Name Dropping

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

All Hands On Deck

I only did two major events with MTV, post-internship, and both were very memorable, each for different reasons. This is the first, and the largest by far. 

In the summer of 1986, I was hired by MTV as a freelance production assistant/runner for the Amnesty International – Conspiracy of Hope Tour final concert, at Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey on the 15th of June. 

For context, this was a year after Live Aid, which was still fresh in people’s minds, and the public’s consciousness. I’d watched Live Aid on TV, it was part of why I wanted an internship with MTV. It was a huge event. 

People I worked with said that this event was a bigger production for MTV than Live Aid, because with Live Aid they also had a stage in London that carried some of the day. For this event, Giants Stadium was the only venue for the entire final concert.

The concert itself was an all day event, it went on for hours, and many huge names performed. Plus there were so many backstage guests. Some were interviewed on TV, others were just hanging out. If you were on the east coast of the USA that day, it was absolutely the place to be.

I think I got at least three days work out of it, two days before, plus the day of the concert itself. I don’t think I worked the day after, but its possible. It’s a long time ago, which means much of the minutiae is lost to time, but I do have some major memories to share. 

I was already aware of the six date concert tour, and the plans for broadcasting the final concert before I got the call from Harvey G. When he asked me if I was available, he stressed how big this event would be. He said, “it was all hands on deck” when he hired me.

All hands on deck? That means I was a “hand” at MTV, and I was part of the “all”. It made me very happy. I thought things might finally be taking off.

Concert Prep

The first two days were fairly dull. As a runner, I didn’t actually have that much to do, and I remember that being especially true on the set-up days. There was some heavy lifting, as well as getting the lay of the land, but mainly there was a lot of waiting around. 

Giants Stadium is huge, and as a runner, I needed to know my way around it. Mainly, I kept out of the way of the people doing the really hard work, the technicians rigging everything up, for what would be one of the largest outside broadcasts of the year. 

I was reunited with Ted Demme, who interned at MTV around the same time I did, only he was in the studio, I was in the offices. We were both happy to see a familiar face. Everyone else we both knew seemed really busy, and we were just an afterthought to the proceedings. 

Ted and I were both just spare, extra hands on those first two days, so no one noticed when we snuck out to my car in the parking lot for a sneaky joint, or seven. We both got high together a lot over those three days, though much less so on the day of the concert, as you’ll see. 

This piece isn’t just about the Amnesty Concert, but it’s about celebrity too. On the day of the concert, I met, encountered, interacted, and saw more celebrities in that one day, than I can probably remember, but I’m going to try.

There’s something about celebrities, whether you revere or revile them, that fascinates us all. Whenever I’ve mentioned that I’ve met someone famous, I’ve often been asked “what are they really like?”. That’s almost always impossible to answer. 

Very rarely do you truly see them as anything other than “on”. They have to be “on” all the time, and they can’t let their guard down around strangers. I’ve never envied that. 

Some can be demanding divas, but many others are down to earth, and just normal people, who simply have a talent. Some are in between, and others it may depend on the day you catch them. All people are different, in different circumstances.

And I’ll be honest, some of the people I will mention in this piece, I am in awe of their boundless talents. And in at least one encounter, I was nearly moved to tears. And there was another that was more than a little weird. You’ll see. 

Concert Day

I drove to Giants Stadium from Hoboken on the set-up days, but when I arrived on the day of the broadcast, security was a lot tighter. I had to show my pass just to get into the parking lot. That was new.

Harvey G had given me a backstage pass on the first prep day, and a special second, “all access” endorsed badge, which meant I could get to the real backstage area, around the actual performance stage. I could get everywhere. A runner has got to be able to run!

I wore the credentials around my neck on a lanyard. I looked official, and this was heightened by my faux production vest. Basically, it was a sleeveless jacket, with many, many pockets, of various sizes. They’re super useful when you’re going to be on your feet, and on the move all day. Proper production vests cost a fortune, I bought mine at K-Mart, in the fishing section, and it was cheap. 

It was a hot, sunny day, so to complete the look, I was wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a tee-shirt, and some sort of trainers, or sneakers made of canvas, but no socks. I grew up on the Jersey Shore, you never wore socks in the summer. Ideally in the summer, you were barefoot anyway, most of the time down the shore. 

Before everything kicked off, Harvey G gave me a walkie-talkie. He said he would call me if he needed anything, and in general to just help out where ever I could. 

My role was extremely ill-defined, but I had two things in my possession that gave me the air of being a central part of things. That would be the credentials around my neck, and especially the walkie-talkie. No one knew the reality, that I had no one on the other end that I could call for anything. All I could do was listen, and respond. One of the pockets in the vest I was wearing was big enough for the radio, so I was able to stash it when required. 

The real man in charge of the live show, was the legendary promoter, and hippy legend, Bill Graham. And saying he was “legendary” is still an understatement. I saw him a lot that day, he didn’t stop moving, and he was always busy, and in the middle of something. If anyone kept things running backstage that day, it was Bill. He impressed me, but then he used to impress a lot of people. What drive! He was killed in a chopper crash around 5 years later, RIP. 

For me, the day was fairly chilled. Someone would call for me on the radio, I’d reply, and be given a little task. Like could I go fetch some celebrity from the “star bar”, and take to them to one of the broadcast points. I did that a lot. 

If memory serves, besides the main performance stage, there were several other live positions set up for commentary, and interviews.  There was a main broadcast point, and several satellites. 

For example, there was a platform erected in the middle of the football field, that was being used as a live point. It was probably around the 50 yard line, I don’t remember exactly, but you had to fight your way through the audience to reach it, and then climb a ladder that was easily 500 foot high. I’m exaggerating, it was probably closer to 20, but it didn’t matter to me. I hate heights, and was happy not to be sent up there.  

One of the areas I spent a lot of time in was what we were calling the “star bar”, which included an adjacent live point for celebrity interviews. It was mainly an off-screen hospitality area for VIPs. 

Lots of the celebs I met that day, I shuffled from the star bar to one of these other live points. If you have a walkie-talkie, and a pass around your neck, famous people will follow you almost anywhere.  

There was also a stairwell, that ran from behind the star bar that connected it to the main backstage area. Anyone appearing on the main stage, other than the headliners, would make that journey. And if they did, I probably escorted them. 

Also backstage, was the arrivals area for performers, and VIPs. I saw quite a few big names there, and directed them around the stadium. 

Harvey G also showed me a small, mostly unused trailer, that was an air-conditioned production office, belonging to his department, in the main backstage area. There were screens inside it, showing the broadcast live feed, plenty of chairs, and a fridge stocked with soft drinks. He told me if any guests needed to cool off, to feel free to use it. 

