a musical instrument or carry a note singing, his insight into therecording process made him like a quiet Asian Alan Parsons. He had done some thingson a couple of songs that the artists had not thought of, and those small changescreated the hooks that produced hits.We grilled steaks and continued to vacuum out Corona bottles, until the hockey gamehad come and gone, and we were still entirely engaged in our decompression plan. Thethree of us headed downstairs to see what was keeping BB down there all evening.He said that he had to make some technical tweaks, and that had set him behind onmixing the rest of the song he was putting the final touches on. We asked to hear it, andhe said, “You guys wouldn’t like this. It’s pretty gangsta, and I know how you two feelabout rap music.”It was true that both Jim and I were under the perception that most rap had very littlemusical talent behind it. Of course there have been stars that have come from rap roots194

and evolved into R&B and hip hop superstars and producers. Those guys had truetalent and business acumen.However, there are dozens of kids on every city block who aspire to be rap stars. Theseguys just spout out words that rhyme, and place somebody else’s music under it, with abass beat that they create on their computer software. There were generationsconsisting of hundreds of rock and roll garage bands who were entirely talentless, but atleast they could play some form of musical instrument. The rap artists did little morethan talk in rhythm, as far as we were concerned.So when BB finally conceded to let us hear the song he was working on, he hit the startbutton, and we heard the opening guitar riffs from Van Halen’s “Runnin’ with the Devil”entwined with a hip hop beat.“Well there you go,” I said, “They’re doing exactly what we’ve accused them of for years.That’s Van Halen’s song, set to a beat. Number one, I can’t imagine that they’ll ever getpermission to use that.”“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Manny countered, “Eddie and I used to drink together, in theparking lot outside the liquor store, down the street from his house. I called him up, hesaid ‘no problem’. He said to just make sure that we sold some copies, because hecould use the royalty money. Valerie really took him to the cleaners after the divorce.”Jim motioned back to BB, and said, “Go ahead. Let’s hear some more of thismasterpiece.”The vocals began as soon as BB hit the start button, and they represented everythingthat we loathed about the genre of rap and the music industry. The young voice on therecording made some reference to “his piece” and then discussed the fact that he would“plug any nigger motherfucker” that apparently displeased him.“His parents are paying to have this shit recorded,” I was aghast. Having grown up inthe home environment I did, any one of those words would have gotten me grounded, ifnot placed in reform school.Jim was drunk, and that usually meant it would not take much stimulation to send himonto a ranting soapbox of diatribe, “This is exactly what we’re talking about!”He started gesticulating wildly, particularly with his index finger, another sign he waspretty well bagged, “They take someone else’s music, put some lyrics over it that willguarantee a parental advisory sticker, and it sells like hay at a cattle farm to suburbanwhite kids with their pants pulled down to their knees, because it’ll piss their parents off.Meanwhile, anyone could pull that off. I could do that!”BB turned around in his chair. It was hard to tell if he was offended, since he rarelyshowed much if any emotion, when he was working. He handed Jim a microphone, thensaid, “Go ahead.”He reached over to his mouse and scanned the large monitor in front of him, filled withicons that we would have no idea what to do with, and clicked on one file. A beat started195

coming out of the speakers. He turned around again, “This is one of the beats I came upwith. Try it out.”He motioned to the sound booth, and Jim walked in. I followed, just because I wasdrunk and felt like goofing around. Jim looked very serious at first, then started movinglike a hip hop star, grabbing his crotch and turning his baseball cap sideways.“Grew up in the projects,The streets are ruled by the trigger,That’s the way you survive,When you’re a mother fuckin’ nigger.”He handed me the microphone. I did something equally as profane and even moretasteless.“Like to drive through the suburbs,Love the white chicks, yeah go figure.But, their daddy’s don’t like me,Cause I’m a motherfuckin’ nigger.”We continued, each trying to outdo each other’s level of reprehensible obscenity. BBfinally turned on a second mike, and motioned for me to use it. We started chiming intogether in unison on the words “mother fuckin’ nigger”, which was the passage from the4-NIH-KASHUN recording that got the whole charade started.This went on for about two hours, with us occasionally coming out of the sound booth todrink a beer and sit down. The sound booth had no air vents, because it was designednot to have any ambient noise in the background. We’d sit down, cool off, and then oneof us would say, “Hey, I got one.”At that point, we’d go back into the booth and carry the joke further. After the secondhour, everyone was getting tired of the crude schtick, and tired in general. BB said wewere using up his memory, but Manny said not to delete it, for whatever reason.We went back upstairs and headed to our respective bedding assignments. It was agreat decision to come here. We were able to leave our problems behind in the city, andget away from the pressures we had created for ourselves at work. This was the bestthing we could have done, just hang out in the safe company of trusted friends andcolleagues, we thought.196

24 - The Great Multi-Colored NorthThose desperate early days in Florida turned out to be like a job fair compared toCanada. My professional life was a cornucopia of failures, frustrations and defeats.First of all, I had to wait before I could work at all. My immigration paperwork had hit asnag because of a certain arrest for possession of a controlled substance at the Atlantabus station. Who would have thought that such a tiny inconsequential moment couldhave such far reaching ramifications? I would not be able to become a PermanentResident for five years. During that period, I would have to settle for work authorizations,while I demonstrated to my immigration case worker I was “rehabilitated”.Secondly, Toronto is the largest city in Canada and the intended destination of everybroadcast personality in the country. They weren’t exactly starstruck by an Americanwho had worked in Tennessee and Florida. New York, Los Angeles or Chicago mighthave impressed them, but the two states I came from were seemingly regarded asredneck bastions. I couldn’t even get a program director to return my calls, let alonemeet me.I was also informed that I have an “American accent”. This was difficult for me to accept,as I had spent a lifetime desperately trying not to acquire any trace of accent, especiallysouthern. That kind of twang could be the death knell for a radio career, even in theStates.Here’s what most Americans don’t realize: people in other countries don’t like us. We’reregarded as pompous bullies and arrogant showboats among other things. I would besitting in a social situation, and suddenly the person I would be talking to would saysomething like, “How can you call it the WORLD Series, when only two countries areable to participate? Shouldn’t it be called the North American Series?”Being a newcomer, I would just politely laugh off their comments. They did have a point,but it struck me as a topic that was best to avoid. I could have said, “We let you guysplay. The Jays won the Series twice in the nineties. What are you complaining about?”If you expend genuine effort, you start to learn the intricacies of assimilation. The firsttrick, of course, is to not tell anyone where you’re from, unless they ask. Another keygiveaway to an American heritage is pronouncing the letter “Z” like “ZEE”. In Canada,the letter is pronounced “ZED”. Don’t ask me why, but I do know if you pronounce theletter as “ZEE” in Canada, you might as well come dancing in the room wearing an UncleSam costume.Regardless of my efforts though, I would eventually be identified as a Yank, especially inthe job market. There was always a tense moment when the interviewer would scan myresume and say, “Are you American?” I would of course say “yes”, and it would feel as ifthey immediately slashed a large red “X” across the front of my document. I wanted toshout out, “But I’m different.”Internally, I would be thinking “Damn, you’ve found me out. Now I’ll never get this job.You’ll be too afraid that I’ll bring handguns to work and sell crack to the otheremployees.”197

The interview process was generally an all-inclusive exercise in utter self deprecationand total ego obliteration. I had one marketing headhunter say to me, “You start talkingand I feel like I just turned on my radio. You’re like a walking infomercial.”I took it that he meant that negatively.Along with receiving dour receptions at interviews for career jobs, I passed through anumber of less than fulfilling part-time vocations. In one instance, I traveled thecountryside with a fleet of other desperate job-starved individuals and attempted to sellnatural gas contracts to consumers. We would be dropped off in some obscurecommunity about forty-five minutes outside the city and walk door-to-door trying toconvince homeowners that they were getting bamboozled by their current gas provider.The only way to insure that they were safe was to switch their service to our company’splan.It would usually turn out that we were about the third such group to pass through theirneighborhood that month. We were largely regarded as corporate grifters, who did littlemore than agitate everyone’s dogs when we knocked on their doors. I had more thanone resident threaten me and tell me to get off their property. I did the job for threedays, made forty-five dollars in commissions, and then quit.In another dream job scenario, I sat in a large sweat-shop type room and cold-calledcorporate marketing vice presidents. We were selling signage at sporting events, likecar races, tennis tournaments, and snowboarding competitions. I was almost sure thatthe company was a scam, because everyone used pseudonyms. My boss had a namelike Amir Hamazad, but on the phone he was Steve Prince or some other stereotypicallyanglicized name.There was a monitor that would randomly listen in on our calls, and if he felt that youwere about to lose a prospect, he would approach you and start feeding you lines. Iwatched in horrified amazement my first day, while he stood six inches from one of mycolleagues, shouting out responses to his prospect’s concerns and arguments. I waspositive that the person on the other end of the line could hear all of this going on. Plus,the replies he was told to give were complete and utter lies.“Oh, I would provide normally you with some marketing collateral materials, but there isjust no time. I’m about to catch a plane and survey the site, this afternoon. We had asponsor drop out, so I just have one space available. I knew that your company wouldbe an excellent fit for the demographic of the international audience that will be watchingthis on television around the world.”It was so blatantly dishonest that I expected the FBI to come crashing through the doorand charge us all with fraud. Plus, we were sitting in a large room with twenty peopleexpounding on their telephones. The roar of the voices, the smell of stress permeatingthe room, and the sheer sleaziness of it made me miserable. I quit after one week; I hadmade about one hundred dollars in commissions.Julie had a friend that owned a juice bar downtown. He gave me a job working behindthe counter, so I settled in there, making eclectic juice mixtures and pita sandwiches. I198

esigned myself to the fact that I was not generally very good at anything, except radio.Unfortunately, there was no radio work to be had, not for me at least.I had discovered a media job site on the internet, which I obsessively scoured daily. Iinterviewed for a couple of promotion jobs, but I was considered “over-qualified”. Thattranslated to me as “you’re too old” or “much too American”. They were generallylooking for a fresh Canadian university graduate, eager enough to work for animpoverishing salary and willing to throw themselves into a burning building, if their bossrequested it.One day, I spotted a job for a swing shift announcer at a small rock station in Oshawa.That’s about a half-hour drive from Toronto, not accounting for traffic. Accounting fortraffic, it could take you up to two hours.Even though Julie and I agreed that radio had done nothing but create disruptions anddisappointments in my life, and that I should aspire for a more adult occupation in a morestable industry, I applied for the position. Unlike other vocational cultures that may takethree months to call people back for interviews, radio moves very quickly. One weekafter I sent them my aircheck and resume, they called me in for an interview. Two dayslater, I was hired to do weekends and vacation fill-ins at 90 ROCK, Southern Ontario’sCoolest Rock.It sounded like a pretty dumb and juvenile slogan to me, but I was just happy to be doingsomething that restored my own self-credibility. Apparently what qualified as the“Coolest Rock” was essentially anything that had ever been released that remotely fit thegenre.The music programming was hard to define, in part that was because it was based onthe subjective judgments of the program director. Her name was Martina Marinelli, andshe was the sister of the president and general manager, Grace Marinelli. The programdirector’s husband was the sales manager, Ron Burke. He had no previous broadcastexperience; his background was in mobile home sales. The president and generalmanager’s other sister, Kathy, was the promotions director. This place was as familyowned as any company on the continent, and I had just become part of the extendedfamily.I was taken around to meet all of them, plus the less significant non-family members onthe staff. The promotions director and sales manager were having a discussion, when Iwas brought in. They both studied me for a few seconds, like I was some type ofanomaly that appeared on a Petri dish.The promotions director introduced herself as Katherine Marinelli. I made a mental noteto call her Katherine; Kathy was probably meant to be used by family members andpeople she had shreds of respect for. She looked at the sales manager and said, “Helooks like Mel Gibson. We can use him for events, maybe that live-to-air broadcast atRaucous, oh and the weekly car dealership remote that Bobby’s trying to sell.” Shewinked at me, “That would make you some extra cash, if you want it.”Ron Burke spoke up with the defining inflection of a pompous windbag, “Now hold on.We don’t know if, what’s your name? Rick? We don’t know if he can do remotes or not.199

This is going to be GIANT. This particular account is going to put us in the arena forsome big, prominent buys from some important players. If this weekly remote issuccessful, we may have to hire more guys to cover all of the others we’ll be getting.You ever do a remote broadcast before, Rick?”I actually laughed at him without really meaning to, “Yeah, I’ve done quite a few of them.At my last job at The WHIP, a rock station in Miami, the program director issued a memoto the sales staff saying that I couldn’t do ALL the remotes. He requested that theymake an effort to share the wealth, and throw the other announcers a few bones. I waseven receiving flack from the other announcers, because I got requested for all theremotes. I told them, ‘What am I going to do? Turn them down?’ So yeah, I’m prettygood at satisfying clients.”I said all of that blatantly to both impress him and put him in his place. The one thing Ilearned in South Florida, you have to match egos with ego. You let someone like RonBurke feel like he can “out-arrogant” you, he’ll treat you with less respect. You just haveto make certain that you have the “goods”, talent, experience and job performance, toback up your approach.I was then led into the inner sanctum of the president and general manager, GraceMarinelli. The room was electrified with arrogance, as we waited about eight minutes forher to get off the phone, on what sounded like a social call.She looked up at Martina, entirely ignoring my existence, and said, “Look at this. Thereare some stations using ‘color weather radar’. They can chart snowstorms and rain,right down to the city block. I think we should consider getting this, especially for the skihills and cottage country. We could sell the special Color Weather Radar Report to oneof the resorts. I think our listeners would be excited about it.”I felt two tiny droplets or urine leak out and trickle down my leg, and I was just prayingthat they weren’t visible. That’s how badly I was trying not to burst out laughing. I knewif I started, I would literally be leaning on her desk, trying to catch my breath. By thattime, I would have a lot of explaining to do.I pretended to look at her pictures, platinum records, books, anything to avoid eyecontact or a clear view of my face. Finally, I heard, “And who are you?”Martina introduced me, telling her I had come from a rock station in Miami, to which shereplied, “Oh, so you’re American.”We exchanged niceties like “Welcome aboard!” and “Really happy to be working here”.Then we politely excused ourselves, Martina promising to look into the color weatherradar.I believe that was the last time I ever spoke directly to Grace, outside of a peripheral chitchatat the office Christmas party. I remember that I once volunteered to refresh herdrink, along with mine. By the time I got back, she was so consumed in conversationwith Ron Burke that neither of them noticed or regarded my presence.200

As we walked down the hall, Martina quipped, “Right. Color weather radar on the radioand at a rock station, no less. Our listeners are really going to be excited, eh? Ourlisteners might get excited if we were giving away free hash pipes. I don’t think theyreally give a shit if it’s raining in Pickering.”I instantly liked Martina. She seemed to have a brutally realistic understanding of hersituation, but she was smart. I could tell already that she ran the station, but I’d bewilling to bet she routinely convinced Grace that it was Grace who was coming up withthe ideas and decisions.When we got to her office, she pulled up her staff schedule on the monitor. She pointedout Saturday and Sunday overnights, “Can you be here for Saturday at 10. You’ll trainwith Jasper for two hours. Then he’ll stay with you for an hour or two, until you’recomfortable being on your own. You’ll follow him again on Sunday night at midnight. Besure to make an aircheck of both shows and I’ll review them on Monday. If they soundgood, we’ll set you up with a more humane weekend, next week. I’m thinking Saturdaymidday and Sunday noon until six. I have a good feeling about you, and I think the newblood will be good for firing up our weekend lineup.”I was already quite taken with this woman as a boss. She was very quick to the point,and she seemed as honest and fair as most people are able to get, in radio.We shook hands, and I walked out of her office a Canadian broadcast personality.***I had been working at 90 ROCK for about six months, the first time that Jim came to visitToronto. He had been talking about it since I moved to the city. He wanted to come inthe summertime and experience some of the festivals and overall ambience of the city atits best.He had called me the night that George Bush had “stolen the election” as he put it, “Wemake fun of third world countries and their transparently corrupt political systems. Then,we allow the same thing to happen in the United States.”He was passionate about it, saying that if we had been on the air together during thepost-election process in 2000, he had already created a character named “DanglingChad”. That was the term used to describe a flaw in the seemingly primitive ballotcasting system used in Florida.Then, 9/11 happened and the United States would go to war for the rest of the decade.We kept in close touch by emails and phone calls. He would always talk about wantingto move to Canada. With his closest buddy living there and George W. Bush in theWhite House, he became obsessed with the country. He probably knew more aboutCanada’s history and governmental process than most Canadians.When he arrived on Canadian soil that first time, he had obviously matured in some way.He was much more reflective and serious. His passion for what had happened in theU.S. over the previous two years bordered on fanatical.201

Julie was happy to see he didn’t have a “trophy fuck” accompanying him this time. Icoined the phrase “trophy fuck”; she called them “bimbos” or “tarts”. The last one he hadbrought with him to Florida, for a visit, was a Hawaiian girl that was so beautiful theycould have named an ice cream flavor after her. However, Jim told me that he once hadto explain to her how to make instant oatmeal.She turned out to be a screamer between the sheets too, a characteristic that kept thetwo of us awake more than one night. We could hear Jim shushing her; though he didn’ttake any overt measures to provoke her to stop, until he was finished. We just laid inbed and laughed; Julie whispered that he was such a heathen.This time around, he was fascinated by Canadian culture. We went to the Royal OntarioMuseum, the Art Gallery of Ontario, and since he had arrived on the week of bothCanada Day, July 1 st , and the Fourth of July, we attended the obligatory fireworksdisplay.For a grand finale we went to three Blue Jays games that week. The Red Sox were intown, and they were hated in Toronto almost as much as the Yankees.There was also the significant highlight of going to see “Blue Rodeo” in concert. Noband epitomizes Canadian music and grass roots culture more to me than Blue Rodeo.They also possess all of the qualities that Jim and I always looked for in what weconsidered good music, intelligent heartfelt lyrics, the ability to sing and harmonize, andexceptional musicianship. Plus, they were one of the best bands I had ever seen live,and I had seen most of the big ones. Jim loved them. He stopped the next day, whilewe were downtown, and bought two of their albums.When we dropped him off at Pearson airport, he was actually dismal in his desire toreturn home. “Going back to ‘Dub-ya’ country.” That’s how he referred to George W.Bush.“Well, come back anytime,” I gave him one of those embracing handshake hugs thatguys do.Julie hugged him too, “You’re welcome anytime Jim. You know that.”Julie had actually taken a liking to Jim over the years. There was not much not to like.He was a gregarious, well read, passionate and animated individual. Jim was a speedreader, and he retained an almost annoying amount of information. That allowed him toexpound on a universal variety of subjects; plus, he had no trace of an “Americanaccent” that I was aware of. Though I’m sure he did. Who was I to pick up on it?“I think I’d like living here,” he said it almost to himself, as he scanned his surroundingsone more time before boarding, “I’ll be in touch.”One year later, he returned for a second visit. I wouldn’t have expected him to enjoyhimself so much that he would spend his next summer vacation in Toronto.202

The previous time he visited, he had a large backpack. This time, he had three largecases of luggage. When I looked at the bags and tried to get them to fit into my trunkand back seat, I knew something was in the works.We both got seated in the car, and before I even started the engine, he said, “I’vedecided I’m going to move here.”***Over dinner that night, Jim recounted his past year. He had lost another job; this onewas at a rock station in Atlanta. The company had been sold and the new owners hadcleaned house. They had already predestined everyone’s livelihood by determining thattheir own team of “experts”, from various stations they owned, would be better suited torun their newest property.He was clearly feeling defeated, much like the state I was in, at the end of my reign inFlorida. Then, he received word that a distant uncle had died, and he was one offourteen people who had inherited a percentage of the estate. Jim was the only onethey hadn’t been able to find, because he lived such a nomadic radio announcer’slifestyle.“Suddenly, I was two hundred – twelve thousand dollars richer,” he puffed on the jointthat I had just rolled, “Plus, I was fresh out of girlfriends, so I sold my condo. That putme up to close to four hundred-fifty thousand. I thought about following the Dixie Chicksfor a couple months on their tour. I just wanted to support them after they said what weall thought about ‘Dub-ya’, and it got them in so much trouble with the redneck, rightwing, undereducated, trans fat zombies who seem to dominate the United States.”“How do you really feel about them, Jim?” Julie laughed.Jim got very serious, emphatically committed to what he was saying, “I just don’t feelcomfortable in my own American skin anymore, Julie. I can just sense it in the air, thiscrazed mob of zealots will reelect ‘Curious George’, and he will continue to allow DickCheney and his gang of corrupt capitalistic thugs to run the world for their own gain andprofit.”We were both silently listening to him. He was suddenly like an activist, “And I believethat the whole country’s headed for a financial collapse. Debt is higher than it’s everbeen, the military is using as much oil as the fourth ranked oil consuming country in theworld, we’re spending billions every month to fund two wars, and we’ve been riding thebubble too long. The hens are coming home. The empire is going to crumble, andmany houses of cards are going to fall.”Then, as suddenly as if some form of medication had just taken effect, his tone entirelychanged to chirpy vacationer enthusiasm, “So, what do you guys want to do tomorrow?”***I can’t say that I didn’t feel the tiniest tug of what I can only classify as resentment thatJim showed up in Canada with full clearance to become a permanent resident. He hadhired a well respected immigration lawyer to handle everything for him. Meanwhile, I203

was banished into the less socially significant strata of work authorization permit holder,or whatever they called undesirables like me.Jim also arrived with a substantial nest egg of money. He could have actually bought ahouse, if he wanted to. I was essentially broke in less than six months of arriving. Sincethen, I was subsisting on Julie’s generosity and whatever small crumbs of cash I made atmy cavalcade of menial low-paying jobs. It didn’t seem fair that everything was turningout so much easier for Jim.During the next two weeks, I helped my perennial American buddy shop for apartments.He found a small place he liked near the Church Street area. Ironically, that wasToronto’s most notable gay community. While Church does have a smattering of ne'erdo-wellsand miscreants, because of its proximity to some sketchy sectors of thedowntown core, it was generally a very clean, friendly and safe part of town. Itwas also very vitally urban, with some bohemian overtones. Many artistic typesand media up-and-comers had settled there, so Jim felt right in his element.His plan was to rent the apartment for a couple of months and see if anythingdeveloped on a job search. Then, if it wasn’t meant to be, he would just forgo hissecurity deposit and go back home. The worst that could happen is that he spenta few thousand dollars on a summer vacation adventure. The best results wouldtender a new homeland and a new career. I have to admit that I respected himfor pursuing what he felt he wanted to do with his life, approximately midwaythrough it. I don’t know that I had.I took him in to meet Martina. He gave her disc of his work, and said that he was verykeen on working in the Toronto market. He had been doing news and morning sidekickduties in Atlanta, which was much more impressive than my own pedigree upon arrival.She was receptive and chatted with him briefly. We left together, and he commentedthat she was “pretty hot in her own way”. I agreed, and we went to lunch at a little barnearby that the sales guys from the station frequented. I had a gift certificate there, fordoing a sales guy a favor by voicing a spot on the weekend.One week later, I attended a programming staff meeting. Immediately afterwards,Martina asked to speak to me in her office. I thought she probably wanted to discuss ashift change or an event she wanted me to cover.Instead, when I sat down, she mentioned Jim. “I’ve listened to your friend, Jim Mooney’saircheck. He’s got a very good news delivery, and he’s pretty clever on the comedy sidetoo. I’m thinking of hiring him to do morning news.”That was the last thing I expected to be talking about, “Really?”“Bob Michen, our afternoon news anchor is retiring. We’re moving Tanya from morningsto afternoon, because I think mornings would benefit from more patter between the newsman and the jock.”204

She was right about that. The morning show was not a major market contender;everyone on the air staff knew that. Neil Abomino was the morning show host, and hewas more pleasant than funny. Though he had moments of outstanding humor, listenerswere more interested in his eternal encyclopedic mind of rock and roll facts and stories.He was an old burned disc jockey, who had made his major hay day in the late seventiesuntil the early nineties. Now he could only find work at a secondary station like 90ROCK, because they didn’t have the budget to hire a major talent.He and Tanya, the news woman had a nearly non-functioning relationship on the air.She would be better in the afternoon, with her very professional no-bullshit journalisticdelivery. By the same token, Bob Michen I think was probably on the air when JFK wasshot. He needed to go. One thing that always gives away the fact that your radio stationis of a lower economic echelon is the presence of air talent that is either at the verybeginning or very end of their careers.As this happy news started to absorb into my cognizant rational thought processes, onethought permeated my mind, “What about me?!”I collected myself, as to not look too selfish or angry, but my shocked sentiments beganto form into words, “Was I considered at all for this position?”She moved forward in her chair and leaned toward me with a look of genuine care andsincerity, “Of course we did, Rick. You are our first choice for anything that becomesavailable here. You’re a star performer; that’s why we have you on the air, virtually itseems like all the time. I just didn’t think you were right for doing the news. I don’t know,no offense, if people would take you entirely seriously.”She was right. I had been relegated, or perhaps I earned the role of “wacky zany guy”. Ihad once jumped out of a plane, with a contest winner, during the annual air show atToronto’s Exhibition Place. I actually broadcast from the bottom of a shark tank at theToronto Zoo, as a fundraiser for the zoo’s expansion fund. The sharks were there for aspecial exhibition, and ironically, I was terrified of sharks. I was never a great swimmer,and I had often thought that the magnitude of horror while being devoured by a sharktranscended most grisly ways to die.“I sat in a fucking shark tank for this station! Do you know how much I enjoyed that? Ican barely fucking swim, and here I am surrounded by goddamn sharks, because noneof these other apathetic fossil mother fuckers were willing to do it!”“Plus, they get paid salaries, and you get paid by the hour. We asked you to do thatbecause “A”: you are the funniest guy we have and the best person for the job.And “B”: It gave you a chance to make more money.”I was really starting to comprehend the anger and sadness that I felt about this latestnews that it was starting now to feel like a betrayal, “You know Martina, I am now in aposition where I can almost see forty years old looming just right over the horizon. I’m afucking part-time radio announcer, making thirty-some fucking thousand dollars a year.If it weren’t for my girlfriend, I wouldn’t even be able to live in this city.”205

“You’re close to forty? I never would have thought! You look like you’re in your earlythirties. In fact, you know who you look a little bit like?”“Yeah, I know Martina. That’s real fucking flattering. The reality is, I got fucked here. Ifthis weren’t one of my best friends, I’d fucking quit right now. I’m sorry, but you knowthat I deserve better than this.”I was willing to leave right then and there. I would have to go back to some menial job,since I had learned that I sucked at everything except radio. The most dauntinglyembarrassing thing about a potential occupation in a low-status position was the fact thatpeople look at a guy like that, whether it’s in person or on a resume, and say, “I wonderwhat the deal is with this guy. He’s in his mid-thirties, and he’s working as a waiter, or ashoe salesman, or a guy washing dishes. What was it, alcoholism? I wonder if heserved some time in jail. That would explain it.”I didn’t want to quit, but this indignity was a hard one to bear. My friend moves into thecountry, and immediately takes the job that I had worked on earning for over two years.Martina gave me an out from resigning right there and then, “I will make sure that youare taken care of, Rick. You know that changes need to be made. There are certainpeople that Grace brought on board, early on. She has loyalties to them, and she stillthinks that they’re very good. You know the people we’re talking about. Do not lose thefaith. You don’t know what I’m up against. Just hang in there. It’s no accident that yourfriend and former morning show partner is being brought in.”I’m sure I was looking at her quizzically, doing that dog “head tilt thing” again. She haddefinitely aroused my heart rate, “What are you saying?”“I can’t say anything. All I know is that we both are aware that changes have to bemade. I know you, and from what I can tell, your buddy Jim Mooney is quite a character.I can actually picture the two of you on a show together, and I think it would be quite ahoot. So for now, hang in there and let’s see how the next six months goes.”I must have looked somewhat discouraged and deflated, because she added, “I justsubmitted the paper work for a raise. It’s only going to be five bucks an hour more, butjust hang in there. I want to make this radio station something great, and that’s notgoing to happen with the current lineup that we have. You are going to fit into the betterlarger picture.”Yes, well that’s all just great. I shook her hand and thanked her, trudged out of theoffice, got to the elevator and started shouting profanity at the top of my lungs. I knowthat they had video monitoring in the elevators; I don’t know if they had audio. If theydid, they were getting treated to an outburst that I can honestly say surprised myself. Iput together combinations of words, probably yet unexplored by the typical pedestrianprofanity user.When I arrived on the first floor, I ran into Jim coming in. He was headed upstairs tohear the good news.***206

It was challenging not to feel violated or at the very least jealous of Jim’s new status atour workplace. I couldn’t help but let it affect my job attitude, my on-air performance andmy unconditional regard for Jim. This felt like the Don Wycock era all over again.My abject status permeated every part of my life. I was either listlessly apathetic orvehemently short with Julie, at home. I was a road rage incident waiting to happen, andmy output at work was bordering on “barely above acceptable”, by my standards.I had to think of a reason every morning not to quit, and the reason was always thesame…..oh yeah, the salary. Having no money makes you feel like nothing; plus,imposing upon Julie like one of those lazy chronically unemployed guys was anexperience I had already visited. I couldn’t stand the thought of submerging that lowagain in my own loss of self regard.Soldiering on was my only significant option.“Abomino in the Morning” was an average morning show, not entirely controversiallycourageous enough for a market with the size and sophistication of Toronto. The funnierof the two was actually Jim. However, Jim was nowhere close to showing his truecomedic sensibilities not to mention his innate ability to cut through extemporaneousfluff. He could state true blaringly obvious points that anyone else would be afraid to sayout loud. He’s as good as anyone’s ever been at ranting his opinions and making themseem like common sense.Finally, Abomino announced his summer vacation plans. He recommended that anotherpart-timer filled his position, while he was away for an uncommon two week vacation.Martina explained to him that the personality that replaced him was not his decision.She told him that I would be working, during his holiday, as guest host of “Abomino inthe Morning”. He was noticeably unhappy about the decision to have me replace him,using little gouges like, “Don’t chase off all my listeners.”I assured him I wouldn’t and continued listening to his pompous blathering about theintricacies of his show dynamics and the high intelligence level of his audience, “Thesepeople aren’t a bunch of those Ozzfest fucks. They come to me, because they want anintelligent adult morning show, with a few laughs and a newsman that laughs with them.”He looked at Jim, when he said that. As soon as he looked away, Jim made a facialgesture like he was about to burst out laughing.Come Monday, we were prepared. Both Jim and I realized that 90 ROCK was giving usthe chance to work together, in a significant city inside a new country, on the mostcritically listened-to time slot of the day.Our plan was to primarily be ourselves on Monday and Tuesday, well informed andcraftily scripted with witticisms and slightly-less-than-outrageous comedic commentsabout the news of the day. By Thursday and Friday, we were once again playing “SmellRick’s Finger”. The answers were gasoline and pizza. We used the same scripts fromthe same contest, when we had done it years earlier. Jim had actually saved the scripts.207

He had also saved all of our “Guess the Geek” record albums, on disc. Those werepriceless long-forgotten pieces of history that probably no one on earth owned anymore.Plus, there was the timeless appeal of making fun of other people, especially if they takethemselves so seriously that they think the public wants to buy recordings of themsinging “Let It Be” or “Rocket Man”.There were a few flare-ups of sexual innuendo and blatant attacks of societal bottomfeeders,but for the most part we quelled our scorn for all things celebrity and ourinfatuation with female anatomy. Shocking the listeners, at this point, would haveworked against us.When Abomino returned, I was once again dismissed to my part-time drudgery. Tomake matters worse, an ad agency was looking for a personality to voice radiocommercials for a large sporting goods chain. They wanted a Tom Bodett type ofdelivery. Tom Bodett was famous for doing Motel 6 ads, in which he casually spoke in afolksy conversational manner about the “clean comfortable rooms and reasonable rates”one enjoys at Motel 6 locations.The delivery was perfect for me, and it would have netted me an extra one to twothousand dollars, every month. I hadn’t heard anything after two weeks, until I walkedinto the production studio and saw Jim in the sound booth. He was voicing a spot for thesporting goods chain. I snapped.I burst into studio, before he was even done with his read. He looked up at me, “Dude,didn’t you see the ‘On Air’ light on?”“Turn the mike off,” before he could even mouth the word “What”, I said again, “Turn thefucking mike off.”He did, and I proceeded to vent, “You got this account? You’re doing their voice work?”He showed me the script, “Yeah. They just sent the scripts over this morning. I’m doingfour spots today, and it looks like I could make an extra five grand a month doing this!”He was smiling a big wide grin that I could have slammed my boot right in the middle of,“What’s wrong?”I looked at him incredulously, “What’s wrong? This is my thing. You’ve violated myworld, here. I didn’t invite you, but you’re like a guy who crashes the party and then eatsall the food and drinks all the liquor. I showed you hospitality; let you bring whateverbimbo you were banging at the time.”“Oh yeah,” he grinned, “Don’t say anything. I nailed the receptionist, Brenda.”I exploded, “That’s great Jim. I’m happy for you. Why don’t you fuck Martina next, ormaybe Grace will give you a blow job.” I looked through the glass to make sure no onewas nearby, “Are you sure that mike’s off?”He looked down at the board to check, “Yeah man. It’s off.” That would have been all Ineeded, if both of them were standing in the hallway listening.208

Jim looked sincerely concerned, “What is it man? You seem upset.”I shrugged my shoulders, recognizing my own defeat. It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he wasgetting all the breaks, while I felt like I was carrying his luggage for him. He was good; Iwas marginally good. He deserved the breaks he got. I probably deserved the fact thatI wasn’t getting any.“Don’t worry about it man. Good luck.” I patted him on the shoulder and walked out ofthe room.He was sputtering monosyllabic questions as I made my way down the hallway. I knewwhat I needed to do. My career at 90 ROCK had come to a close. I wasn’t going to livelike this anymore. It was time to find something else that I could try to succeed at.I sadly made my way to Martina’s office. As I approached the door, Neil Abomino camestrolling out. He gave me a smile and said, “Nice working with you man.”I turned and watched him as he walked into the elevator. By then, I was inside Martina’soffice.She looked up, “Oh Rick, I was just about to call you.” Pausing for a moment, she gaveme a subtle little smirk, “Neil Abomino signed a contract with STAR 96. He’s gone.Would you be available to work tomorrow morning, and the rest of the week, until wefigure out what we’re going to do?”I was slow to react, because the information was just starting to seep in to mycognizance, “Sure. I’d be glad to.”Just like that, my life changed within an instant. It happened just in the nick of time.209

25 - No, Please Say You Didn’tOur first four days of working for Dirk Nixon were all very similar. Like day number one,he was very critical of all our bits and even some of our offhanded comments. Heconsistently found fault in the lengths of our talk breaks, but his most frequent complaintswere about things that “weren’t fucking funny”.By Friday, we started to hate working for him. He was either trying to get us to quit, orhe was trying to develop a pecking order relationship built on intimidation. Either way,we were quite sure he didn’t like us.Dave Ray had ended up getting a job as a program director in Vancouver, working atanother rock station owned by our competition. I was thinking of contacting him. Juliewas currently doing most of her work out of her company’s Vancouver office, and I nolonger had any qualms about moving there. I was entirely alone and unhappy about it.That would mean separating from Jim. First of all, Dave would never hire the two of ustogether. He would be too worried about the possibility having to appropriate daily timefor answering complaints.There was also the fact that Jim loved Toronto and wouldn’t want to leave. I was nowambivalent about the city. Sure, I would miss the sports teams, especially the Jays,given Vancouver didn’t have a baseball team. However, I missed Julie more than anoccasional trip to the stadium, and she seemed to be living on the west coast more thanToronto these days. It would be nice to have a special someone around to share life’sexperiences.As we approached the office door, Jim said, “I don’t know if I can do this today.”I felt the same way, “I know, maybe Dirk got killed in a car accident on the way to work.”We could hear him talking on the phone as we approached. Neither of us had to speak;we just gave each other a “oh well, not today” look.He was just hanging up the phone as we walked in. He motioned for us to sit down, andsmiled, “Hey, not a bad show today. You were more concise, no lame impersonationsegments, and some of the stuff was actually funny.”We glanced at each other. I spoke first, “That’s good to hear.” It wasn’t exactly acompliment, but it was the most positive thing he had ever said to us.“Yeah, I think you guys are going to pick up your numbers in the next book, if youcontinue like you did today: concise, funny, adult discussions.”Right then, his phone rang again. I could hear Jim let out a huff of impatience. We wereheaded back to the cottage today. It had been four weeks since our last visit, and after aweek of Dirk Nixon, we really wanted to get out of the city and have some “guy time”.Dirk responded to Jim’s breathy outburst with a laugh, “Don’t get all wound up, Jim. Thiscall’s for you guys.” He hit the speaker button, and his voice boomed, “Dirk Nixon here.”210

A very composed female voice answered, “Hello Mr. Nixon. This is Violet Dumet.”Our collective gasps were silent, but we were both jolted. Here on Dirk’s speaker phonewas the bride of Satan; the antagonizing shrew that we were forbidden from speaking to,by our former boss.Dirk was uncommonly pleasant to her, “Hello Vi. Do you prefer Vi or Violet.”“I prefer Ms Dumet, Mr. Nixon.”He reclined in his chair, stretched and cradled the back of his head in his clasped hands.Giving us an amused glance, he gave a response we certainly weren’t expecting, “Youknow what Vi? I hate being called Mr. Nixon. I’m sure you can understand why, not themost flattering image comes to mind. So how’s that? You can call me Dirk, if you don’tmind, and I’ll call you Vi. It’s easier to remember, and I’m really bad with names.”“Fine. Did you get my phone messages?”He leaned forward now. We could tell something was on his mind, and it was about toplay out in front of us, “Oh, did I ever. That’s why I asked you to call. I have both Rickand Jim in the room with me right now; you’re on speaker phone. Say hi to Vi, fellas.”“Hi Vi,” we both spoke simultaneously in monotonic mumbles.She didn’t reply. Instead, she continued with her agenda, “Mr. Nixon….Dirk, I havemade you aware of all of the previous incidents that have occurred on your station’smorning show. Have you looked at the documents I sent?”“Oh, have I ever Vi. You’re very thorough and apparently a faithful listener.”She didn’t find that very amusing, “It appears I have to be. Nothing has been doneabout the problem of obscenity, racism and tasteless broadcast standards as of yet?”At this point, Dirk Nixon pressed his tongue against his lower lip, like he was chewingtobacco and crossed his eyes. It was amazing to watch; he was making fun of the shedevil.Before she even finished her comment, he cut her off, “Yeah, well you know Vi,I’m not sure what it is you want me to do. I’ve talked to the guys, as did the previousprogram director, and I listen to the show intently. I also reviewed the tapes that yousent to several people within the company, and I can’t find evidence of racism, inparticular. There were a couple of segments that had some adult content, but we’readdressing that.”Violet Dumet’s voice became louder and tensely stern, “I don’t see that your addressingof these issues has been taken to heart. I have several examples from today’s show.May I play them for you MR. NIXON.” She punctuated the formal name, insuring that weknew she meant business.Our new boss looked like he was fighting an outburst of laughter, “I think that would be agood idea, Vi.”211

You could hear her fumbling with her recording equipment. The hiss of the recordingbegan, and Dirk punched the mute button. As the sound of our voices streamed fromhis speaker phone, he leaned back in his chair again and started laughing.It began with an interchange that we had concerning a sex tape that allegedly captured avisual of Senator John Edwards’ affair.It began with me, “New problems for John Edwards. A sex tape has now surfaced,allegedly showing him having sex with someone.”“It was a woman, right?”“Yes, and she wanted to capture the moment on camera, for posterity. Now there areallegations of other possible trysts. You have to wonder. Like Tiger Woods’ slew ofsluts, why are all these women so anxious to stand up and say, ‘I screwed him too. I’m alittle skanky tramp, and I’m proud of it.’ Why would you want that spread on nationalnews?”“They said on the entertainment report that Tiger Woods is wrapping up his rehab, andhe has grown as a person.”I provided the punchline, “It sounds like he grew as a person every chance he got, whilehe was on the tour circuit.”Jim responded with another related topic, “I’d pay money to watch Bill Clinton’s sextape.”I started impersonating Bill Clinton, “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, Monica. You take that bigcigar.” Then in my own voice, “After watching Bill Clinton bang Monica Lewinsky, I’dhave to go on a daily dose of Viagra, just to feel normal again.”Dirk Nixon was bent over his desktop laughing; Jim was nearly in tears. This must bethe most extremely obsessive woman on the planet.She stopped the recording, “Well Mr. Nixon, comments?”Nixon pulled himself together and took the phone off mute, “I tell you what Vi, why don’twe listen to everything and then comment on all of them at once. That way yourvaluable time won’t be wasted, since I know you probably have better things to do thansit here all morning with us.”“Very well,” she started another recording, and Dirk hit the mute button again, stickinghis tongue out slightly in jestful disrespect.The recording began with me, “I saw a report on whether Lindsay Lohan was a hoarder.”“They got the whore part right.”I had seen that one coming; everyone probably did, “They said that Lindsay haddeveloped a system to organize all of her belongings. Then they went back to the studio212

and the anchor says, ‘I would like to see her system,’ and I thought, ‘What, herreproductive system? I think a lot of people have already seen that’.”Jim replied, “You can see Lindsay Lohan in her forties: this crazy old lady living in atrailer, using empty cat food cans for ash trays. She’s always trying to lure the cable guyinto her place for an intense session of hoarding and system evaluation.”The recording stopped. Dirk pushed the mute button again, “Gotcha Vi. As I said, we’llget back to all this in a minute, when you’re all finished.”“Very well,” we could hear another recording about to start. Dirk muted our end of thecall. He was starting to look bored. Jim was wiping tears of laughter from his face, as Iwas. This woman was unbelievable.The next segment was a discussion we had about the Super Bowl. We were bothsomewhat disappointed because the Indianapolis Colts had lost the game. However,New Orleans made for a great story, and they deserved it. The whole gamepresentation was outstanding, as was the game itself.We also enjoyed The Who; though many bloggers seemed to have the oppositereaction. At the party we had hosted at a large bar facility, everyone sang along withevery word of each song. It was fantastic.Both of us scheduled a vacation day, for the following Monday. We knew that we’d be inno shape to do a morning show after that. Monday evening, I happened to catch NiecyNash, a Hollywood reporter and actress, reporting on ‘the most celebrity studded SuperBowl ever’.“So I’m watching Niecy Nash on TV last night, reporting on who attended the SuperBowl. Brad and Angelina were there! Who did ‘the stars’ want to win the game? ‘Let’ssee what Ashton Kutcher thinks.’ As a football fan, her coverage made me sick. It waslower than the lowest insipid fluff idiocy I had ever witnessed on television.”“Is that the big loud black chick? Oh, I can’t stand her on that show,” Jim watched theprogram too, just to keep up with silly celebrity schlock, “I used to love that show ‘Reno911’. Now I can’t even watch it anymore, because she’s such an idiot in real life.”“I know. She’s running around asking questions like ‘Will Reggie Bush propose to KimKardashian after the Super Bowl?’ Like I’m sure that was the number one thing onReggie Bush’s mind after he just won the biggest game of his life.”“Yeah, I know. I was going into the hot tub to ease my bruised body, but the first thingI’m going to do is run out of the locker room and ask her to marry me right now! We canget the team chaplain to perform the ceremony in front of all my naked buddies.”I liked his idea, “Could you see Reggie Bush running up into the private boxes in his jockstrap? ‘Where Kim at? I got a surprise for her in here.’ He reaches into the jock andpulls out a ring.”213

Jim did what he interpreted as a Reggie Bush impersonation, “Will you be MY privatebox, honey?”“Or, he could have her come down into the locker room and propose while he’s in the hottub. Bring some of her valley girl mallrat friends to meet the other players.”Jim spoke in a high-pitched voice that was intended to be a young airheaded girl, “Ohmy God! Is that like Drew Brees? Oh my God! I’m like such a big fan, now. Look at hispenis!”I did the same voice, “Like, oh my God, I love the way his penis wiggles when he walks.It’s like the cutest penis!”The recording stopped. We had stopped laughing, and Dirk was now looking moreirritated than bored.Violet Dumet spoke, “Well, Mr. Nixon?”“Vi, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re certainly entitled to your opinion, and I respectit, on behalf of the company. I have to be honest with you; I didn’t hear anything onthose recordings that made me think anyone was acting irresponsibly.”Though she spoke in a measured tone, you could tell she wanted to start screaming atall of us, “You didn’t find their comments about sex tapes and impersonating the formerPresident Clinton having sex offensive?”“Well Vi, he did have an affair with Monica Lewinsky. He admitted to it. The JohnEdwards sex tapes have been all over the news. You could probably watch it on theinternet. Tiger Woods had affairs; that’s been fairly well proven.”“What about calling Lindsay Lohan a whore?” You could tell she was getting moreangered and outraged by the minute.“Let’s face it, Vi. We’re not exactly talking about Michelle Obama here. She’s made itpretty clear that she’s not a virgin, and I’ve researched this. While the word whore is notexactly respectful, it is not something that the CRTC is going to fine us for. I’ve spokento the guys, and they’ve promised to try not to use it anymore.” He looked over at usand winked.She was getting flustered, now. You could tell as she stuttered with frustration, “Theyreferred to Niecy Nash as a ‘big loud black chick’. That was extremely disrespectful.”Dirk had her on the ropes, “To be honest with you Vi, big is descriptive, and chick is howmany guys in our demographic audience refer to women. Words like ‘pig’ or ‘bimbo’ or‘black bitch’ would be offensive. Besides, she is a bit on the heavy side, and she isblack after all. You knew that, right? If I had heard them call her a ‘black bitch’, I wouldhave yanked them off the air, right then.” He grinned at us.214