Name Dropping

I’ll get my minor embarrassing story out of the way early. At one point I was instructed to escort Jorma Koukenen from the star bar to one of the live points. 

I called him Jorma a couple of times, as that’s who I was told he was, and I caught some bemusement from him, but I couldn’t work out why. That is until later on, when someone else told me I was misinformed, and it was actually Jack Casady. Both men were members of the original Jefferson Airplane, and worked together in Hot Tuna as well, That made them rock and roll royalty, so confusing  them both was inexcusable. Mr. Casady never corrected me, and I never got the chance to apologise to him for my error. In the unlikely event that he ever stumbles upon this piece, I hope he knows that he has my sincerest apology. MTV shouldn’t be messing stuff like this up! I really was embarrassed, and I still am today. 

Now, I’m going to drop to me anyway, the biggest, or perhaps I should say “the greatest” name of that day, and I got to shake his giant hand. I’m talking about Muhammed Ali. It’s one of the few times in my life I felt legitimately starstruck. 

I was overwhelmed, there was no bigger media figure from my childhood, and no bigger personality either. He was the champ, he was the greatest! So many of my friends had posters of him on their walls when we were kids. 

Mr. Ali had only been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease a couple of years before I met him, but I could already see the early signs of it that day.

I was beaming when I shook his hand, and said “it’s amazing to meet you, champ”. Yes, I called him champ. And if I could travel back in time to that moment, I’d say it again.

I’ll mention two other sets of arrivals. The first pair to turn up together was Little Steven from the E-Street Band, and the massively famous actor, Robert DeNiro. I have no idea why they were together. Are all celebrities friends?

Steve Van Zandt is a local New Jersey music legend. As well as being a member of the E-Street Band, he co-founded Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, and he was the lead singer in the Disciples of Soul. Oh, and he was Silvio Dante in The Sopranos too. I’d seen the Disciples of Soul perform once, at Big Man’s West in Red Bank, and I’d seen Steve perform with Bruce Springsteen in concert many times. It was cool to see him again.

What can you say about DeNiro that hasn’t already been said? One of the greatest film actors of several generations. Taxi Driver, and The Godfather Part Two would have been enough to cement his reputation as an amazing talent, but he just kept going. 

Around the time of the concert, DeNiro was filming “Angel Heart”. In it, he was playing a character named Louis Cyphre, which is a pretty straightforward play on words. I mention it because at the time, Mr. DeNiro had let his hair grow down to the middle of his back for the role. It was nearly as long as my own, and a memorable detail for me.

I didn’t really speak to either one of them at length, but I helped direct them to wherever they were needed. There was a real buzz around DeNiro. As celebrities go, he always seemed inaccessible, especially in the 70s and 80s, so seeing him in person was notable. 

The other thing that seeing Little Steven did, was further fuel a rumour, or hope, depending upon your perspective. The spectre of Bruce Springsteen lingered over the entire day. 

Would the Boss show up at a massive concert in his own backyard? Everyone hoped he would. People openly speculated about it all day, me included. I’d spent the summer of 1982 seeing him sit-in with all sorts of bands in bars on the Jersey Shore, so it wouldn’t have been unheard of for him to turn up unannounced. 

The other pair I saw turn up at the arrivals area were an actual couple at the time. The singer/songwriter Jackson Browne, and his then girlfriend, Daryl Hannah. 

I always liked Jackson Browne, and I wore out my vinyl copy of Running on Empty, but I can’t say I remember much about seeing him that day. All eyes, including mine, were on his girlfriend.

Daryl Hannah was breathtakingly beautiful. She radiated it, effortlessly. She was just wearing jeans, and a white tee-shirt, but she was still spectacular. On a day where there were beautiful women everywhere you looked, Ms. Hannah was at another level. You’ve probably noticed this yourself, as everyone did back in the 80s, but she looked even better in person than she did on screen. And she looked fabulous on screen. You get the idea. 

My weirdest memory of that moment was noticing that Daryl Hannah was barefoot. No feet kink here, quite the opposite, health, and safety. I remember thinking I wouldn’t want to be walking around barefoot backstage. It was dangerous, and a bit sticky. Eewww. 

At one point, I ran into my friend, Ted. We decided to sneak out to the parking lot for a crafty joint in my car. It was really easy to do on the set-up days, but now, on the day of the concert, it was a whole new world.

The parking lot was filled with fans that didn’t have tickets to get into the concert. Fan is short for “fanatic”, and some of the people I encountered as Ted and I made our way through the crowd were unhinged. They spotted our backstage passes, and swarmed us. 

I remember one woman grabbed my arm, and begged and pleaded with me to get her backstage, because she had a really important message for Peter Gabriel. Really important! I could tell by the crazy look in her eyes that she believed it too. 

Ted and I managed to get away from the crowd, and we tucked our passes into our shirts, as we made the rest of the way to my car. We smoked a joint, and returned to the gate, only revealing our credentials when we were in sight of the security guards who let us back in.

“That’s it for me”, Ted said, when I asked if he wanted to go out again later. The crowd was too much for him. I didn’t blame him, but I wasn’t going to let the parking lot zombies prevent me from popping out again. 

I don’t think I saw Ted again after that. He had a good life, but died way too young. RIP old friend. 

At one point, I was casually hanging out in the star bar with Carlos Santana, and Reuben Blades, along with some segment producers that I knew from MTV. It’s still surreal when I think about it. Carlos was as cool as he was humble, and normal. And he is as cool as they fucking come! I really liked him. 

And if you want surreal, this was by far, and without question the most surreal encounter I had that day. I was a big fan of this actor, and to be honest, I still am. His work in the 70s, 80s and even the 90s is amazing. I’m talking about Elliot Gould.

I grew up on Elliot Gould’s films, from the original big screen adaptation of M*A*S*H, to the conspiracy thriller, Capricorn One, he’s had an amazing career. He even played Marlowe in The Long Goodbye. Plus he was married to Barbara Streisand at one point, talk about another big star. I bet many of you will remember him for playing Ross and Monica Geller’s father on the classic 90s sitcom, “Friends”. 

My interaction with Mr. Gould was strange. Even now, I struggle to make sense out of it. It was in the star bar, and he approached me, I expect because of the ID badges, and walkie-talkie. He towered over me, I remember him being really tall. I’m the opposite of tall. He grabbed me by both shoulders. 

“Hey, you’re a big guy. Did you play football in high school? I bet you played football in high school! Did you play football in high school? You’ve got really broad shoulders!”

He was really smiley, and friendly. I sensed no anger or animosity in his voice. If anything, he was enthusiastic, and effervescent.

He held on to my shoulders way too long, as he looked me up, and down. I’m not a big guy, I’m short, but I do have broad shoulders, and a big rib cage, matched with stubby, thick legs. I was thinner way back then, but still a little stocky. I was certainly no football player. 

The conversation made me feel weird. Objectified. That was a new one on me. Maybe he was taking the piss out of me, maybe he was trying to flirt with me? Maybe he was drunk, or high? Maybe he was just weird. I still have no idea. It was as surreal as it sounds. 

I was finally able to get away from him, because my radio squawked. I didn’t know if they were calling for me, and at that point I didn’t care. I made my excuses, and left the star bar for the backstage area.

Randomly, I ran into Pat Benatar, and her husband, and lead guitarist, Neil Giraldo wandering around backstage. They weren’t performing, or appearing, they were just hanging out. I introduced myself, and asked them if they wanted to hang out in an air-conditioned trailer. They said yes.

I showed them into the production office trailer, and got them each a soft drink. I told them I had seen them perform at the Brendan Byrne Arena, right next door, a few years before, I was a fan, but I was relaxed about it. They were really down to earth, and appreciated the hospitality, and the praise. I got called to do a little job, and I had to return to the star bar, but I told them I’d come back when I could. 

This is where I got choked up. When I got up to the star bar, I discovered I was escorting Yoko Ono, and Sean Ono Lennon down to the main performance stage. 

This was June 1986, John Lennon was only murdered 5 and a half years before this. His death had a big impact on me, as it did to most music fans I guess. It was still pretty raw, and it was all I could think about as I introduced myself to them. I fought to hold in my emotions. 

Sean was just a kid, he would have been around 11 years old. Yoko was very softly spoken, and quite shy. I brought them down to the backstage area, handed them off to the stage manager, and said my goodbyes. I really was moved by this brief encounter. 

I turned around, and bumped right into Max Weinberg, the drummer from the E-Street Band. Immediately, I wondered if Bruce was about to materialise as well. 

I said hi to Max, and asked if he was lost. He had just performed with John Eddie, was looking for someplace to relax, and watch the rest of the show. I knew just the place.

I brought Max to the air-conditioned trailer, and introduced him to Pat Benatar, and Neil Giraldo. As you do. I told Max I was a fan, and that I’d seem him perform with Bruce countless times. He probably heard this sort of thing all the time, and he was used to it. 

I asked Max if he knew if Bruce was going to turn up. He said he had no idea, he didn’t even know if Bruce was in the area. But if he did, Max said he was up for doing another set with him. Yes!

At that point, one of my colleagues from the MTV offices popped into the trailer. It was Steve, the guy who discovered me smoking a joint on my first day as an intern. He was more senior than me, and had an actual assigned role as a coordinator at one of the live points. He was on a break, came into the trailer to grab a cold drink, and he found me there running my own mini-star bar. 

We stepped outside the trailer, and he asked me if I was just hanging around with celebrities all day. I said “yep”. He then asked me if I had any weed with me. Again I said “yep”.

We made our way to the gate out to the parking lot. I told him to tuck his backstage pass into his shirt. He asked why? I just said trust me. 

We managed to make it to my car mostly unmolested. It was a 1984 Toyota Supra, light blue. I had been thinking of selling it, since I rarely used it living in and around the big city. Steve really liked the car, and offered to buy it. And a few weeks later, he really did. 

When I got back inside the stadium, Harvey G called me on the walkie-talkie. He had an important task for me, and told me where to find him backstage. 

When I found Harvey, he handed me a satchel, with a shoulder strap. Inside it was a cold 6-pack of beer. I had to deliver the beer to one of the original  VJs, Mark Goodman. Mark was broadcasting from “the Hut”.

Remember “the Hut”? It’s that broadcasting platform in the middle of the football field, only accessible by a ladder that was like a million feet high, I was a million feet high too, thanks to my little sojourn in the parking lot with Steve. And I hate heights, and ladders. And ladders, and heights. Oh my!

The playing field was packed with punters. It was wall-to-wall, standing-room-only the entire way, as I threaded myself through the crowd to the base of the Hut. 

Once there, I had to clear security, which only took a moment. The all access pass was like a magic wand, and it allowed me to go everywhere. Even places I didn’t wish to venture, like the Hut. 

I began my ascent, slowly, one foot at a time, the cold beer chilling my back through the canvas of the satchel slung over my shoulder. I wondered if the TV cameras caught my historic climb?

Eventually I made my way to the top. It was bigger than I expected, with a cameraman, a producer, and Mark Goodman, as well as space for a guest, which at that point was vacant. 

I gave the satchel to Mark, and he said “thanks, man”. And that was the extent of our interaction, but he now had his cold beer. Mission accomplished!

I made my way back down the ladder of infinity, and snaked my way to the backstage area, and the trailer. Pat, Neil, and Max were still there. I got myself a cold drink, and sat down. I hung out with them for ages, just shooting the breeze, and watching the concert on the monitors. It was chill, Pat was especially nice to me, and really chatty. 

I had to go back to the star bar a few times, and at one point I bumped right into Lou Reed, almost literally on that back stairwell. I had caught most of his set earlier in the day, and told him it was great. He smiled, and carried on his way. 

Towards the end of the long day, I was just sort of hanging around backstage. I saw The Police as they were heading for their performance on the main stage. I made eye contact with Andy Summers, the guitarist. I said to him, “have a great set”, and he grinned.

I saw The Police in 1982, at the Meadowlands Arena next door, and it was one of the best concerts I’d ever seen. Sting is an amazing frontman, and incredibly compelling performer. Watching from the side of the backstage area was even better. This was a special performance, as technically the band had already split at this point, and only reformed to help Amnesty, and the cause. So I was doubly lucky that I managed to see their entire set. 

That was also true for U2, though I didn’t really get to interact with the band at all. I saw them take the stage, and watched their entire set from the sidelines as well. I remember them being shorter than I expected, like they were only my height. 

U2 too were amazing. I saw them again in London in the early 90s, at the old Wembley Stadium. I think it was the Zoo TV Tour. And before that, in 1990, I stayed in the same hotel as Bono in London for a few weeks. I used to see him in the hotel bar, holding court, every night. The Edge was there too, but I never ran into him. At the time, they were both working on a musical version of “A Clockwork Orange” that didn’t run for very long. 

There are loads of other people I saw that day, from Paul Schaffer, to Darlene Love, the Hooters, and John Waite. 

And there were a lot of people there that day that I didn’t see, like Christopher Reeve, and Michael J. Fox. I missed meeting Superman, and Marty McFly!

And I somehow missed Peter Gabriel completely. That crazed car park fanatic would have been very disappointed with me. 