She knew, now, what side Dirk fell on. Her exasperation was palpable. She resorted toher last attempt to sway him, by a veiled threat, “You know, Mr. Nixon, I have spoken tothe president of Crowe’s radio division twice.”“Yeah, I know. I had breakfast with him this morning. He said that you should contactme on these matters. He doesn’t have time to concentrate on individual station’sprogramming and personnel matters. It’s my job to monitor and make judgments on anyprogramming on this radio station.”“So nothing’s going to be done on this matter?”“Not on this particular matter, because I don’t think you have a case here.”“I’m contacting the CRTC and the Canadian Broadcast Standards Council,” she huffed.“I thought you already had on several occasions. I saw some people from both inOttawa last fall, at a charity golf tournament, put on by the broadcast industry to fundbroadcast programs in high schools. They’re really nice people over there, aren’t they?”“We own stock in the company,” her last desperate whimper.“Me too. I’ve worked for this company for over twenty years, and it’s been my mission inlife to acquire as much stock as I can. Great decision, too. Crowe has grown so fastthat I’ve probably quadrupled my retirement fund. God bless ‘em.”She finally crumpled, resigned in the fact that Dirk Nixon was not particularly anempathetic ear, and he wasn’t going to bullied like Dave Ray.“Very well, Mr. Nixon, I bid you good day. Thank you for your time.”“Thank you Vi,” Dirk said in a very sweet tone. Before he could finish, she had hung up.He looked at us with a victoriously cocky gleam in his eye, “Nice lady.”Jim was shaking his head, “What did she do to get Dave so worked up, if she reallywasn’t part of some huge threatening power machine.”“Dave was a nervous wreck, before she ever called him. He knew he was about to getfired, because the numbers had been trending downward, and he obviously couldn’t fixthe problem. Corporate was already breathing down his neck. I knew three months agothat I was getting this job. He probably knew it too, or he knew someone was going toget it.”“Well thanks, Dirk,” it was the first time I had spoken.“Let’s not start exchanging hugs and butt pats yet,” he had already started readingemails, which meant he was finished with us. He looked up one more time with a smilethat was more maniacal and devious than warm and friendly, “Just try to keep doingwhat we’ve discussed, try not to end up in a motel room cornholing crack whores, andwe’ll see you on Monday. Good job.”215

As we exited his office, Jim whispered, “Did he smoke a big fatty on the way to work thismorning?”“Maybe he’s just glad it’s Friday, but shit, what a difference a day can make.”We climbed into Jim’s SUV and headed north to Muskoka. He volunteered to drive it, incase we ran into bad weather or treacherous roads.We were anxious to tell Manny that he probably wouldn’t have to act on our behalf. Ourjobs seemed more secure than we had thought, and it now seemed we had a boss whowould back us up.As we pulled out of the parking lot, Jim let out a long breath, “Whoa, it’s such a relief notto have to worry about our jobs.***Our arrival at the cottage was much unheralded. We went in and put our bags in ourusual rooms.Both Manny and BB were there, which was unusual for this time of day, even on aFriday. We climbed the stairs down to the studio to find them engrossed in somethingthat BB was working on.“Hey, they’re here. My superstar men of the moment.” We never knew what to expectfrom Manny’s mouth, so we discounted his comment as his usual meaningless drivel.We sat down. He turned toward BB and smiled, “We’ve got something for you guys tohear.”BB clicked his mouse, and familiar music emanated from the speakers. After a moment,I recognized it as “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses. Only there wassomething different about it; BB had weaved a heavy thudding hip hop beat into themusic. It actually fit very well and essentially made the song something entirely new.There was also a chorus of “Doo Doo’s” that I recognized as sounding quite a bit like“Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones. There were also some hoots in therethat sounded like a noise Little Richard always makes.I became aware of the vocals. It was some guy rapping, with other guys chiming in oncertain words. I guess if you like hip hop, it was actually a rather catchy tune. Nothingoutstanding about the vocals, except then I heard something that sounded familiar,“Don’t care for Angelina, Beyonce, or Madonna,The girl of my dreams is First Lady Michelle Obama,Took a tour of the White House,Wadn’t lookin’ for no drama.Just chance to meet my girl,And I bet I’ll make her wanna.”Where have I heard these words? Wait a minute, that’s Jim from that night when we allgot drunk during the hockey game.216

“The room was total darkness, I knew it was my chanceTo take the first lady on a naked bridal dance.”The vocals were all I could hear now. It was absolutely the most vile and reprehensiblelitany of political incorrectness I had ever heard.“I felt like Adonis and she was my Venus,That’s when I took her hand and put it on my penis.”I thought to myself that we could actually get into legal trouble for this. Threatening thePresident of the United States was a criminal act. If that law also covered his spouse,we could probably get arrested for this.“She recognized it right away,She could tell that mine was bigger,That’s when she started screamin’,Come quick Barack,It’s a mother fuckin’ nigger.”Jim shook his head, “Man, I barely remember doing that.”I noticed, “Our voices sound different.”BB looked up from the monitor, “I put some effects on your voices. In the crudest terms Itried to make you sound a little more black and a little bit younger. Obviously I’veoverdubbed your voices several times to create choruses, and the beat is the same oneyou guys were rapping to on the night we recorded it. I added all the other musicalelements, and it worked out pretty well.”“You must have a lot of time on your hands,” I was surprised that Manny let him spendthat much time on a small whimsical hobby, when according to the self proclaimed talentmaven himself, they kept really busy at Ear to Ear Productions.Jim was frowning, like he had just morphed into some kind of corporate operationsspecialist. He would occasionally act like a very serious businessman with highly vestedinterest in the company, as opposed to his usually demeanor which was definitiveapathy.Manny used to say, “What’d this fuckin’ guy just jump into a phone booth and take hisclothes off? Let me tell you. You’re not wearing a super hero costume under thoseclothes; you got nothing but your dick swinging in the wind. Meanwhile, I’m keeping thebat cave in business, Clark Kent.”Jim would follow up Manny’s comment with near frustrated rage and say something like,“Manny, what the fuck did that even mean? Why do you say shit that makes no fuckingsense? You didn’t even get the metaphors correct.”Manny would say something back to him like, “What the fuck’s a metaphor?” To whichJim would groan some monosyllabic reply and drop the whole subject.217

It was way too exhausting to try to make some kind of pointless conversation out of adisagreement with Manny. It was like shopping in Montreal or Chinatown. You knowthat some of the people you try to ask questions to probably speak English, they’re justnot in the mood to talk to you.So Jim spoke in his stern responsible business owner voice, when he said, “Really BB?Why would you spend some obviously serious man hours on something that no one isever going to hear?”BB darted a pensive look toward Manny that telegraphed a “you didn’t tell them?” facialexpression. I looked at both of them, and I could feel rage coming out of my eyes likeheat from a car hood, “What? Don’t tell me someone has heard this shit, Manny!”BB hastily excused himself, saying he had to go to the bathroom. Jumping out of hischair without making eye contact, he scuttled upstairs, even though there was a fullyfunctional and operational bathroom located twenty feet away.Jim watched him leave, then turned to Manny, “Manny, what’s going on?”Manny twitched in his chair, stretched his legs out, and cupped the back of his head inhis hands. He was trying to look relaxed and casual about what he was about to tell us,“I did some experimenting with the internet recently, and I just needed something that Icould try to market on my new download site. So I put your song on there as our firstdownloadable original tune. Then I did some internet marketing, you know, My Space,Facebook, Twitter. BB knew of some other sites that all the kids are into. We did someblogging about this great new song that was really raunchy and dirty with a good beat.Within forty-eight hours, we had five thousand downloads; four days later, we were atover twenty thousand.”“You released that to the public?” I was seething, nearly spitting the words out of mymouth.Jim jumped up like he was going to start punching him, “Manny, how could you do thatwithout consulting us? We could lose our jobs, if anyone finds out that we had anythingto do with this. Hell! As nasty and obscene as those lyrics are, we’ll be lucky ifsomebody doesn’t shoot us on the 401.”I suddenly thought of a catch, an Achilles Heel that could come up to bite Manny frombehind. “Manny, you can’t put this on the internet! We don’t have the rights to thosesongs you sampled. You can’t put that out there in cyberspace without permission touse those people’s music. I’m sure that Guns N’ Roses wouldn’t appreciate us takingone of their signature songs and putting this crap over the top of it.”“Got that covered,” Manny spoke with the kind of confidence that told me he really didhave it covered, “Axl’s my second daughter’s godfather.”“That’s great Manny. Who’s the godmother, Courtney Love?” Jim was staring at the walland rubbing his forehead, with the palm of his hand.218

I countered, “What about the other musical elements? I’m sure I heard the Stones inthere from “Sympathy for the Devil”. It sounded like Little Richard doing some whoops inthere too.”“Not problems. I called up Mick and Rich before we even did it; they said ‘yeah, goahead.’ They both owe me favors.”He never ceased to astound. Was there anybody that this guy didn’t kibitz with? “Youknow those two?” I asked incredulously.“I went through a bi-curious period in the seventies.”That was as much as Jim could tolerate, “You know Manny, I never want to hear aboutthat again. Not ever.”I started to feel like I was about to have an aneurism. It seemed as if there wastremendous pressure pounding at both my head and chest. Almost involuntarily, Ireleased the sudden stress in the form of borderline violence. I was screaming onlyinches from Manny’s face, “Why did you not tell us about this? WHY?!!! I’ll tell you why,because you knew we’d say no. You released material without our permission, that can’teven be legal.”Manny spoke quietly without looking up. He seemed somehow contrite, but with Manny,any gesture could be a fabricated con job designed to placate you long enough tosoothe you back into climbing under his thumb again. “The song is the property of thecompany. We created it here in the company studio, you guys are both members of thecompany, we placed it on a company website. How was I supposed to know it wasgoing to turn into fucking ‘My Sharona’ of the twenty-first century?”Jim had now become surprisingly calm, “Alright Manny. You’ve tested your software andyour marketing platforms. It’s time to take the song off, right now. Right here in front ofus, I want you to remove it from the website, so we all know that we don’t have to worryabout this thing ever being heard by anyone other than the five thousand suburban whiteteenage boys in baggy pants who downloaded it. The kind of people that download shitlike this will forget about it in two months. So just get rid of it now, before someonehears it that can figure out it’s us.”I was calmer too. The way Manny told the story, his actions were not as infuriating aswe first thought. It’s not like he just did this as another “Manny get rich scheme”. Hefigured out an effective way to market the website, and this just happened to be the onlyoriginal material he had rights to use. No great harm done, five thousand downloads onthe worldwide web? No one will probably ever find out.BB came bounding down the stairs, “Manny, there’s a guy on the phone from amagazine, he wants to talk to you about your press release. They want to do an articleabout MFN!”I watched BB as he handed Manny the phone, “What’s MFN?”219

BB looked gave me a look that said “don’t you know?” He laughed nervously, “That’syou guys. That’s what Manny named you. It’s also the name of your song.”I could hear Manny’s voice in the background, “Can we schedule it for next week?We’re working in the studio right now, the guys and I.”That’s when I saw Jim streak across my field of vision, grab the phone and hurl it againstthe wall. It shattered into shrapnel that scattered across the room.220

26 - Success, You Know I’ve Heard About This!Jim and I had lunch, after the memo regarding the departure of Neil Abominowas sent out to staff.“Such a shame,” I said as I ripped the meat off a chicken wing with my teeth, “What atalent.”Jim didn’t even laugh, “He was an arrogant fuckbag. You don’t know how miserable mylife’s been, since I took this gig.”That put a new spin on my perspective, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”He wiped the BBQ sauce from his fingers with a disposable towelette, “How would ithave sounded if I was whining about getting the gig on morning drive, while they makeyou do every fuckin’ shitty shift and event that comes down Yonge Street. They piss meoff, really. You know you’re better than any of these lazy douche bags. They sicken me.You and I are going to tear a new asshole into morning drive radio, buddy. They don’tknow what they just unleashed.”After lunch, we returned to the station. We decided to produce a character voice bit. Iwas going to be Bill Clinton calling in to discuss his plans of opening a chain of Hootersin the area, “Fried food and pretty young girls wearing short-shorts and those skimpylittle T-shirts. It’s just like a Clinton family reunion.”Ron Burke was standing in Martina’s office, as we walked by. He called us in, asMartina rolled her eyes. You could tell he was about to say something pompous.He did, “Now, we’re counting on you guys to hold it together for us in the mornings, untilwe figure out what we’re going to do here.”We both stood there, completely dismayed by the level of arrogance this guy wascapable of displaying. He spoke again, “Abomino wasn’t just a morning talent. Hehelped me and my sales staff with creative campaigns that got results. For example, hewas supposed to have something for me today, to present to a vitamin company thatwants to promote zinc pills to men. Zinc is supposed to be good for your prostate, sothey want to do a huge winter campaign to get guys to buy their new “Zinc for Men”product line. Now, I’ve got nothing to walk in there with, tomorrow morning.”Without pausing long enough for him to take a breath, I nonchalantly spoke in adisinterested monotone, just for effect, “Take Zinc for Your Dink.”He stopped attempting to consume the so-called conversation and looked at meponderingly, “Take Zinc for Your Dink? That’s pretty good. I think we could use that.”“Tell them Jim and I could host a prostate exam party at one of your clients’ clubs. We’llhave hot nurses there to take blood samples, to test for prostate cancer. The first thingthat will come to mind, when people hear the promos hinting about hot nurses givingprostate exams will be, you know…. Your vitamin company can hand out samples, andthe cover charge will all go to the Canadian Prostate Cancer Research Foundation. We221

all look like good guys, your client gets an ‘added value’ promotion, and we’ll get plentyof press out of it. Even the bar will cash in big, because we’ll broadcast on locationgiving play-by-play on prostate exams and introducing the lineup of kick-ass bands thatall owe this radio station favors. We’ll call it ‘ProstataPalooza’.”A gleam came to Ron Burke’s eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily,“That’s brilliant. Holy fuck, that’s brilliant. Hey, would you guys mind going with us totalk to the client?”We both nodded. Jim said, “Sure whatever you need, Ron.”Martina winked at us, as we continued walking to the production studio. Jim looked atme and proclaimed, “In the words of the great Webb Wilder, ‘You’re never too small tohit the big time!’” Webb Wilder was one of our favorite live performers. We grew to lovehim, when we were in Tennessee. He’s from Nashville. That song had been an anthemto both of us for years.We found out later that I wasn’t the first to come up with “Take Zinc for Your Dink”, but itwasn’t copyrighted. The client loved every part of my ideas, and Ron Burke immediatelyregarded us as geniuses that could rarely do anything wrong. Life was good.***We had probably been on the morning show for about two years when we got a call fromsome guy who said he was a talent agent. Manny was his name, and he said he wantedto take us to lunch. We declined. One month later, he called again. We finally said thatwe would join him for a free lunch. What did we have to lose?We met him at a cool little pub on the Danforth called “The Exclusive Café”. It was anodd place for a business meeting. The walls were covered with artwork and posters,everything from Van Gogh prints to concert advertisements for Jefferson Airplane andthe Grateful Dead. They claimed to have an inventory of 200 different kinds of beer, andthey cooked unusually quirky sandwiches, filled with unconventional combinations ofsandwich-making staples, on a hot plate placed on their counter.“This guy must be a real high-roller,” Jim joked as we ordered pints of Stella Artois.We had just found a table large enough to accommodate the three of us, when “thepresence” made itself known. The door swung open, and in walked a silver ponytailedand goateed entity. It was wearing a plush fur coat that looked like beaver. I had neverseen a diamond stud as big as the one he was wearing on anyone but NFL and NBAplayers.He made a flamboyant gesture of checking his Rolex watch and said to the bartender,“Annie, baby, are my guests here yet?”Annie obviously knew this flashy caricature, “There are two guys over there. They justcame in.”He looked across the room at the two of us, flashing a wide hospitable “immigrant fromthe old country” type smile and opening his arms like he wanted to embrace us. For a222

second, I thought he was going to start folk dancing like “Zorba the Greek”. Jim wouldsay later that “Zorba the Greed” was more like it.He gestured to the room, “What do you guys think of my favorite little church haunt?”We didn’t know exactly what that meant, so we both blurted out a nicety. “Nice, man.”“Really interesting.”“Liza Minnelli and Marilyn Manson both love this place, and Ricky Martin said that if hewere Jewish, he’d have his Bar Mitzvah here.”I said, “What? Why would that even come up, if he’s not Jewish.”Jim summed it up with, “That’s a load of bullshit.”“Bullshit is as bullshit does. Tom Hanks told me that, when he was sitting in the exactsame chair that you are.” He pointed at Jim.Both of our mouths silently dropped open. We had never witnessed a creature of thisrare ilk before.“Then Alice Cooper showed up, the shooters started, and things got crazy.” He rolledhis eyes back and laughed, as if he assumed we knew exactly how that sort of thing canhappen.Jim spoke up, “Alice Cooper doesn’t drink.”“He was our designated driver. What do you think we’re stupid? It’s Tom fuckin’ Hanksfor chrissakes. We played dominoes until 3:00am.”He squeezed our hands, took off the massive animal hide he was wearing, and satdown. You instantly got the distinct impression that you were entering “Manny’s World”,the minute he walked into the room. The bartender, who had taken a friendlylackadaisical attitude with us, was at our table in an instant with a pint of what wasobviously Manny’s favorite beer. We ordered sandwiches, and Manny got down tobusiness.“Look at you fuckin’ guys! You remind me of Mel Gibson, and you’re like – I don’t know -Matthew McConaughey with a bad haircut, or some fuckin’ thing.”Jim started to say something, but Manny cut him off before he could even inhale, “Thereason I asked you guys to come here, because I heard you on the air, and you’re prettyfuckin’ funny. Plus, you got voices that should be used to make money doing shitloadsof commercials. Now that I see you, I’m looking at you and I’m thinking ‘The women willbe sitting in puddles of their own bodily fluids while they listen to you, if we market yourfaces to go along with your voices’. I guarantee they’ll be sitting in puddles.”I took a sip of my pint, “What are you suggesting?”223

He looked at me for a long moment. He seemed to be evaluating my intelligence orsomething. It appeared as if he couldn’t believe that I didn’t clearly comprehend hisintentions already, “I’m suggesting we get you some voice work, so you can make somereal talent fee money, first. Then, I’m suggesting that I know that there is going to be amorning show gig made available at a Crowe Communications radio station, in Toronto,very soon. Next, I’m suggesting that I could get you guys that job, no problem.”Jim showed skepticism, “You could get us that gig, no problem, eh?”“The CEO of Crowe Communications? I performed the Bris on his grandchild this pastweekend. I’m also a licensed rabbi. Many of my clients are Jewish, so I said ‘What thehell.’ It’s just another thing I can offer, all under one roof. Could you pass the mustard?”“You circumcised his grandchild, for business interest? That’s a commitment tocustomer service, dude.” Jim sat back and laughed.“You know that kid’s probably going to grow up and kill you,” I was laughing too. We hadnever seen anyone like this before.He looked around the table, “So what do you say? You want to work together? I usuallydon’t take on guys from radio. My forte is making stars in the music business, butthere’s something I like about you guys. You’re guys’ guys, and I like that. We needmore of those.”We left the meeting, promising to take any voiceover work that Manny could send ourway. We also assured him that we would certainly be interested in talking to CroweCommunications about accepting a morning gig, at one of their flagship stations. Ofcourse we would.Two weeks later, Manny called us after our morning show to inform us that he hadgotten me some voiceover work, doing commercials for an amusement park. He alsosaid that he was close to getting an answer from a tire retailer about Jim doing theirspring commercial campaign. He ended the conversation by saying that he wouldprobably have a meeting arranged between the three of us and Crowe Communications,he “wasn’t at liberty to say which station” in two weeks.Two weeks later, he called again, “We have a meeting with Crowe on Friday.”Jim said, “This guy’s the real deal. This could finally be our ticket to the big time,pardner.”Life was beginning to look pretty good, and we had no intention of looking back.***Unlike a big corporate broadcaster, 90 ROCK was a family business. Instead of beingmarched out of the building by security with our personal belongings in a box, theyactually threw an office party to see us off. That came after we worked through our fulltwo week notice. That never happens in radio; they snatch you off the air the verysecond you submit your notice, for fear you’ll do something to discredit them on a livemicrophone.224

Instead, Martina hugged us both, and the entire office approached us in what couldloosely be defined as a receiving line. The only two sentiments expressed that were anyless than totally positive and optimistic came from Ron and Grace.Ron harangued us a little bit about not hosting Prostatapalooza II, lamenting that hecould actually lose his “Take Zinc for Your Dink” account. The client loved us, becauseJim would do a sixty second live spot every morning, in which he would describe theexploits of his penis. “And I realized how much I loved the little guy.” Or, “My girlfriendsaid my penis did the cutest thing yesterday.” Then there was the time the girlfrienddrew a little face on it; that turned into a five minute discussion.As outrageous as it sounds, the client actually got discs made to send to all of theirsuppliers and their corporate office in the States. I was stunned, even knowing Jim aswell as I do, that he could come up with that much to talk about, concerning his penis ona daily basis. I don’t know if it qualifies as narcissism, but it couldn’t be normal. He musthave some kind of personality disorder.Then Grace approached us and said that it was such a shame that we wouldn’t be therefor the launch of the station’s new Color Weather Radar Forecast feature, next month.They even got a sponsor, “Hookah Harry’s Smoke Emporium”, a head shop. It wasalmost as if Martina’s hash pipe giveaway idea and Grace’s color weather radar schemehad met halfway.I did wish we had stuck around long enough for me to get a free bong or something,from the client. For example, Hooters always brought in chicken wings, when they cameto the station for meetings. I figured Hookah Harry’s was at least good for packs ofrolling papers. To be honest, the mere fact that they threw the little cake andchampagne session made me a bit introspective about leaving.My life was becoming a fleeting cavalcade of faces and landscapes, those of my coworkers,managers, clients, neighbors, homes and offices. I actually became a little sadand reflective, every time I left a place. There were always good things that came to thesurface, no matter where you went. It seemed I was always saying goodbye to anotherlife experience.That being said, the fact that Manny had gotten Crowe to pay us six figures helped tomake my guilt and sentimentality dissipate quickly. We were seriously “hitting the bigtime”, the dream that Jim had spouted about nearly every time I saw him over the years.Funny, we didn’t feel any different, except we’d have a lot more money.The program Director, Dave Ray, seemed like a reasonable guy. I don’t know howpleased he was that Manny pulled a couple of corporate strings, including those of hisBris buddy, to get us placed at the front of the pack of possible personnel contingencies.Though we came with blessings decreed from upon high, we still had to show that wecould actually commandeer an audience and take them with us for the long run. Theygave us an office to plot and strategize our popularity campaign; that’s really what highprofile radio is like, running for office like a politician.225

We had only been in our new habitat for five minutes, rifling through desk drawers andtearing down posters of artists we didn’t like. There was a knock at the door. We turnedto see a young guy, about mid-twenties; his hair and overall look brought to mind a KeithUrban kind of vibe, as Jim put it.He shook hands with us and introduced himself as Ricky Smith. He said he was anintern now, but he really wanted to be a show producer. Nervously glancing around theroom when he talked, he described how he had wanted to be part of a radio morningshow. In high school he got to listen to Howard Stern via satellite feed at the school’sfunctional little student broadcast center.Then he said it, “I would do anything you guys needed done or wanted me to do.”Jim and I both looked up with the same gleam in our eyes, and simultaneouslyexclaimed, “Really. Is that right?”We told him we’d think about it, then called him the next day, “We decided to give you achance. Now this first week, we’ve got some things in mind for you. Are you averse tospeaking on a microphone with us, from a location?”“No, I did afternoons at my university radio station, and my……..”We didn’t let him finish. Jim shouted into the speaker phone, “Hey? How do you look ina thong?”“What?”We told him we’d brief him on Monday morning, to be at the office by 5:00 am. Then Jimasked, “What waist and shoe size are you?”Monday morning at 5:00 am, we were in a flurry of intense activity, getting ready for ourfirst show on 93 Rock. Ricky Smith showed up and we told him to have a seat, while wefinished dubbing the final components of some bits we had put together.When we finally got ourselves as prepared as we ever got before a show, we turned tothe soon-to-be-former Ricky.The first thing we briefed Ricky on was some elementary expectations we had of him.One was to collect those shining thirty seconds of entertainment brilliance that peoplehear all day long on their favorite radio stations. “If you weren’t listening to Bob andGoofy this morning, here’s something you missed.” That would generally be followed bya recording of a few seconds of gemstone humor, selected to make you want to tune into Bob and Goofy the next day, because they’re so goddamn funny.He said that wasn’t a problem. There were a few more menial duties like pullingoutrageous news stories from a couple of comedy newswire services we hadhandpicked. He had to make sure we had copies of our program logs and showoutlines, just so everyone was on the same wavelength, beginning to end.226

Then came what was probably more jolting news. Jim and I had done a “rock – scissors– paper” and I won, so I got to tell him, “You know that name of yours, Ricky Smith. It’sa good solid name, but we thought of something better.” He looked at me expectantly; Ipaused for dramatic effect and then announced Cam Elto.”“Camel toe? You named me after a woman’s vulva?” He looked a little shocked, maybeoffended a little.Jim said, “Yes, that is correct. We did. Is there a problem?”“No, I guess not. People will definitely remember me.” He seemed to quickly regain hisresolve and composure. That was good, because bigger news was on the way.“The next thing is, well Cam, if I can now call you that.” He nodded, so I continued, “Wehave a special assignment for you today.”Our Monday debut coincided with the launch of Pride Week. Toronto was regarded asan international destination for its Pride Festival, and the Gay Pride Parade alonegathered over one million people downtown. Even with a crowd of such size there wereseldom, if ever, any incidents of violence or criminal activity. It had now become anevent that heterosexual couples and even families attended, with big major corporatesponsorships. Everyone in town knew about the Pride Festival.That’s why we determined that our new minion would be best utilized in the form of Prideactuality reporter (and participant). “Cam,” I explained, “We want you to go down toChurch Street today and just mill around, get a feel for your surroundings and all thatPride Festival energy that’s going on over there. We’ll check in with you, and getreports.”“That’ll be cool. I’ll do that.”Jim spoke up, “Oh, there’s one thing.” He reached over and opened his drawer, pullingout a pair of sandals and a thong, along with a remote headset, “We want you to wearthese.”Right then, Howard, a promotional assistant who knew how to operate the digital videocamera showed up. I introduced him, “Cam, this is Howard. He’s going to film you forour page on the website. This is going to rock, Cam. Welcome to your new identity as acelebrity.”“Or a joke. A laughing stock. A whipping boy.”He looked a bit upset, so Jim asked again, “Is there a problem.”Cam looked deflated and disappointed, but he stood strong for the team, “No. Noproblem.”Jim handed him his tiny collection of apparel, “Here then. Go get dressed, and we’ll talkto you on the air in here, first. Then we’ll send you out. Here, don’t forget yourheadphones, they’re the largest thing you’ve got to wear.”227

During the last six words of his last sentence, Jim collapsed in helpless hystericallaughter. I started laughing too, and that made Howard laugh just to be polite. Camlooked despondent and mortified, but he reluctantly took the items and moped off to thebathroom.We waited till just after 7:00 am to call him in to the studio. When he entered, wearing atiny flesh-toned thong with a small black patch in the front, the room exploded withlaughter and applause.Some promotions people from a local restaurant chain showed up at the studio. Theybrought breakfast as a way of welcoming us on the air. We knew that they were onlyinterested in free publicity, but our return to lives filled with free stuff was such a sweetreckoning, that we invited them right in. It turned out that the restaurant was also smartenough to send three amazingly hot females, all wearing sexy waitress uniforms.Cam’s dismay at being inspected by three extremely attractive promotions people, a guywho carried all the food for them, the control board operator, Howard the cameraman,and us was palpable. It didn’t get any better for him, when we started talking about it onthe air.“Holy cow, dude, you’re pretty buff, man. I would do this guy myself,” Jim got a bigsplash of laughs from the crowd within the studio.“Wow Cam,” I continued, “Do you go in for the body waxing. This boy’s about as smoothas anybody out there right now. Do you often get referred to as an Adonis, Cam?”“No. Not ever,” he was barely responsive, at this point. I could tell that the guy could notbelieve that we would actually do this to him.“Well, get ready! I think you’ll hear it today.” Jim blurted out, sending the crowd intoanother convulsion of hysterical laughter and Cam into another sheepish cringe.I explained to the audience what we were about to have Cam do, “We’re sending Cam,our producer,” he looked at me, when I referred to him that way, and I winked, “to theChurch Street village to cover the first Monday of Pride Week, and we’re sending him ina pair of sandals and a thong. How would you describe that thong, Jim?”“We went for the nude look. It’s flesh tone, with a black patch in the front. It looks likehe’s a naked Ken doll or something. He’s got the pubes, but there’s nothing growingbelow them.” That sent the crowd into another frenzied howl of laughter; it made forgood radio, if you weren’t Cam.We dismissed Cam and said we’d be talking to him next hour, live from Church Street.At 8:35 am, Cam was on the air with us, wearing a headset and earpiece to complementhis nudie thong and open-toed sandals. Howard the cameraman was filming him, andhe was reportedly at a produce market, next to a busy coffeehouse patio.We asked him how far from the closest patrons, and he said twenty feet. They turnedout to be coincidentally a very obviously gay couple. We instructed Cam to go to the228

closest location to them, at the produce counter, and bend over like he was inspectingsome product.We immediately heard Howard the cameraman burst into uncontrollable laughter.“What happened, Howard?” I was laughing before I even asked the question.Howard was trying to catch his breath, “They-they-he, the first guy made a face like‘oohh’ with his mouth, and the other guy licked his lips.”“Hey Cam,” I said, “Pick up the largest cucumber you can find on the table and hold it uplike you’re looking at it.”You could hear the angst in Cam’s voice, “Do I….alright, whatever. I got one.”Jim said, “Now turn sideways so they can see you and slide it into your mouth.”That was the final straw. We had pushed Cam as far as he was going this morning, “No.No friggin’ way I’m putting the cucumber into my mouth.”Howard started laughing again. I asked, “What Howard?”He choked out through his laughter, “They heard him say that. You should have seentheir reaction.”Jim spoke, “Cam, turn around and face them and rub it on the inside of your thigh.”“NO!” He was nearly screaming at us, now.“Alright, on your lower stomach then.”“NO!”“Well, turn around and rub it on your ass then.”“NO! No fuckin’ way. FUCK YOU! I’m not doing this shit, anymore.” Luckily, our showwas on a time delay, so the board operator managed to blot out the profanity, while stillmaintaining the spirit of Cam’s sentiment.I tried to sound empathetic, “All right Cam. You can come back.” The whole room waslaughing, including me. I could hardly get the words out, “We have a big hero’s welcomewaiting for you, when you get back. Right girls?” The hot promotions reps all cheered,and later that day, we made Cam our permanent producer and put him on payroll.He was ecstatic, until we sent him out in a dress and high heels the followingWednesday. His location put him in an area known for transvestite hooker presence.While we had him on the air that morning, he was approached by two different men incars.229

One of them became very agitated, when he learned that Cam was broadcasting thewhole thing, saying he was married. He declared his intention of suing us, but he musthave thought better of it, since we never got sued. It would be somewhat incriminatingto file a law suit, over an incident in which you were soliciting services from a drag queenprostitute.Friday called for Cam’s command performance, so we sent him to what was supposed tobe Toronto’s most popular gay bath house. Our engineers were freaking out thatmorning. We wouldn’t be able to get a signal from inside the cavernous walls of thisfrolicking gay sex amusement park. Instead, they gave Cam one of the smallest headsetcell phones available at that time. He tried it and it worked; we could hear him clearlyenough to pull this off, with certain obstacles to still overcome.The people at the bath house did not realize what was going on, unless they werelistening. We knew they’d never give us permission to do this, if we asked in advance.At 7:00 am Cam walked up to the front desk, smuggling the headset in a gym bag. Wehad to somewhat rush this thing, because if someone was listening and called themanagement, Cam would be ejected for sure.He could end up getting beaten to a pulp over this. Have you taken a look at gay guys?They’re in much better shape than most of us heterosexual counterparts.He paid for a little room, and at the 7:20 am break, we checked in with our “deeplyimbedded investigative reporter”. He described the room as having a bed, a nightstandwith condoms on it and a television.“What’s on TV?” Jim asked, as he gave me a devilish grin.“Let’s see on this channel, there are two guys doing it. On this one, three guys. Thisone, oh that’s just gross, god almighty that’s just wrong.”We were chuckling back in the studio, “What were they doing, Cam?”“I can’t even say, not even on this show. That’s how bad it was.”We howled at his honesty, whatever was happening was “even too bad for this show”.We urged him to go out into the hallway.“What do people wear out there? What are they doing?” I was anxious to get someaction started. We had to move quickly, since we wouldn’t be able to get away with thisfor long.“They were just wearing towels. I saw some guys walking around, and there were somejust standing.”Jim asked, “Are you wearing a towel, right now.”“No, I’m in my street clothes. You didn’t say anything about me having to….”230

I jumped in as mediator, “Cam, you knew we wanted you to try to engage some of thepeople there. Now, no one’s going to talk to you if you’re wearing your clothes andeveryone else is wearing a towel, now are they?”“Yeah, like they’re going to talk to me wearing this fucking headset on my head.” ThankGod for the thirty second delay.I put on my very calm rational negotiator’s voice, “Well just try to keep the headsethidden as much as you can.”Jim said, “Put the towel on your head instead. Walk down the hall naked.” At that point,we both burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was hard to imagine that someone couldhave this much fun working.“Screw you, Jim,” We heard some rustling, “Alright. I’m wearing the towel.”“You’re only wearing the towel? Okay, let’s head down the hallway.”We heard the door open, “Okay. I’m out here.” Cam was whispering.I said, “Go up and start talking to someone.”“Alright,” he whispered, then in a louder voice, “Hey, what’s up?”Jim exploded into a high pitched laughter, “What’s up? I’ll show you what’s up.”I commanded, “Ask him if he wants a date?”Obediently, Cam asked in a calm normal voice, “You think you might want a date, andyou know, do some stuff?”That sent Jim into another seizure like gyration of loud laughter. We could hear Camsaying, “Hey, hey. Okay then, sorry.” Then his whisper voice came back, “He walkedaway. I think it’s the headset.”“Could be that,” I pretended to ponder, “but it could be the fact that you’re walking downthe hall talking to yourself. Try to find a spot that’s darker, so they won’t see theheadset.”“Maybe you’re just not that attractive to other men,” Jim shouted in the background.Cam whispered, “Here’s a doorway, and everything beyond it is pitch black. I can’t see athing in there.”“Go in!” I was emphatically urging him to do something fast. I had a feeling that thiscouldn’t go on for very long.There was a second of silence, and then the sound of Cam yelling, “Hey! What the hellare you doing?”231

“What happened, Cam?” I had a feeling I knew.“Some guy just pulled my towel off!”Jim was howling, trying to catch his breath, “Bend over and look for it on the floor,” hemanaged to sputter.At that moment, I heard another voice in the background. Cam was replying to it, “Okay.Okay. It’s some security guy, he says I have to leave. Can I just get my towel first?”That sent us into shrieks of laughter. The idea of Cam standing there naked was morethan we could take. It took us a few seconds to regain our composure. We hoped thatthe listeners enjoyed it as much as we did.“Okay,” I wiped back tears, “We’ll send the company lawyer down to sort Cam out, andwe’ll be back with a special concert announcement, after news and traffic.At 10:00 am, we celebrated the completion of our first successful week on the air. Jimsaid we “popped our heads across the finish line in the race for the big time.”Cam Elto returned. The bath house management was not amused, but they’re mainconcern seemed to be getting him out of the premises before their guests found out.The good news was that our new “producer” didn’t seem concerned about developing areputation for high visibility stunts in women’s clothing. In less than a week, he haddeveloped into Toronto’s newest full-blown celebrity. We actually said that on the air,particularly highlighting the “full blown” part of his status, after his encounter in the bathhouse.To his credit, he chose to postpone all of the high-fives, hugs, and free beers from hisold university radio buddies, in favor of his new career as radio morning show producer.We admired that about him, too. We recalled the kind of shape we occasionally showedup in, when we did a morning show in Tennessee. Cam was a conscientious anddisciplined performer, much more so than we had ever been.On Monday morning, we explained his new assignment to him; it was something wecalled “Crack Ho Makeover”. Cam was to approach women, who would appear to be inobvious throes of crack addiction and in the sex trade. We sent him to a well knownlocation for both activities. They generally go hand in hand.After establishing a dialogue with said crack ho, Cam would offer her one hundreddollars and an appointment at a nearby spa. The girl would get a pedicure andmanicure, bikini wax, haircut and color, facial including makeup, and a free hot little outfitfrom a local retailer. We felt as if we were doing something nice for a disparateindividual, and it would make for a unique entertainment experiment.We approached our first contestant for “Crack Ho Makeover” at 6:55 am. At that earlyhour, you would have to assume that your top quality crack whores would still be on thestreet from the night before.232

Cam and Howard the cameraman had cued us that they saw a potential contestant.They said she was wearing stiletto pumps, a leather mini-skirt, skimpy leopard skin topand no bra. They assumed she probably wasn’t headed off for her job at an investmentfirm.Cam approached her during our break, only to be informed that she was waiting for herfriend to pick her up. She was headed to her job at a well-known and reputableinvestment firm. We instantly felt badly, because if her boss was listening, he mightrealize for the first time that his assistant looks like a crack whore.At 7:35 am, Cam called back. This time, he had found a definite contender prancing upand down the curbside at Queen and Sherbourne, a fertile target area for our objective.We introduced Cam and he made his approach toward the young woman by saying,“Excuse me. Pardon me, excuse me, but are you by any chance a crack ho?”That ignited laughter at the studio between Jim and I, as well as a local band that wassitting in the studio waiting for an interview.We heard a female voice, “What did you say to me?”“Excuse me. My name is Cam Elto, and I just wondered if you might be a crack ho.”“Cameltoe? That’s your name? Your parents named you after a vagina? Get the fuckaway from me Cameltoe!”“But I’ll pay you one hundred dollars and give you a makeover.”“You’re going to give me a hundred dollars, Cameltoe? Let me see that hundreddollars.”Cam sounded a little shaky, as he said, “Alright. Alright. I’ve got it right here.” Suddenlyhe was shouting frantically, “Hey! She just tried to grab the hundred out of my hand.”In the background we could hear the so-called crack ho (we thought that her job title hadfairly well been confirmed by now) screaming, “Give me the fucking money! Give it tome!”Cam’s voice squeaked. We would later describe him as sounding like a little girl, “She’spulled out a knife! Here, take the fucking hundred. Just take it. Calm down.”That’s when we heard a brief blast from a police cruiser. Then we heard Cam yell, “Hey!She just grabbed the money.” Then, a second swell of a siren was followed by shouts inthe background of “Freeze. Hands in the air! Don’t make me have to chase you. Do youhave any other weapons on you? Do you have any drugs on you?”We hadn’t spoken. For one, we were stunned; secondly, it was some of the best radioanyone could ever imagine being involved with. A near homicide caught live by twogoofball announcers that only wanted to give a junkie hooker a bath and haircut. Thiswas the kind of thing that makes tomorrow’s paper and tonight’s news.233

Next, we heard an abrupt shout that made our headphones distort. It was the voice of apolice officer, and was he was evidently very upset with us, “Tell your fuckin’ buddiesthat they almost got you killed just then. Can they hear me right now?”Cam sounded like a terrified little titmouse, “Yes sir. We’re live on the air right now.”“We’re on the air now?! Aw shit, I just said ‘fuck’. Can they hear that, right now?”Jim and I were now laughing not only out of relief over Cam’s safety, but for the fact thatthis cop was providing the greatest live slapstick we had ever heard.Next, there was another police voice, “What happened?”“I just said ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ live on the radio. Is that thing still on? Aw shit, I just did itagain. Turn it off now, and get the fuck out of here. If I see you again, I’ll arrest you forcreating a nuisance. Was that on the air, too? For fuck sakes!”We were roaring with laughter, and from the comments we received afterwards, so wasthe audience. We’d have to put that on our morning show promo to run all day long. Itmay have been our lucky run at karma, but finally all the tumblers of the universeseemed to be clicking in our favor. We just accidentally managed to execute one of themost compelling live radio bits of our career, and all we had to do was give Camdirections and listen in on his adventures.Cam made the paper the next day. It turns out that the girl that pulled the knife was outon bail for actually stabbing another crack whore, earlier that year, in what must havebeen some sort of “crack whore grudge match”.That was the second week of a stretch on the radio station’s morning show that lastedfive years. We made great money, and free stuff oozed from the walls. We actually gotto meet and interview a wish list of superstar guests. Cam turned out to possess untoldtalent in writing bits, luring high profile guests, and doing character voices andimpersonations.We became like a private club with three members; there were two acting clubpresidents and one high ranking member in the club. Cam was always the producer,and Jim and I were the show. We were the celebrity media whores who did theoccasional guest spots on TV talk shows, got photographed wearing charity fundraiserT-shirts, knew the local TV news anchors on a first name basis, and chatted withHollywood actors during the Toronto International Film Festival.Meanwhile, Cam would be in the background, obediently fetching guests’ lattés. Thatwas Cam’s role, and he never thought anything of being a sort of second fiddle. Hereally got great fulfillment out of doing good radio. We did too, but it was part of our jobsto be the smiling waving jackasses at any photo or brand exposure opportunity thatcame along.Manny negotiated a two year deal, after our first year’s ratings performances weredeemed successful at “meeting all corporate agenda guideposts for brand growth”.234

Meanwhile, Julie was now a Vice President at her company. She was making six figuresa year, so our household income was higher than we had even joked that it mightsomeday be.On top of our salaries, Jim and I also got checks from Ear to Ear Productions, for voicework, copywriting, remote broadcasts for our clients, and annual checks that reflectedthe company’s profits. Manny worked his magic to help all of us avoid paying extremetaxes on our windfall wealth, and the entire scenario was just a pleasantly well-oiledmachine that kept our kingdoms intact.Unfortunately, the same guy who built the kingdom would end up opening thedrawbridge for the lions to feast.235

27 - The Earthquake Before the TsunamiTo say the rest of that weekend at the cottage was tense would be like comparing theinvasion of Grenada to Hiroshima. I had to intervene twice, before Jim got himself soworked up that he was ready to physically assault Manny. I was of the same mind, butadding another gossip column headline to the inevitable foray that was to come wouldonly worsen our position.By the end of the weekend, we had somewhat resolved the situation in our minds. Afterdiscussion, we determined that this was a crisis that could be contained. Mannypromised to take down the website.We wanted that done on the weekend, so we could witness it, but Manny said his webguy was out of town. We made him call anyway, on speaker phone. Jim was about toput him in a choke hold until he actually called and left a message to get back to him onMonday.We trusted Manny, and that turned out to be our most critical oversight. On Tuesdaymorning, Jim came into the studio at 4:30 am, earlier than usual for him. His mouth wasso taut, that it looked like a tense angry seam in his face.Without saying a word, he sat down and clicked the mouse on my computer, whichrevealed on the monitor screen the fully functioning website where MFN could bedownloaded.I slapped my hand on the desk, “You gotta be fucking kidding me! What the…what iswrong with this guy?” I picked my cellphone to call Manny right then. I didn’t care if themiserable maggot con man destroyer-of-reputations-and-careers was sleeping or not.Jim said, “Don’t even bother. His cellphone’s turned off, and he’s not answering his landline. The fucker flat out lied to us, Rick.”“Yeah, well when we get off the air, we’ll go over to the office. He told me that he hasmeetings in the city this week. If the guy hadn’t helped us get all that we have, I’d drophim faster than trash down a garbage chute. But he got us here, and he has continuallymade us money. I don’t know, man. This is unforgiveable. It’s unforgiveable that he gotus into this situation to begin with, even more so now that he’s lied to us.”“I think that he really believes that this stupid little drunkard piece of rambling rap shit isgoing to make us all millions. First of all, it’s not even funny. It’s got shock value, but it’snot even clever or well written. I had BB send me a copy, and I listened to the wholething last night. It’s us being drunken derelicts at the cottage. But the sad thing is, nowthis is the one thing that’s out there, representing our work. That pisses me off morethan anything. If we wanted to do something like this, we would at least have made itfunny or poignant or something. Jim looked at his watch, “I’ve got to get some newstogether.”“Me too. I’ve got some prep to do as well. We’ll convene at the office later, maybe wecan catch him there. If I find out he hasn’t even made an effort to make the web guyremove the website, I honestly think I’d consider firing him as our manager.”236