All in all, it was an amazing day. I had a blast, and a half! By the time the concert ended, and I was good-nighted by Harvey G, it was well after midnight. And in the end, there was no sign of Bruce Springsteen. Oh well. 

I made the relatively short drive back to my place in Hoboken quickly, and I was completely exhausted. I was drained, but it was worth it. The memories of that day are still with me decades later. 

That’s the thing about celebrities. They meet normal people all the time. But for us normal people, meeting them is special, and memorable, even decades later. 

In Part Three – Crappy New Year!, the story takes an unexpected turn. 

(All words © Copyright 2023 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)

Crappy New Year!

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Pick-Up Truck Doug

After I sold my Toyota to Steve, I had a really clever idea. I bought a small, used pick-up truck. 

After doing so many small jobs for MTV, I noticed that they had a lot of hassle moving small-ish things around. I aimed to fill that gap in the market. I was now a package deal: a production assistant, and small pick-up truck, for one low price. I was helpful, and cost effective. I was pick-up truck Doug.

I’ll give you a small example, that I will return to again later. MTV used to have these short bumpers, or channel idents, consisting of someone smashing a giant gong with “MTV” emblazoned upon it. They used this format for years, they would bring it all over, grab their 10 second shot of someone hitting it, and then take it back to storage. Transport was often a minor hassle. They started hiring me for jobs like this with my little pick-up truck.

The truck was a Ford Courier. My memory of it is vague, it was definitely not my favourite vehicle. It wasn’t a full sized truck, so it was good for getting around in the city. And it was secure, as the truck’s bed had a lockable, fibreglass cap. It was older, and had a lot of miles on it, so I got it cheap. Think of it as my co-star for the rest of this story. 

One of the many small jobs I did was a contest promo, with Bon Jovi; Jon, and his entire band. 

MTV were running a contest, giving away a Caribbean island vacation, and the promo’s concept involved creating a tropical paradise inside a small soundstage. And that involved sand. Bags of it. A lot of sand. And masks, like the ones we wore during the pandemic. Health, and safety was a thing, even in the mid 80s, and we were trying to avoid “silicosis”.

There was a tropical backdrop, palm trees, and faux exotic cocktails with little paper umbrellas. There was even a bird-handler, with a couple of friendly, and trained colourful giant macaw parrots. I like parrots, and hung out with them a bit. They could talk, but I can’t say they said much of merit.  

I used to see Bon Jovi a lot at a bar in Asbury Park in the early 1980s, before they broke big. They were the house band at the Fast Lane, and were often the opening act. 

I was never a big fan, I was probably neutral about their music, but I wasn’t ever fond of poodle rock. You know what I mean, with those big bouffy hairstyles. It’s more LA than Asbury Park, but whatever works for you. 

I do have a gossipy story about this particular job, and I am carefully going to share the details. While I might be very honest about my own drug use, I don’t wish to name, or shame anyone else. So I won’t, but I will tell you what I saw that day.

I remember the director’s name, but I will be omitting it. I don’t remember who the cameraman was, but we were shooting on film, so I chatted with him a lot throughout the day. 

The director spent most of the day in a private side room, hanging out with the band. We waited for them so long that I ended up lining up some shots with the camera guy, cutaways and the like, just because so much time was being wasted. 

Around this time, Jon Bon Jovi had filmed a public service message for MTV’s anti-drug campaign, based on Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” nonsense. With that in mind, the the incongruity of what I’m about to tell you is not lost on me. That said, and to make this clear, I saw no evidence that Jon himself was taking any drugs that day. 

When the director, and band finally re-appeared, a couple of them were going up to the sink in the kitchen, wetting their fingers, and then snorting the water from their fingertips. If you’re not familiar with this move, then you’ve probably never had poor quality cocaine. Maybe you’ve never had any cocaine, full stop. 

I knew about snorting tap water. I’d seen it done before, and had even done it myself when I’ve had coke cut with crap. At least I understood why so much time was wasted that day. 

I learned the names of the band members that day, and I do recall which of them was snorting the water. You would definitely be able to guess who at least one of them was, but like I said, I’m not shaming anyone. I used to party hard, too. 

Around this time, I popped into the MTV offices for something, I can’t recall what, but I ran into that nice producer, AA. She invited me to her place for dinner. I said yes, but didn’t think anything of it at the time. 

AA was always really generous with her time, and quite encouraging of me. I figured she just wanted to give me some career advice, I thought of her as a grown-up, really serious, and my senior, but the reality is, because I had dropped in and out of university, we were about the same age. 

Dinner was nice, I can’t remember what it was, but AA had cooked something herself for us. She was friendly with some of the VJs, and mentioned house sitting for one of them. Or it might have been dog sitting, I can’t remember, but the point is that she was really well connected at MTV. 

After we ate we were chatting, and having a drink on her sofa, when she kissed me. I think you might be able to tell that I didn’t see this coming. 

It wasn’t just that I hadn’t thought of her that way, but it hadn’t ever occurred to me that she thought of me that way. She just always seemed nice, and friendly, it never crossed my mind that she liked me, liked me. It caught me off guard.

This is another regret, that I wasn’t grown up enough to see this as the opportunity that it might have been. I wouldn’t say I laughed it off, or even brushed it off. I think I just didn’t know how to deal with it, so I didn’t deal with it at all. 

I should have given her a chance. And she should be grateful I didn’t. I would have been a terrible boyfriend at age 23. I was really immature, and a bit selfish. I was much better at being just a good time. 

Rehearsals

After the triumph of the Amnesty Concert, I couldn’t wait till MTV hired me for another big event. It didn’t happen until New Year’s Eve 1986 into New Year’s Day 1987, when I was hired as a production assistant for MTV’s Nero’s Eve Rock and Roll Ball. 

Only this time Harvey hired me, and my pick-up truck to work the day time set-up only on broadcast day, plus the wrap up the following day, on the 1st of January. 

Harvey offered me three extra tickets to the event to bring some friends to join me while I watched the show from the audience with my backstage pass. It was extremely cool of him to do this, he didn’t have to, I would have worked the job anyway. 

The venue was on the top floor of the Manhattan Centre. It was a well known ballroom, with a big performance stage, and room for a decent sized crowd, located on the top floor of a tall building in mid-town Manhattan.

It was a great deal, as I got to hang around the venue during the day, then go home, shower, change, and come back to be a guest in the audience. And I could bring some mates! It was going to be the best New Year’s Eve ever! I even went out and bought a brand new, snazzy leather jacket, just for the occasion. 

The set-up day was cool. It started with collecting some props, and set items from MTV’s storage on the west side, and delivering them to the venue. And then, it was the usual waiting around, for little tasks, and jobs. 

Joe Piscapo, another Jersey boy, and one of the break out stars from the second Saturday Night Live cast, was the host. He was pretty popular back then, but it’s name I haven’t come across in a long time. I met him briefly, but he was quite busy with preps, and rehearsals, so there wasn’t much small talk with him. He seems to be aligned with the MAGA crowd now. Life is weird.

I mainly spent the day hanging out with two really nice celebs, who were guest performers on the night. Gilbert Gottfried was absolutely nothing like his stage persona. He was really soft-spoken, and unassuming. I can’t tell you what we spoke about, just small talk really. I just remember that I liked him a lot. I was sorry to see that he passed away recently. RIP Mr. G.

The other famous guy I hung around with a lot that day, is someone who has a reputation as one of the nicest people in showbiz. I can confirm that, based on the time I spent with him. He was extremely friendly, and nice. He even even bothered to learn my first name. Not everyone does. 

I’m talking about Weird Al Yankovic, the parody song writer, and polka master himself. I’ve dropped a lot of celebrity names in this series, but seriously, he was absolutely one of the most normal, down to earth people I’d met. He wasn’t weird at all in real life. If I’m honest, I was probably weirder than he was, and even more so now. 

The one thing I recall chatting to him about was the accordion. My dad had one, and knew how to play it, and sometimes he let me have a go when I was a kid. Al told me it was the best musical instrument in the world. Personally, I preferred the electric guitar, but let’s face it, he built a successful career around the accordion. Maybe he knew something I didn’t? Probably loads of things!

The main thing with both Al, and Gilbert is they weren’t considered “top talent”, like the bands playing. So they were stuck in the side room, with me and the other hangers-on while they waited for their chance to hop on the stage, and do their run-throughs. 

It was an easy, and fun day, but mainly I was looking forward to the evening. My “plus threes” were a friend of mine from NYU, and a couple of girls he invited from his nearby hometown. 

Harvey G sent me home around 6pm. He wasn’t going to be there for the broadcast, one of his junior coordinators was in charge. 

Crappy New Year

I showered, trimmed my short beard, and got dressed in a pair of black 501s, some motorcycle boots, a black tee, and my brand new, fancy, black leather jacket. It was sort of blazer styled, with lapels. I looked sharp. 

I took public transport to the venue, I didn’t drive. I wanted to drink, and smoke weed, and whatever else might be offered to me, and I didn’t want to worry about being sober for the drive home. 

I met my friends in the lobby of the building, and we all went up to the ballroom on the top floor. It was starting to fill up. I was spotted by the coordinator in charge, and she made a bee-line straight for me. 

She asked me to do some little job, before the show started. I didn’t mind, I had my all-access pass, so I could come back to the ballroom when I was finished. She just needed someone collected from the ground floor lobby, and escorted backstage. So I did it. 

I found my friends again, and again the coordinator approached me. This time, she asked me to come down to the lobby with her. So I did.

When we got to the lobby, she handed me a walkie-talkie. This was the last thing I needed. I told her about my arrangement with Harvey, how I was meant to be able to enjoy the show, because he said I wasn’t needed during the broadcast. 

Things change, she said. She wanted me to remain in the lobby throughout the broadcast, and deal with whatever came up. She said I didn’t have a choice. 

I protested. I told her I had guests upstairs. I even told her about my brand new leather jacket. And I again told her this isn’t what Harvey agreed with me. She didn’t care. Harvey is not here, was her only response.

Then she really got mean. She said she was wrong, she was going to give me a choice. Either stay in the lobby with a walkie-talkie, or she would instruct security to throw me out. 

I very briefly debated just leaving, but I stayed. And I only stayed because I had people upstairs, and it would have been really shitty to just abandon them. I couldn’t believe she was threatening me like this, it was really, totally uncool. What it was, was cruel. 

I know what I should have done, but there was no way I would have realised it at the time. I should have called her bluff. She still needed me the following day to help clear the ballroom, and return some bits and pieces to storage. I could, and should have leveraged that. I didn’t. 

I should also say she was probably the least popular coordinator in the department, and known for being a bit vicious, and cutthroat. Some people were afraid of her, and now I finally understood why. And if you worked at MTV around this time, I bet you already figured out who I’m talking about too. 

So there I was, stuck in the ground-floor lobby, with the biggest, coolest, rocking-est, rolling-est, New Year’s Eve party ever, happening 15 floors above me. I was seething. I was also completely in over my head.

I hadn’t been involved in any of the planning of this event. I didn’t know how anything was organised. The problem is that I looked the part. I had the backstage credential on a lanyard around my neck, and the walkie-talkie in my hand. People thought I had power. I had diddly squat!

There was no one on the other end of the 2-way radio. No one ever called me, and I never managed to make contact with anyone on it. It was a prop, and a distraction, as well as being a magnet for trouble. 

I don’t think I answered a single question while I was in the lobby, though I was asked many of them. I didn’t know anything. I was just running interference. 

I expect the evil coordinator didn’t have anyone else to fill this extremely non-vital role, and might have ended up doing it herself, if she hadn’t honed in on me. Instead, she was upstairs at the open bar, watching the headline acts. 

Shit rolls downhill, and I was the king of the basecamp. If Harvey was around, he would have honoured our arrangement. He would have never asked me to spend the night in a cold, draughty lobby, never mind threatening me with expulsion. 

At least my friends upstairs were having a good time. I was hoping they worked out I got swept up into some sort of work bullshit. 

I spent several hours loitering in that lobby during the broadcast, but things didn’t get interesting until after the show. Remember, I looked semi-official, and I was the only “MTV person” in the lobby. 

I was confronted by a very shaken group of university students from California, and their chaperone. They had won an MTV contest, and were flown to NYC by MTV to attend the concert. And during the concert, they claimed they were assaulted by members of the entourage of one of the headlining acts. They said the band’s cohorts came down from the stage during the performance, and attacked some of them. 

From their demeanour, it was clear to me something unpleasant happened. The group was the Beastie Boys, and the students stressed it was hangers-on, and not the actual rap trio, who assaulted them. 

I had no idea what to do with any of this information. I was about to turn 24 years old, this was way over my head, and pay grade. I was a freelance production assistant. I was pick-up truck Doug. What was I supposed to do?

There was no higher authority I could refer this too. The evil coordinator hadn’t responded to any of my walkie-talkie calls, why would she suddenly respond now? I was serving my purpose, as a deflector shield. 

There were some cops around, NYC’s finest were hanging about  outside. I offered to find one for these contest winners, if they wanted to report the assault. It was the best I could come up with in the moment.

The students declined. They said the chartered bus to take them to airport was due to collect them any minute, and they were on an overnight flight back to Cali. They simply didn’t have the time. All I could do was apologise on MTV’s behalf. As if I could actually speak for MTV! What a joke!