“Yeah, but we are inextricably attached to the guy, because we’re in this businesstogether. I must say, the money we make from Ear to Ear……”“Is saving his fucking life right now. I know,” I looked at my own watch “I’ll see you in thestudio.”***Thankfully Dirk Nixon was at a conference with all of the other Crowe Communicationsprogram directors, so we left immediately to go to the Ear to Ear Toronto office. Wewere surprised to not only find Manny there, but that he was in a particularly buoyantmood. BB was there too, sitting in the corner tinkering with a video camera.Manny was on the phone, so we approached BB, “You guys doing some kind of videoshoot today?”BB looked startled, “Uh yeah. Didn’t he tell you?”“Tell us what?” Jim had a suspicious tone. We had been around the block with thingsManny “didn’t tell us” before. All of a sudden we’d be spinning tunes at one of the Ear toEar’s client’s kid’s Bar Mitzvahs. This scenario today had all the earmarks of another“Manny Sham”, as we had come to call them.The man himself got done with his phone call and turned around. His arms wereoutstretched like he was greeting a relative off a cruise ship, “Fellas, I couldn’t wait foryou to get here.”“Here it comes,” I thought to myself. He’ll have some client whose nephew hasleukemia, “Would you guys mind dressing up in clown suits and going to his hospitalroom? Do some funny shit, you know slapstick stunts and then take him for piggy backrides around the hallways.”That’s an exaggeration. It would never happen because Jim would have beaten him sobadly, by the time he got to the end of his first sentence, that Manny would be eatingbroth out of tube in a hospital himself for the next eight weeks.What he said was presented with such a flamboyant gesticulatory emphasis on eachword, you would have thought a full blown revelation was about to be revealed. Mosesprobably didn’t get this excited when he got to be the one to read the TenCommandments off the sacred tablets.However, as on most occasions, it was hard to figure out what he was talking about atfirst. “Guys! I figured it out!”Jim humored him, “What did you figure out Manny.”“I figured out how to keep our MFN song on the market, without getting you guys in hotwater!”I spoke this time, but not to humor him, “Manny the MFN song is not going to be on themarket. Number one, first and foremost, it’s going to destroy Jim’s and my careers.237

Number two, it’s not even funny or clever or thought provoking, nothing. It’s nothingManny, and we don’t want our names or the Loonie and Mooney brand in any wayconnected to this work.”“He’s right Manny,” Jim emphasized the point, “There are no redeeming qualities aboutit, and it’s the most unforgiveable racist and sexist and downright disrespectful piece ofshit I could ever imagine coming out of our collective heads. God forbid if someone sentit to the White House, we’d probably have Secret Service agents banging on our doorssome night. Which would be almost as bad as if my mother heard it; it would break herheart to hear I was responsible for something like that.”“That’s the final word Manny. Get rid of the song and the website. I want that thingdeleted from all files, so no one will ever hear it again. I’m embarrassed to think we werecapable of that, even when we were that drunk. Plus, as we keep trying to impress uponyou it’s not even fucking funny!” I looked over at BB, who was keeping his head downstaring quietly at the camera, “BB do you think this song’s funny?”BB shook his head dismissively, “I don’t know man. I’m going to go get coffee. Youguys want anything?”We said no, and we knew BB’s behavioral patterns. Something was up, and he wantedto avoid it.As soon as he left, Manny explained why he was so excited, “I figured out how we keepyou guys from being connected to the song, and still keep it out there!”“Manny, we’re not keeping it out there.” I was starting to get agitated again.“We’ve sold fifty-seven thousand downloads in less than two weeks, and the numberskeep going up every day. Trust me, I’ve come up with the solution!”Jim was getting impatient, “Alright Manny. What’s your solution?”“I got some fuckin’ guys to play you. You know, for photo ops, personal appearances,who knows? Maybe even some concert performances. We can just dance them aroundup there like Milli fuckin’ Vanilli or something.”I exploded first, “GUYS? YOU HIRED FUCKING GUYS? What happens when theyrecognize us? Then when we’re through with them, and they’re not making any moremoney, they tell the press that it was really us that did that song. Milli Vanilli will look likea fucking Beatles reunion, after the public finds out about this.”Manny said something about not understanding my metaphor, but I was in a blindtantrum, “Now Manny, I want you to call them and tell them there’s been a mistake. Wedon’t have any job openings. Tell them we’ll call them when something comes up. Thatway they won’t have any hard feelings and cause us any trouble.”Manny blurted almost under his breath, “They’re on their way over here now.”Jim looked more panicked than angry, “Manny, they’re going to recognize us.”238

Manny made a gesture that was supposed to convey, no worries, “They don’t listen toyour station. They’re young black kids. You guys play rock, not the hip hop stuff theseguys are interested in.”“Our pictures are on half the buses in the city Manny. Haven’t you seen them?” Jim wasincredulous at the degree of thickness that seemed to surround Manny’s thoughtprocess.“I’m usually texting or talking on the phone while I drive. I don’t pay very much attentionto what’s going on around me.” He looked up, just as there was a knock on the door,“That must be them now.”For a split second, my mind tumbled into a fantasy. I pictured myself yelling, “There’sbeen an electrical fire. We have to evacuate the building! Save yourselves! Get out!”In my fantasy, Manny then starts to protest. Jim grabs a microphone cable and startschoking him, while I pummel him mercilessly in the head with a microphone stand.Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time. Before we could act, three young black menwere standing in the office.They were all of a similar slim build, standing between 5’10” and 6 feet. They werehandsome lads, all wearing the traditional hip hop young urban dweller garb. One ofthem wore horn rimmed glasses.Manny smilingly presented them to us, like we had expected candidates to show up for ajob interview. I personally felt too stunned to move or speak; the entire episode feltsurreal. It was like I was standing outside of my own body witnessing the whole scene.He gestured toward the young men. “Guys, why don’t you introduce yourself, becauseyou know I’m no good with fucking names.” That was a load of horseshit. Manny wasn’tgood with names of people he didn’t care about, which was ninety-eight percent of thehuman population. The other two percent were people that helped him gain money orfavor.Each quietly announced their names, “I’m Ken.” “Bobby.” “Yeah, I’m James.”Ken spoke up, “Hey, you’re those guys from the radio. I see your picture all the time onthe buses.”We both darted dagger glares at Manny, who chose not to make eye contact with us. Itwas noticeable that these weren’t three typical street punks. The one that spokeseemed educated, eloquent and seemingly devoid of street swagger and slang.Jim quickly spoke up, “No, that’s not us. We hear that all the time. It’s not us.”“Good one Jim,” I thought silently to myself, “They’re really going to believe that.”Bobby spoke up, “Yeah, bullshit man.” He looked at his colleagues, “I told you man.These are some white guys that did that song. Why else would they want us to be their239

stand-ins. They didn’t want people to know that they did this rap talking about niggersand white pussy and trying to bang Michelle Obama. Shit man, I told you.”Ken then pointed out, “You guys are American too, aren’t you? I can tell from youraccents.” Jim squirmed at that, as I did internally.Manny jumped in to diffuse what was rapidly turning into an even more tense situation,“Here’s the good part. I’ve changed their names for the song. This is Leshawn, DeSeanand Jemarcus.”Jim couldn’t hold back any longer, “Manny, could you make the names any morestereotypically black? That’s just fucking ignorant. Like no one’s going to think that itwas a white guy that came up with those names? Fuckin’ hell, Manny, do you ever putany thought into anything you do?”James spoke for the first time, the kid with the glasses. He had a rich baritone voice,“Yeah, that’s what I said. We’re supposed be rap stars, not an offensive line in the NFL.”I immediately liked James, “What would you have named yourselves, James?”He pointed to his sidekicks, “This is Pope. That’s ManGod, and I’m BizKut.”Jim nodded, “Yeah, those are great names.”“If we were doing this thing,” I added, “But we’re not. Guys, we’ll pay you for comingdown here. We appreciate it, but the company’s taking a different direction. We’re goingto close down the MFN download site.”The newly named BizKut immediately nearly shouted in protest, “Aw shit man, you can’tdo that! That song’s the hottest thing on our university campus man. I work at thecampus radio station, and we get hundreds of requests for it. I just wish we could play it.Do you guys think you’ll do a clean version for the radio.”He shook me up a little bit with his reply, but I kept my senses and continued to keep ourstoryline, “No, it wasn’t us. It was….I don’t know, I don’t think we ever met the guys, didwe Manny?”Manny just shook his head, and BizKut rolled his eyes up, “Oh yeah. That’s right, itwasn’t you guys.”Jim changed the subject, “So why are you guys here, today?”The freshly created ManGod looked at me like how could I not know, “To do the video.”Both Jim’s and my mouths dropped, “What?”Pope spoke for the three of them, “Manny said to come down here today to shootfootage in front of the green screen, and then we’d head out to a club he lined up andget some shots in there.”240

We both turned toward Manny, who said, “Hey guys, could you give us some time alonehere for a few minutes. He pulled out three twenty dollar bills, “Here, go have somelunch or some fuckin’ thing. We’ll talk after. Just don’t get drunk.”The newly ordained BizKut gave him a disdainful look, “Man it’s eleven in the morning!What do you think, we’re a bunch of motherfuckin’ niggers or something?”Both Pope and ManGod laughed at that and gave BizKut high fives. They walked outchattering and laughing among themselves, ready to enjoy a twenty dollar lunch, whileJim and I contemplated killing their benefactor.As soon as the door shut behind them, we both turned toward Manny. Jim looked likehe had just caught his girlfriend with the paperboy. The door opened and BB walked in.He glanced at Jim and I and quickly turned around and left.I was the first to broach the subject of our discontent, “Manny, you had no intention oftaking that website off the internet, did you?”Manny rarely stammered, but he was moving around like a flustered tap dancingauctioneer, “I –uh- well, I was going to, but the experiment isn’t over yet. We’re stillwaiting for the final results of our study. We really want to test this marketing channel,as well as our capabilities to create a complete marketing campaign for a new musicalact. That’s it. That’s what we’re doing.”Jim said, “You’re a really bad pathological liar, Manny. You don’t even buy into your ownbullshit. You were just trying to convince yourself, right in front of us. You’re so fuckingdumb, or you think we are, that you didn’t even know how you were going to explain this.Experiment my ass. Experiment with your own career!”“Jim’s right Manny. This is just a load of fucking bullshit. You just see money beingmade, and it’s better than watching live sex for you. You figured you’d put us off for awhile, or maybe we wouldn’t notice or find out. Meanwhile, you rack up a few thousanddollars.”“It’s more than a few thousand.”“It doesn’t matter,” I was done arguing about it, “This had to come to an end.”“Guys, I’ve seen songs and artists come and go for thirty years. The way this thing hastaken off so fast, without any major label or multi-million dollar promotion campaign, wecould end up selling millions of these.”Jim sounded calm for the state of mind he was in, “Manny, just take it off. Do what wetell you. We’ll make money some other way. It might be a little bit slower, but in the end,Rick and I won’t be blackballed from the broadcast industry. Plus, none of us will haveto worry about getting the shit kicked out of us, just before angry mobs burn our fuckinghouses down. Now can we just agree that you are going to take that site off the internetand delete all recordings? Can we agree to that?”“Sure,” he muttered.241

“Manny?” I sounded like I was scolding a dog. It was the kind of tone you’d use on thefamily golden retriever, “Manny did you eat the pot roast off the kitchen counter?”“I promise. I’ll do the best I can.”“What the fuck does that mean, Manny?” Jim had heard that kind of open-ended softresolve many times before.“It means yeah, yeah, okay.”We both looked at him warily. There was no work for us to do, so we left the office.One hour later, the three guys returned and they started shooting the video. Mannyknew that Jim and I were both going to be out of town visiting friends, after our show thatFriday. He waited until Friday afternoon, when we were both on the road to upload thevideo on You Tube.242

28 - An Act of TreasonOne of the biggest mistakes we ever made on Canadian airwaves occurred on Monday,February 15 th , following the opening ceremonies of the 2010 Winter Olympics on theprevious Friday. The Olympics were being held in Vancouver, so national pride andpublic expectations were high.This was Canada’s command performance on the international stage. The fact that itshowcased cold weather sports made it even more important; the games themselveswere a metaphor for Canada’s athletic identity.After Beijing’s breath-stopping opening ceremony in 2008, the bar was set extremelyhigh for nations hosting future Olympic Games. Now the ball was in Canada’s court; theworld’s respect was Vancouver’s to gain.Jim and I, being American, had just come off an adrenaline high from the Super Bowl,two weeks earlier. The highly sensationalized sporting event garnered one of the largestaudiences in the history of televised competition. A pyrotechnics and fireworks show, alegendary rock band, a highly competitive game and a celebrity speckled crowd hadwarmed up television audiences for nothing short of sheer spectacle.I knew Julie was going to be at some of the Vancouver Olympic events. She had clientsfrom Japan who had requested figure skating tickets, so her company arranged fortickets to any competition they might want to attend. I suppose she was also swept up inthe patriotic party-mania that enveloped Vancouver. As a result, we had very differingopinions in our critiques of the opening ceremonies; we still occasionally argue aboutthem from time to time.The program chosen by the Canadian Olympic officials was an eclectic combination ofnative music and dance, a fiddle ensemble and some opera. The native presentationwas exhilarating. The fiddle ensemble conveyed Canada’s Celtic cultural roots, but theopera befuddled us. It just didn’t seem very relevant, entertaining or even representativeof Canada, in our opinions.For the finale, one of the pillars that supported the Olympic flame wouldn’t rise out of thestage. The great Canadian sports icon, Wayne Gretzky, stood there mortified as theentire world waited to see what was going to happen. Finally the situation resolved itselfand Wayne rode off to light the huge outdoor Olympic Cauldron, in a pickup truck!Yes, a pickup truck. Not a Hummer covered with Canadian flags, not a stretch limoconvertible filled with dignitaries, a pickup truck. Adding to what we regarded as a ratherhumiliating arrangement was the fact that Gretzky, one of North America’s greatesthockey legends, had to stand IN THE BED of the pickup truck like a migrant fruit picker.Our impression of the particular vehicle chosen was augmented by the fact that the truckhad only one headlight. It turned out later that the light was removed because oftelevision quality concerns, but our initial reaction was that it looked like Julian, Rickyand Bubbles from the popular Canadian comedy show “Trailer Park Boys” might actuallybe driving.243

The Olympic Cauldron must have been a considerable distance away, because it tookwhat seemed like hours for them to drive there. As the world watched, they saw the grillof a Chevrolet pickup truck with a burned out headlight and a sports legend standing inthe back. If the police didn’t know who he was, he probably would have been pulledover.Adding to his misery was the fact that he was getting pelted by what appeared to be aBritish Columbian monsoon. It was a real testimonial to the quality of the Olympic torchdevices that it stayed lit.We went on the air, that following Monday, assuming that everyone reacted as we did tothe telecast. We were sure that everyone perceived the ceremony with the sameamount of cynicism as us.We were wrong.During our first stopset, I said, “I know if you’re like me, you were busy all weekendburning discs of the Olympic opening ceremony for all your friends to enjoy over andover.”Jim replied, “I missed part of the truck ride. PBS had an excellent how-to show onorganizing your sock drawer. How long did that take? I felt like I was watching OJSimpson in the white Bronco all over again, and what the hell was that giant vagina upthere on the stage for?”“That was supposed to be the Aurora Borealis you bonehead, but it did look like a giantvagina was coming down to suck the performers right into it. KD Lang must have lovedthat. I will say I really liked her rendition of ‘Hallelujah’ by Leonard Cohen.”Jim admitted, “Every time I hear that song, I almost involuntarily start singing ‘Hallelujah,wanna do ya. Hallelujah, wanna goo ya. Hallelujah wanna droo-ool o-o-on ya!’ I knowit may be sophomoric, but it makes me happy to do that.”“Oh Jim, don’t be so hard on yourself.”“Oh, it’s not me. It’s usually whatever woman I happen to be standing next to at thetime. Sophomoric was one of the nicer adjectives I’ve heard. I’ve also made somewomen very angry, when I comment that I believe that K.D. Lang looks alarmingly likeWayne Newton.”“I will agree with that. She does look like Wayne Newton, but the girl can sing. Otherthan that, the music sucked significantly. They had Bryan Adams and Nelly Furtado singsome lame-ass droning song, but that was actually one of the rare highlights. Theycould have had Rush come out and do ‘Closer to the Heart’; that’s a song aboutuniversal goodwill. How about The Guess Who performing ‘Share the Land’? At leastgive us something that has some balls to it, something that people who aren’t selfproclaimed intellectual snobs can relate to.”Jim started singing, “American woman, stay away from me-ee!”244

“That could be the theme song for the Canadian women’s hockey team!”Jim suggested, “Cancer Bats could have sung ‘This is Hell’.”“Good one, Jim. Now you’re thinking. Instead of having guys in tights figure skating,they could have a bunch of the hockey players come out and fight, while Cancer Batsare playing.”Jim then brought up the infinite truck ride again, “What about Gretzky in that pickuptruck, with the headlight out? I think I fell asleep at some point and woke up, and he wasstill riding.”“I know. He’s sitting in the back like Daisy Duke from Dukes of Hazzard, in a pickuptruck with a burned out headlight. It’s pouring rain, and the Cauldron flame must havebeen located in Alberta. I swear they seriously drove for at least twenty minutes.”Jim started singing the Beverly Hillbillies theme song. He had picked out some banjoand fiddle music to play in the background, “Let me tell you a little story ‘bout a mannamed Wayne. The Olympic Committee went and got right inside his brain. He finallysaid I won’t put up a fight, jumped in a pickup with one headlight. Chevy that is. Rainin’hard. Soakin’ wet.”“You know what they could have done? Have Kiefer Sutherland come out as JackBauer from ‘24’. He’s Canadian. Kiefer could have swung out over the big torch on acable and set off the flame by firing an AK47 at the wick.”“Then Jack Bauer could torture Wayne Gretzky.”“I think Wayne was tortured enough just by being there.”“All right. Walter Gretzky then.” Walter was Wayne’s father, another cultural icon inCanada. He was everyone’s favorite beloved father figure.By the time we got done with the discussion and played commercials, emails werealready starting to fill our inboxes:“Hey assholes. Why don’t you trash your own country. This is Canada. Love it or leaveit.”“You fucking Yanks have a lot of nerve dissing our Olympics. Your Super Bowl wasgarbage and so are you.”The messages kept coming. By the end of the morning, we had 128 emails on thesubject. All of them were brutally angry; some were nearly threatening. One guy waswriting letters to the CRTC, as well as Citizenship and Immigration Canada. Anothersaid we should be prosecuted for our comments about Jack Bauer torturing Wayne andWalter Gretzky; they considered it ‘uttering a threat’, which was a criminal charge.We chose not to mention the Olympics anymore that morning, except in the context ofnews stories. When we finished the show and headed to Dirk’s office, we were feeling245

pretty sheepish. This kind of controversy and ill will was exactly what we didn’t need atthis juncture. We felt like we were slowly killing off our support and fan base, onecomedy bit at a time.If we didn’t already feel like gigantic dicks, it turned out that the headlight wasn’t evenburned out. Television crews apparently had to cover the one headlight with duct tape,because of camera glare. We were ignorant of the facts, and our “criticism personifiedthe arrogant and unfounded superiority that Americans seem to feel toward Canadians.”That’s what one blogger said, anyway.Jim rationalized our patriotically inexcusable comments by saying, “It was still a pickuptruck. How were we supposed to know? To everyone that watched, it looked like,‘Come on Pa, we’re having sex with our cousins in the back of the truck. Quick, beforethey get away!’ I felt like I was at a high school homecoming in Alabama.” Thankfully, Italked him out of sharing those thoughts on the air.When we entered Dirk Nixon’s office, he was reading off of his desktop monitor andlaughing. “I was just reading some of your fan mail. You guys really know how to put onsome compelling radio shows.”“How bad is it?” I looked over his shoulder at the monitor.“You pissed some people off, but you’re always going to get somebody wound up, nomatter what you say. They’re mainly upset because you’re both American. If you wereCanadian, they may not agree with you, but they wouldn’t take it as much as a personalinsult.”Jim scanned the monitor that Dirk had just turned toward us. Emails were still floodinginto his inbox. “We’re not used to this. I mean we get hate mail all the time, but neverover a hundred emails in fifteen minutes.”Dirk rotated his seat so he was facing us, “People get all fuckin’ nationalistic about stufflike the Olympics and whatever heritage and pride they think they have to cling to. Itmakes them feel more significant than a doomed organism with no life, who no onewants to have sex with.”I couldn’t help laughing at Dirk, “What are you some kind of existentialist atheist nihilist?”“Fuck, look what happened to Bill Maher and the Dixie Chicks after 9/11. Everyone wasswept up in all that patriotic emotion, and they were both almost ruined for offhandedlittle comments. Then later on, everyone realized that George Bush was barely capableof dressing himself, and he was singularly responsible for nearly destroying the mostpowerful country in the world. The Dixie Chicks won a Grammy and Bill Maher moved toHBO. He’s even doing movies.”“You think we’ll get a movie deal after this?” I was trying to make light of the situation. Iwas actually concerned, because we had other potential powder kegs in the works.“We’ll be lucky if we don’t get a pink slip,” Jim was staring out the window. He wasworried too. We both saw looming disasters starting to surround us. I had checked the246

night before, and Manny still had that damn song on his website. We told him to kill thesite, but he was intoxicated by the possibility of profit.“This will fizzle out. At least you offended people of all races, this time. They can’tblame you for racist material. You insulted the whole country. It’s just a shame youdidn’t say anything fucking funny.”We left his office feeling depressed over the whole thing. I felt guilt and worry gnawingat my stomach. I didn’t even want to run into my own neighbors.Manny was out at meetings all day, so there was no use in going to the Adelaide office.We would have to call him later to inquire why the website still existed. If anyone foundout about that, we would have some real problems.***The next morning, I arrived at the studio around 4:30am. The overnight guy had themorning paper opened. He rarely did that. If he read it, he always had the entirenewspaper carefully put back together in proper page order.When I walked in, he said, “Look at this!”Right there on page three, in bold headline letters read, “Yankee Shock Jocks TrashVancouver Games.”At that moment, my cellphone rang. It was Julie, which was entirely uncharacteristic ofher. She would never call me at this hour; I was surprised she was even up.I answered, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”She sounded exasperated, “What did you do? What did you guys say?”“What do you mean?”“There’s a story about you in the morning paper. It says that you insulted the city andthe Olympics.”I stammered, “We didn’t insult the city.”“It says here that you compared us to ‘the Clampetts’.”“We didn’t say that,” right then another call was coming in, which was really unusual. Iassumed it was Jim calling with car trouble or something. “I have to go. I’ll call youwhen I get off the air.”“People are really upset. They’re comparing you two to Billy Bob Thornton.”This was not good. Billy Bob Thornton instantly became the most hated man in Canada,by acting belligerent during an interview with a Montreal radio personality. He calledCanadians “the mashed potatoes without the gravy”. He was consequently booed on247

every stage he played in every Canadian city, as his band opened for Willie Nelson. TheCanadian leg of their tour as Willie’s opening act was quickly cancelled.“It’s nothing like that,” my phone beeped again, “I’ll call you back, later.”I hung up and clicked through to the next call. I was surprised to hear Manny’s voice.“What’s up?” I couldn’t imagine why he would be calling me at 5:00am.“Two hundred seventy three thousand downloads, so far!”“What are you talking about? We told you to take down that website!” My voice wasgetting heated, and the overnight guy looked at me quizzically. I stepped into the otherroom, “Manny, we told you, this is going to get us in a lot of trouble. We’ll lose our jobsover this. Hell, we might have to change our names.”“Sorry, man. You’re breaking up. Listen, all the big boys want our song for downloadson their sites. They’re going to pay us sixty cents per download. Since we are the labeland the artists and the management, we get to keep all of it.”“Manny, we told you to take the site down. We’re not interested in the money, and thatsong is going to get us both into a lot of trouble. The way things are going, we’ll begetting death threats if anyone finds out we did this.”“Rick, you’re breaking up. Can’t hear a word you’re saying. I’ll call you on a land lineafter my meetings.” There was a click and then silence.The audio on the call was very clear on my end. I assumed Manny was pretending tohave signal problems, because he didn’t want to continue with the conversation.He was really starting to anger and worry me. Suddenly, he had turned into a loosecannon who fancied himself as having complete autonomy, and he would cause us tolose our jobs if he wasn’t stopped.Not only that, but if Julie got this upset over publicity about our Olympics comments, Icould just imagine how she would react to “MFN”. I could lose her, too. I could loseeverything, and I couldn’t even think about where I would go or what I would do.Manny was about to destroy my life. I honestly believe I could have killed him at thatmoment.248

29 - The First Waves Hit ShoreIt was one of the oldest radio bits in the history of the medium: the prank phone call.Radio personalities have been doing them, for decades.In our case, it was a personal favor. Julie and I had bought a nice little house in theborough of East York, just outside the downtown core of Toronto. Julie had been anantique collector for years. Her father in Nova Scotia had started her off with somefurniture pieces and bric-a-brac; now the entire house was furnished with interesting andquaint pieces, some of which were over one hundred years old.The home had a nice country cottage feel, and we felt very comfortable there. We werenow in a position to buy a larger, more stylish or prestigiously located home, but weloved our house and our neighbors in the little Greek community.“Effie” was a very sweet thirty-something Greek woman, whose family had owned anesthetics and hair styling shop in the neighborhood for years. She was not only ourneighbor, she was the real estate agent that helped us find our house. Working withwhat money we had available for a down payment, she kept us looking for homesconspicuously in the vicinity of her own house. Later, she admitted that we seemed likesuch a nice couple that she wanted us living on her street.We had enjoyed each other’s homes for cookouts and football or hockey game partiesfor years. When she approached me and said that her mother and father were retiringand closing George and Rosa’s House of Beauty (seriously that’s apparently the bestname they could come up with), I had an idea for a fitting sendoff.As with many of the older Greek people in our neighborhood, Effie’s parents had lived inCanada for over sixty years, but never really left Greece. They would suddenly startprattling off to each other in Greek, yelling like they were about to get into a fist fight. Itturned out that was just the way they talked to each other. Whenever you entered theirshop, you were subjected to Greek folk music or radio news reports spoken in Greek,originating from what broadcast facility I have no idea.They opened promptly at 8:00 am six days a week. Who knew people were getting theirnails done at that hour? In the winter, it wasn’t even light yet. So at 8:05 am, we calledGeorge and Rosa on the air. George answered, speaking with a heavy Greek accent,“George and Rosa’s.”I put on a gay voice, “Hi, I wanted to get an appointment if I could.”“Sure, what you need done?”“I saw the sign that said you do complete body waxings for fifty dollars.”He hesitated for a moment, “Yes, that’s right.”I elongated the word “I” with a very flamboyantly feminine inflection, “Well I need one,and I need it bad. My partner says that my ass crevice looks like an afro in a taco shell.”249

There was a second of silence on the other end. Jim was snickering in the backgroundas I continued, “Could I ask one favor? Could I get all the hair put in a little baggie orsomething? I’m creating a sculpture for my partner of the two of us passionately kissing,and I’m making it all out of my own nail clippings and body hair.”It sounded like George almost started laughing at the absurdity of my request, “It’s veryhard, you know. The hair, it’s all stuck to the wax, you know. Very hard to save.”“Maybe you could just give me the pieces of wax. My partner and I will pick the hair offtonight, while we watch ‘So You Think You Can Dance?’ Don’t you just love that show?We watch both the American and Canadian versions.”“No. I don’t know. I don’t watch.”We began to wonder at what point George would hang up on this guy, “Another idea,instead of removing all my pubic hair, I was hoping maybe you could trim it into a littleheart. It would be such a romantic surprise for my partner.”“Sure, whatever you want. It’s up to you. It’s your body, you know.”My gay character heaved a big breath of excitement, “Or maybe you could shape it intoa starburst, like ‘I’m here, and I’m ready to jump out!’ Can you do that?”“Whatever. My wife do all that.”At that point, both Jim and I exploded into laughter, “George, you mean you would makeyour wife do that? That’s cold man.”George’s tone didn’t change; though I knew he was now getting either irritated orconfused. “Who is this?”“George, it’s Rick Loonie. I live down the street from Effie.”“Effie, my daughter Effie?”“Yes George, Effie asked us to call you this morning, because you and your wife areretiring after being in business for forty years. You’re live on 93 Rock, right now. Wejust called to pull on your chain a little bit and have some fun to see you off. Are youokay with that?”“Sure, okay. So you don’t want body wax?”That made us both howl with laughter again, “No George, that’s okay. I don’t think youwant your wife gazing at this humdinger of a tool here. What we do want though, is togive you and your wife a night on the town to celebrate your retirement. We have dinnerfor two at Socrates’ Steak House, and tickets to see ‘Jersey Boys’. You think you twowould enjoy that?”“Sure, okay.”250

“I’ll give the tickets and gift certificate to Effie, okay?”“Sure, okay. My daughter Effie?”“Yes George, that Effie,” there was complete silence on the other end, “Alright George,you and Rosa have a great final day, okay.”“Sure, okay. You don’t want the body wax.”“No thanks George, I’m good.”“Okay bye.”“Bye George,” we heard the click of the phone and the dial tone, “He seemed prettyexcited about all this, didn’t he?”Jim was laughing, “Oh yeah, he was more disappointed that you didn’t want the bodywax.”“He should consider himself fortunate. It’s not pretty down there. Coming up next,news, traffic and a chance to score tickets to this coming summer’s hottest festival withLoonie and Mooney in the Morning on 93 Rock.”***Before we even went to Dirk Nixon’s office for our debriefing, we tried to call Manny. Hismobile was turned off, which was ridiculously out of character. He lived on that thing,and the only explanation for it being out of operation was that he was specificallyavoiding our calls.We walked toward the office, where we found Dirk on the phone. It was the day after ourblasphemous display of Canadian Olympic Ceremony bashing. He hung up just aboutthe time we sat down.“Well, aren’t you guys the sensitive humanitarian types! I felt all warm and gooey whenyou called George, this morning.”I was ready to defend the phone call, “It was a personal favor to one of my friends, hisdaughter. I thought it worked out okay.”“Oh it was fuckin’ funny! The guy still doesn’t know he won anything, I don’t think,” hestarted laughing, “I can’t believe he was going to let his, what 65 year old wife do acomplete body wax on this strange gay guy who makes sculptures out of his dead skinand pubic hair. That’s fucking demented. Good job.”We all laughed, and it felt good. We somehow thought that we would be under closeass-chewing scrutiny, after our anti-public relations gesture about the Olympicceremony.I decided to ask him about it, “Are you still getting emails about our Olympic tiradeyesterday?”251

“Nah, not really. A couple of people wrote back two or three times, which signals mewith big red flags that they’re obviously wackos,” he paused and looked thoughtful for asecond, “I did get this really weird email from a guy who claims to be a speech forensicpathologist or something. Have you guys heard about this song that’s on the internetthat’s talking about diddling Michelle Obama and shooting dudes and selling crack in theprojects? Real nasty shit. I think it’s called nigger motherfucker or something stupid andrude like that.”We both froze for a second. This was now getting too close. We had to get that sitedown today. I said, “No, I don’t know. I might have read something about it.”“Well this guy claims if you strip the voices down on that song, I mean lose all theprocessing and effects, the voice patterns are identical to you guys. He thinks that youtwo made the song.”Jim tried to act unaffected, “That’s crazy.”“Yeah, well here’s something even crazier, the fucking guys name is Dwight Dumet.He’s got the same last name as your little arch nemesis. They’re probably related, so Ifigure this is her next attempt to figure out how to bring you guys down.”I felt my forehead getting warm, like I was about to break into a sweat, “Why us? Surelythere are other things worse than us that she could turn her inexhaustible efforts toward.”Jim tried to gain Dirk’s sympathy to divert our guilt, “She’s victimizing us. We should geta restraining order. Include a clause that says she’s not even allowed to listen to us.”“So I can tell this guy that you had nothing to do with this?” From the way he asked, Icould tell Nixon was fishing.“Of course, what did you think, that we were involved in this?” Jim asked. He acted likehe was indignant over such an appalling suggestion.“Well, if it makes money, guys will do it. I mean I read on Yahoo news feed this morningthat the song has already sold about half a million copies. They did about 200,000 lastweek, alone.”I was rigid in my seat, “No kidding.”“Yeah, so someone’s making money. I would just hate to see you guys resort tosomething like this to make your fortune. It would be a huge embarrassment to thestation, and you guys would be tarred and feathered from Crowe Communications.We’d have no choice. Anyway, listen I’ve got another fucking meeting in a few minuteswith whatever sleazy douche bag client Ken Spitson is bringing in.”Ken Spitson was known as the sales person with the least innate ethical sense. Hewould put anyone on the air, strip clubs, massage parlors; he didn’t care, as long as theclient put some money up front. He was consistently being chastised for his programstandards and his lack of maintaining even a micro-shred of integrity. The more I252

thought about it, he was essentially of the same prototype as Manny. Only in his case,he was still alive. Manny may not be able to make that claim by later in the afternoon.We bid Dirk farewell and ran to the office, hoping to catch “that despicable shitwad” asJim referred to him when we got there. Inside, we found James, Bobby and Ken, aliasBizKut, ManGod and Pope. We couldn’t remember which one was which.Jim ignored their greetings, “Where’s Manny?”“Don’t know,” it was Pope, I think, that spoke.I just realized the situation, “What are you guys doing here by yourselves?”I remembered BizKut, because he wore glasses, “BB’s in the TV studio. Manny told usto come here and wait for a guy to call from Rolling Stone magazine. He told us what tosay and everything.”Jim was nearly apoplectic, “What? Rolling Stone magazine? What is he trying to do tous?”I was calmer, but still incensed, “There will be no interview.”ManGod had been silent, “Manny said there was, and he’s the one that pays us. So welisten to Manny. He pays us. He’s the boss.“How much is he paying you?”BizKut beamed proudly, “A thousand bucks a week, and we had to agree that we wouldnot tell anyone about this. We just play along on the ride.”Jim sounded like he was hyperventilating, “Let me get this straight. Manny’s paying thethree of you three thousand bucks a week in hush money?”“It’s not hush money. We’re getting paid to do videos, interviews, and maybe live shows.He said we might even be able to do some work on the album.”Now I was screaming, “Album! There’s no album! Where is Manny right now?”Pope pointed at the television, “Right there.”On the screen, we saw Manny talking to a hip young MuchMusic reporter. MuchMusicwas Canada’s premiere music video channel; it was broadcast nationwide on everycable and satellite service available.Jim quickly grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the TV. Manny’s voicecame blaring out of the speakers, “….and it’s not really fair to refer to it as an album. It’sgoing to be more like a rap opera. Eventually, we’d like to take it to Broadway like GreenDay did with that American Idiot thing they did. This album will be like that.”253

The young reporter looked impressed, “That’s a pretty tall promise. Why don’t the guysin the group do interviews at all?”“Well, like I keep telling you, these guys are geniuses, like Prince or something on thatsame fuckin’ level. Oops. Sorry about that.” The reporter looked mortified. Mannycontinued, “Yeah, I can see a lot of similarities between these guys and Prince, maybeeven Michael Jackson. He was some kind of recluse wasn’t he? Yeah, these guys arelike Prince, Michael Jackson and Green Day all rolled up into one.”We stood dumbfounded, “He’s insane.” I couldn’t think of any other reason he couldpossibly behave this way.***We finally got tired of waiting for Manny to show up or turn his phone on. I had neverbefore experienced this level of frustration with any other human being. The guy wasacting like an obstinate child; it was almost as if he was purposely trying to spite us.We told the three boys not to talk to anyone, least of all to Rolling Stone Magazine.Though we were positive that the minute we left the office, they probably got a hold ofManny, through some kind of surreptitious arrangement, “Call me from a pay phone, let itring twice, then I’ll call you back.” That would be exactly the kind of nonsense Mannywould plot. The end result is that they would do the interview, and there would beanother log on the sacrificial fire that was building underneath us.We both went home. I walked into the silent empty house, again. Having Julie workingon the other end of the country most of the time was getting old. I think she was startingto really despise her situation as much as I did. Something was going to have to give,and I didn’t want it to be our relationship. I needed to get a dog, someone to be therewhen I got home who acted like he was happy to see me.I sat down on the sofa, and pulled out my laptop to do some show prep. Within tenminutes, I had drifted off to a doze. The phone rang, and it was Jim, “Are you in front ofa TV right now?”Groggily I responded, “Yeah why?”“Turn it on CNN. Hurry!” He sounded more than a little distressed.As the image came on the screen, there was a faint subliminal recognition of the personI was looking at. I realized as my alertness seeped back that I was looking at Manny,and he was on CNN. I turned up the sound to a jarring level to hear what he was saying.It was footage from the MuchMusic interview earlier, but it was on CNN. That meant thatan enormous worldwide audience was now watching as Manny compared MFN toeveryone short of the Beatles. The reporter came back to say, “The song has proventhat the internet can successfully market music products, without the help of traditionalradio and television. In less than one month, an unknown rap group has sold over onemillion downloads, and their sales momentum is building at a phenomenal rate. Eachday outsells the previous day, and the group’s lyrics have been deemed so obscene andoffensive, that the song can never be heard or seen on conventional broadcast media.Wily Walker runs an internet radio station.”254

At that point, some soft looking guy who had all the earmarks of someone who lives intheir parent’s basement came on the screen. He had multi-colored “Flock of Seagulls”hair and a “The Prodigy” T-shirt on. He expounded upon his vast experience as a viableinternet radio entrepreneur and chest thumped about how conventional radio was aboutto die. We had been hearing that for years, and it still existed.The next image that came on my screen really startled me. I had turned the volumedown and was about to speak to Jim, when Barack Obama appeared on the screen. Itwas obviously some kind of casual White House press conference, and the Presidentwas standing amidst a scrum of reporters on the lawn.A reporter was asking Obama a question. I turned up the volume in time to hear, “Mr.President, what do you think of the new song by the rap group MFN that references yourwife in a lewd and lascivious manner?”The President looked calm and dismissive, but there was something about the look in hiseyes that told you there was deep seeded hostility simmering below his distinguishedpublic persona. “I haven’t heard the song. I don’t have the time for that kind offoolishness. However, I will say that from everything I’ve been told, I don’t think anyonewould appreciate their wife being referred to in the way that these folks are doing it. Igive them the benefit of the doubt, because they’re obviously young kids. Hopefully,they’ll wise up, when they get older.”“Holy fuck!” I could hear Jim say on the phone. I had forgotten that he was even there.The CNN reporter came back and said, “The group’s management has not yet set arelease date for the album, but Walmart has already announced that they will not carrythe CD in their stores, unless the lyrics, the title of the album and the name of the groupare all changed.”They transitioned to the next story, a feel-good kicker about a monkey who can puttogether jigsaw puzzles. I clicked the television off in disgust, “What are we going to doabout this?”Jim sounded utterly resigned, “I know. This thing has become so big, so fast, that I don’teven know how to begin to deal with it. Manny completely blindsided us.”I deliberated for a second, then shared my thoughts, “There’s nothing we can really do toalter history now. The thing is out there, and even if Manny shut down our website, it’savailable now on all the big music download URL’s. I checked.”“Yeah, me too,” Jim sounded as if he already know what I was suggesting.“All we can do now is let this thing take its course. Try to distance ourselves from it. LetManny run his little lip synch scam until people get tired of it. He’ll make us a little pile ofmoney and move on to whatever his next short-sighted exploitation turns out to be.”“Continue to deny, until you must comply,” Jim did an impersonation of my ownimpersonation of Bill Clinton. Mine was better.255

“You’ve got to think this thing will disappear and be long forgotten soon.”“I agree. This thing will disappear within a month. We’ll tread quietly, and in theaftermath, we’ll go shopping for new cars. Hell, who knows? We might be able to shopfor new cottages.”“Or new funeral plots,” I started to laugh, and Jim joined in.He said, “Everything should be alright, if everyone stays cool and does what they’resupposed to.”I said, “Yeah, I think we have a good chance of dodging the bullet on this one.”We were wrong.256

30 - Stranger Than FictionI strolled through the crowd of revelers, their hysteria bordering on religious fervor. I firstfelt a sense of wonder at how crazed they seemed to be; then, I started to feel a bituneasy. It looked like the kind of crowd that would quickly turn to a mindless mob, ifprovoked.I spotted several faces that remarkably resembled the bullies who used to antagonizeme, on those walks home from school with stacks of books and clarinet cases. Anatmosphere of uncertainty permeated the room; it was easy to sense that circumstancescould at any time become chaotic and uncontrollable.I approached a stage that was flamboyantly wrapped in American flags and red-whiteblueballoons. I was suddenly pushed aside into the one remaining open aisle seats, astopless cheerleaders filed past me carrying pom-poms; they ran onto the stage, theirperky breasts bouncing in rhythmic unison.I looked to my left to see Julie and my mother clapping, Julie put her thumb andforefinger into her mouth and blew a loud whistle. I never even knew she was capableof doing that. I looked to see what the two of them were waving over their heads, and Iwas mortified to see that Julie was proudly pumping a thong into the open air, as mymother was flailing her support stockings.Just as I started to speak, a sound like a gunshot made my heart jump so hard, it felt likea cardiac incident. Plumes of red-white-blue smoke emerged from tubas, carried by fat,pale, bald men, none of whom were wearing pants.I thought, “This is disgusting!” All poorly endowed, morbidly overweight and slathered inbody hair, they marched their way down the aisle toward the stage, amid the crowd'sscreaming applause and howling laughter.The band created a military formation on stage and started playing “Hail to the Chief”.From stage left, Barack Obama entered the proceedings, followed by his wife Michelle.The crowd exploded so loudly that I pictured a memorable moment at an NCAA footballgame in Knoxville, Tennessee.University of Tennessee was playing Florida at Neyland Stadium, and the roar of thecrowd actually made my eardrums tickle from the vibration. I instantly wished I wasthere right now, where the cheerleaders and marching bands are fully clothed, and mymother isn't acting like a drunken stripper.Flashing his unmistakable Obama smile, he spoke into a wireless microphone. “Hello,and welcome to the Nobel Peace Prize Awards Show. We've got a great night ofknockout entertainment, and I have my own special surprise coming later on!”The crowd erupted, more explosions went off, the pantless marching band was jumpingup and down like monkeys who had just stolen the audience's car keys. Obama spokeagain, “I know why you're all here, and it's not about me winning no Nobel Peace Prize.You're here to see some of our special guests and a good old fashioned ass kicking.”257

With that, the crowd rose to their feet, some of them jumping up and down. I looked overto see my mom now had her fingers in her mouth, blowing probably the loudestbullwhistle a human is capable of. Julie was standing topless on her seat twirling her braover her head, yelling “I love you” and “Look at my tits!”“All right! Let's get to it!” Obama panned the room with a gigantic larger-than-life smile,“Here for a spectacular big time superstar performance, let’s give up a big Nobel Prizewelcome to 'Fiddlers and Diddlers'!”The crowd cheered, the woman in front of me fainted, and I suddenly realized Julie andmy mother were climbing across my lap toward the aisle. My mother collided withanother silver-haired female. The two of them slammed onto the floor in a heap thatimmediately became a snarling hair-pulling wrestling match. The woman my mother wasfighting never lost track of the lit cigarette clenched between her lips.I looked back at the seat my mother had left vacant; Ted Kennedy had moved into theempty spot. He had his shirtsleeve pulled up; his tie was wound around his bicep. Hebegan slapping his forearm, I looked more closely at his face and realized that he wasclenching a syringe in his teeth.Next to him was seated Amy Winehouse. She was totally engrossed in a Styrofoamfood container filled with poutine, which she was ravenously attacking sans silverware.She savagely scooped the fries and gravy in her fingers and stuffed them into her gapingopen mouth. Her face and clothing were covered in gravy; chunks of cheese curd hungscattered throughout her hair.She suddenly screamed, “Fuckin' Nobel Peace Prize rocks!” Jumping into standingposition, the contents of her open food container scattered, much of which landed onTed Kennedy, who was now in fetal position on the floor in a crumpled heap. He wasapparently now enjoying the after-effects of his self-administered inoculation.A thunderous drumroll drew my attention back to the stage. Flashpots exploded and thecurtain rose behind Barack Obama. His body language reminded me of Monty Hall fromthe old game show “Let's Make a Deal”. As the curtain ascended, it revealed a cowboyhat clad Charlie Daniels. Holding his bow in the air dramatically, like a stage performerwho was used to entertaining large crowds, he played the opening chords from “Beat It”on his fiddle.From opposite sides of the stage came running Dixie Chicks and Great Big Sea. Theywere joined by the odd accordion-playing comedian Judy Tenuta, who traded off onvocals and instrumental solos. Probably the most jarring was seeing Charlie Danielslunging his pelvis outward like John Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever” as he belted outthe lyrics to the 1980’s Michael Jackson classic.From the center of the stage rose the biggest hot tub I had ever seen. It bubbled overwith large frothy waves that looked like whipped cream. I was surprised to see thecrowd lining up to apply the hot tub foam to pieces of pie being served by Don Wycock,at a nearby kiosk. Ron Jeremy and Wookie stood next to him in paper concessionvendor caps, Wookie scowling and Ron smiling like he had just snorted horsetranquilizer.258

Heads started popping up from the copiously foaming tub. First to appear was MacaulayCulkin, then Emmanuel Lewis. Other faces began to pop up from the froth; there wasOpie Taylor from the Andy Griffith Show, Beaver Cleaver from “Leave it to Beaver”, BamBam from the Flintstones. I thought that The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Familycouldn't be far behind; though I never really watched those when they were on TV.Suddenly, the center of the hot tub started bubbling violently; the entire facility seemedto vibrate with an ominous rumble. It was so unsettling that I felt as if my internal organswere trembling. Slowly, from the steam and bubbles emerged Michael Jackson. Largeangel wings extended from his back; a small loin cloth barely covered his pelvis.The crowd went absolutely crazy, slathering themselves and each other with pie andwhipped cream. Some started ripping off their own clothing, then the garments of thepeople next to them. Everyone around me was involved in this bizarre messy orgiasticfood ritual.Michael Jackson was biting his bottom lip and slapping himself on the ass, shouting outhis trademark “whoop” in tandem with each smite he delivered. From stage left, a pinkLamborghini rolled in front of the hot tub. The convertible top opened to reveal RomanPolanski waving from the back. On each side of the car, young girls wearing Catholicschoolgirl uniforms frantically ran to the car and hovered around him. The car was beingdriven by Morgan Freeman in a chauffeur's uniform, like the movie “Driving Miss Daisy”.I looked to my right to see that I was now standing next to David Letterman. He nudgedme in the ribs and said, “Those guys better be careful. You can get blackmailed forthat.” He slapped me on the back, just as the drummer pounded a rim shot.To my left, Amy Winehouse had just unloaded the contents of her stomach on peoplesitting all around her. It was as if she occupied a machine gun nest and wanted to takeout as many foot soldiers as she could, before going down. That took a matter of a fewseconds, as security came to drag both her and the now inebriated Ted Kennedy to theexits.That's when I looked up at the ceiling and realized where I was. This was CowboyStadium in Arlington Texas. The stadium was capable holding nearly 112,000 people,standing room only. It must have contained that number and more for this Nobel PeacePrize Awards Ceremony, with people milling about shoulder-to-shoulder even on thefield.The world's largest video screen suddenly blinked, and Barack Obama's face appeared.His inhumanly white teeth were the size of drive-in movie screens; they glittered withcharismatic sparkle that was like something extraterrestrial.His voice boomed through the stadium's sound system, “Now, before we get to servingtonight's Kool-Aid, there's some unfinished business that I need to attend to.”The crowd roared louder than ever. I looked two rows behind me to see a group ofBritish rugby hooligans all crying and hugging. Across the aisle, Brett Favre peered atme from his seat and gave me a thumbs-up.259

“So, let's bring the fucker up here right now and get this job done!” I noted that it wassurprising to hear the President of the United States use profanity.The crowd started to stomp their feet in a booming unison. A chant began to rise fromtheir collective mouths, “Loo-nie! Loo-nie!”I felt a swell of pride, as thrilling realization immersed me. Over one hundred thousandpeople were cheering me! Right here at the first Nobel Peace Prize Awards ever held atCowboy Stadium, they were calling my name, and Barack Obama was imploring mefrom the giant video screen to come on stage and receive my award.Hands gripped me under both armpits and lifted me right off of my feet. I was placeddown in the aisle and realized it that I was surrounded by the Jackson family. It was Titoand Marlin that had lifted me from my seat. Tito smiled at me, put a friendly hand behindmy neck and shook my hand; Marlin handed me a quart of Olde English 800.I felt a hand intruding into my back pocket and wheeled around to see La Toya Jacksonholding my wallet. Her eyes were wide with frantic excitement. When I yelled, “Hey!That's mine,” she scrambled through the surrounding scrum and ran toward the exits.Before I could move in the direction to pursue her, my neck was snapped back aroundby the momentum of the crowd who was now literally carrying me to the stage. TheJackson's were singing a chorus of Michael's hit “You Are Not Alone”, as we weregetting pelted with confetti. Only the confetti actually hurt when it hit me. After one ofthem got stuck in my collar, I realized that what we were getting showered with wereprescription pain killers.I was hoisted up onto the stage and met by a smiling Barack Obama, who graciouslyshook my hand and smiled. Michelle was clapping and waving at me a few feet behindhim. He returned the microphone to his mouth, “So, I think it's time that we give this manwhat he deserves for his lifetime of achievements.”This time, the crowd instantaneously became silent. I was so incredulous about theirspontaneous non-reaction, that I turned to see if they were still there. Everyone waswatching, wide eyed with gaping open mouths. There was very little movement amongstthe public, but the celebrities were busy mingling and enterprising.The Jacksons were running some form of gambling activity in front of the stage; peoplecrowded around them with handfuls of currency, walking away with what looked likebetting slips. The bottomless fat hairy marching band members now inhabited the hottub, squeezed between the gaggle of timeless child stars. Amy Winehouse somehowsneaked back in; she was currently sitting on the edge of the stage performing lasciviousinnuendos with her mouth on a stadium hotdog. David Letterman was off talking to acouple of the topless cheerleaders, and La Toya Jackson was trying to sell a cellphoneto Bill Clinton, who was explaining something to her about the cigar he was holding.I looked back at Barack Obama, who was smiling at me knowingly. The expression maynot have actually been a smile, but more of a taunting snarl. He nodded at me, “Mr.Radio Broadcaster, and don't you write some little newspaper columns for some free260

fuckin' paper in Toronto, too? Now you're a big hip hop impresario, I guess. You're justa big-ass cultural icon, aren't ya? You're feeling like really hot shit these days. Quite abit different from when all your refrigerator held was a head of lettuce and three or fourbeers, isn't it?”My first reaction was shock that the President of the United States knew that much aboutme. There was a period in Florida, before I started keeping house with Julie, when Iliterally had a head of lettuce, a bottle of oil and vinegar dressing, and whatever was leftfrom a six pack opened the night before. How did Obama know about that? I doubtedthat they devoted spy satellite time to inventorying the contents of my refrigerator.The second unexpected element that struck me was that here was the United Stateshighest head of state using profane language over the house sound system at the firstNobel Peace Prize Awards ever to be held at Cowboy Stadium. It seemed inappropriatefor such a dignified and revered event; when I thought about it, a football stadium in theheart of redneck America seemed like an odd choice of venue as well.I didn't have much time to ponder that fact, because now there was another rumble ofdrums and a couple of outbursts of fireworks. I was about to comment to the Presidentthat the drum rolls and explosions were becoming a bit anti-climactic, when I becameaware of a large object making creaking noises over my head. A shadow was movingfrom the ceiling above us at an alarming speed. I thought we might be about to getcrushed by an errant piece of insecure scaffolding, but before I could even identify whatwas going on, the object lowered to the floor with a stage-shaking thump. I immediatelybecame aware that we were both now standing inside of a cage that took up most of thefloor space on the stage.I glanced at Barack Obama and was surprised to see he had taken his shirt and shoesoff. Moving back and forth on the opposite side of the cage, he bounced on the balls ofhis feet and loosely shadow-boxed the air in front of him.His attention turned to me, and he flashed the same nefarious snarling smile again. Hestarted moving toward me, “So you think I'm going to let you talk about my people, myancestors, my wife that way?”Before I could answer, he pumped a fist into the upper left corner of my mouth. I couldhear the moist crack of bone on bone, and a warm rush of blood ran down my chindripping into the cleft of my collar bone. I was at first dazed and distracted by the gravityof the situation that had befallen me. I had just been physically assaulted by the leaderof the free world in front of a packed house of spectators. How does one react in asituation like this? If you strike back, chances are that the Secret Service would beatyou to a bloody pulp and then arrest you for hitting the President.I didn't have time to think about it much more than that, as Obama danced close to meagain. I thought, “He's much bigger than he looks on TV,” just as he cracked me againwith a quick jab that landed squarely into my nose. I knew it was broken and probablytwisted sideways on my face.“That's right! I'm bigger than most people think, when they set out to fuck with me!”261

I thought to myself, “Now he can read my thoughts, too?” Right then another blowlanded, this time on my left jaw.Obama was laughing at me, “Yeah that's right, that's me doing that. That's what you getwhen you start talking about a man's wife.”I struggled to speak, given my jaw and lip were now swelling so fast that my mouth couldnot articulate the words properly, “That wasn't my idea. Jim did that part.”Crack! Another lightening fast thrust with his left landed squarely into the front of myopen mouth. I could feel shards of what must have been teeth; it was gritty and sharp,mixed with the slick liquid warmth of blood. I touched my front teeth. At least two ofthem were loosened.I pleaded with him, “It was an accident that the song ever got out. We were just goofingaround after a hockey game, and the recording got saved. Manny was the one thatreleased it. You should have Manny in here, kicking the shit out of him! Why am I theonly one in here?”He drew back and looked at me, “Because you deserve an ass whoopin’ the most. Youwere raised better.” For a second, the words hung in my head, the sound of themactually stung something deep within my conscience. I stood there thoughtless andstaring. My arms were dropped, and I was ready to take my ass whoopin’. I just gaveup.Before Obama could come back again to execute another series of tooth cracking blows,Michelle stepped forward and shouted at him. “Barack it’s not worth it. Look at him, he’sa loser.”The shirtless chief executive looked back at me and started laughing, hearty convulsiveuncontrollable laughter that made him stagger under its influence. I looked outside thecage, where the crowd had grown silent; they were quietly shuffling out toward thedoorways. The Michael Jackson angel had stopped slapping his ass and was nowleading a monkey by the hand toward the exit. Emmanuel Lewis looked like he haddrowned in the hot tub; Opie Taylor and Beaver Cleaver were standing with AmyWinehouse. She had pulled out a pipe and they were taking turns puffing on it, theirbacks turned to La Toya Jackson, who was begging them to share it with her.I heard a click a few feet in front of me, and a golf ball bounced directly into my eyesocket. I hit the cement floor, out of sheer surprise rather than injury. I looked up, andstanding above me was Tiger Woods.His caddy reached for his seven iron, and proceeded to wipe it off using suggestive handmotions. Tiger asked me, “Have you seen my wife? She has one of my clubs.”I looked at him dazed, my left eye completely closed and just muttered “no”. He ran outthe exit yelling “Elin, Elin”; his caddy kept stride with him. The auditorium was silent.I suddenly felt morosely depressed, and I knew right then that the show was over. I hadbeen beaten by all of these different parts of my life. I had made my living out of kicking262

people when they’re down and selling it to the public like it was some kind of truth,wrapped up in a satirically funny radio bit. My whole life had been a radio show, when Ireally looked back on it, and the format had just changed.It was a very sad moment as I staggered to the door of the giant cage. The Obamaswere suddenly gone. Don Wycock, Ron Jeremy and Wookie were all sitting front row,eating hot dogs and drinking beer, Wookie opened his mouth and expelled a gutchurningbelch. Ron was wearing his porn star primate grin and Wycock had trimmedhis mustache, so it would look even more Hitler-esque. They were still doing fine. I wasthe one that was broken.I took one step onto the steps leading out of the cage and abruptly realized that theyweren’t there. I tumbled off the riser onto the dark cement floor. I couldn’t even see thefloor surface, but I could imagine it covered with vomit, hot dog refuse, chicken bones,and half-empty drink cups.My head hit the cement hard, and I lay there for a minute. The back of my head wasresting on the floor, but it didn’t feel cold and wet like cement. It felt softer and warmer,like a fabric. Another golf ball sped by, missing me by a centimeter.I opened my eyes and tried to figure out where I was for a second, looking into darknessand silence. I was in my room; I had fallen out of my own bed. I lay there for a couple ofminutes, too shocked to move at first.I honestly felt like I was going insane.Moving from the bed to the living room, I knew there was no way I was going to sleep forthe rest of the night. I pondered the situation for a moment, and I knew what I was goingto have to do.I dialed Julie’s number. She answered in a sleepy voice, “Hey, what’s going on? Iseverything alright?”I hesitated, “Well, I might have a little bit of a problem here.”263

31 - Yep, This Is Definitely a TsunamiJulie promised to return at the end of the next week; that was ten days away. She wasnow at a loss for any semblance of enjoyment derived from her jet setting big timecorporate marketing lifestyle. I told her I desperately needed a hug and a view of herface, to make me feel like things would be okay. The sound of her voice settled me. Iwas already awake, so I got up, made coffee, and started prepping our show.When I arrived at the station, I parked my car in the underground and proceeded towardthe elevator. I nearly jumped out of my own skin, when a figure seemed to pounce outof the corner of my eye. I dropped my briefcase and laptop on the ground and assumeda defensive position.Turning to face my potential attacker, I realized that I recognized the face. It was BizKut,the artist formerly known as James, the one with glasses. That’s how I rememberedhim. “James, what the fuck are you doing? If I carried a gun, I could have blown yourfucking head off. You shouldn’t be lurking in the shadows at four in the morning. Whyare you here?”“I came to help produce your show, remember?”I looked at his face; he was obviously very sincere in his intentions. He seemed like anice young guy, but I had no idea what he was talking about. “Remember? Rememberwhat?”“That one day you guys were waiting for Manny to show up. You guys said you weregoing out for coffee, but you really sneaked out to the alley and smoked a joint. Then,when you got back, you were all glazed, and I said ‘What happened to the coffee?’ Youguys got all giggly, and Jim went out to get the coffee for real. Then, that’s when ithappened.”“That’s when what happened?”He looked disappointed that I had forgotten, “I told you that I had wanted to work on theradio, since I was twelve years old. I said that I would be your guys production assistantfor free, just to get the experience and put my foot in the door, and you said ‘That wouldbe great’.”“Aw James, when I say ‘That would be great’, that usually means I’m not really listeningto you.” He looked crushed, so I said, “You know I’m a man of my word, and you seemlike a pretty sharp dude. I tell you what, if you want to try to help out, you’re welcome to.You’ll have to wait for us to arrive in the mornings, because they won’t be willing to handa security pass to some guy that I met who wants to help out. But yeah, come upstairswith me, and we’ll see how good you are at researching some stuff for us.”It made me feel good. I could tell that this guy idolized us. He seriously looked at Jimand I like we were his heroes. We were what he considered accomplished in a field thathe coveted. I could be a pretty self centered individual, but I remember people who Irevered that took time to pay attention to me. It really meant a lot to have someone thatyou considered a mentor give you a chance.264

James proved to be a quick study and very industrious. He’d hear us talking aboutsomething on the air, and instantly we’d receive an email with copy taken from websitesabout the topic. We didn’t even ask him to do that, but he took the initiative incrediblyexpeditiously and thoroughly. We would make references about subjects, and withinseconds he would scout something and condense it into concise bullet points in largereadable fonts. In that way, he was better than Cam Elto in his earliest inception.After the show, Jim said, “Good job, man.” I was surprised, because our studio was avery intimate and intense energy-filled psychological space. Both of us are very pickyabout who we let in. James assimilated as if he wasn’t there, but he had keensensibilities about exactly what he needed to do to help.I winked at him, after Jim departed for the bathroom, “That’s the ultimate seal ofapproval, Dude. If Jim said ‘good job’ you’re in, my brother!” We shook hands, and Ibought him an Egg McMuffin to celebrate his new status as a big time unpaid radioproducer.We returned to the Adelaide studio office, hoping to corner Manny and demand somekind of closure to the situation he had gotten us into. We knew it was too late to just pullthe plug. That would raise more suspicion and investigative incentive than just lettingthe thing naturally fade away from the public consciousness.People had a very short memory in the twenty-first century. A good example isevidenced by their quick forgiving embrace of Britney Spears after her extended periodof insane intoxicated behavior. If Britney can shave her head and show her “happyplace” to photographers in public, a tasteless profane racist rap song should dive-bombin short order. We hoped.As we were ranting in the office, discussing ways that we should ream Manny outthoroughly for having put us into this position, Jim decided to step out to get somethingfor lunch. I was sitting in the office by myself, when the phone rang.I punched the button for speaker phone, while looking around the desktop for a pad andpen. I assumed it was going to be a message for Manny or BB, probably a clientneeding some information about their ad being produced.“Ear to Ear Productions.”The voice on the speaker was such an over the top impersonation, I had to laugh. Thevoice announced itself as “the Reverend Jesse Jackson”.“Nice try Jimbo,” I wondered why he would go to all this trouble just to pull a goofy littleprank on me.That’s when Jim came walking through the door, and I heard the man on the other endof the phone say, “What did you just call me?” I paused for a second, as the realizationseeped into my mind that I could possibly be speaking on the phone with the honorableReverend Jesse Jackson himself.265

I quickly motioned for Jim to be quiet and scribbled on a notepad, “This is JesseJackson!” He mouthed the word “No”, with a look of shocked disbelief.I quickly scrambled to project some semblance of poise, “Oh, I’m sorry Father, uh-Reverend. I was speaking to someone else.”“Who else is there?” Upon Reverend Jackson asking that question, Jim suddenlycovered his mouth and started giggling silently. He appeared to be holding back anoutburst of hysterical laughter.I answered, “It was a delivery person. I just –uh, hi. It’s a real honor.”He continued, “The reason I’m calling, is I would like to have a conversation and sharecounsel with those young men that make up the group called MFN. Is this the properoffice place? Because my people have isolated this address and phone number as thedestination I must pursue to offer my counsel. Is BizKut there?”I quickly blurted, “I’m sorry Reverend. I’m going to have to put you on hold for asecond.”I managed to hit the hold button just in the nick of time. Jim was already in a giggling fit,I knew that the absurdity of Jesse Jackson calling our office and asking for a guy named“BizKut” would be way too much for him to bear. I was right. He burst with a shriekinglaugh that almost sounded like a woman. He laughed so hard that he nearly got sick,pulling a waste basket close to himself, just in case. He attempted to catch his breath,while I motioned him and mouthed the command to “Get the hell out of here”.I attempted to clear my head of the enormity of what was happening at that moment andreturned to the phone, “I’m sorry Father, -uh Reverend, we just had a situation here.”He sounded a bit perturbed, “You got a situation alright. You got three misguided youngmen there who have lost all orientation of their racial identity and their place in society.You cannot achieve esteem, until you first redeem. Don’t forget that.”“Yes sir, I mean no sir, I won’t. I’m afraid sir that BizKut is not here right now.”“How about Pope or ManGod?” At that precise second, Jim had poked his head into thedoor again. He immediately retreated, and I could faintly hear the howls of laughterthrough the door.“They’re not here either, sir.”“Well, I sincerely hope that you’ll tell them of my phone call and my intention of providingthem counseling and guidance, both on a personal and professional basis. You seeyoung man, I have been to the battle line before, and I have faced the enemy mind tomind instead of hand to hand. Honor to honor instead of toe to toe. I look for a light inmy enemy’s heart, not the whites of his eyes.”“I getcha,” was the only thing I could think of to say. It may have sounded a bit awkwardat the time, but I frankly had no idea what the man had just said.266

He continued in a preacher’s cadence, “I have been a black American, an iconicmainstay of our minority, a statesman and a role model for all my fellow citizens of color,black and white alike. Up until Barack Obama came along, I was African America'sconscience and consciousness. Who else was there to step up in 1978, to confront theRolling Stones with legal recourse and social condemnation from the whole free worldfor their vulgar and racist lyrics in the song “Some Girls”? ‘Black girls just want to getfucked all night’! Even if that's true, no one should say that. That’s why I became thevoice of black women around the world. I said, "Mick Jagger you are fondling andgroping the minds and souls of my African American sisters with your tawdry swagger,and I demand your penance!"Holy shit, now I had absolutely no idea what to say or how to get out of thisconversation. I certainly didn’t know what response would be appropriate, hopefully onethat would get him to shut up.He continued, “I was at the inauguration. I stood before my new leader, my newcommander in chief, my new inspiration, my new fulfillment, my new destiny and I weptopenly.”“Yeah, I saw you on TV that night,” seemed like a relevant thing to say.“The reason for my tears was that we had turned a corner. We had passed through aturnstile. We had walked over the top of the mountain, and we were gazing upon afertile valley of opportunity, justice and fellow respect.” I was starting to lapse off, lookingat the morning paper, picking at my fingernail, brushing a bit of dust off my pant leg. Hehad already lost me several passages ago.The reverend continued, “Now, the name of that fine man, that divine leader, that symbolof all we have gained has been soiled and tainted with disrespect toward his beautiful,devoted, and historically charismatic bride. I’m talking about Michelle Obama, and I’mtalking about the disrespect that these young men have shown her, her husband, herchildren, and every person of color who walks or has ever walked this planet. Sure she’sa hot woman. I’m not denouncing that. She’s about as hot a woman you’re going to seein the White House. We all talk about that at meetings, conferences, prayer sessions.We’ve discussed at length how hot Michelle Obama is, but we keep that to ourselves.We don’t put it in a rap song and sell a million copies of it, because that’s not right andthose are not the words of soulful and righteous leaders among men. That’s what I’mhere today for, to help show these boys the path to soulfulness, righteousness andleadership.”“Can I take a message?” I had long become bored with the conversation. I couldn’tbelieve that such a historic moment in my life, speaking with the Reverend JesseJackson, could be so uneventfully rhetorical. “Do you want me to just tell them to callyou about the path to soulfulness, righteousness and leadership?”He was silent for a second. I think he realized that my last comment was a thinly veiledsubtle jab. Finally, he must have collected his thoughts, because he started speakingagain in a very measured tone, “Tell them that I plan to be in Toronto in one week, and Iwould like to spend some time in conversation and fellowship with the three young boys267

and perhaps even their families. These boys are so terrifically talented. You knowthey’ve been compared to Prince, Michael Jackson and Green Day all rolled into one?”Jim had quietly snuck back in the room. Upon hearing that last question, he immediatelydashed back out the door. I found it hard not to laugh myself, “Yes sir. I’ve heard thatcomparison.”I took his contact information, as well as the details about where he was staying andwhere he could be reached in Toronto. It wasn’t until a couple minutes after hanging upthat I reflected upon what had just transpired.Jim walked back in. I looked at him and said, “We are so fucked.”***It was the following day that we finally had communicative contact with Manny. We hadgone to the office studio again, hoping he would show up. He walked in briskly, talkingon his Bluetooth and carrying a tray of coffee with a box of doughnuts.He displayed the attitude of someone who had just left the office for an hour to attend aneye exam. We were ready to slap the Bluetooth off of his head and start torturing him. Ipictured Jim binding him with electrical tape, while I took a couple of wires and startedshocking him with the ends like Jack Bauer on ‘24’. We had both learned a lot from thatseries about ways to torture people using whatever household items were available.As usual, the first words out of his mouth were entirely disarming, “Let me shake thehands of two bona fide millionaires.”Jim and I glanced at each other. Manny reached into a bag and pulled out a bottle ofBaileys. As he poured a shot into each cup of coffee, he began his backpedaling,“That’s right. The song has now sold two point five million downloads. We are now amulti-million dollar company. Not to mention, I’m looking at graphics for T-shirts andcaps. I was also thinking we could order some really unique and original nonconventionalpromotion items like maybe some pimp canes or something.”It had taken a couple seconds for the shock to wear off. It was hard to fathom themagnanimous audacity this guy was capable of, having just walked into the room like hewas merely coming back from the toilet. Then he launches into a one-sidedconversation about T-shirts that he was never supposed to order in the first place.Jim’s head looked like a bubbling cauldron, “Pimp canes? You come in here with yourfucking coffee and doughnuts talking about ordering pimp canes? Are you fuckingdelirious?”Manny opened his arms and gaped at us like he was hurt and confused by Jim’soutburst, “What? Are you upset with me about something? I just came in to tell you thatyou’re a millionaire. I would think that you’d be…….”He never finished the sentence. Jim lunged across the desk. Coffee containers wenttumbling; doughnuts flew all over the room. The window between us and the soundbooth had doughnut fragments stuck all over it, adhered to the glass by icing and jelly268

fillings. Manny managed to roll an office chair in front of Jim to slow his advance. I ranover and tried to jump between them.I attempted to be a peace diplomat, “Jim, calm down. We don’t need you arrested forassault. That would only make it to the papers and cause us more trouble. Besides, itmight tip them off that we’re involved with this song, in some way.”Jim seemed to restore himself to a somewhat rational capacity, and the violent tension inthe room momentarily subsided. He labored at speaking in a normal conversationaltone, “Manny, why did you do this? It’s like you completely went insane for a few days.We’re trying to call you, no answer. You promised to take the website down, and whathappened? We watch the fucking President of the United States comment on this thingon CNN! Rick had a conversation with Jesse goddamn Jackson on the phoneyesterday. Do you realize what you have done to us here?”Manny acted as if he was hurt, “I made you guys a shitload of money. That’s what I did.A little demonstrative show of appreciation would be nice. Hell, I would think you guyswould have wanted to take turns blowing me. I just made you both millionaires.”I finally spoke, “Manny, you don’t realize that we’re already in a hot tub of shit here,because some bitch and her organization want us taken off the air. Now we’ve got aguy, who may probably be connected to these extremists, who claims that he can provethat we’re the voices on that song.”Manny made a dismissive gesture, “Don’t worry about it. You guys will have enoughmoney to quit the radio business for good. You’ll be living in Belize or some fuckingplace with umbrellas sticking out of whatever girly drinks you ordered. You’ll be too busytrying to get the panties off of hot little tourist tarts to worry about prepping a morningshow. You guys have now officially got it dicked!”There was no getting through to this guy. He was way too thick and self absorbed tocommunicate in normal human terms, but I tried, “Manny, we like what we do. We enjoyour lives. We’d go crazy without our creative outlet and the chance to entertain people.It’s not about money or free stuff or pussy being thrown at us. It’s the fact that webecome a part of a lot of people’s lives. The most rewarding thing that happens to me iswhen a guy comes up to me at a remote and says, ‘I was in a bad mood this morning,and by the time I got to work, you guys had me laughing so hard I could barely drive mycar.’ That’s what’s in it for us.”“You’re warming the fucking cockles of my heart. Meanwhile, I’m over here making youguys more money than you ever thought you’d collect from your whole life in radio.Radio’s shit man. It’s the unwanted Mongoloid stepchild of the media business.”Jim stepped forward. For a second, I thought he was going to try to hit him again. Sodid Manny, because he flinched as Jim started to speak, “First of all Manny, they don’tcall it Mongoloid anymore. I had a soccer mom eat my ass one day at the Eaton Centre,because she heard me use that term on the air. It’s Down Syndrome. Secondly, we’refine as we are. I mean, I’m not going to be vacationing with the Trumps, but I’ve gotenough to live a relatively decent existence for the rest of my life. I don’t need to make amillion dollars by offending every minority in the world’s population.”269

It turned out that we had given Manny way too much credit. We thought being honestabout our feelings would wake him up. Surely he’s familiar with other people’s emotions,and the fact that they might live for things other than making money. We were wrong.“I don’t understand you fucking guys. I’ll never get you,” he shook his head as ifbewildered.The phone rang. Since I was closest, I punched the speaker phone button, “Ear to EarProductions.”A female voice spoke emanated from the speaker, “Please hold for the Reverend AlSharpton.”I glanced around the room. Jim was gritting his teeth. Manny looked quizzical; I don’tthink he knew who Al Sharpton was. I asked Jim, “You want to take this one? I had tohandle Jesse Jackson.” He shook his head furiously.Next came the booming voice of the medallioned one himself, “To whom am Ispeaking?”I looked around the room one more time for volunteers. No one twitched a muscle, so itseemed that I had to shoulder the responsibility myself again, “I’m the receptionist.”“Let me speak to the members of MFN. Just bring them in, line them up, and I’ll addressall three at once. I assume you do have a speaker phone in your office.”Jim rolled his eyes up. We had only heard him say a few words, but arrogance emittedfrom his phone" like aerosol spray. I had to suppress my impulse to say somethingattitudinal right back to him, but nothing would be gained from that.“We do have a speaker phone. You’re on one right now. I’m the only one in the officeat this time.” I gave the other two a “hush” hand signal.He drew a deep breath, “I’m calling to confront the young men about their lyrical devices,which have cheapened, degenerated, divided and disengaged the civil rights movementby fifty years! How DARE they talk about my people, their people in such a manner. Iwouldn’t put up with it when Don Imus said it. I would not tolerate it when theGreaseman did it. And, I refuse to witness it now, even if it does come from some of ourown young people. I wouldn’t let Sean Combs get away with it. I would look Lil Waynein the eye and tell him no. Therefore, I will bring the wrath of my discontent down uponMFN. Tell me, how old are these young men?”The question caught me off guard. Manny quickly scribbled something on a piece ofcopy paper, and I read it aloud without actually thinking about what it said, “They’re oldenough to perform in nightclubs.” I slapped the paper out of Manny’s hand, giving him athreatening facial expression and mouthing the words “fuck off”.It didn’t slip by the reverend, “What exactly does that mean? You think I’m calling hereto hire them for a wedding? By the way, has Jesse Jackson called there?”270

Another question I wasn’t expecting, “No. Not really,” I stammered.Again, he was right on top of me, “What do you mean, not really?”“I mean no.”“He’ll be calling. He’s always trying to whore himself up some publicity.” The irony of AlSharpton saying that about Jesse Jackson was not lost on either Jim or me. Jim gave alook that insinuated “look who’s talking”. Manny stood there doe-eyed; I don’t think heknew who Jesse Jackson was either. I just couldn’t believe how surreal this whole weekwas becoming.“I desperately need to talk to these young brothers. I need to look them in the eye andsay to them, you do not have the moral authority to embrace misogyny, to use the ‘N’word, to call our women ho’s and bitches. You will not hold an entire race of people atthe mercy of your unkind and vulgar words, your racial epithets and your disrespectfuldisregard.”This was beginning to sound just like my conversation with the other reverend. I usedthe same ploy to try to end it, “Would you like to leave a message?”“Did you know son that I was a personal friend of James Brown’s? That I appeared onSoul Train to present James Brown with an award?”“No,” was all I could think of to say. How many people would you suspect actually knewthat?“I loved James. I respected James, but I would have told him. I would have said,‘James, quit talking about the ho’s and bitches. Quit talking about showing your dick tothe first lady, and quit being divisive, disrespectful and demoralizing!”Jim started snickering at that last proclamation. All I could think about was how muchthis guy loved alliteration. With Jesse Jackson, there seemed to be an affinity forrhyming. This guy used a different tact. They were both equally melodramatic and selfindulged.“I must tell you sir, I am scheduled to appear in Toronto next week for a businessengagement. I am traveling with a contingent of my colleagues, peers and advisors.While we are in the city, we expect to meet with these young men, their managementand advisors. Otherwise, we are planning a publicized march on your studio facilities toprotest this lewd and hate-filled enterprise. We will march for righteousness and civility.We will march for our people’s dignity. And, we will march for our own self identities.”I accidentally let out a whistle, “Okay then. When can we expect you?” I was alreadyplanning to take a couple of vacation days, while they were here.I heard a buzzer emit from his phone. He said, “Young man, I have another call that Imust take. I’m going to pass you over to my assistant to get directions to your studio.271

Give her driving directions from Pearson International Airport, because we’ll be arrivingin buses.” With that, I heard a click and he had put me on Hold.I immediately hung up. I looked at Jim and Manny, “He wants me to give themdirections, so they can come here and disrupt our lives with a protest outside our doors.Is he nuts? They can at least Google Map it themselves. Would you guys like us tomake sandwiches for the protesters? You’re going to get awful hungry expressing allthat hate you have for us.”After a couple of seconds of banter about how strange the whole experience had been,we recalled the reason we were here. We were supposed to be brutally chastisingManny. He had been very quiet; actually I think his intentions were to sneak out of thebuilding under the guise of going to the washroom. Unfortunately, it was too cold toleave without his jacket, and that would be a blatant giveaway.“Manny, what are we going to do about this?” I knew what his answer would probablybe.“We ride the wave and make a shitload of money. You guys can come up with enoughsongs to make an album. All you have to do is talk about pluggin’ motherfuckers andbangin’ ho’s. You throw in a bunch of profanity and racial shit, and the kids will buy it,because it’ll have a Parental Advisory label on the CD case. We’ll parade aroundPopeye, Goddamn, and Bullshit, whatever we decided those three guys’ names were,and everyone will think they did it. They won’t say anything because they’ll be makingone thousand dollars a week and getting more pussy than George Clooney.”“Manny, that’s just not going to happen. We’re playing Russian roulette with our futures.There’s nothing that can be done about the song that’s already out there. We just haveto wait this thing out, and hope that no one finds out that we had anything to do with it.”Jim agreed, “Yeah Manny. We’re lucky we’ve gotten away with it, for this long. We haveto put this thing away and pretend it never happened. With any luck, in six months it willbe deleted from everyone’s ipod, and no one will remember they ever heard it.”***Jim came over to my house that afternoon. Julie was still gone until the weekend, and Ifelt like I needed the company. We would do show prep, have a couple beers, throwsome steaks on the BBQ, and watch a movie or a game. Sometimes we’d do that at oneanother’s place, when Julie and whoever Jim was dating weren’t around. We’d crash oneach other’s guest beds, because we both had to be up at 4:00 am, anyway.I walked into the house and saw that there was a message on the phone. I pushed thebutton to play back messages and listened to the first recording of a guy trying to sellalarm security systems.I immediately skipped to the next message; it was Julie. She didn’t sound very happyfrom the first syllable out of her mouth. “Rick, I just listened to that song and watchedthe video on YouTube. I can’t believe you guys could do something like this. It’s themost utterly disgusting thing I’ve ever heard or watched. What were you guys thinking?I’ve got a big client here that desperately wants to get Michelle Obama to speak at their272

annual shareholders’ meeting. They’ve asked us to try to help them with thecoordination of the program, so I’ve been put in charge of that negotiation process.Chances are, I could very well be speaking with her, at some point. What am Isupposed to say? Oh, what a coincidence, my boyfriend wrote a song about you! Uck,you guys need to grow up.”Jim and I stood there silently for a second, staring at the phone. “She’s right, you know.We do need to grow up,” Jim grinned mischievously.“We should watch that video,” it was remarkable that we hadn’t watched it yet. I think myattitude toward it was similar to my aversion to going to the doctor. I just didn’t want toknow all the bad news.We sat down in front of the computer and found the title on YouTube. As I feared,watching it didn’t help our outlooks. It began with Pope and ManGod dressed like pimpsand escorting gorgeous scantily clad women. The actors wore face paint that conjuredjust a tinge of political incorrectness, with its obvious visual reference to African tribalpaint.Several scenes later, the girls are all but undressed and the two rappers are doingeverything short of sucking their nipples and licking their crotches. It was extremelysteamy and sexual from the start, but Manny had found a Michelle Obama lookalike whoended up climbing around on BizKut and licking him like he was made out of ice cream.Manny also managed to get in a scene of gun violence, just to make sure we covered allthe gangsta expectations. Pope and ManGod get into a skirmish with another pair ofpimp-types. They obviously have no choice but to “plug the other motherfuckers”. Heeven showed them firing gunshots, holding the guns in that sideways position that urbangangs stereotypically employ now. The video included every visual element and lyricaldevice that could be considered influentially damaging to kids.Jim and I stood silently in front of the computer watching. “I’m so proud,” was all Jimcould think of to say.We watched the entire video, then went to the living room to watch some television andplan our show. Just like the old days, we routinely smoked a little pot along with somelighthearted TV. By the time these “brainstorming sessions” were over, we would usuallyfind that we had written most of the material for our show, while barely trying. We hadchanged our program menu, though. “Leave it to Beaver” and “The Beverly Hillbillies”were hardly relevant anymore. We had graduated to a more sophisticated fare, like“Entertainment Tonight” and “The Insider”.There were always nuggets of ludicrous behavior perpetrated by self-importantcelebrities somewhere that warranted our attention. Sometimes even the perky talkingheads themselves created material for us, simply because of their effervescence andzeal while driveling about Tom Cruise being photographed shopping at Kmart orAngelina Jolie changing her kids diaper in a Chuck E. Cheese parking lot.I had started to doze off, when Jim slapped me on the upper arm, “Rick! You gotta seethis!”273

Jarred awake, I looked on the screen to see a chirpy little Mary Hart wannabe talking intothe camera. At the bottom of the screen were the words “MFN Fraud”. My first thoughtwas “Oh my God, they’ve found us out.”No use in doing any show prep now. We’d be getting a call from Dirk any minute,informing us that there was no reason to show up tomorrow.Instead, the pretty little perennial fan of all things Hollywood was interviewing a youngboy about eleven years old. She was asking him about what happened to him.He answered, “I saw Pope at da mall. So I asked him for an autograph, and he say ‘tendollars’. So I give him ten dollars, and he give me dis autograph.”The youngster held up a Taco Bell napkin with the word “Pope” inked in plain blockletters. Jim and I started laughing on the sofa.The entertainment reporter asked, “Where did you see him?”The kid motioned behind him, “At dis mall here, right here in LA.”The reporter broke the disappointing news, “Well, the group is from Canada, actually.They’re supposed to be working in the studio right now, on their new CD. The real Popeshould be in Toronto.”The kid looked disappointed, “I got ripped off, den.”The reporter went on with a lengthy diatribe, warning the viewers of the dangers andprecautions involved in autograph seeking. “Make sure the person is really who theyclaim to be,” was number one.We were in utter hysterics on the couch. The little guy looked so pathetic anddisappointed that he got ripped off for ten dollars, and to make it worse, all of his friendsand classmates could watch it reported on television.Then, the reporter was back in the studio, “Where and what are the upcoming plans forthe world’s most famous ‘Nignitaries’?”“She didn’t just say that!” I felt ashamed. Our society had just hit a new low, and I wasresponsible.“I’m afraid she did, dude.” Jim looked equally embarrassed. We had both taken a handin transforming a tabooed and detested cultural vernacular, changing it into a word thatmakes cutesy catch phrases for entertainment reporters.“According to their manager…..”“Uh oh,” we both said at once.274

There was Manny, wearing the same clothes we had just seen him in earlier. Therefore,this interview had been conducted after we left the studio. We had just agreed with himto try to let this thing go away, and here he was on TV only hours, maybe minutes, afterour cars left the parking garage.“MFN can’t be responsible for the behavior of some of their lower life fans. This kind ofthing has been going on since the beginning of time. One caveman goes over toanother guy’s cave and says, ‘I’ll trade you this dinosaur bone for that rock over there.The guy says fuck yeah, cause dinosaur bones are hard to come by. Sorry about thatslip there. Then, the guy with the rock runs off into the jungle, and it turns out that thedinosaur bone is fake. It’s the same goddamn thing, and it’s been going on for fuckin’years. Sorry. Tell the kid to send me his address, and I’ll have Pope personally sign acopy of the CD for him, when it comes out.” The words were all beeped for broadcast.Jim sounded numbly exhausted, “We let this guy represent us.”“They were at least smart enough this time to not put him on live. How does he getaway with acting like that? How come people actually take him seriously?” I wasstunned by the insipidness of what I was witnessing.The reporter decided it was worth asking another question, “What are the group’simmediate future plans?”“The group is planning a giant CD release party at a major venue, somewhereprominent. Not only that, but they’re going to perform the entire rap opera on PAY-PER-VIEW worldwide, and it’s only going to be $12.50 to watch the fuckin’ thing. Sorry aboutthat, again. The cable companies and satellite assholes, sorry, wanted to charge more.But the guys all said, ‘That’s not fair to our fans, and we’re only going to charge $12.50for this unforgettable historic visual spectacle.’ We expect hundreds of A-list celebritiesin the crowd. It’s going to be a fuckin’ extravaganza. Sorry.”I looked at Jim, “We have to find him and make him stop.”275

32 - A New Offensive Line CoachWe had regarded Ricky Smith, aka Cam Elto, like a brother within our small team. Hebooked great guests, wrote funny bits, and did some very convincing character voices.Above that, he generally shielded us from extra work, requests for personalappearances, insipid fans, annoying listeners, pesky sales people and overly demandingclients. We were very appreciative of Cam, only perhaps we didn’t convey that asregularly and emphatically as we could have.Imagine our surprise when we later found out that Cam (Rhino now referred to him asRicco or some other random tritely contrived variation of Ricky) felt no loyalty to us. Infact, according to Dirk Nixon, he hated our guts.“You made him walk around on Church Street, wearing a thong. You think the guy’sgoing to love you, just because you give him a bottle of wine at Christmas time? I wouldhave told both of you to go fuck yourselves repeatedly and without lubricant the minuteyou even suggested I walk into a gay bathouse wearing nothing but a towel and a mikedheadset. You assume that his loyalty is so strong that he’d be willing to overlook a fewpublic humiliations, because you guys were some band of brothers. He was like the littlebrother who never got the girls, the celebrity status or the money. All he did was takeyour shit and say ‘yes master’ every time you wanted someone to jump out of anairplane wearing nothing but body paint.”“He did get to do that with four nude female body paint models,” Jim interjected.“Yeah, and that was the last straw, according to Cam, I mean Ricky. His fiancée workedon Bay Street, for a large financial firm. Her colleagues are probably less thanimpressed when the love of her life, the father of her unborn child, lands in the middle ofDundas Square with his dick flopping around in the breeze painted up like Spidermanwithout tights. As you may recall, adding insult to injury, he almost got arrested forindecent exposure. Then the next day, all those serious-minded Bay Street careerwomen that his girlfriend works with got to feast their eyes on his exposed ass, on thefront page of the paper. He actually went to Dave Ray and told him he wanted to resignafter that, but Dave promised to transfer him, if we stayed.”“So he thinks it’s going to be a lot better with Rhino? The guy’s ego could fill up theGreat Lakes. He’s not going to be treated any better,” I was aghast to hear that we hadessentially been “sleeping with the enemy” for the last five years.“Yeah, but now he doesn’t have to get up at four in the morning, and he only has oneprima donna to worry about, not two of you. Plus, Rhino gets all the cool perks, becauseof his music industry connections. He can find free tickets to any show in town, bymaking a phone call.”“So can we,” Jim protested.“Yeah, that’s because Cam would call down to the promotions department, and implorethem to give you guys tickets. Did you really think that it was all your star power thatmade promoters scramble to get you guys good seats for sold-out shows? It wasbecause all the promoters in town owe so many favors to the promotions department.”276

That last comment made me feel especially bad. I didn’t know if I could look RickySmith, in the eye again. It truly saddened me to become aware of these revelations. Ireally thought that we had an ongoing fraternity, the three of us. Apparently one of themusketeers had felt nothing but festering resentment all those years.Dirk could tell that we were feeling depressed and slightly hurt by all these revelations.“His wife’s pregnant, he feels like he wants to have a little more normalcy in his life, tospend more time with his new baby and newlywed life. Face it, he’s outgrown you. If it’sany consolation, I thank God there are still guys like you who refuse to mature at anormal pace with the rest of us, or radio would be pretty fucking boring.”He laughed at his last comment to let us know that he was kidding. We laughed too, butit really did hurt our feelings. It was like breaking up with a girlfriend after five years, andfinding out later that she had been busy telling everyone who would listen how tiny yourpenis was, the whole time.We decided to go on without a fulltime producer for a few weeks. An intern filled in,attending to tasks like producing the little one minute show highlight promos and pullingnews copy for us. It became apparent within days that we really did need someonepermanent in that position.It just had to be an effortless and progressive fit. The person that became our producerhad to be able to instantly assimilate with us and the methodology of the show. Not onlythat, they had to be able to think like us, only faster; the person had to be able toanticipate where we were going with a topic or bit and already be two steps ahead of us.“Summarily, we need someone just like us only smarter and more talented,” as Jimdescribed it, “and someone willing to make a lot less money.” We didn’t mention thatlast part to James, as we offered him the fulltime position as producer of Loonie andMooney in the Morning.James Earl Samples was aptly named. His mother and father were big fans of thelegendary actor and voiceover talent James Earl Jones, so when they’re only son wasborn they decided to name him after the Darth Vader demigod himself.As it turned out, James Earl Samples grew up to be equally blessed with a God giveninstrument in his throat. Jim and I used to say that we felt like cartoon characters whenwe talked to him on the phone; our voices sounded so much higher in comparison to his.There was no doubt that this guy could go very far in the broadcast industry, embodyingthe “sexiest throat on radio” moniker Jim had given him. I routinely accused him ofinjecting steroids into his vocal chords.We started calling him “Cojones” on the air and routinely made comments about how“those things must be bigger than bowling balls down there”. He was punctual, pleasant,hard working, and he figured us out from day one. However, the most influential elementin James Earl Samples ascension to the rank of producer was his concept called “TrailerPark Cougar Porn Star Sweetheart”.277

One Friday afternoon, James presented the idea to us. We would produce anannouncement to go on the air encouraging guys to upload their photos and fill out aquestionnaire on the 93 Rock website. We would use certain criteria to select a winner;the main qualification was an evident lack of sexiness. If you were a geeky guy living inhis mother’s basement, playing video games, putting together Star Wars models, andchatting online with electronic gadget enthusiasts, you could be Trailer Park CougarPorn Star Sweetheart material.James had researched online and made some phone calls, compiling a list of working orsemi-retired local porn stars who were over the age of forty. We had a budget to workwith, dedicated to our morning show, so a rate was set of one thousand dollars to hireone of the women for each contest occasion. Then, with our blessings, James talked thepromotions department into providing dinner gift certificates, passes to a Motley Cruetribute band concert, and of course a night in a fully furnished luxury trailer, completewith hot tub, big screen HD TV and even a heart shaped bed. The trailer sat on the lotof one of our clients, Honest Ernie’s Monster Mobile Homes; the client was, of course,ecstatic to receive the free value-added promotional attention.The contest entry numbers were astounding. It was hard to imagine that such a highnumber of men were willing to sacrifice their reputations and self esteems live on theradio, for a chance to spend an evening with an adult film worker.The winner we selected was named Marvin. Marvin was twenty six, and had the look ofa somewhat bloated young man with a pale complexion, that included significant acne.He had a conventional haircut that was punctuated with a set of bangs cut in a perfectstraight line across his forehead. The look was accessorized with a pair of wire-rimmedglasses.His potential date was a woman named Latisha Joy. Latisha had a well-worn gravelvoice that, according to Jim, made her sound “like her throat had been often used andfrequently occupied”.That Friday morning, we put both Marvin and Latisha on the air, “so that they could getto know each other better”. We started with Marvin’s questionnaire.“So Marvin,” I always asked the questions, “It says here that you have an active sociallife that includes attending conventions. Tell us more about that. What kinds ofconventions to you enjoy attending?”Marvin’s voice sounded shaky. You could tell he didn’t get a chance to do a lot of publicspeaking, particularly in conjunction with female porn star dating, “I like to go to sciencefiction and comic book fairs, Star Trek conventions….”Jim started clapping in the background, “Bingo! You may have already won!”I directed the conversation toward Latisha, “Latisha, are you a big Star Trek fan?”She sounded like she had just gotten up and chugged a bottle of cough syrup, “I like thatnew Star Trek movie. The guy that plays Captain Kirk is very hot.”278