Not long after that, the actual Beastie Boys, and their boisterous entourage made their way through the lobby. I think some of them might have taken that whole “fight for your right to party” thing a bit too far.

I spotted my old acquaintance, Rick Rubin moving along through the crowd with them. I don’t think he saw me, or if he did, he didn’t recognise, or remember me, but I told you he would return. And now he has.

I spotted a few of the other performers departing. One that I remember was Andy Taylor, from Duran Duran. I was looking forward to his performance, too. 

Weird Al spotted me as he was passing by, and stopped for a brief word. He said he hadn’t seen me all night, and wondered what had happened to me. I gestured at the lobby around us, and said this did. He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and said goodnight. Told ya he was nice!

The biggest issue I had after the concert involved limousines. I imagined there were loads of them parked nearby somewhere, and that was the extent of my knowledge. But thanks to the credential, the walkie-talkie, and my mere existence in the lobby, many famous folks assumed I was in charge of them. I most certainly was not.

I had a few encounters regarding limos, but one stood out. It was one of the few times someone had a full-on star trip, diva moment with me in my entire time hanging around MTV. And the weird thing is, I was genuinely sympathetic to the situation, but I didn’t think there was anything I could do about it. 

The celebrity was one of MTV’s VJ’s, not one of the original five, but one of the first they hired post-launch, “Downtown” Julie Brown.

Julie couldn’t find her limo, so she found me instead. She was having a minor meltdown, that became a major one, because I couldn’t call for her limo on my walkie-talkie. 

It went on for a while, to the point where I pretended to call out on the radio to a make-believe parking garage, demanding they send Downtown Julie Brown’s limo to the entrance as soon as humanly possible. And yes, I really used her full name, including the “Downtown” part. That call was met with radio silence, as was every call out I made that night. 

Julie told me she had after parties to attend. Plural!

And then I made my fatal mistake. I suggested she grab a yellow taxi to her next destination. I might have just as well asked her to eat a turd.

I don’t think she said the actual words, “how very dare you”, but it was definitely there in her tone, as she yelled at me that she couldn’t be seen, of photographed getting out a taxi!

I finally thought “fuck it”, and said to her come with me, and I lead her, and the small group accompanying her outside. I brought them to the very first limo I saw, and knocked on the driver’s window. I made sure he could see the walkie-talkie, and I flashed my MTV credentials at him. And I said in my most authoritative voice, please take Ms. Brown, and her friends wherever they want to go. Now!”

The driver began to reply, but I cut him off, and said, “look, I don’t care what you think you were doing. This is what you’re doing now. Take them wherever they want to go. Thank you.”. And with that, I opened the backdoor, and got them all into the limo. Problem solved. Phew.

Of course, I knew I probably just caused an even bigger problem, by giving someone else’s limo to Julie Brown. At this point, I didn’t care. 

I went back inside the lobby, and ran straight into my friends. They’d assumed I got swept up into work stuff, so they weren’t overly concerned by my disappearance. Now, they were glad they found me. The two girls weren’t sticking around, I don’t remember why, but my friend from NYU was up for keeping the party going, if we could find one. 

Not long after that, my MTV friend Steve appeared. He saw me with the walkie-talkie, and asked me if I missed the show, and was stuck in the lobby all night. I said “yep”. 

He asked me if I had any weed? Again, I said “yep”. And then he asked if I was going to the afterparty? I was now, if that was an invite. It was. 

I handed my walkie-talkie to a random security guard, and the three of us walked the few blocks to a small dive bar that MTV had hired out for the crew afterparty. I don’t remember exactly where it was, or even the venue’s name, I was just happy to be out of the lobby.

As we walked, Steve told me that he no longer had the car he bought from me, my old Toyota. I think he said it was stolen from a parking garage in Manhattan, which was a sad end to a cool set of wheels.

The place was already packed when we arrived, but we managed to get some drinks from the open bar. I was ready to make up for lost time. Steve said there’s meant to be a backroom, so we went looking for it. 

We found the back room, grabbed a table, and I lit a joint, and passed it to Steve. I lit another, and passed it to my NYU friend, and then a third for myself. The three of us filled the room with the sweet smell of successful relaxation. It didn’t take long for other people to notice. I made many new, short term friends that night. I had a pocket full of joints that I’d pre-rolled, and I was really generous. 

More than one person asked me if I had any to sell. I didn’t, but I was happy to share. Anyone who asked, got high with me that night. And I’m disappointed to say, no one else offered me any drugs, other than free drinks. 

The music was loud, but I shouted over it, as I explained to my friends what had happened to me that night. Steve asked me what I was going to do about it?

It was a good question. 

New Year’s Day

I got wrecked at the afterparty. I put away a large quantity of liquor, and didn’t leave until every last pre-rolled joint I brought was smoked. It was probably after 6am by the time I made it back to Hoboken.

I was meant to be back at the venue around noon, to help strike the set, and return those few bits and pieces to the storage facility on the west side of Manhattan. 

At noon, I was still asleep, but at around 12:30pm, my landline phone rang for the first time. I let my answering machine get it. 

It was the evil coordinator, and her first message was fake-friendly. “Hi, just wondered where you are? You were meant to be here at noon, maybe you’re stuck in traffic. Anyway, hope I see you before you hear this! Byeeeee!”.

The next message had a bit more edge to it, maybe 30-40 minutes later. The phone ringing made me stir, as did hearing the increasing rage in her evil voice, but I didn’t get up. 

“It’s after one now, and still no sign of you. We’re waiting for you with all this stuff. If something’s wrong, please call me on the production line at the venue.” And then she left the number. 

There was a third message, maybe an hour later, but this time, she didn’t attempt to mitigate her anger. “Look it’s getting late, and I can’t find anyone else to collect this stuff, and we need to be out of the ballroom today! We need you! If you’re there, pick up the phone!”.

I didn’t pick up the phone. It kept ringing all day after that, without a message being left. Sometimes, there was a sigh, or grunt, or I could hear a handset being slammed down hard. She kept phoning until easily after 6pm, before she gave up.

When I finally emerged from my recovery slumber, and listened to the messages, all I could do was laugh. It served her right that I shafted her on New Year’s Day, just like she shafted me the night before. Imagine how difficult it must have been for her to find someone willing to transport those small items on a public holiday. 

Maybe MTV got charged another day’s rent on the ballroom? I hoped it didn’t go that far. 

I had no plans to go out after the broadcast, and I only cut loose because I missed out on the main party, where I was meant to just be a guest, and not a useless walkie-talkie lobby slave.

I didn’t have Harvey’s home number, so I couldn’t phone him. And I should have phoned him, once he was back in the office, but I didn’t. As regrets go, this is absolutely my biggest one. 

That younger version of me didn’t see the point in speaking to Harvey. In my mind, I was the freelance nobody, and the evil coordinator was on-staff, and worked for Harvey. He hired her, so I assumed he would side with her. 

The older version of me sitting here now, wishes I phoned Harvey, and told him my side of the story. He hired me too, but I didn’t see it that way at the time. I should have mattered too. At least, if he sided with her after listening to me, it would have been his choice, and not my projection.  

I let immaturity get the better of me, and it is only through age, and experience, that I’ve finally understood this. This wasn’t worth blowing up my relationship with MTV, and Harvey, but I let it happen anyway. 

In the unlikely event Harvey G ever reads this, and the even more unlikely event that he remembers me, or this incident, I would want to apologise to him. Profusely. I should have handled this with something other than petulance. I should have been the bigger person, instead of enacting petty revenge on the evil coordinator. I guess it was a life lesson that I learned too late. 

I had recorded the broadcast at home on my VCR, expecting to watch it at some point, to see if I could spot myself in the audience. I wasn’t in the audience, so that became pointless, and I could never bring myself to ever watch the show. I discovered there is a version of it on YouTube, and I may force myself to finally have a look. If I ever do, I’ll update this paragraph. 

In the final part of MTV Redux, Part Four – The Death of the Dream – things keep going a little longer than expected, but the dream ultimately dies. 

(All words © Copyright 2023 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)

The Death of the Dream

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Chinese New Year

I never heard from Harvey, nor anyone else from the Production Management, and Operations department ever again. I posted off my invoice for my work over New Year, and they paid me. And that was the end, or so I thought. 

I don’t know if was by design, or if they weren’t told, but the MTV promo department continued to hire me directly after my Crappy New Year. I remember the first little job they booked me for, and it included my pick-up truck too. 

It was a small location shoot, they wanted to film a channel bumper with the MTV Gong during Chinese New Year celebrations in New York City. My assignment was to collect the gong, and the director, bring them both to Chinatown, link up with the film crew, shoot the promo, and then return the gong, and director back to base. 

I mentioned I did lots of these little jobs, but this one is memorable for two reasons. Chinese New Year obviously, which makes the time, February 1987, easy to recall. But the other was that I got to spend a decent amount of time with the promo director, a nice guy named Mark Pellington. 

I’d worked with Mark before, and had met him when I was an intern. He was friendly, and chatty, and knew I was studying film, and TV at NYU. I think he may have asked for me, because I was so cost effective with my little pick-up truck. 

Mark’s had a long, and fairly successful career. He’s directed features, and won many awards. Looks like he’s still active, too. 

The actual promo was simple, and quite cool. At the end of a sequence of firecrackers rigged along buildings exploding, someone was going to bash the MTV Gong. We got it in one take. It was an easy day. 

For me, the biggest surprise of the day, was to be back on the clock for MTV. I didn’t expect it, nor did I mention my exceeded expectations. 

I wouldn’t say I was overwhelmed with work from the MTV promo department, but I would get the occasional small gig with them, some of them on location. And that gave me another idea.

I bought a cellphone. Well, we didn’t call them cellphones back then. In the 80s, we had carphones, installed and hardwired into vehicles. They were power hungry, and you could really only use them when the engine was running. Only I didn’t buy a carphone, I bought a field phone. Basically, it was a standard car phone, stuck on top of a humungous battery, that weighed a ton. I started hiring that out, along with me, and my pick-up. 

Somehow, I managed to keep my MTV dream alive, for at least a few more months. 

The Death of the Dream

Just like you never forget your first time, your last time stays with you too. This was the last time I worked for MTV. Don’t worry, that doesn’t spoil the story, or the ending. 

It was another promo, it was in June 1987. The location was somewhere in New Jersey, west of Hoboken. I can’t remember the exact location, but it was like 45 mins to an hour away from home, on some scrub land. 

The promo was for a car giveaway. Technically it was an open top Wrangler Jeep, complete with a roll bar. It was a pretty good prize. 

I can’t remember why they hired me, I know they wanted me to bring the field phone. I don’t recall them needing me for the pick-up truck, or transporting anything with me.

I don’t remember the director, or cameraman. I didn’t get to spend much time with either one of them. How I spent my day, was completely unexpected. 

I don’t remember the full concept of the promo. It’s not like anyone showed me a script, or the story boards. The basic idea of was that a goth secretary was the main character, and they hired an actress to dress the part, and drive the jeep for whatever shots they needed.

Wrangler dropped the Jeep off at the location first thing in the morning, and just left it with us. The actress spent a long time in a trailer, getting into costume, heavy goth make-up, and a giant bee-hive wig. 

As they got ready to take the first shot of the day, they discovered the actress couldn’t actually drive the Jeep because it had a manual transmission. They checked she had a driver’s license, but no one asked if she could drive with a stick shift. Turns out, she couldn’t. 

They needed her to learn how to drive with a stick shift, and clutch right there on the spot. And guess who was the only person on that location who knew how to use a manual transmission? 

The coordinator on the job remembered that my pick-up truck had a stick shift.  Pick-up truck Doug was now driving instructor Doug. I didn’t have that on the bingo card for that day. Doug to the rescue!

I was introduced to the actress. She was really heavily made up, in a bizarre costume, and the bee-hive wig was massive. She was very apologetic about the situation, but it wasn’t her fault. I don’t think anyone knew the Jeep was a manual, but it’s one of those details that could have derailed the day, and nearly did. I’m sure someone caught shit for it, and I know it wasn’t the actress.

I wish I could remember her name. We spent a couple of hours together, as I tried to show her how to get the Jeep rolling without stalling. I don’t know if I was a bad teacher, or she was a bad student, but if I was to guess, I’d say it was the pressure she felt that kept her from picking up the skill needed to take off without stalling.

While I was playing driving instructor, the rest of the crew were playing with my field phone. They all made calls, it was quite the novelty. I remember the director made loads of work calls too, during the downtime waiting for us to finish the lessons. It was their dime, if they wanted to spend it on silly phone calls, feel free. 

The director was growing impatient, as well as losing the daylight, clouds were starting to move in, and rain was threatened. He came up with a solution. I drove the Jeep, while the actress pretended to push or chase it. I was kept out of all the shots, but I did do all my own stunts. The director said he would make it work, and in some ways, he thought it would be funnier visually. 

I’d grown a bit friendly with the actress. Even through the stress, and uncertainty, we were flirting a bit, so once we wrapped, I asked her if she wanted to grab a ride back to NYC with me in my pick-up truck. She accepted.