“That’s Chris Pine. So you like Chris Pine better than William Shatner?”“Oh absolutely.”“How about you Marvin?”Marvin sounded like he was almost ashamed to tell the truth in his answer, “I like WilliamShatner.”Jim let out an “uh-oh” in the background. I said, “You’re right Jim. This could be amatter of contention at dinner. Then again, you guys might be able to have a fullevening of conversation about which Captain Kirk is better. What do you think, Marvin?”“That would be good,” Marvin sounded like he would say anything just to direct theconversation away from him.“Latisha?”“Oh that would get me really hot. Talk Star Trek to me baby.” Latisha was laughing.She understood the dynamics of what was going on. We were taking a guy with verylimited social skills and setting him up on one of the most intimidating dates any mancould probably imagine.The interrogation continued for another four minutes, longer than Dirk Nixon and hiscorporate programming consultants would probably have preferred. However, we felt asif it was one of our stronger new concepts. The following Monday, we interviewed thesweetheart couple for a date debriefing.“So Marvin,” I began, “How’d everything go? Did you get to dip the tip of the taser?”Marvin sounded uncomfortable, “We went to dinner. That was good. Then we went tosee this band that did Motley Crue songs. That was really good.”Jim asked the question we were all waiting for, “What about the night in the luxury trailer,Marvin. Tell us about that.”Marvin exhaled and hesitated, “That was good too.”I asked, “Latisha, what did you think? Was it a good date?”“The steak was good,” she sounded like she had just finished an all-night shoot of fellatioscenes. Her voice had been fresh and well rested, during the previous interview,compared to today’s incarnation. She reminded me of one of the older guys in myneighborhood with a tracheotomy. He could only talk when he first plugged the hole inhis throat, and even then it sounded like a lot of breathless growling.“So what else?” I pushed her to provide more information, “What about after dinner?”“Oh yeah, I liked the band okay,” she was obviously skirting the subject of the luxurytrailer suite.279

“How about you Marvin? You want to elaborate on after dinner?”Jim added, “Yeah, Marvin, did the soldier stand at attention? Was it a brief mission or afull scale battle? Should there be any medals awarded?”“I don’t know,” Marvin sounded ashamed, and I actually started to feel badly for airingthis guy’s confession of impotence or nervousness, whatever might have happened.It was somewhat obvious that no sex was exchanged during the nightcap of theirromantic interlude. He was now telling several hundred thousand people about hissexually disappointing performance. However, Jim and I always looked at thesesituations like we were merely the conduits. Marvin was a grown man, and he entered acontest that was eventually going to lead to this “prize” of making confessions about hisinadequate sexual prowess. It was his own decision; we didn’t coerce him to do it.Jim directed his attention to the prodigiously more talkative Latisha, “How about youLatisha? Any medals going to the trooper?”“The trooper should be shot for desertion.” Her comment sent us into frenzied laughter.You could even hear James and the intern that was standing in the room uproariouslyhowling in the background. She went on, “I even tried to stick him behind enemy lines,but that didn’t help the war cause either.”When we finished laughing at Latisha’s commentary, I asked Marvin, “So Marvin, thetrooper withdrew from the battle, did he?”Jim added, “I guess he must have kept his white flag cover on.”“Surely you must have sent some scouts ahead to map out the terrain, right Marvin?”Marvin’s silence was now starting to make me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to beresponsible for some guy sucking an exhaust pipe because we humiliated him on theradio. Marvin seemed like he had potential to be that type, and I didn’t want tomorrow’spaper headlined with “Radio Bullies Shame Listener to Suicide”.Marvin finally uttered in a sheepish tone, “We did some stuff.”Latisha interjected, “Yeah, we watched the latest ‘Star Trek’ movie, with that guy wewere talking about, and I humped the pillow.”More laughter from the studio, as I said, “Marvin, you’re breaking our hearts here!You’re breaking the hearts of thousands of guys listening. Maybe we should interviewthe pillow, Latisha.”Jim added, “Marvin, you were in a hotel room with the star of ‘One Goo Over theCuckoo’s Nest’ and ‘The Squirt Locker’. Come on man! We gave you the keys to thecity! You could have been riding the subway tunnel all night, dude, getting your CNTower wet, having a snack down at the St. Lawrence fish market.”280

Latisha said, “Marvin doesn’t like seafood, and it was more like a bungalow than the CNTower.” Everyone in the studio roared again.Poor Marvin must have been entirely mortified. I gave Jim a hand signal communicatingthat we should end the bit. We had hoped to get more mileage out of it, but it wasbeginning to turn mean. We weren’t in the business to publicly humiliate asexual shutins,and I didn’t believe that the audience would want to listen to that. Making a fewjokes at a guy’s expense was one thing, but when it starts to turn into wholesaledegradation about the size of the man’s sex organ, that becomes hurtful. Hurtful is notfunny.We made an excuse that we were running late. Everyone got thanked, especiallyMarvin, and we cut off the conference call, articulating some niceties about therestaurant we sent them to. Then, we advised Latisha to gargle some warm salt waterand drink a cup of hot tea with honey.Jim said, “Try not guzzling so many gizmos in one night.”“That seems like good advice,” I commented, “and who would know that better than Jim.”At the end of the show, we sauntered into Dirk’s office, feeling pleased about the showwe had done that day. James accompanied us to the morning meetings now, a newprivilege that we had granted him based on his performance and new position. He wasnow a part of the inner circle, which meant he had achieved bona fide producer status,unpaid of course. We were about to fix that.Dirk seemed to be in a chipper mood, which was unusual. He was usually an ogre onMonday, faintly tolerant of our existence by Wednesday, and then there was Friday,when he was known to play air guitar and perform virtual standup comedy sketches.The attitudinal transformations were so extreme that staff members would often ask,“What’s the mood like today?” We were usually the first ones to see him each morning,so other employees waited on edge for us to deliver “the attitude of the day”. Thoughthat could easily mutate back into ogre temperament, by afternoon.He invited us to sit down, and grinned at us. Jim later said, “It was like Elin Nordegrenmust have shown up in his room and climbed into bed with him that morning, and shebrought her twin sister Josefin!”He was unusually complimentary, espousing “good fuckin’ job” at least three times thatmorning. “Good fuckin’ job” was the highest praise that one could possibly receive fromDirk.It seemed like a good time to announce the news, so I started out by handing James acompliment, “James was the one that came up with the Trailer Park Cougar Porn StarSweetheart concept. He sourced out a list of older porn stars, set the contest up throughthe web department, sent a positioning note out to the staff and wrote and oversaw theproduction of the promo that ran on the air. He took the project entirely on his own andmade it happen.”281

“Fucking outstanding, James. Great fucking idea. It was fucking funny. Way to go.Good job.”Jim and I both looked at Dirk and then at each other. “Fucking outstanding” was a wholenew threshold of praise; we had never heard that one before. This was the moment tomake our move.I delivered the message, “We’ve decided to make James our fulltime permanentproducer.”Dirk looked at James who wore the face of a guy about to receive sentencing from ahanging judge. He thrust his hand out toward our young protégé, and said, “Great work,dude. You deserve it. The show’s been sounding pretty good. I’ve heard some roughedges here and there, but it’s really been firing out of the starting gates, since you’vebeen helping out. Way to go.”Being blessed with his obvious approval, we moved on to our next proposal. Dirk had tosign off on any salary expenditures and major monetary undertakings that we formulatedfor the show. We had the discretionary budget to pay an over-the-hill porn star athousand bucks for a show feature, but we couldn’t command a salary for James, basedupon our decision alone.“We thought we’d just start him at Ricky Smith’s salary level. He’s as good as ‘Cam’was, and he needs the dough.”I knew that James desperately wanted to move out of his family’s apartment. It was in arough crime-infested assisted housing project, located just slightly out of my way home.I had recently started giving him a ride in the morning. We’d talk about the upcomingshow and banter ideas on the way; in the process, I had grown very close to the younglad. He had a good head on his shoulders, and I guess I somewhat adopted him.Dirk looked at me, and you could see some wheels turning inside his head. He finallysaid, “All right. If you guys think he’s the man, then we’ll go with that.” He looked atJames, “That okay with you?”James jumped out of his seat, “Yes Dirk. Thank you. This is really great.”Dirk laughed, “Yeah, well just be careful what you pray for. Come gay pride, these guyswill have you standing around in a tutu, with your dick hanging out on Yonge Street.”After all the backslapping and glad handing was over, Dirk said, “Now James, if youdon’t mind, I need to speak to these guys.”“No problem, Dirk. Thanks again.” He scurried off like he was ready to break into adance. It made me feel good, almost like a paternal pride. I honestly wish I had been asnaturally talented and intrinsically humble as James, at his age.He closed the door, and Dirk immediately turned his attention to us. He had a seriouslook on his face. “Guys, I got another weird email from that Dwight Dumet dude. Thistime he actually attached an MP3 of that crazy motherfucker song that seems to be the282

latest cumshot in a bucket from some flash-in-the-pan rap group. Only he claims that hestripped the recording of all its processing and effects. Then he has an MP3 of you guysdoing some rap type bit from your show.”“That must have been three years ago,” Jim was putting on a very calm front,considering I knew that he was absolutely fluttering inside with nervous waves of doom.“The guy must either be a big fan or some obsessive lunatic fanatic. Who would have arecording of that bit? As I recall it wasn’t even very good,” I tried to insinuate that theindividual was obviously excessive, obsessive and therefore not worth considering.“Well, listen to this.” He played a few bars from our old goofy bit; then, he played thestripped-down version of MFN. “I got to admit that they sound very similar. He evenattached a PDF of supposed voice patterns from each participant, and they do look veryclose to the same. Though, I have no idea what all the little fuckin’ squiggly lines reallymean.”“I don’t know either,” I said while Jim shook his head in agreement of ignorance.“You know, another thing that concerns me,” the way he squinted his eyes and madethat statement reminded me of Peter Falk as Columbo, “I saw an interview on CNN andthat gadfly fuck of a manager you have, what’s his name? Manny. It turns out that he isalso the manager the group.”Jim tried to act like he was barely paying attention, “I’m sorry. What group?”“The fucking rap group, MFN or whatever. Your manager is their manager. Am I gettingyou up too early, Jim?”This was not good. The hens were coming home, and the roost was on fire. I tried tothink fast, “We haven’t really talked to him much lately. He’s been real busy, probablypromoting this new group. What did I hear, the song’s been downloaded about fourmillion times or something?”“Three point seven, according to this morning’s music sales reports from last week. Hethen gave a thoughtful look toward the ceiling, “You guys never left anything layingaround in his studio did you? I know he uses you for a lot of his commercial stuff. Youknow, you think the mike’s off or no one’s around, so you just start goofing on somestuff. Next thing you know, Manny finds it and makes a record out of it.”“Why would he do that?” Jim was giving an Academy Award nomination performance.“That’s what I thought. You’re a couple of white guys, for one. You’re what, in yourfifties?”“FORTIES,” I blurted out. I for one was painfully aware of the toll that getting up at fouro’clock for so many years was taking on my personal appearance. It was only duringvacations that the wrinkled bruised-looking sacks disappeared from under my eyes.283

“Alright, diva. Take it easy. So, you’re in your forties. My point is, why would a guywho’s been in the entertainment industry since Bob Hope was doing vaudeville orwhatever pick up a couple of white middle-age schleps like you to be his newinternational rap sensation.”“That’s a good question,” Jim was actually speaking from the heart. It made entirely nosense, which is why we asked ourselves that same question several times a day.“Then I watched the video on You Tube.” The internet was the only place you couldwatch or listen to the song, since the lyrics were far too obscene and politically incorrectfor conventional broadcast.He then said words that actually gave me the sensation that someone had pumped coldliquid into my veins, “The editing is so quick that you can’t really make out the faces thatwell, and they’re all wearing that fucking weird faggy makeup in every scene. But Iswear, one of them looks like your producer James. He’s the one that’s licking theMichelle Obama character’s ass.”“Really, maybe Jame’s has a lookalike, or maybe he’s moonlighting on the side as anass-licker,” my goal was to make light of the whole thing and laugh it off. Jim gave me aforced support laugh, but Dirk Nixon didn’t laugh at all. He actually had a rather stern,but quizzical look on his face.“Alright,” he seemed somehow disappointed, “I just thought all of this is a little peculiar,so I wanted to run it by you. You don’t know anything about any of this.” Though hissentence was inflected like a statement, it was an implicit question.“Not that I know of,” I tried to be dismissive, but I realized as soon as I said it, thatcomment sounded like a plea of guilty.“Nope,” was all Jim said.He then went on a rather odd and unexpected tangent, “You know the reason I’velearned to almost like you guys? You’re actually intelligent, well informed guys, and youwork hard compared to people I’ve seen in other places. You can tell that you guys takepride, even when you were doing shit that isn’t very fuckin’ funny.”“Thanks,” Jim looked bewildered, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to us Dirk.”“You know what I mean. You guys have been around. What did you say, you’re in yourfifties?”I answered the same question a few seconds earlier, “Forties.”“Well you look like shit then,” he laughed, “Just kidding. I’m not exactly what you wouldrefer to as fresh faced either. You should see me when I first get up.”“No thanks,” both Jim and I spoke simultaneously.284

“Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that it has always amazed me how members ofthe public think that someone who talks on the radio is somehow smarter, betterinformed, and higher paid than they really are. We’ve all known air personalities that arethe dumbest laziest people alive. Big fat fucks that couldn’t work on television, so theyspend the rest of their lives telling jokes, reading the weather, and banging groupies. Iknew a guy, uglier than a bucket of shit and dumber than a box of rocks. He did aremote every Friday night at this bar, and every Friday night he’d bring a differentnineteen year old groupie into the station van. One Monday morning, the guy that tookcare of the station vehicles found a bunch of beer cans and a pair of panties in the backof the van. He picks up the panties with a stick, because he didn’t want to touch them,figuring they were covered with the dumb ugly guy’s manhood. Under the panties was aset of dentures. The guy had taken out his false teeth and was so drunk later hecouldn’t find them. He probably spent the whole weekend looking for them. I had themsitting on my desk Monday morning, so he had to come in and explain what happened,before I’d give him his fucking teeth back.”While it was certainly a captivating story, neither of us could figure out what kind of pointDirk Nixon was trying to make. I was the last one of us to use the station van, and I’mquite sure there were no panties left in it.He continued, “The point I’m trying to make is you guys aren’t dumb, ugly, lazy,irresponsible lowlifes like some people in the industry. You take your jobs seriously, andyou can tell you put all you got into your show, even when it sucks. Plus, I know aboutthings you do in the community.”Jim was at a loss for what to say, so he just nodded and said, “Thanks Dirk. You reallyknow how to dole out the compliments.”“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t strike me as the types that would put out some dumbfoul language shock factor stunt just to make a buck, or whatever. You guys work hard,and you’ve got solid reputations, even though some people may not necessarily likewhat you do. So, I’m confident that you wouldn’t risk throwing away the good spaceyou’re in, for some little flash in the pan thing that would probably do insurmountabledamage to your radio careers. Am I right?”We both nodded unison, “Oh yeah Dirk,” Jim said.“We don’t even like rap music,” I don’t know how convincing I sounded.“Okay then, that’s what I thought. Have a good day. Funny show today. Way to go.Good work.” He spoke casually enough, but you could sense underlying suspicion andconcern.As we walked away from his office, Jim said, “For a minute there, I thought he waschanneling Manny. That sounded like some kind of inane parable Manny would comeout with.”“That wasn’t a parable. That was his way of telling us that he knows we did it.”285

We will never know whether it would have been a better idea to tell him the truth thatday. I tend to believe it wouldn’t have made any difference. It was way too late for that.***Our escape exits were beginning to close, and another indicator of exactly how fast itwas happening occurred on my way home the same day.It had become a routine now, for me to pick up James on the way to work. If ourschedules coincided, I’d drop him off on the way home. His building took me about twominutes out of my way, so it was no big deal for me to save him the excruciating bus rideinto downtown. At 4:00 am, you could bet money on the fact that any transit vehicle wasprobably going to be populated with drunken after-hour club revelers and desperatepenniless crackheads.James was particularly ebullient that day, having just gotten approval on his fulltimeproducer status, “With the money that Manny’s paying us right now, I might be able toafford my own car soon. Then you won’t have to come into the projects to pick me upevery morning.”“I don’t mind, dude. It’s on my way, anyway.”“Yeah, but man, it’s not real cool for you to be driving into our complex at that hour,especially being as white as you are. People think you’re coming in to buy drugs, andthey’d be lovin’ a chance to rip you off.”I turned off the radio, “Why? What do you mean, as white as I am?”“Look at yourself. You got a nice car, nice clothes. Man, I’m telling you, those guyscould spot the kind of watch you’re wearing from two blocks away. That’s what they do.”I wanted to change the subject, “Is Manny still paying you guys a grand a week?”“Most times, yeah. He cut back on us, last week, and only paid us five hundred, onaccount that we didn’t really do anything. He said he’d make it up to us, when the albumcomes out.”There was that word again, “I don’t think there’s going to be an album, James. At leastyou’ll have this money coming in from your job at the station. Manny doesn’t have youon a payroll, does he? He just cuts you a check?” You would think I would know thingslike that, since I was a partner in the company.James shook his head, “He just gives us cash.”“What are you drug mules? Could this guy be any sleazier? So he just walks aroundwith a pocket full of cash, and pays people that way? I’m sure he probably doesn’t evenget receipts. We are going to be so clearly audited. After he destroys my career, maybehe can get me some jail time for tax evasion, too.”James looked reticent, in fact he was looking down at his hands, “There’s somethingelse I need to tell you.”286

I glanced over at him, reading his face, “Is this going to upset me?”He nodded, “Yeah. I think there’s a pretty good chance of that.”I pulled up and stopped in front of a sandwich deli that we frequented on the way home,“Here, let’s have lunch. I’ll buy,” I paused to build up my own courage for what he wasabout to tell me, “Okay, what is it?”He hesitated, “You know Ken and Bobby, Pope and ManGod? They’ve been starting totell some people. They flash around their money, and tell some of the other guys thatthey’re making thousands of dollars a week as rap producers. They even told some girlsthat they were MFN, just cause they wanted to try to get up in ‘em, you know.”This could have some serious ramifications, “So you’re telling me that these two idiotsare running around breaking the confidentiality agreement you signed?”“Well we didn’t actually sign an agreement. We just said we wouldn’t say anything.Really Manny was the one that said that, and we all just said ‘yeah’. He didn’t have ussign anything.”My blood pressure must have been high enough for me to drive straight to anemergency room. I felt like I was about to have a stroke. My head suddenly startedpounding with a dull silent thud, and my body temperature seemed to have instantlyrisen about five degrees.I could barely choke out the words, through my gritting teeth, “He never had you signanything?”He shook his head, “No man. He just drove up to us and said, ‘You guys wanna be rapstars?’ Then he said he’d pay us one thousand dollars a week to be the front men forhis new group, get our pictures taken and do videos, personal appearances, stuff likethat. We just had to promise not to say anything. Then, he gave us his card, and told usto be at the studio the next morning. We thought he was some kind of pervert just tryingto pick up young black guys, but we went anyway. He already had that Chinese guy,BB, set up with a camera and lights. There was a girl that did our makeup; I think Mannywas banging her, because they were real touchy feely the whole time.”I paced my words very slowly, because I was nearly hyperventilating, “Let me get thisstraight. Manny drove into a Metro Toronto Housing project, approached three strangerson the street corner, and entrusted them with information that could destroy my life. Isthat fairly accurate?”He nodded, “That’s pretty much it, man.”It seemed like an odd thing to be concerned about at the time, but my next question was,“Manny has to be whiter than I am, right? I mean the guy could be the definitive photoexample of ‘Rich Caucasian Asshole’ on Google Images. What’s he doing driving intothe projects, and if it’s as bad as you say, approaching strangers and offering themmoney?”287

“I know man. He’s lucky. He was driving a Mercedes convertible, too. If he didn’t getpopped by some guy for his car and cash, the police could have pulled him over. Nowhite guy in a car like that comes around our building, unless they’re looking for drugs orpussy.”“Oh, he probably got that on the way out,” I was so disgusted, I could have bare-knucklebeaten Manny Goyshevitz until he prayed for his own death. “Look James, we’re goingto have to do lunch another day.”“No problem, man. I understand.”I dropped off James and pulled over to call Jim, waiting until I got out of the MetroHousing parking lot. After what James had just told me, I didn’t think it a good idea topark my overtly white ass and distract myself on a phone conversation from that location.That could make me easy pickin’s for anyone with criminal intent to blindside me andsteal my watch, having identified the timepiece brand from two blocks away.“Hey,” he answered after one ring.“Man, I gotta tell you what I’ve just learned.”“Where are you now?” he sounded unusually rattled.“Just on the way home.”“I’ll meet you there. Hurry.”This was a very uncharacteristic phone conversation for Jim. I made it home in fourminutes. By the time I unlocked my front door, Jim was pulling up to the curb. Hepointed at the door, while he trotted up the walkway.“Quick. Turn on the TV,” he sounded frantic, “You’re not going to want to believe this.”288

33 - Tangling WebsWe ran into the house and turned the television on to the local Toronto headline newschannel.There had been two shootings the night before, police were investigating. The PrimeMinister had received a couple cases of beer, 2-4’s is the proper Canadian terminology,from the U.S. ambassador to Canada on behalf of Barack Obama. It was the payoff fora bet on the Olympic gold medal hockey game between the two countries.Then came the third story at the top of the newscast, “Canadian rap group MFN may befacing some legal problems south of the border, as the U.S. Justice Department isdetermining whether the lyrics of their popular internet download song ‘MFN’ constitute aviolation of federal law.”“What?” I felt my body go stiff, like I had just received an electric shock.The report continued, “According to the song’s lyrics, a member of the group stalks FirstLady Michelle Obama, while on a tour of the White House, and shows her his penis. MsObama is then tricked into fondling the man’s genitalia. When she realizes that it ismuch larger than her husband’s, President Barack Obama, she calls for help.”Jim broke the tense silence in the room by saying, “This would be funny if it weresomeone else. Could she be any more descriptive in her details?”“The U.S. Attorney General is considering whether the lyrics should be considered athreat to the First Lady, and indirectly the President, which is a federal offense in theUnited States. Other rap luminaries have already weighed in on the group and theirsong with scathing criticism. Sean Combs calls the song ‘irresponsible’ and ‘a black eyeto many legitimate rap musical geniuses like myself’. Kanye West recently said in aninterview quote, ‘The song is whack.’ West went on to call the group’s behavior ‘a publicembarrassment’. Rapper Lil Wayne released a statement from prison, condemning thegroup for not representing themselves as better ‘role models for their fans’.The issues around the song were discussed earlier today, by the women’s panel on ‘TheView’. The report included a clip from the show.Barbara Walters was shown saying, “It is absolutely a criminal act for a man to exposehimself to a woman, then trick her into thinking it’s her husband, just so she’ll touch hissexual organ.”Whoopi Goldberg then countered, “Oh Barbara, touching somebody’s penis isn’t a threatto anyone. If the man looked good enough, I would touch one right now.”That comment sent the entire panel into tittering giggles, with Elisabeth Hasselbeckcommenting, “Oh my, things sure are different since Rosie O’Donnell left. I know shewould never want to touch one of those!” That created a second tirade of laughteramongst the elite panel of daytime TV stars.289

The local headline news reporter returned, “Members of the group MFN have notcommented on the developments, but group manager Manny Goyshevitz had this tosay.”“Uh oh. Here we go,” I articulated the first thought that burst from my head.“Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet,” Jim grumbled as he slouched on the sofa, holding hishead in his hands.There was Manny, wearing a custom tailored suit, monogrammed shirt with the top threebuttons open, revealing a chain that looked like it had been purchased at Snoop Dogg’sgarage sale. He was silently pontificating as the reporter introduced him. The firstwords out of his mouth when his sound bite became audible were, “What about anartist’s freedom of speech? I thought that was supposed to be real big in the States, thatand owning guns.”“Oh, for fuck sakes,” was the only thing I could think of to say in my mortified, stupefiedand entirely irrationally angry state.The reporter came back with a voiceover as the video image of Manny still talking,undoubtedly saying something incredibly damaging to us, went silent. “Goyshevitz wenton to say that the group would not abandon their legions of fans in the U.S., when theyembarked on their first world tour.”I had to actually start laughing, “World tour? Oh Manny, you’ve completely lost yourmind.”Jim offered, “Do you think he’s back on coke again?”“Do you think Michael Phelps will go swimming today?” There was no question that thisguy was now under the influence of some sociopathic and delusional mental disorder ordrug induced dementia. I personally felt strongly that the latter was the case. Mannyhad a propensity to become addicted to different things for a while, then get bored withthem. Cocaine had been the most recurrent contributing element to his episodes oferratic behavior.The best though, was yet to come. The audio came back on for Manny’s nextstatement, “Either way, fans in every country will get to see the performance, becausethe group’s in talks now to create a new feature film ‘MFN: The Movie’. It’s going to bea kind of a combination of ‘Roots’ meets ‘Tommy’ with a little bit of ‘The Last Waltz’ and‘Woodstock’ thrown in with ‘West Side Story’. I’ll tell you one thing, it’s going to makethat Michael Jackson movie ‘This is It’ look like a load of fuckin’ shit. Sorry about that.”They beeped out Manny’s trademark profanity, but I had stopped listening well beforethat. Jim said, “Why do they continue to let this guy go on television.”“I don’t know Jim. Maybe it’s the same concept as one of those reality shows like ‘Jonand Kate Plus Eight’, you know, one of those programs where they follow around somefucked up celebrity douche bags with a film crew. People are entertained by watchinghuman train wrecks try to negotiate through normal everyday lives. It makes them feel290

etter about themselves. They get to see that someone that is probably richer andcertainly more famous than them is even more useless, stupid and crazy than they are.Manny makes great television because he’s so intrinsically and chronically fucked up.”Jim had a different theory, “I think it’s because he provides the same tense anticipationof a NASCAR race. You know that sooner or later, a car is going to hit the wall andcreate widespread collateral damage. It’s just a matter of which car. Manny isunquestionably that car, and it’s only a matter of time before the carnage begins. Youcan see that without even knowing him. He’s just like the Anna Nicole Smith syndrome.Remember at the end, even before she died? Entertainment Tonight and all thoseshows didn’t even bother flying in production crews anymore; they just camped outsidethe compound. They knew that everyday some crazy screwball event would occur thatwould titillate their viewing public. Even if all this really existed, and there really was anMFN rap group, Manny is just a ripe plum that is going to do something to offend theentire planet, get into legal trouble, or end up crashing a Lamborghini loaded withhookers and a suitcase full of drugs. Any Oprah-watching, National Enquirer-readinghousewife in North America can see that coming right up the goddamn 401.”“Well I’m done Jim. If there’s any chance of salvaging our livelihoods and even maybeour safety, we have to get him to buy us out and just walk away from this. I don’t carehow much earning potential Ear to Ear Productions may have. I’m done with him.”I proceeded to tell Jim about the so-called airtight confidentiality agreement that Mannyhad made with our alleged MFN front men. He was just as disturbed as I was that notonly did Manny not formalize any part of their pact, but that he was running around withthousands of dollars in cash, paying guys he never met from a street corner in theprojects. The whole arrangement was so insane that it was hard to believe it hadactually happened.Jim said, “I don’t even care about future earnings or taking less cash than we might beentitled to. With the assets of both the studios and the work we’ve done this yearalready, we should be able to squeeze a mil, maybe even a million and a half apiece outof him. Right now, he’s so high on either coke or his own delusional ambition, that he’dthink he was getting away with the whole farm and just leaving us with the barn.”I felt entirely in concert with Jim’s sentiments and intentions, “Yeah, well you know Jim, Ilike going on the radio with you and making people happier about their lives for a minuteor two. I like putting together a really good morning show. I also happen to lovemy…well I guess I might as well say ‘my wife’, as well as our home. I don’t want tomove, and I don’t want to work at a different radio station. I say that presuming thatthere’s any chance at all we’re going to come out of this thing with our jobs intact.”“Since you like me so much, maybe we can get placed in the same cell, if the JusticeDepartment decides to issue warrants for our arrests,” we both laughed in a kind ofexhausted resigned forced manner. Jim promised to contact our mutual personalattorney over the weekend and set up a meeting for early the next week. The objectivewas going to be for us to draft an agreement giving Manny sole ownership of Ear to EarProductions, with an offer that he would be negligent or foolish to refuse.291

My Julie was coming home that night, so Jim left and I proceeded to clean the house thebest I was capable of. I jogged down to our favorite seafood shop, went to our regularbutcher, and bought some bottles of excellent wine. After a stop at the floral shop, I ranupstairs to get myself ready.It was like our first date all over again, when I could only afford to take her to see AnneMurray with free tickets. I went through my entire inventory of grooming and estheticnuances, from my toenails to my nose hairs. I had gotten a haircut the weekend before,so my coiffure was in its cyclical prime. I had shopped earlier in the week, buying a pairof khakis and a sky-blue shirt. Julie liked me in blue, because she said it matched myeyes.I left two hours early, because she was arriving at 5:30 pm. That meant, I had tonegotiate the busiest highway in North America, during prime rush hour. As it turnedout, I arrived at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport an hour early. I stopped in anairport pub and enjoyed an exorbitantly overpriced beer and skimmed through TheGlobe and Mail, Canada’s most widely read national newspaper.Within the editorial and feedback sections that day, I stumbled upon a letter from areader declaring “that garbage tossed out by some mediocre rap group”. It was easy tofigure out who they were talking about. They went on to declare MFN as “an indecentand loathsome embarrassment to the open-mindedness, empathy, and intelligence thathave all become proud trademarks of Canadian culture”. At the bottom of the article, thereader’s name was listed as “V. Dumet, Toronto”.“Oh my God,” I thought, “This is like a nightmare that just keeps gaining moremomentum, and she’s like Chucky or Jason.” It was all actually starting to make me feelparanoid and frightened; my mindset was starting to become nearly agoraphobic.I wondered what we had done that could possibly have warranted deserving all this.How bad must our karma be? And, why are Violet Dumet and that obviously connecteddiabolical douche bag speech pathologist Dwight Dumet so intent on destroying us?These lingering thoughts nearly started to penetrate and spoil my euphoric mood, until Ireminded myself that my Julie was going to be there within the hour.When her plane arrived, I rushed to the gate and watched as scores of travelersdisembarked. The last few stragglers were walking through the corridor, and there wasstill no sign of her. Why if she couldn’t make this flight? Why if she wasn’t able to comeat all? I needed to see her so badly that it was like a physical pain. I could feel pressurewithin my sinuses and eyes starting to well up.Wouldn’t it be perfect if I burst into tears in the middle of the airport? Right about thattime, some construction worker who was there to pick up his construction worker brotherwould recognize me. They would both try to engage me with the typical “that was sofuckin’ funny when you made Cam Elto dress up like a giant logoed penis and walk inthe Pride Parade”. Then, one of them would notice that I was crying, and another chunkof my bad boy radio outlaw image would fall out and land right there at Pearson Airport.Then, I saw her. She was tugging her luggage, scanning the crowd for my face.Instantly, I felt a surge of pressure push up through my chest. Admittedly, the tingling292

sensation that permeated my body originated and was generated from my genital area.Though, I would not tell her that, for fear that it might sound somehow unromantic.She saw me. I felt like I was lighter than air and floating on small coaster wheels;literally, I felt no effort, as if gravity was not present. We embraced and both of usstarted gushing tears and burying our faces into each other, smelling each other scentsand telling each other how much we loved and missed each other.On the way through the crowd, as I pulled her suitcase and held her around the waist, aconstruction worker type spoke to me. “Hey are you Rick Loonie from 93 Rock?”I looked him in the eye, tears still streaming, and said, “You’re goddamn right I am. Andthis is the love of my life.”He nodded and said, “Cool. Whatever happened to Cam Elto? It was so fucking funnythat day when you made him eat bugs and worms and stuff.”Julie just started laughing, loudly and uncontrollably. She buried her head into my neck,so it wouldn’t appear that she was openly making fun of a fan.“Send me an email, man. I got things to do.” With that I gave him a wink and made anobvious sideways glance toward Julie.He nodded, “Cool. Have fun. Love your show, Rick. Can’t start my day, unless I listento Loonie and Mooney. You guys are the one thing I look forward to every morning.”***The conversation on the way home consisted of quips like, “Oh, I miss seeing the CNTower” and “I can’t wait to go to a Jays game with you”.When we got home, she showered while I prepared the surf and turf dinner. I didn’t tellher that the salad and potatoes were prepared by one of our morning show clients. Imanaged to get him VIP passes to see the Virgin Festival on Toronto Island one year,because his favorite band Foo Fighters was playing. He never ever forgot it. “Howmany people coming to your party, one hundred fifty? No problem, I make horsd'oeuvres for everybody!”I would reply with a sincere, “No, you don’t need to do that.”His name was Andre. He was and continues to be one of the few men I’ve allowed totouch my mouth with his index finger, telling me to hush, “You took care of me, you crazybastard. I was in the VIP bar, Dave Grohl walks in, I nearly shit myself man. I walked upto him, and he talked to me for maybe five minutes. He even said he might come intomy restaurant. Your money is no longer good here, my friend. You ever decide to marrythat beautiful girlfriend of yours, I’ll cater your fucking wedding for my cost. Your guestswill be sucking the food stains off each other’s tuxedos the food will be so good. You’rea cool rockin’ motherfucker Rick Loonie!” I’ll never forget what you did for me.”It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I didn’t particularly want to go, so I just gave him myVIP passes. Man, was that ever a good investment. I would never ask him to cater a293

party of any kind; that’s just so terribly tacky. However, some free salad and side disheson the night that I’ll be having sex for the first time in four weeks is more than a fair andequitable deal in my favor, as far as I’m concerned.My surf and turf extravaganza was a big hit. After dinner, Julie helped me clear thedishes from the table, in spite of my protests. I quickly washed them. There was a timewhen I would have a woman over to my place for dinner, and I’d leave the dishes untilmorning. That was before I actually lived with the woman. Now, even in the throes ofseductive romance, we did the dishes first. I must admit that it did make the kitchensmell better the next morning.We put on music and talked about her odd lifestyle, living in temporary lodgings whileworking in Vancouver. Before even a half hour had passed, she finally said, “Butenough about me. I know you must be ready to tear my clothes off.”And so I did.Later, as we lay there, I realized that I had never loved anyone or anything as much as Idid Julie. There was almost an audible hum in the air, like our auras were mixing,melting together. Whatever it is they do, it was happening.At that moment, I realized that nothing in my life was as important to me as her. That’swhy I was nearly overwhelmed with emotion when she said, “I can’t do this anymore,Rick. I don’t want to live away from you and our home. My life is a series of meetings,power lunches, dinners with clients.”I pulled her closer, because I could see a tear slowly emerging out of the corner of hereye, “Clients! Oh, how I hate them. Some of our biggest clients are companies based inAsia, and there is still an obvious male dominance, at least within the companies I’mdealing with.”She turned over on her side to face me, “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore. Themoney’s good, but I have no life. We have no relationship. I’m done. I’ve decided Ihave to give my notice. There have got to be other jobs with companies here in Toronto.With the resume I’ve built, I should have a reasonably desirable skill set and valuableexperiences. I probably won’t make as much money, though. I’m sorry to put us in thatposition.”I kissed her and brushed my hand on her cheek, “We’ll be fine. Jim and I are going topush Manny into buying out our shares in the company. We want to distance ourselvesfrom Ear to Ear Productions.”I could see a faint scowl appear on her face, “Oh yes, Jim. You guys have really gottenyourselves into a jam here, haven’t you? What on God’s Earth were you thinking, whenyou did that atrocious song?”“We weren’t thinking. We were drinking.”“Oh, that makes it okay then. Men think that being drunk excuses them from anyaccountability. Did you know that there are women’s blog sites where they talk about294

castrating the people responsible for your song? My client wanted to try to persuadeMichelle Obama to speak at their annual general meeting, but the Secret Service isafraid that there will be a bunch of men dropping their pants in front of her, because thatsong makes it sound like such a funny thing to do. They seem to think there’s some kindof exhibitionist perversion movement going on in Canada. They actually used the termCopycat Flashers.”“We were just making fun of a gangsta rap group that was recording up in the Muskokastudio. We watched the hockey game, drank all night, and just started imitating thesong. I didn’t even know that BB was recording it. I guess he thought it might be fun toplay back to us the next day. We forgot all about it; then, we find out Manny put musicbehind it and put it on a website for download.”“How can you not get sued for using that ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ song?”“It’s a long story. You don’t even want to know.”“How about that Rolling Stones song and that other one you mentioned, who is it? LittleRichard?”“You definitely don’t want to know,” I paused to collect my thoughts. She was throwing alot of questions at me, and I was still just coming out of my refractory period. “It was abunch of guys, drinking in their buddies’ basement, trying to out-outrageous each other.”“Well, I’d say that you won, with those Michelle Obama lyrics! How could you say thingslike that about such a dignified and decent woman. I thought you said she was the mostinspiring First Lady since Jacqueline Kennedy.”“I did. She is. Anyway, that was Jim singing that part.”“Oh bullshit, Rick. I can tell that’s you! I know your voice.”Come on, Julie. BB put so many effects on our voices that the FBI couldn’t tell whichone was me.”“Well you better hope not, from what I heard on the news today.” She rolled over, sothat her back was facing me.“I don’t think that was necessary,” I muttered as I walked into the living room and turnedon the television.***Both Jim and I tried to reach Manny all weekend. I would have been tempted to drive tothe Muskoka studio if Julie hadn’t just returned.Meanwhile, downloads of MFN were reaching some astronomically ridiculous number.The internet pundits and entertainment news shows were projecting that it was oncourse to be the most downloaded song of all time. I wish I could feel proud of that.295

Julie, for one, was doing an excellent job of reminding me why I should definitely not beproud of it. I sensed that she may have felt some qualms about being identified as thegirlfriend of the most notorious racist sexist pig of the twenty-first century.I hate to say it, but I was actually glad to head to work that Monday morning. I hadwaited for weeks, just aching for her presence. Twenty-four hours after she arrived, Iwas already thinking of excuses to get out of the house. “Oh, do we need bread again?I’ll go.”I pulled into James’ parking lot at 4:30 am, our usual time. He wasn’t standing on thesidewalk in his usual place. It had been like a clockwork custom for him to be waiting forme, precisely at 4:30 am. I started to dial his cellphone when he came from around thecorner. I could tell from his body language that he was angry or upset; his stride wouldhave qualified as “storming”.Someone shouted something from behind him, and he barked something back towardthe corner from which he had just emerged. When he got into the car, he was obviouslyagitated.“What’s going on, man?” I put the car in reverse quickly and sped out of the parking lot.If there was some kind of trouble happening, this was not the neighborhood you wantedto find it in.He shook his head, “Aw, just some punks. Thanks to Pope and ManGod, everybodyknows now that I’m working for the MFN. They started calling themselves Pope andManGod in front of other people now. They say they’ve ‘reinvented’ themselves. Theygot people running around, doing their errands, lining up girls. People think that they’remaking all the money from those sales everyone on the news is talking about. Now theythink I’m making it too, saying ‘why don’t I spend a little of that MFN money’ with us?”This was beyond worrisome.I knew it. I told Manny that these guys couldn’t keep their mouths shut. If for no otherreason, a young man has a penis to care for. Most men will use any means necessaryto accommodate, entertain and pamper that penis. Notoriety and money are two waysto assure that you are able to provide five-star comfort and luxury lodging for your penis.You could never expect young bucks like these to ignore the responsibilities inherent inowning penises. Jim and I had already discussed it. It was only a matter of time, beforethe penal survival instinct would kick in. At that point, they’d tell anyone who happenednot to have a penis about what they had done.“Why aren’t you running around telling everybody your name is BizKut, and you’re a bigrap star?”James clucked his tongue, like he was disappointed that I would even suggest such athing, “I’m not interested in being a rap star, never was. I am the producer of one of thetop radio morning shows in the Greater Toronto metro, Men 18-34, Adults 18-34 andeven Men 25-54. I’m a part of something important that means something to people. Iread the emails. We make a difference in people’s lives; even if it’s just a tiny little thing,we make people happy for a few minutes. Sometimes that’s the best you can hope for.”296

I felt a spontaneous rush of pride and almost an admiration for my young colleague,“James, you are wise well beyond your years, my friend. You are going to go very far.”When we got to the studio, Jim was already there, “Couldn’t sleep. Kept having dreamsabout angry mobs of left-wing equal-rights pacifists storming my house.”We wrote material, while James sorted news copy for us. Dirk Nixon was on vacation,so we decided to try one of our favorite old routines. Even though our new boss frownedintensely upon character bits, we figured there was no way that he was going to belistening online in Punta Cana. Chances are they didn’t even have wireless capabilitiesat his hotel.We had wanted to do a bit about Jesse James, the CEO of West Coast Choppers andstar of his own TV show “Jesse James is a Dead Man”. We first became aware of himwhen he was doing another show called “Monster Garage”. His marriage to theremarkably gorgeous and the seemingly very sweet and classy actress Sandra Bullockran into trouble over allegations of an affair with a woman named Michelle McGee.McGee’s alleged claims to fame include stripper, cyber sex chat partner, dominatrix andmost notably “tattoo model”. She had been described by some media outlets as lookinglike Marilyn Manson with breasts. Some of her most well known photos documented herappearance wearing swastikas, while licking a dagger.Jim’s definitive description of her on the air was much less wordy than that, “Skank!”“I know, man. What the hell’s wrong with this guy?” I had always been a fan of SandraBullock, if not her movies, her radiant good-girl sunshine looks and her apparent kindand intelligent temperament. “The girl of my dreams was madly in love with him, and hestrayed on her with this swap-meet slut?”Jim smirked, “Yeah, what’s she going to do now, the poor thing? She’ll never find aguy.”“They’re probably already calling her answering machine. ‘Sandra, this is GeorgeClooney. Just checking to see if you’re okay. If you need to get away, I’ve got room atmy beach house’. Meanwhile, Jesse James is now the poster boy for world’s mosthated male sex pig.”Jim’s eyes lit up, “Hey, maybe that could be our next promotional prize item! The ‘93Rock’ 2010 Male Pig Calendar. January could be Tiger Woods, Charlie Sheen forFebruary, March is Jesse James. Who do we feature for April?”“We could always use Bill Clinton as the emergency standby. He could be thecontingency plan, any month when no one gets caught with their dink in the jam jar.”Jim went along with that, “We could just go ahead and make Bill the Man of the Year.”“Maybe someday, our calendar could evolve, until it’s as big as the Sports IllustratedSwimsuit Issue or the People Magazine Sexiest Man Alive.”297

Jim just started shaking his head and laughing. We hadn’t even planned all this. Theconversation had just come up, “Can you imagine? Guys are lobbying to get onto to thecalendar. Taking us out to lunch and showing off some bimbo stripper they picked up atthe airport. ‘Look at her guys. Is she skanky enough for you?’I loved it when we started really clicking on something demented, “I’m married to alingerie model, who just won a Tony Award for best actress, but I found this sodomitewith some nasty looking lesions at a crack house, located in a trailer off I-75. Thatshould at least get me February on the calendar. C’mon man, there are only twentyeightdays in Februay.”For the first time since we hired him, James spoke up on the air, “We could produce areality show, ‘The Making of the Male Pig Calendar’. Follow the guys around as they tryto make it to the Top 12. You know, Tom Brady leaves Gisele Bündchen at home withthe kids, while he dates a fat midget with facial hair.“Congratulations Tom! You’re Mr. July! Way to go James. I think we have a wholecottage industry going here.” After saying that, I cued our old phone sound effect. It hadbeen a while since we used it.“Good morning, 93 Rock.”We filtered Jim’s voice through a harmonizer and added sound effects to create theimpression that we were speaking to Jesse James on the phone with a lot of static.Otherwise their voices would have sounded too similar, “Hey guys! Jesse James here!”“Jesse, what are you up to?”“Well Rick, everybody’s bugging me for an interview, except for you guys. So I decidedto give you the exclusive, just cause I know you guys wouldn’t trash me behind my back,you know, saying things like ‘What the hell’s wrong with this guy?’ and ‘She’s a skank!’and stuff like that.”I glanced over at James, who was providing the adequate infectious backgroundlaughter, since Jim was in character. I proceeded with the mock interview, “Of coursewe wouldn’t do that Jesse. Tell me though, why’d you do it?”“What can I tell you? I’ve got a disease man! It’s called ‘sexual addiction’, and it’s morecontagious than the H1N1 Flu or SARS. I think I might have caught it from Tiger Woods,last summer. I ran into him at a gang bang over at John Mayer’s house,” pause forobligatory peanut gallery laughter, “Plus, I’ve always been attracted to those sideshowfreak types, anyway. I used to talk Sandra into dressing up like the bearded lady, thetwo-headed woman, or the half-human half-lizard once in a while. I got her to starttaking sword swallowing and fire-eating lessons, before she moved out.”“Wow Jesse, it sounds like you had it all. What was it about this tattoo model that keptyou coming back?”“Rick, it was the challenge.”298

“No offense Jesse, but from the descriptions I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like it was thatmuch of a challenge.”“That’s because you’ve never had a chance to visit down there, Rick. She had so manycrazy piercings and metal hardware contraptions installed, it reminded me of the door onmy first apartment in New York. Hell, one of them had a combination lock on it. I tell youwhat brother, it was like a Rubik’s Cube, only all the sides are pink.”The Rubik’s Cube comment sent James into donkey-like honks of laughter. It was betterthan the bit, itself. That started both of us to laughing so hard that we had to catch ourbreaths.When we finally regained our composure, I asked, “Jesse, what do you think thechances are of you and Sandra getting back together?”“I was just headed over there, but now you’ve got me thinking about that calendar.Maybe I should hold out for a while. You know an important calendar like that could begood for my career,” he paused and then chortled, “I’m just yanking your timing beltbuddy! Nah, she’s a great girl, and that Oscar sure does look good up on the mantle.Plus, I already paid for her to take trapeze lessons.”“You better work hard then, Jesse. I think she’s probably pretty pissed off, right now.”“Oh she’s not even started to get pissed off yet. You just wait, I’ll be a shoo-in for Mr.July, before this is over. You could maybe have a picture of me naked on one of mychoppers or something real cool like that. We’ll get some sleazy Motley Crue groupietype to sit on my face or something. Gotta go! Keep it upright fellas. You’re my boys!”In the background, you could hear the sound effect of a motorcycle speeding off. Jimsaid, “I hope he’s not talking on the phone, while riding his motorcycle. That’s got to beagainst the law.”“It can’t be good! Glad he’s not riding that hog anywhere around here.”“Which hog are you talking about?” Jim asked.“Good question. News and traffic is next, with Loonie and Mooney in the Morning on 93Rock.”By the time I took off my headphones, the familiar flashing light of the hotline seemed toilluminate the entire room. It was probably someone from the promotions departmentreminding us about some contest giveaways.I answered with a goofy, “Mom, I told you to quit calling me at work.”The voice that responded took me aback. It was Dirk Nixon; from the awkward delay, Icould tell he was calling long distance.299

“Did you guys think that they don’t have wireless internet at my hotel? Fuck! I just flewout last night, and two hours into your first show, it’s like fucking anarchy breaks out.Why would you purposely ignore the countless discussions we’ve had about doingcharacter bits? I told you, it’s more of a possible tune-out than a reason to listen formost people.”All I could think of to say was, “I thought you’re supposed to be on vacation.”The impatience in his voice was manifesting, “I am supposed to be on vacation.Unfortunately, I can’t seem to trust my morning men to follow simple fucking directivesthat we’ve talked about over and over. Here’s what concerns me, I’m going to go out tothe beach café to order some melon and maybe a poached egg.”I was, as usual, confused by where Dirk might be headed with the conversation, “Areyou concerned, because you’re eating melon and eggs in a third world country?”“No, I’m concerned that by the time I butter my toast, you guys will be fucking aroundagain with the format. Either that, or you’ll be doing something that directly contradictsthings I thought we were already clear on. Now, do you think I can have breakfastwithout worrying about that?”“Yes Dirk. We just felt as if this was a great topic to make fun of, and…..”“And you thought since I’m not in town, you’d make fun of it. Whereas I, on the otherhand, thought we determined that you would only do a bit like that if it was fuckin’ funny.And I was quite sure that we agreed that the best way to tell if something is funnyenough to be on this radio station is if I, Dirk Nixon the Program Director, tells you ‘Heyguys! This bit is really fuckin’ funny. No shit, I almost ruptured a blood vessel in one ofmy balls laughing at it.’ However, I don’t recall having had that conversation, and thelocal rum isn’t all that good. I know I’d remember a fucking conversation like that.”I had a show to do, and frankly this tedious condescension was really beginning toirritate me, “Dirk, I get your point. Have a great vacation. Buy me something nice, anddon’t worry. We will no longer work outside of the parameters we’ve agreed upon. Sorryabout today. We just had a creative jag and kind of went with it.”“Apology accepted. It wasn’t as bad as some of the shit I’ve heard you guys try to pulloff.”I thought to myself, “This guy is just about as charming, gracious and uplifting as anyboss you could ever want, isn’t he?”He left me with one final thought, “Hey, by the way, don’t tell Rhino you’ve talked to me.I’m going to be listening to him this afternoon, too. I swear, if I hear one of his eightminute interviews with some indie label douche bag, I’m going preempt his show withlive professional bowling. Gotta go for breakfast. You guys don’t cornhole anycheerleaders while I’m gone!”With that one beautifully stated visual mental image he was gone. No goodbye, no havea good week, just some advice on who not to “cornhole” and dial tone. What a guy.300

***On the way home that day, James said, “I’ve never met anyone like Dirk Nixon before.”“James, I’m twenty years older than you are, and I’ve never met anyone like Dirk Nixonbefore. You know what though? Consider yourself lucky. The man’s a genius.”James looked at me with surprise, “Really?”“Look at the track record he brings with him. He’s the guy that Crowe Communicationssends in when radio stations are ailing. He’s managed to make every facility he’sworked at a top three station, even when the format has direct competition in the market.Not only that, but if you listen to some of his insights and strategies, they all make sense.Some guys take the focus groups and the market research, and they follow it verbatim.Dirk looks at it and uses some rational common sense, mixed with an uncanny capacityto figure out people. He takes all that data and makes it applicable it to a real livenormal guy. Not many people seem to be able to do that.We pulled into a parking spot in front of James’ building. He turned toward me like hewas going to try to kiss me or something. I reflexively backed away a few inches.“Hey Rick. My mother’s off work today. I wondered if you might want to come up andmeet her.”I looked at him for a moment; his eyes were imploring, as if this really meant somethingto him. I said, “James, I would be honored.”The building lobby was nicely decorated with a small sitting area to the side. There wasan institutional feel to the place, but you could tell that the building management and thetenants really cared about the aesthetics required to make a facility feel like a home. Forone thing, the place was immaculate.As we waited for the elevator, James looked at me and said, “You’re the only whiteperson who’s ever come into this building before.”We looked at each other for a second and he started laughing. He had gotten me; Ialmost fell for it. I faked a punch to his gut, “You make me feel so sublime. Is this aspecial housing project for dickheads?”Coming off the elevator on the fourth floor, he unlocked the door and we entered hisfamily’s apartment. I was taken with the décor, it was very arts and crafts classy, witheverything from native sculptures to engaging photographs and tastefully colorcoordinatedpaintings. There was a giant wall unit filled with books, DVDs, VHS tapesand CDs.He motioned to them, “Those are mine,” he said proudly, “I’ve read, watched or listenedto every single one of them.”There was the sound of movement to my left, and I turned to see a woman I assumed tobe James’ mother. Thankfully, she looked older than me. I occasionally had an intern301

say something like, “You’re two years older than my dad.” I didn’t particularly care tohear that.She was a woman with a dynamic spirit. Waves of energy radiated off of her. Her hairwas short cropped, which is hard for most women to pull off, but it suited her very well.She had unusually large eyes and a smile that completely consumed her face. She wasbeautiful and elegant, even though she was wearing sweat pants with a hoodie and wasobviously cleaning the house.She looked shocked, when she saw me standing there. James immediately introducedus, “Mom, this is my boss, Rick Loonie. Rick, this is my mom Natalie.”We shook hands, and she said, “James, it would be exceptionally nice of you to tell mewhen you’re bringing your boss to our house. That way, I would be less apt to look like alaundry maid, when he gets here.”She was very well spoken, articulating every syllable with precise pronunciation. Ismiled at her, “How many kids do you have?”“Just James and his sister Renee.”“Then I suspect you are a laundry maid quite a bit of the time.”She smiled a wide perfectly toothed smile, “I forgot. You got my son pretty well figuredout by now, I bet. He’s not very motivated in the ways of laundry and housekeeping.”James quickly ended that topic, “Hey Rick, would you like a beer?”I glanced at Natalie, and she gave a nod, “I’ll take one too, James. If Mr. Loonie has thetime.“I absolutely do.”A minute later, James returned from the kitchen looking disappointed, “Renee and herfriends drank my six pack of Heineken. Rick, you stay here, and I’ll be back in twominutes. There’s a liquor store right next door to the building.”I held my hand up and waved off that idea, “No James. That’s okay, I’ll just get going.”James extended his palm like a traffic cop, “No please, just wait and I’ll be right back.”“Stay and have a beer with us Mr. Loonie. I’d enjoy meeting my son’s boss. He’s toldRenee and I so much about you.”I pulled a twenty out of my wallet, “All right. I’ll buy, if you fly.”He headed for the door, “No Rick. I’ll get the beer.” It seemed to mean something tohim to pay for the beer, so I didn’t protest.302

As soon as the door closed behind James, Natalie urged me to sit down. The first wordsout of her mouth were, “I wanted to speak to you alone.”Uh oh. Suddenly, I thought about the implications of Natalie trying to seduce me. Imean, she was definitely a sexy woman, but I already had a loving committedrelationship with Julie. Plus, I could just imagine James proudly returning from the beerstore, carrying a cold six pack and finding his mother naked and mounted on my face,rocking back and forth screaming “Oh yeah, Rick.”It turned out she didn’t have anything like that in mind.She smiled at me, and said, “Mr. Loonie, I just wanted you to know how much Iappreciate what you’re doing for James.”I shook my head slightly, “What am I doing for James?”“You made him your producer. He’s ‘a somebody’ now, doing something he’s alwaysdreamed about doing, and it’s all because you took an interest in him.”“Look Ms….I mean Natalie, and please call me Rick, I didn’t do James any favors. If Ihad the natural raw talent and the smarts that your boy has, I would have gone very farmuch faster. He’s the real deal, and if we stay together doing this show long enough,he’ll be very well known in the Toronto market. Who knows? If we ever got asyndication deal, he could be a national name in the radio industry. I’m not doing himany favors, except I was the one who said that we wouldn’t make him walk aroundChurch Street in a thong. This is the first year we haven’t done that. As far as the job,he’s doing the heavy lifting himself. Natalie, you’ve got a very talented boy there.”The door opened and “the man of the moment” returned with six Heineken. He openedone for all three of us, and we commenced with a lively conversation, much of itconcerning our backgrounds.Natalie was a nurse, working in a Toronto hospital emergency ward. I told her how hardI thought that must be to do for a living. She said that you just follow your procedureaccording to all your hours of training and experience; you just do your job. Though, shealso said that it feels like there’s a painful gash inside of you, every time you seeparents, spouses and families losing their loved ones, right before your eyes.She recounted how she was on duty, when her husband and the father of both herchildren arrived by ambulance. He had a massive coronary and died in the ER, beforethey could do anything to save him. I could not imagine having to witness and bear thatkind of loss. I would think that your soul would just feel raw, forevermore.They interrogated me on my own hard fought career. Of course to James, I representeda guy who had made it to the big time, “Don’t do it the way I did,” was my only advice tohim, “You’re going about it the right way. You’re already working in the top market inCanada. With that voice, all you need to do is be patient, work hard, and be nice topeople.”303

I finished the beer and shook hands with Natalie again, telling her how nice it was tomeet her. James would see me in the morning, and I said that I would be there at foursharp.I drove home feeling really good, for the first time since I couldn’t remember when.304

34 - Turnarounds and TragediesWhen I got to the apartment, Julie did not appear to be in a good mood. In front of heron the coffee table was a copy of Time magazine with a headline reading “The Return ofBlaxpoitation”. In smaller letters, at the bottom of the cover was a line that read “MFN:Über Racism or Poor Taste Parody?” The cover also included a picture of the MFN triothat Manny had undoubtedly made BB shoot as a PR photo; they were dressed liketough gang members.She nodded a reference toward the cover and then looked at me, “You guys must bevery proud. You’ve created a new cultural movement.”I couldn’t respond quickly enough. My stunned mental reflexes felt like they were tryingto react, but it was as if a thick quagmire had formed around my brain.She opened the magazine to the MFN article, “It says that the song was first downloadedby young teenagers. Now it’s the preferred song being used at skinhead rallies,” sheglared at me, “That’s great, isn’t it? My boyfriend, the voice of racism. Maybe you canget some speaking engagements at their recruitment rallies.”I felt myself involuntarily shifting back and forth on my feet, “We were just fooling around,after BB played some nasty gangsta rap song to us. It was just some goofing around.We did an impersonation, and Manny was the one that released it. We didn’t expectanyone to ever hear it. We didn’t even know it was being recorded. Then, we told himto take the website down. He never did.”“I know a guy that can take the website down for you. He’d be able to hack in there infour minutes, probably.”“It’s too late now. Every music site in the world has it available for download. At onepoint, it was on course to possibly be the most downloaded song ever.”She glared again, “You say that like you’re proud of it.”“Hell no, we were mortified. Meanwhile, we can’t get a hold of Manny, and he’s talkingto the media like he’s Brian Epstein. Now, we’re just hoping it all goes away. Both Jimand I have filed papers to sell Manny sole ownership of Ear to Ear Productions.”She grabbed a section of the daily newspaper from the floor, “Oh by the way, Ear to EarProductions is mentioned in today’s paper. Did you know that Jesse Jackson and AlSharpton are both coming to Toronto?”That “really good” feeling I enjoyed on my way home? It entirely dissipated. I had putthose two bizarre phone encounters out of my mind. Once again, I was hoping all thiswould simply go away.”She went on, “Jesse Jackson is speaking at some ‘Fathers as Role Models’ conference.His lecture is called ‘Don’t Be a Tiger’; I guess it’s about fidelity in marriage.”“Really? Didn’t Jesse Jackson have an extramarital affair a few years ago?”305

“I guess he’s repented, and now he’s instructing other guys on how to repent, or not doit, or something. Maybe you should go,” the last statement was obviously just a snidecomment to bait me into an argument, but it was beyond my ability to ignore it.“Yeah, I’m going to camp out, so I can get front row tickets,” I attempted a JesseJackson impersonation, “Over here, we have the costs of dinner and a hotel room. Overhere, this represents child support and alimony payments. Now here’s you in the middle,with no money left at the end of the month.”She gave me an impatient look, “I thought we decided you wouldn’t do radio bits in thehouse anymore, when I’m home. Anyway, Al Sharpton is here to promote a new productcalled ‘Prayer for Hair’. It’s a meditation soundtrack you listen to, and it’s supposed tohelp you grow your hair back, if you’re bald.”“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard of.”“No, I believe this is,” she read from the newspaper, “He’s also going to lead a protest atthe studios of Ear to Ear Productions, in retaliation for a song and an album beingrecorded there by popular rap group MFN. He’s calling for a boycott of the song,because it’s racist and destructive to the fiber of our society.”“A boycott of that song is exactly what I’d love to see happen, but that would probablyonly cause it to sell more copies. I’m surprised Manny wasn’t the one who thought of it.”The phone rang. It was BB calling from the downtown office, “Rick, a bunch of peoplekeep buzzing the front door and asking if this is where the protest is being held.Apparently, there’s some big announcement going around on the internet. Do you knowanything about this?”My chin sunk into my chest, “More than I’d like to.”“I can’t get any work done, because I keep having to run up to answer the front door.”“Just ignore the door for now.”“Couriers show up all day, though.”I was starting to get impatient. All this bad news was materializing so quickly, it almostfelt like I was only imagining all this. I felt like I was standing outside myself watchingsome sort of tragic comedy on stage.“I don’t know BB. Use the goddamn peephole or something.”“There is no peephole, and the couriers are asking about the protest, too. One of themtold me there are posters stuck on poles and construction barricades all over the city.”Now I was about to have the meltdown that I actually prayed would never have to come.I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger that fuelled it, but I suddenly had tightness in my306

throat and a dull hum that reverberated from my brain stem and ping ponged against thefront of my skull. All I could think of to say was, “Where’s Manny?”“He’s at his lawyer’s office. He said something about you guys wanting to sell yourshares of the company to him. Is that true? Are you guys leaving?”Ah, finally. This was some good news. Jim and I, through our lawyers, gave Manny avery good offer. He could get rid of both of us for less than 1.5 million apiece. Theassets themselves were worth way more than that. Now, he’d come back with an offerof 1.25 million, and we’d accept it, just to walk away from the whole thing.We figured Manny would be frothing at the mouth to dump us both right now. For onething, business had never been better. For another, the studio would soon beinternationally known, after the news coverage of Al Sharpton’s protest hit the internet.MFN sales would zenith, and the proposed album would be “highly anticipated” by themedia. Manny could find some lowlife copywriting idiot to put together a bunch of sleazywords that rhyme. His dream of releasing his revolutionary ‘rap opera’ would be withinreach, and the world would be waiting for it.BB would throw down some computer generated beats, and Manny would call thegodfather of one of his children or someone he ‘had gone through his bi-curious stagewith’ to sample some of their music. He pictured himself as the next Quincy Jones ofparental advisory labeled albums, and MFN was to be his big breakthrough.After banking outrageous amounts of money, he’d make a large public donation toSomali refugees or some other group of distressed dark-skinned people, as a tokengesture of selfless public relations heroics and for tax purposes. He could see himselfsitting up front at the Grammy Awards, the undisputed impresario of musical smut.I must have been drifting in thought for a long period, because I heard BB’s voice saying,“Rick? Are you still there?”I sputtered the words, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”Hanging up the phone, I looked at Julie and said, “I got to go. This is so unbelievablyout of control.”Instead of a glare, she now gave me a look of genuine concern and maybe evenempathy. I gave her a sheepish smile and walked out of the house, dialing Jim’s numberas I got into the car.***Jim and I arrived about the same time at the Ear to Ear Productions studio. Neither of ussaid anything, as we rode the elevator up from the basement parking garage.We walked in to see a fairly harried looking BB talking on the phone, “No, I can’t makeany comment. You’ll have to talk to Manny Goyshevitz. Sorry, no I can’t.”He hung up and spun around in his chair, “That was CNN. They heard about theprotest, and they wanted a comment.”307

Jim looked down at the floor, “What did we do to deserve this? Everything was goinggood for us. Then, one night of drinking, we fuck around on the microphone, and nowwe’ve got the goddamn Million Man March coming right up to our door.”At that moment, the door flew open, and Manny burst in. He was talking to someone onhis headset, and carrying a box. The conversation apparently ended, because helooked at the three of us cheerily and opened the box.“You’re not going to believe what I ordered,” he chirped, “I got a deal on these MFNcondoms. Look, they got the MFN logo on the sides and guys’ faces on the tips. Pluslook.” He opened one of the packets, “They’re fucking really huge. All the young guyswill want to carry these around, because it’ll make it look like they’re hung like fuckin’Clydesdales.”I instantly wanted to start punching him in the face. However, before those thoughtseven fully materialized in my head, Jim had slung and pinned Manny to a desktop, thengrabbed him by the throat.I had never seen Jim pull that particular high school wrestling move before. I had alsonever witnessed quite this level of angst. He was baring his teeth like a raccoon I oncecornered in the garage, “Condoms! You ordered fucking condoms? None of this is evensupposed to be happening. You blatantly and knowingly fucked us!”Manny was in a blathering panic, “Fucked you? I made you guys fucking millionaires.Pre-orders on the album are already coming in. I showed you the condoms to get youguys excited about doing the rest of the songs.”Jim loosened his grip and stepped back, a look of resignation on his face, “Yeah. Thatreally did it for us Manny. I’m on board now that we’ve got big horse dick condoms withlogos. Just what exactly have you been thinking? You know this will probably end upcosting us our jobs, our careers. We’ll never get another gig in Canada, probably won’tget one in the U.S. either, after all the dirty details are known.”Manny went into full-throttle snake-oil sales mode, “You don’t have to worry aboutcareers. You’ll both be so fucking rich, the only reason you’ll be up at 4:00 am is toentertain the herds of hot babes you bring home in your limousines. You’ll be too busydrinking champagne out of the ass crack of some super model to worry about reportingabout westbound traffic on the 401.”“First of all Manny, I wouldn’t drink champagne out of anyone’s ass crack. I don’t care ifshe is a super model,” I paused for a second to regain my thoughts, “Secondly, we justwant out. Now you’ve received our offer to hand you over sole ownership of this littleempire. Can we just make this happen, expedite it, so we can distance ourselves?”Manny looked dejected, “Sure you can. I just think, as your manager, you’re making amistake. This isn’t the time. I’ve almost got a deal worked out with one of the big burgerchains to give away MFN action figures. I just can’t get a hold of the guy to green light it.He’s not taking any calls right now.”308

Jim rolled his eyes, “Sure he’s not Manny. Did you ever stop to think that he doesn’twant to talk to you, because the whole concept’s so fucking ridiculous that he can’tbelieve you’d even want to discuss it? This song is utterly vile, vulgar, profane crap. It’sso unacceptable and juvenile, I can’t even believe that we got drunk enough to do it.You think moms are going to stop on their way home from school to buy their kids anaction figure?”I directed the conversation back to our objective, “Manny, when can we close this deal?We really want out. Just work with us to help us separate from this monstrosity you’vecreated.”As soon as I finished the sentence, BB burst through the door, “I think you guys bettersee this.”He grabbed the television remote and turned on the big screen in the studio. Anentertainment reporter was finishing a piece on some new hot Hollywood hunk that I hadnever heard of.BB said, “Just wait. I saw her tease this story just before the last commercial.”The photo that appeared on the screen at first confused me. For one brief fleetingsecond, my mind was telling me, “I recognize that face.” Then I realized, it was my facealong with Jim’s right beside of it. They had cropped them to look like mug shots.“Extreme Show Biz is investigating a story about two radio announcers in Toronto,Canada. A woman, who claims to have voice pathology evidence, says that Rick Loonieand Jim Mooney of the FM station 93 Rock were actually the voices behind theincredibly successful rap song MFN. Neither Loonie or Mooney could be reached, andthe production company responsible for the recording refused to comment.”All three of us looked at BB. He squirmed uncomfortably, “That must have been whowas calling all morning from a ‘212’ area code.”The next image on the screen was the face of Violet Dumet. The reporter continued,“The president and CEO of Morality Media, Violet Dumet, is the person who made thisassertion on behalf of her organization, claiming to have specific scientific evidenceprovided by her speech pathologist husband Howard Dumet.”They ran a sound bite of Violet voicing her allegations, “We have positive proof thatthese two individuals voiced the lyrics on the song ‘MFN’. The two of them have beenconsistently responsible for racist, misogynistic, and socially destructive radiobroadcasts, over the past several years. It’s not hard to imagine that this serial behaviorcould escalate, as well as infiltrate other mediums besides radio.”Jim interrupted, “She’s been monitoring our radio show for several years? Us and whatother shows? Is this someone’s full time job, monitoring radio stations? That’s just notnormal behavior.”The reporter returned with photos of Jim and I in the background, “All that is knownabout the two announcers, other than they are the hosts of a popular morning show in309

Toronto called ‘Loonie and Mooney in the Morning’, is that they are Americans whomigrated to Canada to take over the coveted morning drive slot on a popular Canadianrock station. Their brash style quickly gained them the reputation of Toronto’s radio badboys, conducting contests that include the prostitution of porn stars and live broadcastsinside gay sex clubs. The images you see here were also simulcast live on the internet.”While she highlighted our record of decadence, a montage of photos and video footageappeared behind her showing us interviewing a gimp with a dominatrix, a topless modelwith a blur placed over her breasts, and Cam walking around Church Street in his fleshtone thong.Then, Violet was back, “These two men have a long history of pumping smut onto ourpublic airwaves. How would you feel if you were the mother of young children, and onthe way to school, you have to explain to your kids what ‘some good doggy love’ meansor what it is involved in receiving a ‘bojeeber’?We had to both snicker slightly at that. Even in lieu of the trouble we were facing,hearing Violet say those things was somehow terribly funny to us.The reporter returned, “Extreme Show Biz will continue to investigate, and we will keepyou informed on all the latest turns of event in this remarkable story.”I looked at Jim. He looked at Manny, “Just get those papers signed as soon as you can,Manny.”Jim ran his fingers through his hair, expelled a deep breath, and walked out of the roomtoward the elevator and parking garage. I just looked at Manny, speechless. I got thenext elevator.It was over. Twenty years of hard work and hard knocks were now reduced to one nightof sophomoric drunken debauchery.I couldn’t even imagine what I was going to say to Julie.***When I arrived home, I found her working in the flower garden, her favorite pastime. As Icame up behind her, she turned, and I could tell she had been crying.“What’s wrong,” I already knew, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.“I just love my garden and my little home here. Our lives have been pretty good, whenyou think about it.”She was right. After all the vacant dalliances I had with women from western Michiganto upper east Tennessee to the tip of Florida, after all those lonely arrivals in strangelyexciting but terrifyingly challenging new cities, after all the drearily unlivable low incomejobs I had worked, this part of my life had been the best so far.I had found a great woman who loved me, and we co-existed well. Julie was happy thatI had a radio job “to pour all those creative thoughts into”, because she doesn’t possess310

“the patience or even the room in my head to fit all that meandering drivel that surfacesfrom your imagination”. She was right. I did have a penchant for commenting onrandom observations and brainstorms throughout the day.The many passersby in front of our house had no idea that I had given them all names.Julie knew that when “squirrel head” walked by, that meant it was the girl with the bigfloppy pony tail who jogged, every day. When I mentioned “mole neck”, that was asignal that our neighbor with, as I described it, “more moles than I’ve ever seencongregated on one single body” had just strolled nearby. One older gentleman oncemade us wait to pull into our driveway, because he pointedly and purposefully took histime crossing in front of us. From that day forward, he was known as “the guy who’s adick”.She was right. There was a bountiful level of output on what some would considercasual uneventful happenstance. The reality was that I made her laugh, and sheunderstood me. In the truest of contexts we were perfect mates, and this was theperfect house and neighborhood for us. We loved our home, and seeing “squirrel head”walk by was very comforting to me. It made me feel as if all was right with the world.Now, we were very close to possibly having to leave our little flower garden filled piece ofparadise. I didn’t want to say goodbye to “mole neck” or even “the guy who’s a dick”, butan overwhelming premonition that told me we might have to leave was growing moreand more urgent in my gut.We walked inside and turned on the news. It hadn’t gotten any better.Almost immediately, as if staged for our arrival, came the first entertainment news report,“More shocking revelations in the bizarre case of the two Canadian disc jockeys whomay actually be the conspirators in the middle of the MFN scandal.”“Conspirators? That seems a little extreme,” I said and was immediately shushed byJulie.“I’m Betsy Barkley, and more facts about the two men who MAY have created thebiggest hip hop sensation of the year have surfaced. For more on this ongoing story, wego to our Extreme Show Biz reporter Clyde Dale.”There was Clyde Dale, standing there in his suit and trying to look like a legitimate newsreporter. “Betsy, I’m standing outside the building that houses the studios of Ear to EarProductions. This is allegedly where the MFN album is being recorded and the site of aprotest later this week, by the Reverend Al Sharpton.”“Holy fuck, they’re right outside our building!” I nearly screamed the words. Julieshushed me again.“Here’s what we’ve found out about the two alleged perpetrators of this recording. RickLoonie has a background that includes a drug arrest. He was caught and convicted inGeorgia, for transporting drugs on a Greyhound Bus.”311

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Betsy proclaimed with indignation, shaking her head as if tosay tsk-tsk.“I know Betsy. I don’t know how this guy didn’t end up spending time in a correctionalfacility. He even crossed state lines with the drugs he was arrested for. His partner onthe other hand, has a record of indecent exposure and public intoxication arrests thatdate all the way back to this incident, captured at a University of Tennessee footballgame at Knoxville’s Neyland Stadium in 1985.”The video that accompanied the story showed a man jump from the stands and runacross the field. The man’s exposed penis was blurred on the screen. For those of uswho knew him, there was no denying that this was Jim with hair down to his shouldersand not so much as a handkerchief covering his body.Clyde Dale continued, “As you can see, the streaker in this video is entirely nakedexcept for the orange and white paint that he actually used to highlight his genital andnipple areas. The man was arrested and identified as Jim Mooney, a season ticketholder. It was later revealed that Mooney had conducted the brazen act, because afriend had bet him a beer that he wouldn’t.”“Beers are really expensive there,” I looked sheepishly into Julie’s unforgiving eyes.There was no empathy there, just deep stagnant pools of disgust.The next image on the screen was Jim and I aboard the 93 Rock Pride Festival Paradefloat, waving at the crowd and shooting them with squirt guns. They captured themoment when Jim bent over and mooned the CBC camera. It made national news at sixand eleven. All that week, Cam and I talked about Jim revealing “the large birthmark onhis ass that makes it look like a blur”, in reference to the TV affect that censored hisnudity.The reporter’s voiceover narrated, “Here seen at the Toronto Pride Parade, Mooneyagain exposed himself in front of a large crowd of people.”Betsy Barkley asked, “Do you think this man has some sort of sociopathic mentalsyndrome, Clyde? What would they call this, some kind of obsessive narcissisticexhibitionist disorder?”Clyde looked the audience in the eye with condescending swagger, “Betsy, I’m nopsychiatrist. However, I will tell you that I would not want to take my children to an eventlike a gay pride parade and have to put up with someone else’s nudity.”Julie actually burst out laughing at that, “Oh my God, this guy is a horse’s ass.”Betsy agreed, “I agree Clyde.”By now, we were both heaving with uncontrollable laughter. I don’t know if it was theabsurd hopelessness of our situation or the fact that these two television talking headswere so insipidly clueless. The moment just melted, with both of us laughing ourselvesinto tears of tension-breaking resignation.312

I pulled out my cell, “Oh, I’ve got to call Jim. I wish we had recorded that.”***Jim came over for dinner that night. He and Julie hadn’t seen each other since herreturn, and in spite of her sporadic disdain for him, they had become as close as fostersiblings over the years. Now, here we all were. The three of us were bonded, this timeby a potential career-ending crisis that was bound to disrupt our standards of living, if notworse.Dinner was ordered in; no one was in the mood to cook. While we waited for the food toarrive, Jim and I busied ourselves with looking for updates to our story online. Julie wassampling all the TV entertainment news broadcasts. Jim joked that he was surprisedCNN didn’t already have a graphic and name for the story, Nigger-gate, or somethingequally tasteless and melodramatic.The breaking news revealing our connection to the song was surprisingly prominentonline. This had become the big story of the moment. Tiger Woods had apologized forhis indiscretions and was now back on the pro tour. Jesse James was also actingpitifully contrite and quiet, so there was a drone of abandonment on the public scandalfront. But wait! Here comes along the racist rap song that sells millions of copies, and itturns out it was recorded by middle-aged white guys.The public felt as if it had been duped. Sure, banks and insurance companies had justabsorbed billions of dollars in public money; then they unabashedly continued livingopenly extravagant and lavish lifestyles at taxpayers’ expense. That was apparentlyforgiven, but that rap song, now that’s something serious. “I spent a dollar ninety-nine todownload that, and now I feel as if I’ve been violated.”The blogs were vehement, and their presence was ubiquitous on the internet. One guytheorized that we were agents of the Ku Klux Klan, or some other white supremacistorganization. Some other raving Tea Party type, insisted that since we were Americanswho moved to Canada, we were probably Socialists. You got the distinct impression thatthe writer had no idea what a “socialist” was. They knew it was bad though; Sarah Palinhad said so at a rally they attended.Then came the seven o’clock hour. That was usually the watershed of entertainmentnews. Right after they’ve finished their bucket of chicken for dinner, tabloid gossip lovingTV viewers can sit down to reconstruct the day’s most important entertainment headlineevents. Each dangling inconclusive story about little or nothing is delivered by chirpysmiling heads who refer to all the famous people by their first names.What did Oprah Tweet? What do Brad and Angelina eat? What size are Shaq’s feet? Itwas all transparently designed and manufactured by entertainment industry machinery toconvince simpleminded Americans that these people led more exciting lives thaneveryone else. They should be observed and studied like really sexy, attractive,overpaid bacteria on a Petri dish.Graphics splashed across the screen, and the host announced that we were about towatch the most popular television entertainment news program in the history of the313

universe or something equally suspect. The lead stories were marched out for display.It was not necessarily a good thing that ours was the first one.“Must be a slow news day,” Julie said.The show host revealed the summary of hot details, “The scandal that’s rocking the hiphop world. MFN! The stars weigh in with their opinions on today’s revelation, that thesuper smash hit was recorded by two white radio announcers in Canada. Here’s whatthey had to say.”First Simon Cowell appeared on the screen, “It’s complete and utter rubbish.”Then Madonna, “I wouldn’t want my kids listening to this kind of musical message.”Bobby Brown said, “I’d like to work with them, whoever they are.”Jennifer Aniston was captured standing on the sidewalk with shopping bags, “I’ve neverheard the song, but I know I would never date a musician again, ever.”Finally, we were both awestruck to see that our hero himself was standing before us.David Letterman was captured during his monologue, “….everyone’s talking about thenews today, concerning those two white DJ’s from Canada who recorded that rap song.Experts are right now trying to determine if the guys might actually still qualify as beingblacker than Oprah. Then, they might be able to get away with this.”No one spoke for a second, while they rolled the opening of the show. Finally Jim said,“Holy crap, we really have hit the big time.”Julie finished his thought, “For all the wrong reasons.”The story that followed was predictable. On those entertainment shows, they show youabout two seconds of a news story; then it turns out that the story itself is only about fiveseconds. You actually already learned everything that you were going to, from thetease.The only thing that Jim and I could not stop talking about afterwards was the fact that“He” mentioned us. David Letterman actually made a joke about us in his monologue.Julie said, “You guys must really be proud.” She meant it sarcastically, of course. Icould tell that she was slightly surprised, when she realized that we really were proud ofit, a little bit.At 7:30 pm, another televised half-hour of celebrity sleaze and secrets was revealed.The extra thirty minutes must have given this show’s staff more time to dig deeper intowhatever transgressions they could uncover. Iniquities, harsh remarks, and damagedreputations seemed to be the theme of tonight’s episode, at least those were theelements they favored during our particular segment.I was stunned. How could they have found all of these people so quickly?314

There was Cecil Banks, my former program director from Miami, talking about how Ihelped him lead the charge to dismantle a South Floridian urban hip hop radio institution.He was referring of course to PowerTrip 101 Dot Five; only the way he stated it, peoplewould think it was my idea to change the format.All I did was work there for a while as the company’s token Equal EmploymentOpportunity staff member personified. He was the one that changed the format, not thatI wasn’t happy about my new rock and roll lifestyle at the time.Next they interviewed Grace Marinelli, president and general manager of “SouthernOntario’s Coolest Rock”. It was obvious that she barely knew who we were, “I heard thatone of them was a drug addict with a criminal record. That doesn’t surprise me. Iremember one particular meeting we had to discuss our new Color Weather Radar. Heand that other one sat there and giggled during the whole meeting. They were obviouslyon something. I mean Color Weather Radar isn’t funny.”That was followed by a clip of Martina Marinelli, “We run a very close family-orientedbusiness. All of our employees are like members of our extended family; we’re veryloyal to each other. Those two were very money-driven and obsessed with free stuff.Jim looked at me, “Well yeah. That’s why people take better jobs, it’s because we makemore money. That’s the reason we have jobs.”I agreed, “Free stuff is cool too.”Then she added, “Mooney slept with about every woman that worked in the building,outside of our own staff. That caused some awkward tension in the elevator.”Julie gave Jim a look of disdain.Dave Ray, our former program director at 93 Rock Toronto looked disgusted when hereminisced, “I left my twelve week old puppy in their office for about fifteen minutes.When I got back, they had already trained him to hump their sofa pillow. They said theydidn’t, but I know they did. It took my wife and I six months to break him from that. Thatwas real cute, especially when we couldn’t get him to stop doing it at my wife’s family’sChristmas dinner. That’s pretty much the kind of thing I came to expect from those two.”Jonas Welk was the next to comment, “I can’t believe that somebody who was my friendfor years turned out to be a psycho white supremacist. This guy came to my house fordinner and played with my kids. I’m glad they’re older now. I can’t even imagine tryingto explain to five and six year olds that ‘Uncle Rick’ is some kind of skinhead grandwizard racist freak.”I made a mental note to remove Jonas from my list of job references.Somehow, they had even managed to locate Ron Jeremy. It wasn’t hard. He was stillprogram director at the same radio station, and he looked exactly the same. There hewas, wearing his impeccable 1980’s coif and grinning like a bucktoothed cartoondonkey, “They were wild men. We found all kinds of lighters, and marijuanaparaphernalia up on the roof, after they left. Those little alligator clips our engineer uses315

to connect high tech circuit equipment? They apparently used them to hold theirmarijuana cigarettes with. My assistant even found a drug pipe up there.”The camera widened to reveal Wookie sitting immediately to Ron’s right. He washolding a cheap hash pipe in his hand, “It was all covered with the sap from themarijuana. I knew right away what it was for. I kept it in a locked drawer, in case weneeded it for evidence.”Jim commented, “I wondered what happened to that pipe.”The coverage shifted back to the reporter, who was shaking her head with a tsk tskexpression, as if scolding a small child, “Rick Loonie, one of the two men involved, wasarrested several years ago for transporting drugs on a Greyhound bus.Next to appear on the screen was the bus driver from the fateful trip to Tennessee withmy buddy Burt. He was obviously well past retirement age, but apparently rememberedevery detail of that night in Georgia, “They were higher than a couple of kites. Runningoff every chance they had to get higher, I suppose, or to get drunk. That big dumb onewas jumping around in the middle of the aisle, acting like he was playing a guitar,swinging his arms around. Then he vomited in the aisle. I drove a bus for forty years,never had two worse passengers in my life.”More tsk tsk-ing from the anchor, “The other participant in the song, Jim Mooney, has ahistory of perversion and public spectacles of nudity, as seen here at a televised collegefootball game in the eighties.”They rolled the obligatory footage again, of Jim running across Neyland Stadium’s fieldwearing only orange body paint. I pointed out, “Jim, you’re going to have the mostrecognizable penis in the Western Hemisphere.”Julie laughed, “Yeah Jim. It’s too bad they put that blur over it. We’d all know your tinylittle secret.”At that moment, Manny was shown sitting at a desk in the studio. They had cleanedeverything up, so that it looked like an executive’s work area in a legitimate office.We noted that Manny had been careful not to be seated at the sound mixing board,where he most frequently positioned himself. He probably thought that image wouldmake him appear closer to guilt by association with the evil miscreants who mixed thesong.“If I had any idea what those two were up to, when they used the studio, I would haveput a stop to it right away. We don’t condone that kind of material at my facility. I was soshocked and ashamed when I found out about this. By the way, if you’re as upset anddisappointed as I am in this whole MFN mess, check out the new CD from ‘4-NIH-KASHUN’. It’s as good as MFN, but it’s done by real black people. I met them myself.”I instantly clicked off the television, “He fucking just sold us out!”Jim got up and started pacing, “How low can this guy actually go? I’ve never witnessedanything so despicable in my life. I’ve tried to convince myself that people were not316

capable of such loathsome behavior, but I actually predicted something like this. Holyshit Rick, I actually want to kill this guy, I mean really fucking kill him. For real.”“It’s because you guys are pulling out of his company. He thinks you’re abandoning him,so he’s covering his own ass. It’s all about survival, and he figures that he needs tomake the first overture. Then, anything you guys say afterwards will seem like you’reprobably concocting a story to save YOUR own asses.” I know that Julie had interjectedthat comment partly to distract us from our immediate rage and defuse the situation.She could tell that we were both capable of violence at that moment, with good cause. Ihad never felt such intense hatred for anyone as I did for Manny.The reality was that we had more immediate concerns than beating Manny to the vergeof his own death. No use mucking up this auspicious opportunity for careeradvancement, by committing attempted murder. Future potential employers might take adim view of us violently mutilating our manager.By now, no employer on the continent would have dreamed of giving us a job, anyway.We were alleged drug addicts, confirmed lewd exhibitionists, good ole southern bigots,women-haters, and the objects of Western society’s scorn. I’m sure most programdirectors would say, “Stop. Say no more. You had me at drug addict.”On top of that, we had larger looming questions to answer, such as whether we weregoing to show up for work the next day. We were in such deep trouble that it wasimpossible for us to make qualitative judgment on how many fathoms deep it was.Upon our arrival at the station, chances are we’d be accosted by protesters, if notattacked by violent sociopathic gun-wielding lunatics.A ring from the phone cracked the silence in the room like a violent home invasion. Iactually jumped out of my seat with a start. There was no way that this call was going tobe good news. I just hoped it wasn’t Dirk Nixon; I wasn’t prepared to deal with him justyet. The caller ID revealed that it was Ricky Smith, aka Cam Elto.“Cam, what’s up brother?” I tried to sound casual, trying not to give him the impressionthat I was distressed.“Hey Rick. Just wanted to call you. You know, I never really talked to you directly, eitherof you guys. I did want to tell you that I’m sorry that I had to leave you, especially soquickly.”I was so taken aback by the sudden sentimentality, that I was at a loss for what to say,“It’s okay, Cam. We understand. Everything’s cool.”He cleared his throat, “Well you know, the reason I left is I saw something like thiscoming. This whole MFN thing? I knew that the voices on that song were you guys assoon as I heard it. I didn’t say anything, though.”“Thanks for that,” was the first thing that came to mind.“The truth is, with the baby coming and all, I didn’t want to be put in the position thatJames is in. He’s a fucking trooper to take the blame, credit, whatever it is. You got a317

good producer there man, because I wouldn’t do it. Rick, I got to be honest, I wouldn’tdo it. But then again, I’m white, so it wouldn’t be much better for me to take the hit forthe team.”“What are you talking about?”Cam paused, “You don’t know?“Know what?”“Hold it. He’s on TV right now. Put it on channel six.” A female voice spoke in thebackground. “Look, we have to go to Lamaze class. Good luck man. It was a pleasureworking with you guys.”“Yeah. Good luck with your breathing exercises man.” He had hung up by the time Isaid that.I looked at Julie, who was now holding the remote, “Put it on channel six, quick.”What we saw was nothing short of a human miracle of kindness and selflessness.James was sitting in a CBC studio, with an interviewer. Beside him were the other twoalleged members of MFN, Ken and Bobbie aka Pope and ManGod. We could neverremember which one was who. They were dressed up like they looked in their video,complete with the Dirk Nixon described “faggy” makeup.James, aka BizKut, aka our morning show producer, did most of the talking. “We justwanted to make an announcement concerning the controversy about our song. Wehaven’t done a lot of interviews, because we’re so busy in the studio working on our rapopera album. We just came out to chill and to let our fans know that we’re the onesresponsible for the song. Rick Loonie and Jim Mooney have been very supportive to usas young artists, and we thank them for their solid wisdom and unbelievable generosity.They had nothing to do with our song, but they did encourage us to pursue our creativityand write music from our hearts. They’ve been special brothers to us. So, that’s all wehave to say. Hope y’all like the album and come to see our tour. Peace. Love y’all.”On a performance level, it was an Oscar for Best Actor moment. He conducted himselfwith the perfect amount of poise and street swagger, but with intelligence and articulatebrevity. When you’re lying to the entire population of the planet, less is more. Less said,fewer reasons to crawl up someone’s ass and build research labs.I looked over at Jim, “That was very Brett Favre of him.” To us, that was one of thegreatest compliments one man could possibly pay to another.***James Earl Samples had just saved us from a cataclysmic “Dixie Chicking”. One of themembers of that Grammy-winning group had joked that the name of the band became averb in the post 9/11 era, referring to the fallout that occurred after Natalie Maines madea harmless negative comment about George W. Bush. Former fans were burning theiralbums and picketing their performances. No one wanted to be “Dixie Chicked”; it coulddevastate one’s career, social life and peace of mind.318

We called James that night. There was no way that we could adequately express howmuch we appreciated him and how vital his selfless actions had been.“Jim said he was willing to blow you, after the show. I was only going to take you tolunch, but I’d be willing to share my woman with you, I guess.” He laughed at that. Juliegave me the obligatory “hate” look, but I could tell that she was also very relieved. Theevening had been such a surreal experience, watching our own lives takingdiscombobulating twists on live television.“It was no big deal,” he said, “Bobbie, Ken and I just got dressed in the clothes thatManny bought us. Ken’s sister did our makeup just like the video. We went down to theCBC building and took some of the MFN photos that BB shot, just so we could prove thatwe were the real guys. I was surprised how easy it was. They had us in a studio with acrew in ten minutes. We were out of there in half an hour. People asked for ourautographs; even some of those big newscasters were interested in us. It was cool in away, except we were lying our asses off.”“Well sometimes that’s the only choice you’ve got, brother. I can’t tell you how we muchwe owe you for this one. You saved us, dude.”James exhaled a little “aw shucks” type sigh, “Ah man, look what you did for me. Youguys helped me gain respect, for the first time in my life. Every guy who ever workedwith me at the university radio station thinks I scored the greatest gig in Canada. Myprofessors now ask me to elaborate on things, during class, like I’m some kind of radioconsultant. All the chicks in my classes who didn’t even speak to me are climbing overeach other to buy me a coffee; all of a sudden they’re all trying to book the pleasurecruise to lower Jamestown, if you know what I mean. Don’t worry about what I did. I justprotected the coat tails I’m riding on. You guys changed my life. I’ll never forget that.”I almost felt choked up. What a great guy James turned out to be. I was so glad we methim, regardless of how dysfunctional and deceitful the initial introduction had been.Working with him every day, we often forgot that he was one of the guys that Manny waspaying to be “us”.I said, “Well Jim or I will be by in the morning to pick you up, probably me. Jim’s going tocrash in the guest room, because we got all liquored up, thinking our careers werebursting into fireballs and all.”He laughed, “See you then man. I expect lunch and a blow job after work.”The next morning, I got Jim up and we were running late. Neither of us shaved orshowered; a tooth brushing and a deodorant/cologne bath would have to do.We left in separate cars. Jim was going to sort through some morning news feeds, whileI picked up James. I was only about ten minutes late, since we essentially climbed rightout of bed and into our cars.When I pulled into the housing project where James lived, there seemed to be aninordinate amount of activity that morning. It was still night time to the people milling319

around in the courtyard and around the sides of the building. It created a realmalevolent kind of energy that seemed to buzz through the complex. I wondered outloud if there was a full moon that night.I was surprised that he wasn’t already out waiting for me. After all, I was the one runninglate and prepared to apologize.I saw what looked like James’ figure emerging from a group of people in the courtyard,who seemed to be acting rather boisterously for that time of the morning. I was carefulnot to think discriminatorily; just because a group of black men are congregated in ahousing project courtyard at four in the morning does not mean that something nefariousis going on. They could have been debating mainstream geopolitical ideologies orplanning a building renovation project.My recent short-lived status as North America’s number one racist had put my brain intoa particularly sensitive cautionary mindset. People would now be extra attentive tothings I did and said, hoping to catch a glint of racial hate or gender intolerance. It wouldtake a while before everyone forgot about my hint of affiliation with the most politicallyincorrect recording of the twenty-first century.As the figure that I determined was unmistakably James approached the car, I couldhear some shouts from a couple guys in the courtyard crowd. James turned around andshouted something back at them. He was now about fifteen yards away from the car.Two other figures joined him, walking out of the shadows to his right. I could hearvoices, but could not discern what was being said.We were now running really late, and I got the feeling that James would be better off inmy car. Heading to work would be much safer than what was going on out there. I justhad a tense feel in my throat for some reason.I started to get out of my car, to either flag James over or even assist if I could. I had nointent of getting involved in a knife fight in the projects at four in the morning. However, ifit were a case of fisticuffs or even the bluff threat of having a second guy present, I waswilling to challenge a couple of guys to protect my buddy. This man had just saved mycareer from inevitable apocalypse; I certainly would be willing to sustain a broken noseor a cut under my eye for him.As my second foot touched the pavement and I stood upright, there was a pop. It wasn’tas dramatically piercing as we all think from watching westerns. It was a succinct littlepop, but obviously of gunpowder origin. I watched as the figure that I knew was Jamesslumped into the shadows, and the perpetrator of the pop started moving toward me.By the time my sluggish sleep-deprived brain assimilated the ungraspable reality of whathad just transpired, two figures now were walking toward me at a rapid clip. I grabbedthe door handle and yanked so hard that I ripped a nail off one of my fingers. I heardanother pop as I half dived, half slinked into the car.I banged my nose hard on the stick shift, the immediate warm wet explosion of bloodseeped into my mouth and dripped a pool onto the console. I forgot the car was running,so the ignition made the sound of merciless grinding as I turned and held the key.320

Slamming the car into reverse, I didn’t even have the driver’s door shut. I just floored theaccelerator and kept my head below the dash.Another pop and the sound of broken glass, as shards from my shattered windshieldbounced on my face. I closed my eyes to keep them from being injured by the glass; itwasn’t safe to hold my head high enough to see where I was going anyway.The car jolted backwards, and immediately collided with something. I heard the metallicthud and another sound of broken glass.Within two seconds, a male voice was yelling like a drill sergeant, “Put your hands whereI can see them, NOW! Put your hands where I can see them!”The driver’s door opened with a violent yank; in fact, it was thrown open with such forcethat I remember thinking that the hinges were bound to be bent or broken. Somehowwithin those fleeting couple of seconds, I was still practical enough to query in my mindhow much it might cost to have the door hinges replaced and where the best place tohave them repaired might be.I was still cringing and laying across the two seats, keeping my head below gunfirerange, and bleeding a puddle into the passenger seat. The police officer outside mydoor was now urging me to step out slowly with my hands where he could see them.I complied with his directions, making it obvious that I had no intention of resistance. Heimmediately turned me around toward the car and made me “assume the position”. Ashe pat me down and handcuffed me, I was babbling in what must have sounded likepanic stricken patois. I don’t know if he was listening, if he could even understand me.Finally, I found the ability to articulate coherent English, and cried out, “My friend. I thinkmy friend’s been shot.”“Oh yeah, what are you doing down here, buying drugs? This is a dangerous place tobe at this time of the morning. All the crackheads are jonesin’ now, just looking for somewell dressed white boy like you in a nice car to rob.”By then he had opened my wallet. At the same time that he pulled out my license, I said,“My name is Rick Loonie. I do the morning show at 93 Rock.”“No shit,” he read from the license, “Rick Loonie from the radio?”Before I could answer, he yelled over to his partner, “Hey Stan. This is Rick Loonie fromthe 93 Rock. You know the show we listen to on the morning shift?”The other officer looked up from scanning the interior of my car with his flashlight, “Noshit, eh? Rick Loonie’s down here buying crack. You got a good job like that, andyou’re a fuckin’ crackhead. That fuckin’ sucks. Plus, look what you did to my car.”I finally just screamed it, “MY FRIEND’S BEEN SHOT!” That finally seemed to get theirattention, “My producer lives here, and I came to pick him up. I think they shot him, thenthey shot at me. He’s over there.”321

The cocky smirk that said “we got ourselves a celebrity scoring dope from street leveldealers” disappeared. The mouthy cop who was inspecting my car turned toward thedirection I was nodding at, since I couldn’t use my hands. He unfastened his holster andtread, I thought a little too courageously, straight into the area where the melee hadoccurred. His flashlight was blazing much too brazenly for my liking. I could see usgetting picked off like stationary targets at a shooting range.He ran back thirty seconds later, “We’ve got a male, dark complexion, appears to be inhis twenties and appears to be suffering from a gunshot wound to the chest.” Heinformed his partner, while at the same time he clicked handset of his radio he heldattached to his uniform. “We need back up and an ambulance for a shooting at….”While he called in directions for reinforcements, his partner sequestered me to a saferlocation behind their police car. “So you say that this guy is your ‘producer’, what’sthat?”“He just helps us in the organization of our radio show. He’s like the team leader. Eventhough he works for us, he’s sort of the show manager at the same time. He tells uswhat we need to do next and when it’s time to do it. He’s really good at it too, reallygood.” My voice started to crack. I had a bad feeling that something unspeakablyhorrible had happened.“What’s his name?”“James Earl Samples,” he lives up there in I think apartment 406 with his mother andsister. The officer wrote down the name.Another police car pulled up, along with an ambulance, as my interrogator’s partnerreturned from the darkness. He announced, “We have an ID on the victim.”My interrogator showed him the name he had just scribbled down, and his partner gavehim a subtle nod. That’s when a jolt went through my chest and throat; I felt like my jawwas locked in an open position. My legs felt weak, like they could collapse, but Igathered my wits and bearings enough to stay upright. I had never fainted in my life, butthat must have been as close as I ever got.I could imagine that story slipping out to the media, “While police watched, radio morningpersonality and sensitive little girly boy Rick Loonie fainted. He was later comforted bypolice, who wrapped him in a blanket and offered him a cup of chamomile tea, alongwith his favorite pair of fuzzy slippers.” That would certainly make me aspirational to my18 to 34 year old male listening audience.Then I chastised myself. I’m standing here worrying about how the guys at my gymmight look at me, if they found out I fainted at a crime scene. Meanwhile, James may beover there fighting for his life.“Is it James?”322

My original interrogator looked at me, as if deciding what protocol to observe. Finally, henodded, “Yes, James Earl Samples is the shooting victim.”“Is he….?”The officer looked saddened, sympathetic and like he had delivered this message manytimes before, “He appears not to have vital signs. We have a trauma unit working withhim now, but the immediate signs indicate that Mr. Samples may have died as a result ofinjuries received from a gunshot to his chest.”The scathing dread that coursed through my veins built into an audible sob I emittedinvoluntarily. It bubbled from my throat almost like a burp; I lowered my head and felttears dripping off my face.The officer gently led me to his battered cruiser, where he uncuffed me and asked me towait in the back seat. He said it would be fine for me to call the station, because I wasobviously going to be late, but I was instructed not to inform the media about the murder.Due process must be served, and the family of the deceased must be notified before thepublic.I dialed Jim’s cellphone. He was probably nearing a panic now, since James and I werehalf an hour late of our usual arrival. He picked up the phone with a big boisterousvoice, “Hey man, it’s about time. You got to hurry up so you can see this piece I pickedup off a website about you. There’s some girl you used to date, when we were doing theshow in Tennessee, and she is being interviewed about your sex life together. She saysthat during a football game you said that she should dress up like a cheerleader, so shewent and bought an orange sweater and a little orange and white skirt. She put theschool logo on the sweater and bought orange and white pom poms. Then, get this, ‘Ifinally found a pair of orange and white crotchless panties at an adult shop. I called mybest friend who always had a thing for Rick anyway. So, on his birthday, I rented a hotelroom with some champagne and we surprised him with his own little cheerleadingsquad. It was hot. I hope he never forgot it.’ Holy shit dude, you never told me aboutthis, and that was when we were working together in Tennessee. You never thought toinvite your buddy over for some of the party tricks…….”“It never happened.”Jim sounded almost disappointed, “She sure has a lot of details, I mean orange andwhite crotchless panties and everything. You remember, you and I used to talk aboutmanufacturing those and selling them outside football games?”“Everything in Tennessee is orange and white. People buy hundred thousand dollarcars and then have them custom painted orange and white. It’s not much of a stretch forsome bimbo who wants to write for Penthouse Forum to figure out what color a guy fromTennessee would want his cheerleader to wear. What’s her name?”“Tammy.”I thought for a second, “Oh yeah. That did happen then.”323

“Ah, you dog. I knew it.”I couldn’t believe that I just let myself digress like that. Our friend, our producer, the guywho had just snatched us from the jaws of ruin was lying dead, several yards away.Meanwhile, I’m talking to Jim about some cheerleader-fetish ménage a trois from twentyyears ago. I did make a mental note to try to keep Julie from ever finding that articlethough.Finally I was ready. All that goofiness had cleared my head, made me feel normal.Everything’s normal; it’s all right. I’m just going to say it right out loud, “James is dead.”There was a brief pause. Jim was in mid-snicker, still ebullient over the seamydisclosure just made public about my suddenly legendarily kinky personal life.I said it again, “James is dead. He was just shot right in front of me.”“Aw fuck, man. Are you okay?”324

35 - Sins, Schemes, Circumstances and Silver LiningsI explained to Jim what happened and where I was. From the police car, I could seewhat looked like James’ mother Natalie approaching the crime scene. I knew it was her,after I saw the figure crumple to the ground, obviously staggered by grief, horror, anddespair.Jim was still on the phone, “Are you all right, man?”“Yeah. I just saw James’ mother out there,” involuntary tears started to stream from myeyes, “This is so fucking sad man. I just met her the other day. She’s the nicest womanand you could tell that she was really an excellent mom. I mean look at her kid; he wasa role model citizen, better than I ever was at that age. I can’t believe our buddy’sgone.”Jim attempted to deal with the more immediate circumstances of our situation, “I guesswe need to run a ‘best of’ show, right?”“There are some new recordings filed away on the server that James had beencollecting,” one of the producer’s jobs was picking out funny little gems from each showthat were not time sensitive topics. That way they could be relevant anytime, and we’duse them for “best of” shows. Those aired while we were on vacations or sick days. Theonly thing that was live on our show, during those mornings, was the news, weather andtraffic. “We’ll have to use those. I will probably be detained by police for a while, and Idon’t know how much damage has been done to my car. It might not even be drivable.”“What happened to your car?”“I hit a police car, and the guys that got James shot through my windshield.”“For God’s sake Rick. You want me to come and pick you up?”“I don’t think they’re going to let me go too soon. They’ll have to question me. Hell, theymight arrest me for reckless driving or destruction of city property or some fucking thing.”“Who’s going to call Dirk?” Jim asked.“He can wait. I’m sure he would rather not be called at 5:00 am, while he’s on vacation,but he will obviously have to be apprised of the situation,” right then my phone rang. Itwas Dirk, “He’s already calling me. I guess I should answer this; it will only get him morewound up if he can’t get in touch with one of us.”I hung up from Jim and picked up Dirk Nixon’s call, “Loonie.”“Imagine my surprise when I came home from dinner at one of the restaurants at ourresort last night. I ordered in nice tilapia with cream sauce that turned out to be likesomething they made out of the liquid from a garbage dumpster. I knew this wasn’t afive star resort, but fuck, how can you screw up fish? It’s the Dominican goddamnRepublic; they’re surrounded by water for fuck’s sake. You’d think that they’ve had theopportunity to perfect the cooking of fish. So I’m already pissed off. I stopped and got325

us a couple of over-cooked burgers from the little stand on the beach, and headed backto the room only to discover that my morning men are in trouble. They had apparentlylied to me about their involvement in a certain recording that is so inappropriate andoffensive that it’s being talked about on CNN.”“Well something happened….”Dirk kept talking as if I had never even spoken, “So now, I’ve just had a shitty dinner.The hamburger’s not so great, to be honest, and now I’ve got to fire my two morningmen over the phone long distance from the Caribbean. Then I’ve got to figure out whatI’m going to put on the air, in a matter of a few hours.”“Dirk, something’s happened…..”He interrupted again, “Just as I’m dialing the phone to call you two and officially informyou of the inevitable, I find out it was your producer and his buddies who did the song.Now I’m wondering to myself, ‘Why would these guys not just speak up and tell me allthis, instead of sitting there at meetings and leaving me out of the loop, when they knewit was a concern of mine?’ Now it makes me look like a fucking idiot, because when mybosses ask whether I knew about any of this, I’ll have to say ‘No, my staff and I don’tcommunicate.’ Again, I look like a fucking idiot. And I’m afraid if corporate gets toostirred up over your producer having done something this offensive, or the companystarts getting a lot of hate mail or petitions or something, he’ll have to go.”“He’s dead.”Dirk was silent for the first time, then in a tone of someone who didn’t hear somethingcorrectly, “What?”“He was shot. I was there. I came to pick him up for work this morning. You know helives in the projects. As he was walking up to the car someone shot him. Then, theyshot at me.”“Holy fuck, Rick. Why didn’t you call me sooner? I have to prepare a statement to sendto corporate communications.”I had been extremely composed through the entire traumatic experience thus far, but atthat point, I snapped, “I’m in the back of a fucking police car Dirk! I just watched myfriend get killed. Covering your ass with the corporate communications department isnot a fucking priority of mine right now!”Dirk put on a more somber and soft voice, “Okay, calm down. What is it with you two?You get so worked up. Mooney’s even worse than you. So let’s talk about what we’regoing to put on the air this morning.”“Jim’s loading up a ‘best of’ show. We have plenty of new segments recorded.”He continued talking in the same comforting understanding voice. He sounded like hewas either calming down an upset child or trying to get into my pants, “That’s great. Now326

can you and Jim help me get some information about your producer to send to corporatecommunications?”I started becoming impatient with his concern about writing a press release. Ourproducer’s dead. I’m sitting there in need of post-traumatic therapy. Meanwhile, DirkNixon acts like he wants to make sure the six o’clock news has a copy of the station logoto use during their crime report, “I’ll see what I can do Dirk. It’s a little hard to promisemuch right now, seeing as I had a bullet miss my head by a few inches, and the policeare going to want to talk to me. Plus, I’m feeling a little grief-stricken, since a closepersonal friend and colleague of mine has just been brutally killed.”For the first time, Dirk Nixon sounded almost contrite, “All right. Don’t worry about it. Ican get some information from HR. I just thought you might want something personal tobe said.”I just wanted to end the conversation, “Yeah. All right. I’ll send you something after thepolice are through with me. Wait, here they come now.”“Man, I’m real sorry. He was a good guy. He seemed to work pretty hard. Everyoneliked him. This is a real loss.”“Thanks man. I’ll talk to you later,” the phone was beeping, alerting me to another call.“Loonie.”It was Manny. I couldn’t believe it, and at 5:00 am no less. Maybe he was calling toapologize for selling us out on national television, “Rick, it’s Manny. Jim just called andleft me a message. He sounded pretty upset. This is unbelievable. Who was it, Bizkut?He was my favorite one of those guys.”It disturbed me to the point of near anger, hearing his rap alter-ego name, “His real namewas James, and he was also our show producer.”“Oh yeah? Did you pay him? Cause I was already paying him a president’s ransom.Anyway, that’s neither here nor there now.”I was seething, “What do you want Manny?”“I’m just giving you one more call, before the paperwork goes to the lawyers today.There’s still time to stop this and reconcile any of these small issues that you guys feelare bothering you.”“You blatantly lied about us on television, Manny. You held our heads up to be scalped,while you skated. You’re the one that did all of this, you fucking vile shitpile of scum. Letme tell you, you are not going to skate. If there are scalps taken, I’m going to make surethat yours is one of the first on the block after mine. I might go to the media myself andtell them exactly what happened; I can handle the circumstances. What the fuck, rightManny?”327

He sputtered like he never thought of the possibility that we might have watched him ontelevision the night before, “Look Rick, you’re upset right now. That’s understandable.I’m just saying that this would be an awful time to break up the company like this. Doyou realize what the death of a performer does for sales?”“What are you saying?”“I’m just trying to make the point that something like this event, as tragic as it is, will onlymake orders on this album go to the fuckin’ stratosphere. Look at Tupac Shakur, yougot Michael Jackson, Lynyrd fuckin’ Skynyrd for chrissakes. Paul McCartney, they eventhought he was dead for a while back in the sixties. Look how well he did.”“Goodbye, Manny.” He was the most revolting creature I had ever had the displeasureof knowing. “Don’t call back. Just get those papers ready.”I clicked off the phone. What a reptile this guy turned out to be. It was hard to believethat anyone like him actually existed. I got the impression that Bernie Madoff couldprobably have been a hero of Manny Goyshevitz, in the same way that George W. Bushprobably idolized Pete Rose.I called Julie to inform her of what had happened since I left the house. She wasdistraught, of course, chattering questions a mile a minute about my condition. Afterabout her fourth “Oh my God, Rick”, I saw one of the officers returning to the car. I toldher I’d have to call her back.“We need to ask you a few questions. What did you see when the incident occurred.”I told him about the two figures that approached. It was too dark to make out what theylooked like. I couldn’t even tell him the race. I did mention that there was a lot of activityaround the courtyard that morning, and there seemed to be shouting directed towardJames as he crossed the courtyard. There had to be a number of people who knewwhat happened and who was involved.He shook his head, “Problem is that no one in these projects will talk. They’re eitherafraid of retribution or they’re part of the problem. Chances are there is a significantnumber of people who know who is responsible for this, but they’ll carry that informationto their grave. They know they’ll get to their grave a lot faster if they talk to the police.”He asked me about our routine, “Yes, we meet here every weekday morning at the sametime.”There were a few other peripherally probing questions about our relationship, how longhe worked for me. Did he have any enemies? Then, he asked me a question that cameout of nowhere, “Have you ever heard of a gang called ‘Fornication’? One of the peoplemade some reference to them, saying they were rivals. Have you ever heard of them?”“There’s another rap group called ‘4-NIH-KASHUN’ in Toronto. I don’t know that muchabout them except the studio where they record their songs.”“What do you mean another rap group?”328

When I told him that James was a member of the rap group MFN, he slapped his pad onhis hand. “Those pricks are the ones that did that goddamn song my daughterdownloaded the other night. I took her computer privileges away for two weeks over thatshit. Sorry sir, but if this guy wasn’t a friend of yours, I’d say good riddance.” He shookhis head, “What kind of fucking minds are capable of coming up with that kind ofdisgusting obscene garbage?”I looked down at the floor board of the car, “I don’t know officer. I don’t know.”I gave him Manny’s name as a contact for locating 4-NIH-KASHUN. He asked me a fewmore questions, some just the typical casual inquiries I always get about the radiobusiness. One of them always seemed to be “Do you guys get to choose your ownmusic?” I took down his name and promised to send him a station T-shirt.By then, the tow truck arrived to pick up my car. Then, I saw the covered body beingwheeled on the gurney. I felt that familiar stinging pressure build around my cheeks andbehind my eyes. I gritted my teeth to try to hold it back, but one lone tear squeezed outof a tear duct, as I saw them close the ambulance door.***The story of the shooting was eclipsed by the arrival of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharptonon that same day. Those were stories one and two on the morning news reports, evenon our own station.When someone reported, probably Manny hoping to bolster sales, that James EarlSamples was the man behind BizKut from MFN, the media machine exploded. By noon,it was one of the top stories on all the networks. CNN placed it second behind theeruption of an Icelandic volcano that paralyzed airports across the Western hemisphere.Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton quickly worked their way into the forefront of the story,denouncing violence and grieving over the “loss of a brilliant and talented young mind”.Ironically, Sharpton had brought a busload of people to protest the release of the veryalbum that allegedly originated from that brilliant and talented mind. Twenty-four hoursearlier, he was going to suggest a retail boycott of the upcoming rap opera CD; now hecouldn’t say enough about how special and gifted this young man was.Manny was also soaking up as much luminous media spotlight as he possibly could,comparing BizKut to John Lennon and Marvin Gaye. He said that he was working with alocal television network to broadcast the funeral, “like they did for Lady Di”. He waspositive that the telecast would be picked up by other networks worldwide.Jim and I got drunk. It seemed like the most reasonable thing to do at the time; at leastwe couldn’t think of anything else that would be any better. Sometimes you may stopand have a beer with a friend, and the conversation and drinking end up lasting until thebar closes. This marathon consumption, however was an overtly conscious and wellplanned decision on our part.“Let’s just go drink,” was one of the first suggestions that came from Jim’s mouth. Hehad lined up enough “best of” stopsets to get us through the next day. It seemed329

perfectly appropriate to take a couple days off the air, after such a horrific tragedyinvolving a team member.Anyway, our program director was in the Dominican Republic eating overcookedhamburgers and tilapia with garbage sauce. He was in no position to jump in with adecisive management mandate; we’d just pretend we never received his calls. In fact,we turned off our cell phones.***The memorial service was on a Saturday. The city had actually cordoned off the block,because the crowds were expected to be so large. James would have laughed at that.He was a post mortem superstar, and he had never rapped a word into that microphone.It was two juvenile drunken middle-age white guys, and we’d both be lucky if all our ownfamily members even showed up for our funerals.Jesse Jackson was standing at the top of the steps, crying for the cameras, just like hedid on Obama’s victorious election night. Al Sharpton did a slow, too dramatic to bedignified, march up the steps of the funeral home. He and Jesse hugged passionatelylike two parents who had just lost their only son. Members of the media obviously didn’trealize that neither Jesse nor Al had ever met the deceased in their entire lives, becausenetwork cameramen literally ran from every direction to capture the tenderly movingmoment.Local hip hop luminaries and unknowns filed into the building, each turning and giving apeace sign or a chest thump toward the throngs of both inquisitive and grievingonlookers. Signs emblazoned with messages like “RIP MF” and slogans like “Keep dabeat in da Big Sky” were scattered amongst the crowd.La Toya Jackson arrived, escorted by Ludacris; they emerged from a large blacklimousine. Ludacris, no doubt, shelled out the cash for the car and driver. I don’t knowwhy they were there, except maybe to be seen by the scrum of reporters and film crewswho were guaranteed to be covering the event.Then, another limo pulled up; out popped Sean Combs. The limo behind it opened itsdoors to reveal Jay-Z and a woman who looked like Beyonce, but not quite enough likeBeyonce. I scanned across the massive ensemble of faces and spotted Manny flittingthrough the crowd, looking for VIP’s to schmooze with.The next limo pulled up and a guy who was carefully crafted to look like Carrot Topemerged. That’s when I wiggled through the crowd to grasp Manny by the shoulder,“Manny, what the fuck is going on here?”“It’s a fucking funeral. Didn’t you get a copy of the program?”“Don’t give me any of your smartass bullshit. The only reason you can still breathe outof your nose and see out of both eyes is I don’t want to be captured on tape, poundingyour face into mush. Now who are these fucking people pulling up in the limousines?”“I hired some celebrity lookalikes to show up and make it look like the kid was a big star.I thought it was a nice gesture. I got La Toya, Ludacris, Beyonce, Jay-Z, and Sean330

Combs for a package price, and they threw in Carrot Top for free. Nobody wants him attheir event, so I said ‘What the fuck?’ Give the guy some work. The more the merrier.”I spoke through clenched teeth. The cadence of my words was measured. My tone andvolume were tightly controlled, “It’s not meant to be merry you stupid cock. It’s a fuckingtragedy!” By the last word of the second sentence, I realized I was shouting. A coupleof people turned and looked at me with disturbed curiosity. I diverted my eyesdownward and whispered, “Tell them to leave now.”At that moment, a purple limo stopped in front of us and Prince emerged dressed like thecover of Purple Rain. Manny said, “Oh yeah. I got Prince on a separate deal fromanother company. You wouldn’t believe how much that one guy cost. I agreed to givehim a couple hours of studio time instead of paying him.”Jim had made his way through the crowd and pressed in close to us, speaking in ahushed tone, “Don’t tell me you did what I think you did Manny.”I turned toward Jim. I couldn’t even look at Manny, “He hired celebrity lookalikes toplace in the crowd.”Jim turned and put his face about one centimeter from Manny’s, “Get rid of these fuckingclowns and freaks or they will find Babe Ruth’s baseball, before they dredge your bodyparts out of Lake Ontario.” In 1914, Babe Ruth hit his first professional home run inToronto; the ball landed in Lake Ontario. To this day, there is legend and controversysurrounding whether the ball has ever been recovered. The official story is that it’s stillsomewhere underwater.Manny started to sputter another meaningless Manny-ism, but I clenched him by theback of his neck before he could speak, “Get them out of here before James’ mothersees them. I mean it, Manny! If you detract one single second of dignity and decorumfrom her son’s funeral, I will hire an accountant myself to audit Ear to Ear’s businessrecords from the day you got the business license. We will go over every dime, nickel,penny, and transaction. Then, when I find one single tiny irregularity? I’m bringing inRevenue Canada, the Toronto Police, any fucking body else who might be able toprosecute you. I will not stop until I see your ass panhandling on Yonge Street. Now getthese goddamn carnival rejects out of here, before the family sees them.”Julie had joined the three of us and gave me a nudge. She motioned toward the street,where James’ family was being dispersed from the funeral home’s car. I leaned intoward Manny, “I mean it. Get them out of here now, especially that Prince guy. Helooks like he just came from a gay rodeo. Manny, please just sneak them out beforeNatalie sees them.”“Who the fuck’s Natalie?”“Just go!”Natalie caught my eye as she climbed the stairs. She gave me a tiny feeble little waveand attempted to smile. I could see Manny almost right behind her leading the guydressed as Prince through the crowd. Jim was on the other side of the guy, guiding him331

y the elbow. The impersonator must have been quite a drama queen, because he wasthrowing a histrionic hissy fit. I saw Jim make an aggressively gesticulated assertion toManny, who reluctantly then pulled out two one hundred dollar bills and gave them to thePrince performer.Jim then grabbed Jay-Z and Beyonce, before they entered the church. We’d have tosearch inside for P Diddy; Carrot Top would be an easy one to spot. La Toya andLudacris were right within my line of sight. They were buying hot dogs from a streetvendor.By the time we cleaned up Manny’s latest mess, the church was full and the memorialservice was about to begin. Julie, Jim and I ushered to the reserved section, which wasnot necessarily a good thing.I had gotten the phone call that I never wanted to receive, two days earlier. It wasNatalie, James’ mother, “I would like you to say something at the memorial service.Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton both wanted to do the eulogy, but I don’t want James’last moment of respect and remembrance to be delivered by people who don’t knowanything about him.I agreed. I don’t know why I did. How can you say “no” to the grieving mother of afriend, in her life’s most dire moment? I just didn’t have the remotest of clues what I wasgoing to say, and this was bound to be a very tough audience.After a song performed by the choir from Natalie’s church, her minister performed theobligatory reading of Bible verses and leading of prayers. He spoke of wasted youth andhope for better times, and he made it clear that James was already spending bettertimes and waiting for all of us to join him.Then, it was time for me to ascend to the podium.I looked at the crowd. Jesse Jackson stared at me as if he’d like to run up the steps andpush me out of the way, to get to the microphone.Al Sharpton leaned to one of his henchmen and clearly asked “Who is that?” I couldread his lips as he said it.That’s why I started the speech with, “My name is Rick Loonie, and I had the veryfulfilling and stimulating good fortune to work with James Earl Samples. James was amember of our team, as producer of our radio morning show. In the short time heworked with us, he continued to challenge us to do better things. He had a quick wit, abrilliant vocabulary, and one of the best voices I’ve ever heard. He was also a creativemastermind and one of the hardest working young men I’ve ever met.”“This was a young man who had all the parts necessary to build a great broadcaster,political leader, whatever he chose to do. The world would have benefitted fromwhatever James selected as his life’s passion.”“I will miss him not only in a professional capacity, but for his great sense of humor andinnate kindness. We once saw a young dog running around in traffic, on our way home.332

James would not shut up until I turned the car around. He coaxed the dog over andmanaged to get him into my back seat, those muddy feet all over my upholstery.”That got a small chuckle from the crowd. Great! So far so good. I wasn’t slaying them,making them wish for an encore, but I hadn’t entirely humiliated myself yet.“We dropped the dog off at the Humane Society, and I asked James why it meant somuch to him to go back and get that dog. He said, ‘Wouldn’t you want someone to helpyou, if you were scared and lost and in danger, with nowhere to go?’ Then he said, ‘Ifthat was your dog, wouldn’t you like to think that some decent person might help him, ifhe got lost somehow?’ He said that it was a living being with a personality and maybesomeone who cared about him. Wasn’t it worth taking ten minutes of our time to savehis life? Then he said, ‘And don’t worry, I’ll clean your backseat. I saw the way youwere looking at it. My bad.’ He then proceeded to drive my crazy until I finallyacquiesced and pulled into a car wash so he could vacuum and wipe off my back seat.He insisted that he had to, because he felt it was the right thing to do.”There was a stir of emotion in the crowd that was somewhere between heart wrenchingsniffles and nostalgic chuckles. It was hard to read their reaction, but I think I wasgetting to them. I was ready to crank it up a notch now.Myself, I had to grit my teeth and gather myself for a second. The dog story almostmade crack. I looked out at the crowd and Jesse Jackson actually had the glistening ofa tear in his eye. Booyah! That’s what I needed to see.“The James Earl Samples that I knew possessed a powerful spirit that filled the room,especially when he smiled. His laughter was so engaging and infectious that we actuallyrecorded it and used it once in a while on our radio show. He wouldn’t even be in theroom, but his great joyous laughter was. No one’s supposed to know that by the way, Ipromised James I wouldn’t tell. He used to say, ‘You’re not using me as a sound effect!’That would make us want to play it even more.”That brought another smattering of tension relieving chuckles from the crowd.“So I’m going to go to work on Monday, without my main man and number one go-to guythere to talk to and to turn to. I’ll miss his counsel and the wisdom he possessed beyondhis years. I’ll miss the enthusiasm that he brought with him every day, and most of all, I’llmiss a guy who everyone wanted to adopt as their little brother. James, you’re a veryeasy man to miss, and we all love you.”I was done, but my subconscious “master of ceremonies mentality” kicked in for a splitsecond. I found myself waiting for applause. Then I remembered that this wasn’t abikini contest at a client’s bar. I immediately snapped back to reality and recognized howself indulgent this involuntary ego reflex really was.I had been spoiled with too much attention throughout my adult life, ever since I went onthe air. Too many people kissed my ass because they listened to me on the radioeveryday and thought I was a friend of theirs who was just a bit more cool and special.Outside of Julie, and recently Dirk Nixon, there was no one who said to me, “Rick, you’reacting like a fucking idiot.”333

Even at this point of my life, when other men my age had matured into father figures,leaders of industry, teachers of future generations, and architects of our moderntechnological landscapes, I was so depraved in my own self absorption, that funnyheadlines began to flash through my brain: “Funeral Funster Has Fans in Tears” ormaybe “Guru of the Grave Gives Grammy-Worthy Performance”.I chastised myself thinking, “I’m such a needy prick. My ego is like a wind turbine thatconstantly needs hurricane force magnitude to keep me going.” It was a split second ofself reflection that felt like it lasted for minutes. Then, the next headline popped into mymind, “Diplomat of Death Delivers Dynamite Decree”.I immediately felt badly again, but it did distract me from the gravity of the funeral speechlong enough to keep my composure in front of this packed house. I didn’t want to breakdown in front of a standing-room-only crowd, after orating a homerun eulogy.With that, I stepped down and took a seat next to Julie. I had pretty much forgotten shewas there. I was so nervous about the speech and so saddened at the same time, Ispent most of the last couple days walking around in an empty room inside my head.She seemed to understand that, which made me love her even more. She reached overand squeezed my hand.I was so relieved that it was over.A few more verses were read, another prayer; then the minister said some things thatwere intended to make us all feel better about the sudden and unnecessary death of ouryoung promising friend. As the crowd of mourners and onlookers rose from their seatsand began their exodus from the solemn ceremony, I could see Natalie across the room.She was being courted by both Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, so she finally must havesuggested that they both escort her out of the church. That was a pity, because Iwanted to speak to her.As we began to walk down the aisle, eight or ten rows of people behind her, she turnedand met my gaze. She patted Jesse on the shoulder and said something; then, sheshook Al’s hand. With that, she stood and waited as the many people waited toapproach her with their condolences, including me.When I finally reached her, she grabbed my hand and smiled, “You know he thought theworld of you. He told me that meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him.He said that you had taught him so much, just from being around you, that he knew hecould be as successful as you are someday.”Successful? If they only knew the whole story. James would have become anaccountant or and engineer, if he knew everything that I had experienced over the lasttwenty years.I hugged her, “He would have been a lot more successful than I ever was. He had morenatural talent and more intelligence than Jim and I combined.”334

I didn’t realize that Jim was suddenly standing next to me. He offered Natalie ahandshake, “Rick’s right ma’am. He was the hardest working man at the whole radiostation, and his work was brilliant. We called him our main man; he did everything forus. All we had to do was show up and talk, because James had already done the workfor us. You did a really great job raising him.”With that, she started tearing up. That’s the thing about funerals, you never know if whatyou’re saying is the right thing. You don’t want the bereaved to have a breakdown rightin front of you for something you said. Everyone in attendance starts looking at you like,“What did you do to her?”She said, “You must be Jim. James talked a lot about you.” Then her eyes crinkled inan impish smile, “He said that we’d better make sure that we kept you away from hissister.”That’s when we first caught sight of the, as of then, unseen sister. James was right toworry; she was absolutely stunning. She looked just like her mother, only twenty yearsyounger. Her dark skin punctuated the fact that she had strikingly large green eyes. Herbody was goddess-like, and like her mom, her wide sparkling smile was magnetic.Her mother introduced her, “This is James’ sister Renee.”Renee spoke graciously and articulately, “It’s very nice to meet you. I know how muchyou meant to him. He talked about you all the time.” As she said that, she consciouslyattempted to silence a small sob that rose from her throat. In spite of the tears in hereyes, she held her composure and smiled widely, “I appreciate everything you did for mylittle brother. My mom’s right, too. You do look a little bit like Mel Gibson.”Natalie gave her a playful push, “Shush, you’re not supposed to tell him that.”I felt Julie’s presence at my shoulder. It was an unspoken, ahem. Women have anatural tendency to introduce themselves into a conversation, when they see that youare engaging sociably with another beautiful woman. I introduced Julie as my girlfriend;that usually settles any wariness or tension in the air and everyone can then moveforward with their discussion.After a few more rhetorical “nice to meet you” exchanges, we all walked together out thefront doors. There were reporters talking to both Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. Icould overhear Sharpton saying, “I wouldn’t have believed it either, but my hair is thickernow than it was when I was nineteen years old. Come to my seminar tonight “Prayer forHair” at the Sheraton. I didn’t bring any brochures with me.”It’s a good thing. If I saw him reach for one single brochure while still on the propertythat hosted James’ memorial service, I would have thrown him in front of a bus. I couldjust picture those headlines, “Prominent Black Civil Rights Figure Killed by SuspectedRacist Rapper”.As we walked by, I could hear Jesse Jackson saying, “It’s all about building thoseimportant role models for the future; it’s tonight at the Metropolitan Convention Centre.335

Tickets are still available, and you can purchase a DVD of all the speakers right at theevent.”Jim and I were in no mood for any errant reporters spotting us or some learning impairedlistener approaching us. We literally shoulder-bumped our way through the crowd. Twoblocks away, we arrived at our separate cars; there was one parking lot that we alwaysused. We give the owner and his attendants tickets to WWE events at the Air CanadaCentre. They love wrestling, so they always manage to find spots for both our cars, nomatter what’s happening downtown.A private wake was being held at one of our station’s client’s restaurants. The sales repthat handled the account graciously approached them, without even being asked. Therestaurant allowed us to use their facility without a rental fee, and the radio stationchipped in on costs for hors d'oeuvres and servers. There was a cash bar.Dirk Nixon had apparently been at the memorial service; though we never saw himthere. He approached, as soon as we entered the restaurant. I introduced him to Julie,and he offered to buy us all a round of drinks. Julie excused herself to the ladies’ room,while Jim and I found ourselves sequestered in a semi-private corner with Dirk Nixon.Dirk picked up his bottle of beer, “To James, he was a great young guy. I really likedhim. I mean, what wasn’t to like?”Both Jim and I concurred, tapping beer bottles with Dirk, “To James.”Dirk’s eyes squinted into slits. He set his beer down and leaned over, “So you guysmust realize that I know that you’re responsible for that fucking song that James gotkilled over.”Jim and I darted each other looks of surprise and mixed with instantaneous concern. Ispoke on our behalves, “What do you mean?”Dirk leaned in even closer, “It was just reported on our AM news station that twomembers of a ‘rival rap group’, as they called them, are under investigation for themurder. Apparently, they have alleged gang affiliations; both of them are ‘known topolice’. They have some gangsta rap CD coming out, and the story is that they werepissed off at James and his other MFN buddies, for stealing their thunder. You know, itwas like all that East coast-West coast rap rivalry stuff. Those guys are fucking idiots.”Suddenly, I was stricken with a jolt of shocking ironic reality. I asked the next question,already knowing the answer, “What was the name of the group those guys were in?”Dirk looked at the table attempting to recall, “It was something to do with fucking, onlywith a bunch of that misspelling play on words bullshit.”Jim nearly slammed his beer down on the table, “Was it 4-NIH-KASHUN?”“Yeah, that’s it. The news story said that they recorded at the same studio, and therewas bad blood, whatever. Then that douche bag manager of yours announces thatthere’s going to be a big rap opera TV deal, and that bullshit novelty song of yours is336

getting huge download numbers. So that’s when ‘Butt Fuck’, or whatever you said thoseother guys call themselves, went out for some kind of revenge vendetta. You hadn’theard this? It’s been on the news since about ten, this morning.”Neither one of us spoke. The realization that Manny was at the root of everything thathad happened was omnipresent in both our minds. 4-NIH-KASHUN was his client. Heprobably even fanned the flames of the so-called rivalry. The man was the lowest livinglife form I had ever met.Dirk continued, “The thing is guys, I hate to challenge your integrity or anything, but youand I both know who wrote this and whose voices are on it. I’ve studied you guys for along time, knowing I was going to be your program director and you were the franchiseplayers. I’ve listened to more of your bits than you can remember even doing. Plus, Iknow that this Manny Goyshevitz is not just your manager; you guys are businesspartners with him in this recording studio. Why the fuck would you ever go into businesswith this guy, let alone even let him represent you? I attend meetings with him, and Ican’t even understand what the fuck he’s talking about.”At that moment, Jim nudged me hard in the ribs. I followed his gaze to the door, towitness the arrival of Manny.He was dressed in all black, Armani or Gucci or some other four-figure suit designer. Hebrought with him a bimbo of unknown origin and a large muscular well dressed man,who looked unmistakably like a bodyguard.About that time, Julie returned from the powder room. I suggested she enjoy a glass ofwine, while she chatted with our so closely compatible and obviously beloved boss, Dirk.Jim and I gravitated toward Manny, slithering through the crowd with assertiveness thatwas just short of aggression.When we reached Manny, he had begun hobnobbing with an A&R decision-maker fromone of the big labels; I couldn’t remember which one. My mind was stuck on self control,lest I beat this miscreant to death with a napkin dispenser, or impale his eye socket witha chicken skewer when the hors d'oeuvres arrive.We came up on both sides of him, excused ourselves to the record label rep, and gentlyled Manny away by his elbows like members of the Soprano family. When we got himinto an isolated corner, I leaned in close to him and delivered my best Jack Bauer, “Weknow that it was these 4-NIH-KASHUN kids of yours that are being held in connectionwith James’ homicide. Now, you need to tell me what you knew and when you knew it,or this is going to be a very bad week for you.”“I didn’t know anything about them doing something like this. These were rich kids; theirparents opened up their checkbooks and told them to go nuts. They wanted to bring in achoir for one song, which I may have just booked, thanks to James’ memorial service.”Jim got so close to Manny that it looked as if they were going to kiss, “You booked thechoir from James’ memorial service to perform on 4-NIH-KASHUN’s rap album?”“All they asked is for a donation to their church…..”337

That was all he said, before I grabbed him by the throat, “Look you soulless son of abitch, here’s what’s going to happen. First of all, those papers better be filed.”“They’re in my car right now. Everything’s signed. I’ll just have them couriered over tothe attorney’s…” He never finished that sentence either.Jim shoved him in the chest, driving his back into the payphone behind him, “Tell yourNavy Seal mercenary goon fuck over there to go get them out of your car.” Mannystarted to move forward, but Jim pushed him back, “Call him on your fucking cell phone.We have more to discuss.”The steely stare that Jim gave him genuinely frightened Manny. You could see his handtremble slightly as he dialed his cell phone and called the person standing twenty feetaway from us. The guy had his head shaved, he was impeccably dressed in a high endMafioso style suit, and he could easily have played middle linebacker in the NFL.However, he obediently responded to Manny’s request, without questioning whether thetwo radio announcers that had him huddled in a darkened hallway were threatening him.Manny wasn’t afraid of any physical harm coming to him. He knew we had enoughunfavorable evidence and sordid history on him to not only cause him legal problems,but first and foremost we could create a public relations firestorm that would put him outof business and run him out of town. Now that we were the ones who had made himblink first, we hovered closer for the final part of the kill.I spoke for the two of us this time, “You see that beautiful lady standing over there? Thatwoman is a loving mother, and she just lost her son. She had two children who are theaccomplishments of her life, two good decent hard working intelligent kids. When shewasn’t busy creating two wonderful young citizens, she was working as a nurse at ahospital helping to save other people’s lives. She did that so she could help her son anddaughter receive university educations and leave the low rent subsidized housing thatshe was forced to bring them up in.”Manny said, “She’s a real hero then, I mean sincerely.” I could tell he really did mean it.“So here’s what’s going to happen Manny. When we agreed on a buyout price on Ear toEar Productions, we did so without accounting for any MFN money. Do you recall that?We didn’t want any affiliation with the song, because of the repercussions it could causefor our careers? You recall that?”Manny looked at Jim, whose face was nearly vibrating with palpable anger, bordering onhatred. He looked back at me, “I do recall that. Yes, I do.”“The two of us were entitled to receive fifty percent of the profits from MFN, as per ouragreement with you on all of Ear to Ear’s work. Only, we don’t want it. That fifty percentis going to James’ mother Natalie.” I patted Manny on the shoulder like we wereexchanging jokes between friends. That was mainly because his man servant hadreturned with his briefcase. I whispered, “Tell Igor to get lost now.”338

Manny dismissed the mass of humanity that stood within our midst. It occurred to mehow brave or stupid we were acting. This guy looked like some kind of Orc warrior fromMiddle Earth, and we’re pushing his boss around like we worked for loan sharks.He opened his briefcase and pulled out the file. We checked and everything was signedby everyone, where it was supposed to be. We took possession of the file.“We’ll drop this off Monday at the lawyer’s office, Manny. No need to worry yourselfabout that.” He started to say something, but I cut him off again, “Now here is the nameand address of James’ mother Natalie. We know approximately how much that songmade off downloads, so I would expect a check for no less than one million dollars besigned and delivered to her next week.”Manny found his voice suddenly, “There’s no fuckin’ way I’m giving her one milliondollars. Besides, you just signed away your ownership and your decision making power.You don’t even own a share of that money.”Jim was at a breaking point. The fact that Manny could start getting cocky andaudacious after all that had happened and all he had done, was the final straw for bothof us.Now it was Jim’s turn to become Jack Bauer, “Manny, you took a recording of us, withoutour permission and released it as a song. We repeatedly told you to take the websitedown, but you obstinately disregarded us. You went on television and sold us out, likewe used your studio to record our racist song, without you knowing it.”“I was looking out for the company.”Then, I stepped in, “You get these other rap star wannabes all fired up, because you tellthem that MFN is the hottest thing out there. As a result, the way it’s looking right now,two of them shot our friend. It’s all because of you Manny.”“It was just supposed to be a little friendly competition, like the Beatles and the Stones,back in the sixties.”“So you did stoke up this ‘friendly competition’, is that what you’re saying?”“I just put it out there that they needed to really start pumping out the work, because thisnew hot group was burning up the charts. I didn’t know that they were going to go outthere and shoot at each other.”Jim clarified, “You admit that you encouraged this rivalry between your 4-NIH-KASHUNboys and MFN?”“Yeah, but I had no idea that they would react that way.”I added my own inquiry, “And, do you apologize to us for using something that we did inour own private time, at a party where we were drinking alcohol, and releasing it as asong for download? Do you apologize for hiring three young black guys, without our339

permission, to represent us? And, do you apologize for possibly contributing to therivalry that led to the death of this young man?”“I don’t see how I can be held accountable……”Jim wouldn’t let him finish a sentence, “Do you apologize to us for all those thingsManny? Do you admit they are all true, and do you feel remorse for the things you did.Do you feel contrition for the fact that things you did may have helped lead to the deathof James Earl Samples?”I crowded in even closer to Manny, “Do you admit that you are responsible for thosethings, and do you apologize to us Manny?”Finally we broke his resistance, “YES. Shit, fuck yes. I did those things, maybe Ishouldn’t have done some of them. I’m not responsible for what happened to this kidthough. The guys just got all fired up, because I told them I was bumping their studiotime. I told them MFN had a big song they were laying down tracks for. MFN tookpriority.”I feigned a look like a confused bird dog, purposely cocking my head, “But we are MFN.There was no recording.”Manny looked down, unable to make eye contact with us, “I told them that because theywere goofing around and not getting any good stuff recorded. I just wanted to motivatethem.”Jim shook his head in disgust and disbelief, “So you lied to them too, the guys from 4-NIH-KASHUN. You’ve lied to everyone Manny, just because you wanted to be somehigh rolling bigshot record producer. As a result, you’ve put our careers in jeopardy, andyou did everything except pull the trigger that killed James.”“I had no idea someone would get hurt, you guys know that.”I pulled the portable tape recorder out of my pocket, “We do now Manny.”I played back the last few words of the conversation, “So will everyone else, now.There’s at least a civil suit here, I think, for James’ mother. Hell, there could be somesort of criminal charges laid, conspiracy to commit murder or something. I’m sure theCrown Attorney will look at all the options.”Jim was nearly vibrating in anticipation of adding his own comments, “Either way Manny,we’ll go to Vanity Fair or whoever and sell the story of the international smash hit singlethat was a complete fraud, conceived and directed by Manuel Goyshevitz,” he startedemulating a television correspondent voice, “He is known within the show biz industry as‘Manny’, and he planted the seeds that are responsible for the death of a promisingyoung man, plus the conviction of two other young men for murder. Worst of all, Mannyduped the public into buying a song that was actually performed by drunken white menacting like racist sexist pigs. That’s because Manny convinced the world that the songwas done by a group of up and coming talented young black rap artists.”340

I couldn’t wait any longer to contribute more to the tongue beating, “How do you thinkyour big record label friends are going to feel about you, when they find out that thepublic knows how you Milli Vanilli-ed them? Plus, you did it with material that isreprehensibly offensive to anyone with dark skin or a vagina. You’re not exactly going tobe Quincy fucking Jones, are you? In fact, Jim and I know most of those record labelguys. They’re always trying to kiss our asses, just so we’ll put one of their artists on ourshow. We’ll call each one of them ourselves to tell them you’re poison on a stick, andradio stations won’t touch any project that Manny Goyshevitz is involved in.”Manny seemed to suddenly snap back to his old self. I was surprised that he had let uspush him around as much as he had lately, but he was buying time so that song of hiswould sell a few more copies. He wanted time for the phenomenon to build enough sohe could make a cottage industry selling MFN T-shirts and nipple rings, or whateverpiece of insipid trendy merchandise he could pawn off to kids in used record stores andhead shops.Almost instantly though, it was as if he transformed. His eyes changed like someonewho had just become possessed, with a glint of defiance he said, “Who gives a shit whatyou say to the press. You’ll be finished before I am. You’re in the public eye, workingfor a broadcast facility that’s overseen by a government agency. The news that youguys did this is going to go over like the Pope in a porn flick. There’s a better chancethat someone’s going to drink out of that punch bowl after I stick my ass in it, than thereis of you guys getting another job. You go to the press and admit you sang those lyrics,you’ll have to leave the continent to get another gig.”Jim and I looked at each other. He doubled over laughing, “That shouldn’t be aproblem.”He was looking back and forth at both of us befuddled, “What’s so fuckin’ funny. You’reat a wake for chrissakes.”“Jim and I ‘rock, scissor, papered’ earlier and I won. So I’m the one that gets to tell you.We’ve got one point five million dollars each to work with, after the generous agreementyou signed.”“What are you talking about? Our agreement was for one point two, it was assets onlyand revenue generated up until the end 2009. That was one point two, and I gave youguys a pretty nice rounding up on those figures.”We knew that Manny insisted on doing all his own legal work, which we had urged himnot to, on several occasions. For one thing, Manny has the attention span of a fruit flyon crystal meth. For another, he was a lawyer in the same sense that he was a rabbi,and I certainly wouldn’t let the man perform a Bris on me.We received his predictably low offer on the original paper work for the buyoutagreement. Immediately we had our lawyer change the figure to one point five. Wedidn’t bother to include any notations, memos or cover letters. We just silently carriedthe agreements over to the Adelaide Street office and dropped them off personally.341

As we had anticipated, when he handed us those signed and notarized documents, hehad failed to read through them again thoroughly. He was probably busy cultivatingsome hot new female “singing talent”, which usually involved scoring some coke andasking her to submit to a rigorous “audition process”.“Unfortunately Manny, the documents that we all signed are in agreement of the amountof one point five million, which you know is more than fair. We’ve built up a lot of equityin those properties and equipment; plus, the company had a record year in 2009.Remember us bragging about how Ear to Ear turned out to be recession proof?”Manny fumbled through his briefcase, practically tearing his copy of the agreement, ashe yanked it out of the file folder. “You guys can’t do this. This is a fraudulentagreement. I was misled.”Jim tucked his own file under his arm and stuck a toothpick into his mouth, just to createa hot-shot hard-guy wheeler-dealer persona, “Well, you know Manny, God created inkpens and attorneys for a reason. He also gave you eyes to pay attention to things, andyou signed this document in front of witnesses. Therefore, we’ll move on with our lives,while Natalie tries to reconstruct hers, and you can continue producing the remainder ofyour big rap opera production.”The devil possession-like confidence that Manny had just painted on melted away likebad makeup under hot lights, “All right. How about, I’ll give the bereaved mother fivehundred thousand. That should be enough to buy a house in the suburbs or whatever.Then, I’ll give you guys one point three.”Jim countered, “One point five.”Manny did not hesitate for one breath. He had anticipated resistance and already hadanother counteroffer in mind, “One point three-five and five-fifty for the griever, otherwisewe go to court and drag it out.”“Done,” I was satisfied with that arrangement, “We’ll see you at one o’clock on Monday.I’ve already reserved the time with our legal counsel; you can understand why we wanthim to be there. I expect to see the agreements revised and signed, both for one pointthree five million and one check for five hundred-fifty thousand for James’ family.”He snagged his briefcase angrily off the table he had placed it on, “Why don’t you giveme back those old agreements.”Jim held them high above his head, like a grade school bully who just stole a smallerstudent’s homework, “Uh-uh-uh, I don’t think so Manny. You show up with everything inorder on Monday, or as far as I’m concerned, this agreement still stands.”He clasped his briefcase in both hands, like a woman who was just traumatized by apurse snatcher, “Don’t worry, I’ll have your checks drawn up too. I never want to seeyou guys again. Like I told you when we first met, I don’t represent radio talent.”As we watched him walk away, I said to Jim, “Wonder what he’s sore at us about?”342

Jim watched as Manny grabbed his new female “talent prospect” by the arm andmotioned for his man Friday to follow, “Well the way he was gripping his purse, I’d sayhe’s feeling hormonal. Poor dear.”We both laughed and gave each other a fist bump. We were finally free of the crazy sonof a bitch. It’s was a pity in a way. He was a character to find amusement in, and hemade us a lot of money. Plus, we had just lost access to Ear to Ear Productions’Muskoka “office”.Frankly, after all that had happened, I had no desire ever to return there.343

36 - Swan Songs and SayonarasThe rest of the afternoon was predictably poised and proper. I said goodbye to Natalie;Julie conveyed a very heartfelt and genuine summation of her knowledge about Jamesand how much he meant to me. Natalie darted warm glances my way, as Julie spoke,as if to say, “Good job. You found a real good one here.”Meanwhile, Jim was spending an alarmingly inordinate amount of time with James’sister, Renee. She was stunningly beautiful and approximately twenty years his junior,but I could see those old testosterone powered cogwheels turning in his head, orwherever they were located.Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton turned the front steps of the building into a pressconference site. They expounded on the violence perpetrated between young men in anurban environment and declared it to be wrong. They proclaimed that it must come to anend, which just about anyone who had shown up would have said. I could haveescorted the hot dog vendor up the steps to deliver essentially the same message,except he could barely speak negotiable English.The celebrity lookalikes had managed to crash the wake. They hovered together aroundthe buffet table and signed autographs. Seriously, there was a virtual lineup of naïveteenagers and simple minded adults, who had them signing everything from funeralprograms to cocktail napkins. Imagine their surprise when they returned home to findthat their bus transfer had been signed by a guy who calls himself “Dink Daddy”, with aphone number to hire him for special appearances.Julie and I slipped out quietly. Julie was sure to pause briefly to catch Jim’s eye, givehim a long stare, and then make a pointedly direct visual reference to James’ sisterRenee. You didn’t even have to know her to pick up on her implicit message, “Don’teven think about it!”We went home and talked over a bottle of wine and a pizza delivered from our favorite“non-cooking night” place. She said that she had grown to hate her job, and the lifestylewas unbearable. The money was good, but she was paying the price of having erraticcontact with the people she cared about; thankfully, I was at the top of that list.She missed gardening, which I was absolutely deplorable at. The little Shangri-la shehad built in the back yard with years of attentive care and patience had receivedcountless compliments. Thanks to my “brown thumb” and lack of effort, it had nowturned into the kind of yard that real estate agents scourge, especially when they’retrying to sell other houses in the neighborhood.She had pondered the idea for a long time of going into business for herself, doinggraphic designs in every format from websites to print ads to T-shirts. She thought shehad impressed enough clients to keep her working out of both loyalty and theirappreciation of her work.I told her that I too was just burned out with the dream that I was living. For decades,this was what I wanted. I was part of a leading radio morning show in one of the largestmarkets in North America; the bonus was I got to work with my oldest friend and my344

most enduring and compatible creative partner. The whole rap song fiasco had reallysucked a lot of the steam from my boiler of ambition.The tiring reality was that the cockiness of being a twenty-something hotshot on theradio faded. I had been the young man who literally selected from a harem of anxiousscantily-clad nubile sexual debutantes; some would actually wait in line at remotebroadcasts to flirt at a chance to interact with my locally famous celebrity loins.Free stuff? That used to excite me so much that I would forgo livable salary levels,dental benefits and pension plans, so that I could work in an industry that gave me freeSupertramp tickets. I had so much useless promotional merchandise in the basementthat Julie finally talked our whole street into having a massive community yard sale. Theentire motivation for organizing the event was merely an excuse to get rid of some of myaccumulated belongings. I had everything from Peter Gabriel throw pillows to a fakeOzzy Osbourne bat that would actually squirt fake blood when you bit its head.I had now done this same gig for over five years. It had been a lot of fun, and there wasthat genuine thrill of having people say to you, “You make me laugh on a bad day.” Thatmeans a hell of a lot. Not many people get to hear that kind of immediate positivefeedback on their jobs outside of us and maybe hookers.I wouldn’t mind doing an easy midday shift, somewhere that the weather was warm andthe ocean was nearby. It would be just like our surroundings when we first met. I couldread cards about the exciting new ten thousand dollar birthday contest and recite thelatest forecast using color weather radar. I already knew all of Lionel Richie’s and AnneMurray’s catalogues, and I was positive that I could pretend that Justin Bieber was thenext Elvis.Much to Manny’s chagrin, we now had an ample nest egg. The housing market wasdoing incredibly well in Toronto; we could probably command around four to fivehundred thousand for our house. That is once Julie revived the garden that I had all butdecimated due to lack of attention and organic talent.Best of all, I had a story. The MFN thing nearly ruined Jim and I. It may have arguablygotten our friend James killed. We were detested by people like the Dumets, their ilk offanatical followers, and probably a large percentage of the people who may had evertuned into our show by accident.However, there was a story there, and there were ample numbers of people with money,who were bankrolling lame remakes of everything from “Starsky and Hutch” to the “TheA-Team”. This fresh new material was surely appealing to someone, even if it turned outto be a down and out indie movie producer, desperately looking to produce that sleeperfilm that surprises everyone at the Golden Globes.The story itself included some of the most unusual turns of events that could ever occurin two guys’ lives. The big question was whether the general public would find itinteresting. It might be fascinating and relatable to radio people, but the problem withthem is that none of them ever actually pay for copies of books or movie tickets.345

I’ve said it many times before, even about myself. Radio people are whores, slaves tofree stuff. You could witness a stampede of staff members, every time a restaurantclient came into the office with free food. The conference room would look like a busloadof third world refugees had just arrived after a natural disaster.We considered making a major life-sweeping determination. Why if we left Toronto andsearched for a place in the sun that might provide us the next fulfilling phases of ourlives? We just had to figure out where and how we wanted to hatch this new embryonicdream existence during the latter decade or two of our professional lives.I tried to reach Jim, but his cell phone was turned off. I hoped that he wasn’t doing whatI assumed he might be, with the person I had observed him flirting with, but I had knownJim too well for too many years.***That Monday, we dedicated our radio program to James. It was the first live show wehad done, since the tragedy, and we informed our listeners that we were doingeverything based on material James had written. We didn’t ask Dirk; we just did it. Inreality, it was probably a ratings coup. Every news agency had covered the memorialservice on the weekend, so many people’s curiosities had probably been aroused.There were probably people listening to the show overseas on the internet, that day.The weekend papers were filled with photos of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton cozyingup and looking bereaved. They even included some photos of the celebrity lookalikes.No one had apparently informed worldwide newspaper editorial staffs that neither Jay-Znor Sean Combs were anywhere near the North American continent at the time, letalone at a funeral in Toronto.Natalie had sent James’ notebook to us on Sunday. Actually, Jim had it. He said thatRenee had brought it over, which was a mental image that made me uneasy. Jameswould have wanted me to look after his sister. I can’t imagine that he would not havefrowned upon the thought of her burying her face into a silk pillow cover, while Jim drovehis love bulldozer into his beloved sibling’s most precious excavation site.Some of the material that we took from James’ files and notebooks consisted of scantideas, unfinished bits and things that just clearly wouldn’t work on the show. We bothhad similar batches of material stashed everywhere. There were post-it notes in ourcars, files in our home work spaces and pages taped on every wall and surface of ourmorning show office.We drew the best material from what we found in James’ collection, and allowed thelisteners use to our phone lines as a forum to articulate condolences and sharethoughts. It was probably the most audience interactive show we had ever done.People really responded admirably.Larry King’s eighth marriage was coming to an end, because his unbelievably hot fiftyyear old wife discovered he was boffing her forty-five year old sister. James had written,“First of all, who would sleep with this guy in the first place? I used to say that aboutDonald Trump, but Larry King makes Trump look like Johnny Depp or whoever thecurrent ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ happens to be.”346

Jim added, “He must have a platinum plated schlong.”“Or a number of platinum credit cards is more like it,” I then continued reading fromJames’ notes on how he had a theory that Larry King was an alien, sent to Earth topopulate the planet with “ant-heads”. We had all agreed during a conversation one daythat Larry King looked like a mutation created by mating a human with an ant. Jamescoined the term “ant-head”, and we had used it ever since. His theory was that he wastrying to impregnate as many human women as he could, to spread the “ant-head” raceacross the planet, with the intent of domination. He said, “When you think about it,Barack Obama has some ant-head qualities himself. Perhaps the plan to conquer the‘normal-size headed’ race had already begun.”They were amusing notes, but a little thin for a major topic on the show. Most of his stuffwas still better than the early material we created, when we were James’ age back inTennessee. We weren’t really feeling our optimal comedic sensibilities, given thecircumstances of the last few days, so having this excuse to plagiarize James’ notebookwas the perfect way to come back to work.He had also commented on a new reality series that was to star David Hasselhoff andhis family members. James wrote that the premise of the show each week would be for“The Hoff” to get drunk and try to eat a meal without dropping any. That was also a littleweak for anything but a casual mention, but we thought it was a funny idea.One bit that James had already produced to surprise us with was a takeoff on a popularad campaign for the beer brand Dos Equis. Jonathan Goldsmith is a character actorwho became a familiar face on some of the cheesiest of all American television shows inthe 70’s and 80’s; you can spot him on Knots Landing, The A-Team, Dynasty, CHiPsand Charlie’s Angels, along with scores of other prime time segments of schlock.The commercial concept is all about brand recognition. Goldsmith is “The MostInteresting Man in the World”. Both the radio and television ads tout his many outlandishaccomplishments and unusually dashing hobbies. Then he reveals, “I don’t always drinkbeer, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis.” He closes the spot with a trademark catchphrase, “Stay thirsty my friends.”We knew how much Dirk hated us doing character bits, but we didn’t care. James reworkedGoldsmith’s character as “The Most UNinteresting Man in the World.” He usedhis miraculous baritone voice with a Spanish accent for the narration, reciting phrases:“His favorite snack food is toast.”“He schedules his vacation, so he can watch the World Chess Championship…on TV.”“He sleeps up to thirty two hours on most weekends.”“His favorite sport is cricket.”“He marks reminders on his calendar to schedule toenail clippings.”“His favorite movie is ‘The English Patient’. He’s watched it seventy-five times.”347

“He likes to travel and visit wax museums, but never too far away.”“He owns one of the largest sea monkey farms in North America.”“He is the most Uninteresting Man in The World,” then closing with the trademark sexyHispanic accent, “Stay boring my friends.”That bit really got the phone lines to light up. Every guy on his way to work had anothersuggestion for a way the guy could be more boring. One woman called and said shewould date the guy, because “at least he’s probably safe”. Another called to say thatshe WAS dating that guy.At the end of the show, we thanked everyone and made one more declaration of ourlove and respect for our departed friend and co-worker. As we left the studio, there wasa permeating sense that we would not return, at least not for very much longer.***Dirk Nixon confirmed that notion, when we got to his office, “That was real cool, what youdid for your buddy today. I think the listeners were really receptive, and you guysmanaged to be somewhat funny without being disrespectful, if you know what I mean.”“We know what you mean, because we’re the ones that did it, Dirk.” Jim seemed to bein an insolent mood. I think he was convinced that it was time for us to go, and everyonein the room knew it.Dirk stared at him for a few seconds as if he was determining whether Jim mightsuddenly become violent for some reason. “I understand that you guys are probablyfeeling a number of different emotions right now, so I hesitate to have to bring this up.He tapped his pen on his computer keyboard. We all knew the statement he was aboutto make, “You know that it’s probably time for us to part company. I mean, I think youguys do a great job. Even though I give you guys a lot of shit, you’re probably a coupleof the better morning teams I’ve had work for me. You show a lot of commitment, youwork hard, your show’s always well prepared.”He hesitated for a split second, almost as if he was choking back some genuine emotion.We had no idea he was capable of that. “We all know that your two little rap buddies,what are they ‘Mindfuck’ and ‘Ayatollah’?”It took me a minute to figure out what he was referring to, then it clicked and madesense, “You mean ManGod and Pope?”“Yeah, whatever the fuck. When I was the age of the kids that are probably buying thissong, artists used their own names. Van Halen, the Allman Brothers, the Partridgegoddamn Family.”“That wasn’t really their name. It was a TV show,” I interjected.348

“Yeah, I know. I was just fucking around to add some levity to what I’m about to have tosay. You know that these guys are going to roll over on you. They tasted a little bit ofthe rap star notoriety, and now that it’s over, they’ll sell their secrets to whatever tabloidwill write them a check. They don’t give a shit. They’re kids living in the projects whofinally started scoring enough cash to buy the coolest shoes on the market and enoughbling to cause curvature of the spine. When that happens, the station will have to facepublic reaction to the fact that we have a couple of racist pigs doing our morning show.Violet Dumet and her Morality Media nuts will have a field day, and Al Sharpton will beback with a busload of unemployed activists to march outside our building. I’ve got to letyou both go, man.”His attempt at sounding sincere was somewhat diluted, when he casually took a long sipout of his coffee cup. In fact he finished it, and wiped the corners of his mouth with histhumb and forefinger.Jim leaned over and tilted his head closer. He spoke in a hushed voice, “I pissed in yourcoffee cup.”Dirk was obviously caught off guard by Jim’s disclosure. He actually shook his head likehe was shaking fluid off his brain, “What?”“This morning, when you ran to the copier? I sneaked into your office and pissed in yourcoffee cup. To quote an old friend of ours, if you had given me more time, I would havejerked off into it.”“What the hell is wrong with you? I fucking protected you guys, when that crazy bitchwas calling every member of upper management she could get through to. I could haveblown you guys out of here, the first day I arrived. I kept you around and gave you achance.”I had waited for months to bring up a fact that we had known since the day he arrived,“Dirk, you offered two other morning crews our jobs, before you even moved into youroffice. We know these guys. We party with them at conventions. They didn’t want towork with you. They warned us about you, ‘Your lives are going to be miserable,’ is whatthey told us. Don’t come on to us like you’re Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, when you’re reallyfucking Cujo.”“What did that even mean?” Jim was right. I had an emotional couple of days, and mymetaphorical abilities were perhaps a bit desperate.“My point is, you never had any loyalty to us. You couldn’t fucking stand us. The onlythings we had going for us was that our ratings were pretty good.”“You were on a downward trend,” Dirk grumbled under his breath. You could tell he wastrying not to become ill after Jim’s disclosure.“Well the sales people like us. They would have objected to you blowing us out.”“They told me, each coming in here one at a time, that you guys are assholes. You onlyvoice spots if you get paid for them, and you charge twice as much as any other349

announcer to do remotes. You guys aren’t as well loved as you might think. Look, yourlast producer hated the fucking sight of you. This one would have too, if he had livedlong enough.”There was a silence in the room. Nixon knew he had crossed the line, when he saidthat. Neither of us said anything at first, we just rose from our seats.I said, “So I guess this is it. I’ve already got all my stuff packed, as it turns out.”Dirk Nixon offered his hand, which I accepted and shook with a firm sincerity that guysrecognize from a handshake. He lowered his head, “I’m sorry that everything had to turnout this way. Sincerely, I respect your work ethic. I think you’ve got talent.”Jim spoke up, “Dirk, I didn’t really piss in your coffee. It was just something that a guydid that we used to work with, and I knew Rick would think it was funny. I thought aboutshitting in your file cabinet once on the weekend, because you had left your officeunlocked. But I didn’t do that either.”“I think I would have known if someone had done that,” he smiled.As it turns out, it was not an acrimonious separation. It was just the tidiest and mostsensible way for everyone involved to establish some form of closure, with the leastcollateral damage.In radio, they don’t commonly give you many “thank you” fanfares or “good luck”departure parties, particularly if you’re an air personality. They generally sneak you outof the building and then send out an email after all evidence of your previous existencehas been removed.As we reached the parking lot, my cell phone rang. It was Manny, “Hey, I just got wordthat you guys are looking for work.”“How’d you find out so fast?” I mouthed the word “Manny” to Jim.“I’ve already been on the phone with that douche bag former boss of yours, arranging foryour severance. I thought, too, that you might have changed your mind now aboutworking on the rest of the MFN opera.”“You actually have the audacity to ask us to continue working on this thing, after all that’shappened?”“It would be easy for you guys. Just write down a lot of shit that rhymes and soundsdirty. The kids will buy it. Next thing you know, we’re all buying Tiger Woods sizeyachts, next year.”“Manny, if you Wikipedia the word ‘opera’, you’ll see that it’s a musical work that issupposed to tell a story.”I could picture him making one of his trademark dismissive hand gestures, “Bullshit.Look at ‘Tommy’. That was supposed to be an opera, and it didn’t make any fucking350

sense. ‘See me, feel me, touch me’. Didn’t that guy turn out to be a diddler later on?We all should have seen that coming, after we heard those lyrics.”“Manny, I’m not even going to dignify those comments with a reply. Did you get thepaperwork taken care of, and did you cut a check for Natalie.”“Yeah, everyone’s checks are being couriered this afternoon. I just thought you guysmight want to come back on a freelance basis and lay down some tracks, you knowincognito. I’ve still got two of the guys left who are going to be hungry for cash. We’lljust pretend that they’ve decided to soldier on and finish the recording in honor of BizKut,or some fucking shit like that.”“Goodbye Manny,” after everyone’s check arrived, I had no intention of contactingManny Goyshevitz either professionally or personally, ever again. I didn’t care who hehad as godfathers of his children. He was a human train wreck, ready to fly off thetracks at any second and take as many passengers as he could with him off the cliff.I looked at Jim, “You don’t even want to know.”As we both climbed into our vehicles, Jim shouted from his open car window, “I neverreally pissed in Dirk’s coffee, but I was going to spit in it one day. It was after he gave usa real ass eating, one of those mean spirited morale assassinations. We had donesomething that he didn’t think was ‘fucking funny’. You went to the bathroom and hewent to the copier. I thought of Felix and what he did to Don Wycock, and I just couldn’tresist. Pissing in his coffee would have been criminal, so I just spit instead. Then, I justcouldn’t do that to someone, so I poured the coffee into one of his plants. I acted like Iwas looking out the window, when he came back. Now I wish I had pissed in that mug.”“You’re a fine and decent man, James Mooney. I’m glad to have known you.”***I didn’t realize how prophetic Dirk Nixon was capable of being. That night, we watchedour usual post-dinner entertainment news reports. It used to be a process that fueledour material for the next day’s show. I thought about that, and it made me terribly sad.This whole messy series of events was just downright sad. That was the only was theonly way to describe it.However, my sadness quickly changed to anxiety after I saw the top story headlinesupcoming on the show. There sat Pope and ManGod themselves, gesticulating in amanner that suggested that they were less than happy. The overly exuberant talkinghead declared, “More troubles and twists in the strange story of the rap song that hasthe whole world talking.”“Two members of the group, who call themselves Pope and ManGod, have filed a suitclaiming that they never got paid their fair share of the song’s sales. Their partnerknown as BizKut was gunned down last week, they allege by members of a rival rapgroup. Police have not filed charges in the case, due to lack of evidence, no murderweapon and no witnesses who could positively identify the shooter.”351

They had visuals from the funeral, once again showing Al and Jesse hugging each otherand the celebrity lookalike who was supposed to be Sean Combs. It was hard to believethat no one had figured out yet that these people were imposters hired from an agency.The audio switched to Pope expounding upon the grievous manner in which they hadbeen treated by “their manager” Manny Goyshevitz and the two other “owners” of thestudio.ManGod jumped in to support his partner, “It was those two guys from the radio, Loonieand whatever. Those three made all the money from that song. Meanwhile, the threedudes that deserve to have been making all the money got cut out. Everybody knowswho the real MFN is. That’s why it’s our pictures that you see everywhere.”Julie rolled her eyes, “This just never ends.”I sat back in relaxed reclined position, “No worries. It’s all Manny’s to deal with now. Heshould have seen this coming. Not my problem, I’ve been bought out, partnershipdissolved. Only problem is, I’ll never get employment in broadcasting anywhere in thefree world, unless Arizona becomes an Aryan state. They ought to love me there.”“There might be some rural counties in the South. You know, Alabama or Arkansas orsomeplace where they still get drunk and burn crosses wearing sheets. They’d probablyregard you guys as gods there.”I looked at her and she buried her face into a throw pillow laughing. I said, “You’ve beenaround me far too long. You’re more jaded than I am now. Can you imagine the teasercampaign on the city bus billboards? Jim and I wearing KKK hoods with some catchymorning show slogan like ‘Guess Who’s Coming to Breakfast!’ The fall followupcampaign could show both of us wearing touks with swastikas on them.”“The holiday campaign could be ‘Have a White Christmas’!”I rolled over against her. I was great that we could laugh during times like these.Everything in our entire universe had changed in a matter of weeks. It almost felt as ifwe were international fugitives now.I could picture us being like that couple who crashed the White House state dinner,Tareq and Michaele Salahi. They were a ubiquitous pair of faces on everything fromlocal news to Saturday Night Live. The only difference between us and them was thatthey had their picture taken with everyone from Barack Obama to the Prime Minister ofIndia, then went on TV and bragged about it.We didn’t want to be famous. I had been famous enough in some small tiny little way.When you’re single and in your twenties, maybe even your thirties, you crave thelimelight. For one thing, fame and notoriety equals more opportunities for vaginalencounters.At a certain point, it became more important that I just love doing the work itself. It wasfun trying to create cartoons for people to watch inside their heads, while they sit in rushhour traffic. I loved getting feedback from someone who said, “I was having a horrible352

morning, and you made me laugh. It changed the whole tone of my day.” That’srewarding.What I didn’t care for was sitting next to a guy at a Blue Jays game who recognizes me.The next thing I know, he’s bought me a high priced stadium beer, and I am now hiscaptive for nine innings of baseball. He will ask me the same twenty questions as thelast guy who did it, and I will smile and act politely congenial, because to do otherwisecould damage one’s reputation.You didn’t want people out there saying, “My buddy met that DJ, Rick Loonie, and hewas a real prick. He told my buddy, ‘No I don’t know how many fucking songs we haveat the radio station. It’s not my job to know that. What I do know is that I wish you’d shutup, so I could watch this baseball game. Thanks for the beer, by the way.’”My preference would be to disappear into the social fabric of some nice little city, wherethe amenities of modern culture were available. At the same time, we could slow downthe frenetic pace we had created for ourselves in a more easy-going environment. Ithink we were both just very tired. As my mind drifted to a sunny, pleasant, carefreeplace, the phone rang.It was Jim, “Hey, I’m over at Renee’s house, and she was just telling me of this idea thatNatalie had. It sounds really cool.”The fact that Jim was at James’ sister’s house could only mean one thing, “Jim, are youfucking that little girl?”I heard a female voice in the background, “We’re just friends, but thanks for asking”“You’ve got me on speaker phone? You idiot!”I could hear them both laughing. Then Jim spoke, “Can you and Julie meet us for lunch,tomorrow? Natalie will be there too. Honestly you guys, you’ll really be interested inhearing this.”We agreed on a location and time. I apologized to Renee about three times, then theyhung up.The next afternoon, we met at a franchise restaurant in the downtown core. Nataliethanked us for coming. The waitress brought water and took our drink orders.After casual inquiries as to how everyone was doing, Natalie brought up her objective,“So you guys have quite a bit of time on your hands now, I guess, and according to allthe chatter on the internet, you’re not going to be working on the radio in this townthey’re saying maybe forever.”The drinks came, Jim held up his glass, “Cheers.”We all clicked glasses and Natalie continued, “James told me everything about you two,his involvement with Manny to have pictures taken and do a video. He even told me353

how you two were drunk and making fun of some other gangsta rap, when you recordedthat garbage.”Jim and I both shifted uncomfortably in our seats. She smiled, “Don’t worry. This is notabout that. This is about an idea I have to honor my son and do something good in theworld.”The waitress came and took our food orders. Natalie waited until she was gone toexplain her idea, “I don’t know if James told you, but both his father and I are ofCaymanian descent. I have family there, and my late husband’s brother is a fairlywealthy man on the island. He owns a number of businesses in George Town, thecapitol. His son also owns a number of businesses, including two radio stations. One iscountry and one is, what do they call it? Contemporary Hit Radio.”I looked at Jim and Julie, “The Cayman Islands?” Their eyes looked bright, I assumedwith anticipatory intrigue.Natalie leaned forward, “What I would like to do is create a broadcast school in theCayman Islands, very exclusive. You know how many rich kids want to work in radioand television? Just as many as less wealthy kids like James. So if we can cater to thatgroup, advertise to wealthy university-age students. We could provide them with apackage that includes their lodging, because my brother-in-law has some condos he’sjust building we can rent them from him for the students. He’ll give us a good deal. Mynephew has radio equipment, because he considered launching another radio station onthe island, but he determined the market probably couldn’t support it. When he heardabout the idea for a broadcast school, he was very excited. He even has space in thesame building as his two radio stations that is not being used. He says would be perfectfor the kind facility we will need.”I was tapping my feet in anticipation, “Where would we fit in to all this?”Natalie reached across the table and held both Jim’s and my hands, “You will teachstudents about radio. If you were interested, my nephew is also going to replace two ofhis announcers at the end of their work permits. He said that would be in approximatelyone month.”Jim spoke up, “What about our work permits? Those things usually take months, don’tthey?”Renee had been quiet since we got to the table, “That depends on who you know. Youhave two of the most prominent and respected businessmen in Grand Caymansubmitting your papers; plus, you would be minor partners in a local business.”“Whoa,” I ran my fingers through my hair, “This is going really fast. What localbusiness?”Natalie now spoke for them, “The James Earl Samples Broadcast Academy. That’s thename I wanted to use. It would be an ongoing noble memorial to my son. We have achance to run a quality high end school with state of the art equipment. Also as a sellingpoint, the Caymans have some of the finest snorkeling and scuba diving in the world to354

enjoy as after school activities. I think that’s an appealing idea, don’t you? Being taughtbroadcast technique and strategy by real broadcast professionals, as you do homeworkon a sandy beach? Plus, each semester, we plan to include at least one lower incomestudent that will attend on a scholarship.”“So what kind of investment are we talking about here?” I was planning to be carefulwith whatever nest egg money that Julie and I emerged with, after all our resources wereaccounted for. My earning potential had probably peaked and had nowhere to go butdown.Renee smiled, “We can talk about that after lunch. I’ve put together a pretty thoroughbusiness model. At least my uncle liked it. You’ll actually be working for the company,as well as being partners. We’ve figured out arrangements that should be auspiciouslylucrative and negotiable for everyone. Plus, my cousin’s dying to have you work on theair at his station. You’ll make a reasonable income, and you’ll be living on the beautifulCaribbean Sea. Do you know what the temperature is today? Eighty-two Fahrenheitwith a light breeze off the water.”“What about me? Do I get to come, too?” Julie actually looked a little concerned oroffended by the fact that she had seemingly been ignored as part of this grand lifechanging plan.Natalie replied to Julie, “We know some things about you, based on your position andyour company. You’re bio is on their website with other management staff.”Renee continued, “We were wondering if you might have any interest in working withstudents who are interested in web and television graphics, as well as viral marketing.We’ll give you freedom to pick out equipment and software, you can structure classes,create projects, whatever you feel would give the kids a super boot camp style learningexperience.”Natalie explained, “That’s the thing. We thought it would be good to make thesestudents go through quick, intense short courses. We want to churn out graduates everyfew months, so that we can keep fresh revenue coming in. They spend six busy monthslearning from broadcast professionals, get some practical hands-on experience, thentheir student visa expires and they go home. We’ve talked to a number of university andcollege professors that say they would consult in setting up curriculum plans, whichwould create a positive learning experience. We’ve had no shortage of professors whoare interested in serving as a consultant for a school in the Caribbean.”I looked at Julie, who gave me a pensive but positive “we need to talk look”. As the foodarrived, I said, “We’ll need some time to discuss this and think about it.”“Of course,” Natalie smiled, “We’ll wait till after dessert.”Everyone chuckled somewhat nervously. Each of us at the table probably thinking thesame thought, “No kidding. We could live in the Cayman Islands?”***355

That night, Julie and I talked through the evening, only pausing to turn on theentertainment news to see if they finally stopped talking about “that damn song”, as Juliereferred to it.Julie said, “Maybe that guy who plays Batman will beat up his mother again, orsomething. Or Brad Pitt will be caught on video having sex with a hooker. We just needsomething to divert their attention away from you guys and those two ‘rap stars’ thatManny hired.”“I’ll bet those young guys first saw Manny come driving in and thought he wanted to buycrack or something. In all honesty, Manny’s world is teetering on the precipice right now,but I think he’s probably too thick to figure that out. He’s cash depleted because wemade him buy us out and give Natalie some cash. Those kids are going to sue him or atleast whine so loudly that he’ll end up having to do something to shut them up. Plus, Jimand I brought in a significant amount of money writing and producing commercials forclients. That was a large part of revenue, and his reputation in the music industry hasgot to be dismal at this point. He’s not exactly Sir Richard Branson right now.”We turned on the television early to catch up on local news via Toronto’s twenty-fourhour local news station. The lead story made our jaws drop open, “Two men are deadand two others under arrest for their murder, in the continuing bizarre story of the multimillionselling rap group MFN. Police report that two men shot dead in a Metro TorontoHousing project are MFN group members Robert Wayne Clinton and Kenneth WilliamSanchez, known to fans by their rap names Pope and ManGod. Police have arrestedDesmond Walter Phillips, known as Lil’ Pooch from a rival rap group called 4-NIH-KASHUN. Also arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder is both groups’manager Manuel ‘Manny’ Goyshevitz. Phillips claims that Goyshevitz paid him to kill thetwo men, because they were blackmailing him. Goyshevitz denied those claims, as ourcameras caught him leaving a bail hearing this afternoon.”There was Manny with a gaggle of reporters shoving microphones into his face. A manwho was obviously his attorney walked beside him. Being as Manny never had enoughsense to shut up, he actually spoke to the reporters, “I never told the guy to kill ‘em. Igave him five thousand dollars and sent him over to talk to them and offer them cash toget off my back. I just told him that I had to get these guys to shut up, and they wouldn’ttalk to me. I sent the other guy over there to make a peace offering, not to blow theirfucking heads off.”Immediately, the face of the man assumed to be Manny’s lawyer was an expression ofsheer panic. He put his hand in front of the camera and said, “No more comments.”Returning to the studio, the anchor stated that police were releasing no more informationabout the arrests or the murders at this time.Predictably, the phone rang instantly. It was Jim, “Holy fuck. At least they didn’t mentionour names this time.”“This is a bad thing to say out loud, but these incidences may have eliminated a lot ofproblems for us down the road.”356

Jim let out a long breath, “I hope we don’t have to come in and testify or anything.”“Brother, that’s why God created video conferencing. Listen, we’ve been talking about itall evening and looking over the wealth of information that Renee provided. About theCayman Islands…..”“Yeah, what do you think?” He sounded winded with anticipation.“We’re in.”“Right on, brother. We’re in too.”I sighed, “I assume by ‘we’ you mean you and Renee.”He paused for a second, then sheepishly, “Yeah, we’re dating. In fact, we’ve spent quitea bit of time together in the last week. I was waiting till I heard your decision, before Itold you. I’m going to the Caymans with Renee; Natalie’s getting her own place. We’regoing to try it out and see how it goes.”“Ay Carumba! You do work fast, my friend.”357

37 - The Land of the Bikini Waxed PelvisA stunningly beautiful and fit young woman passed on the beach. She seemed to senda gaze in our direction for a moment, which got both men at the table to rise in our seatsslightly.“Man, how do you guys stay faithful down here?” My celebrity guest had asked me outto lunch, after I interviewed him on my show. I asked if I could bring Julie along to meethim.“Those shorts he’s wearing are equipped with an alarm system, so I know anytime hetakes them off,” Julie had the perfect comeback, which was good. When he first said it, Ithought, “Oh dude, let’s not even start this conversation.”Lots of women could take an offhanded comment like that and turn it into an entireafternoon of “Do you ever think about cheating? You can be honest. I don’t mind.”Then it’s an impossible question to answer, because no matter what you say, contentionwill escalate throughout the day. By dinnertime, you’re in a full-fledged fight.“Well I’m not talking about your guy. He’d be crazy to screw this up. You’re a verybeautiful woman,” he gave her his famous Hollywood smile and offered his hand, so thathe could kiss hers. I couldn’t believe I was watching this guy flirt with my wife.Yes, I said it, the “W” word. We got married on Seven Mile Beach. Natalie was there,and I flew my mom down. Jim was my best man and Renee, who had quickly grownvery close to Julie, served as maid of honor. The wealthy brother-in-law was there,along with his son, who was now our boss.We flew to the Cayman Islands a couple of weeks after the decision was made to pursuethis new life experience in the Caribbean. Everyone seemed ecstatic about having twoseasoned radio veterans from such a large market working for their stations. It turnedout that the two shifts that were opening were middays and afternoon drive.It was a perfect lifestyle for me, I ended up working 10:00am till 2:00pm on thecompany’s country station, and Jim followed 2:00pm till 6:00pm. Then our schedulecalled for us each to spend two to three hours teaching students things like copywritingtechnique, show preparation, commercial production, whatever was required of a real jobin radio.There was also a British guy who was actually a broadcast communications professor,who nearly begged to join the company. He actually created the curriculums, so all Jimand I had to do was follow his lesson plans.He also helped Julie set up her program, and she was absolutely ecstatic about the ideaof teaching. She felt that it was what she was meant to do.Renee was in charge of overseeing accounting and administration, while Natalie wasessentially the matriarch of this whole diverse family. She was going to work at theGeorge Town Hospital part-time, as a nurse. She realized there wasn’t much she couldcontribute to a broadcast school except for bringing us all together, in the first place. Her358

only real hands-on involvement was to be coordinating the charitable scholarship fund,that helped two underprivileged youth from Canada attend the school each year.Jim and I immediately found a pub on the island we really liked. It was a favoritehangout for dive masters and people from the hospitality industry, primarily expatriates.We also got along well with the British police officers that had come over to work on thepolice force. It was like a vacation for them. The island was virtually crime free. Thepolice report in the daily paper consisted largely of investigations into pilfered cases ofbeer or marauding cattle eating up someone’s breadfruit orchard.We bought a condo on Seven Mile Beach, which meant no lawn maintenance to worryabout. Jim planned to move in with Renee, and they found a small bungalow in the areaknown as West Bay, that they were going to rent together.Our futures looked as good as I could imagine them being. Neither Julie nor I could everhave imagined being so happy and excited about the next phase of our lives. For one,we felt as if we were going to be performing rewarding work. Watching eighteen totwenty-two year olds learning, getting better at something, and discovering their owntalents would make us feel quite fulfilled. We looked forward to the first group ofstudents to arrive.We heard that the conspiracy to murder charges against Manny were dropped, but hewas now in trouble with Revenue Canada over some property he sold and never paidtax on. One thing or the other was going to catch up with him eventually. The guys from4-NIH-KASHUN had not stood trial yet. Their parents had employed very high profilelawyers to represent him.We didn’t talk about that very much. Our group had been formed and bonded by a verypainfully sad event.For Jim and I, our eternal bond was our mutual hatred of Manny. I dared not evenmention his name, especially when we were at a pub. Jim would go off on a belligerentrant about how he “didn’t give a fat sweaty fuck if they execute that sack of rotten ratshit”. Then, I would remind him that we were guests in a foreign country, and it wasprobably best not to use a lot of loud profane language in a public place. That fact wasespecially true since we were broadcasters on a local radio station, and everyone in theroom knew us.He would immediately calm down and say, “It’s just that the mere thought of thatreprehensible fucking maggot and what he did still makes my blood boil.”It was true. Manny had nearly destroyed both our lives and he had destroyed at leastthree others. However, Manny also helped us to make the money that allowed us to livethe life we had now ended up with.Those thoughts crossed my mind briefly, as the three of us at our bistro table looked outon the ocean. What a thrill packed journey this had all been. In fact, I had written it alldown as a screenplay. Sitting up late at night, with my laptop, I realized that the MFNstory was quite incredible and could be a marketable tale for Tinseltown. That’s why my359

celebrity guest was on the island. I had sent my screenplay to a couple of agents, andout of the blue, I got the phone call.He seemed like a great easy-going guy, and he was even gracious enough to inauguratemy first my radio show on the island, by being my first high-profile interview guest. Ialmost wish it had been Toronto, because I had never had a bigger star in my studio. Heloved the story, and said he wanted to produce a film based on my screenplay.I asked him point blank, “Are you sure this is something you want to be affiliated with?You know that whole Jew thing that happened.”He just smiled and said, “Don’t worry about that. Everything’s fine. We’re all buddies. Itwas the media. No offense, but you know how you guys blow everything out ofproportion.”“Do I ever.”Lunch was finished. I reached for the check, and he snatched it away, “Come on.Lunch is on me. The divorce didn’t take everything, if that’s what you’re worried about.You know, I still got quite a bit of that ‘Christ’ money. Some of it’s in an investmentaccount, right here in the Cayman Islands. Plus, now I have a new project in the workscalled ‘MFN’. I can’t wait to see what we can do with this.”The waitress returned with his credit card. She sheepishly asked him for an autograph,and he cheerfully obliged, even engaging her in small talk for a couple moments.He stood up, gave Julie a kiss that was a little more intimate than I consideredappropriate, and shook my hand. “I’m having a couple of my own screenwriters take alook at your story. We might tweak it a bit. No worries, you’ll get to see the final product,just so you feel okay about what we’re doing. I’ll have our attorneys send over somepaperwork, and we’ll draw up the check after that.”We exchanged a few “It’s been a real pleasure” niceties, and with that, he was off. Julieand I both watched him saunter across the restaurant patio, in his khaki shorts, plainblue T-shirt, and sandals. A couple of diners looked up and noticed him as he walkedby.As he disappeared around the corner of the building, Julie tipped her sunglasses downon her nose, “You know, you’re right. You really don’t look anything like Mel Gibson.”“I told you.”I sat back in my chair and thought, “Mel Gibson is producing a movie based on myscreenplay! Talk about hitting the big time, finally after all these years. What couldpossibly go wrong?”THEEND360