The actress went back to the make-up trailer to get out of her get-up, and back into her own clothes. When she returned, I was very pleasantly surprised at how beautiful she was in real life. I had no idea, it was her personality that had grabbed me, her looks were just a bonus.

Everyone drove off, the camera crew, the producer, director, and MTV people all in separate vehicles, and me and my new actress friend in my pick-up truck. 

Less than a mile from the location, my truck’s engine made a really funny, loud noise, and then it died. I managed to pull over onto the shoulder, and tried to re-start the engine. No luck. 

I got out, and popped the hood. Not that I had any sort of clue, I’m not a mechanic, but it’s what you do, isn’t it? I looked under the truck, and the engine too. I could see oil leaking out, a lot of it. That’s not good. 

The truck was dead, but that’s OK, because I had my field phone. I could call for help. Only when I tried to use it, the battery was flat from all the fun phone calls the crew made. I plugged it into the cigarette lighter, but without the engine running, there wasn’t enough power to even turn it on. Ut oh.

I locked up the truck, and we started walking. It was a fairly empty highway, but ahead I could see what looked like a strip mall. We made our way there, only it wasn’t a strip mall. The threatened rain began to fall. 

There were two businesses at this location, a small convenience store, and a porno cinema. Guess which one had the pay phone?

I went inside the cinema while my new friend waited outside, on the convenience store side of the building, I might add. She was definitely not impressed with being stranded in the depths of NJ, with a guy she’d only just met. And I think the porno cinema was the icing on the comedy cake. 

I told the guy at the ticket counter I didn’t need admission, just his pay phone. He asked me what I really needed, and I told him about my breakdown. He said don’t bother with the pay phone, and he picked up a phone on ticket counter, and rang a friend of his, who was a local tow truck driver. He gave the guy the details, and told me to go back to the truck, and wait. He said it wouldn’t be too long, as his friend was close. That was easier than I expected it to be.

We walked back to my truck, and waited. The tow truck guy turned up quickly, like within a half hour, maybe things were looking up.

He hooked up my pick-up to his tow truck, and asked if we both needed a ride back to Hoboken, meaning me, and my new actress friend. It was a weird question, considering it was obvious we were both stranded, but when we got to the cab of his tow truck, we discovered why he had asked.

Sitting inside the cab of the tow truck, was the driver’s 11 year old daughter, and the truck was a three seater. There were four of us. 

So we set off, with the driver in the driver’s seat, obviously, and his daughter in the middle seat. I was in the right side passenger seat, and sat in my lap, was my actress friend. Awkward! 

I can’t say it was a particularly comfortable, or happy trip. It took close to an hour. There was no cuddling, she did her best to pretend she was anywhere else. Once we reached my place, and the guy backed my dead pick-up into my driveway. I paid him, and he and his daughter departed.

I asked my new friend if she wanted some dinner, but she declined. She was pretty pissed off by this point, and I didn’t blame her. She asked me to get her a taxi back to Manhattan, and told me she didn’t have any cash.

We went up to my condo, and I called for a cab. I gave her 20 bucks for the taxi, and when it arrived, she disappeared too. We didn’t even exchange numbers. My dead pick-up killed any chances of a first date. 

The next day, I phoned my contact in the promo department, and told them what had happened with my truck, and the actress. They were not sympathetic, and didn’t offer to reimburse me for her cab fare. All they did was confirm I no longer had the pick-up truck. They never phoned again.

Epilogue, and Regrets

The pick-up truck really was dead, well the engine sure was. It had ‘thrown a rod”, whatever that means, and it punctured the “oil pan”, whatever that is. It needed a new engine, and a friend of my dad’s said he could sort it out cheap. 

I got the truck towed down to the Jersey Shore, and while waiting at my dad’s friend’s garage, the truck got hit by another vehicle, and totalled. I ended up with an insurance cheque. That truck may have been cursed. 

It wasn’t just the truck that died that day, so did my work with MTV. I wouldn’t work again for well over a year after that, I didn’t know what to do with myself. 

MTV was a squandered opportunity for me. If I was more mature, and a bit sharper, I might have been able to turn it into something more meaningful, instead of just a launching pad. 

I know I could have done more for them, I just didn’t know how to get there. I never pitched a single idea to anyone, I didn’t have access to the real creative side of the organisation. I was involved with lots of production, just not at the end of it I wanted to be. 

My experience with MTV didn’t go to waste, far from it. It gave me an amazing foundation in film, and TV production, much more than I got from NYU. 

I never finished my degree, either. During my last semester, in the fall of 1986, my attendance, and interest in studying waned. The biggest setback I had, is that my narrative film class didn’t choose my script to produce. Every student had a script, but not every film was made. I’ll spare you the finer details, but they were right not to make it, for some practical, rather than creative reasons.

The script was based on a one-act play I had written for another class, and it had received an “A”. It was called “Jumpers”, and it was about two people who bump into each other on the ledge of a tall building in NYC, as they were both considering jumping off during their lunch hour. I’m fun at parties. 

Obviously, it wouldn’t have been a location shoot, and would have required building a set that was far out of the capability of college students, so it wasn’t approved. It was the right decision, but it still pissed me off. I gave up after that. 

I still wanted to work in film, or TV, only now I had the worry that a lack of a degree would be a hinderance. I couldn’t have been more wrong. In well over 30 years of fairly continuous work, no one ever asked me if I had a degree. On my CV, I just listed the years I attended university, and the subjects I studied, plus my relevant work experience. No one every asked for a transcript, no one ever asked anything, except what I did last. All that said, I do regret not completing the programme, if for no other reason, than to tick a box. 

Here’s a potted summary of what came next. I got hired as a coordinator/fixer on an Australian TV documentary in 1988, through a friend of a friend. It was 6 weeks work, travelling around the northeast, Boston, Philly, and NYC. They were shooting on film, and I also did some work as the camera assistant. I got lots of hands on experience with the camera too. It was an Aaton.

The subject was welfare systems around the world, so we filmed in lots of deprived areas. It was my first real media road trip with hotel stays and everything. It was hard work, and lots of fun, and the people were really nice. 

I also learned how to score weed in strange cities. Here’s a top tip for you. Don’t bother with bellhops, or the concierge. If you want to find weed, find someone who works in the hotel kitchen. They’ll never let you down. 

I added the Oz docco to my CV, and started sending it out again. I found an actual staff job with a Japanese production company via an advert in the New York Times. They were looking to expand into MTV style programming, and my resume caught the eye of their production manager. I was called in for an interview, and hired on the spot. I worked for them for just over a year.

One of my responsibilities with the Japanese production company was producing feature stories for Japanese TV news. They were mainly “and finally” items, but I got loads more experience in production, only now as the producer. I gained even more production skills working with them. 

I’ll drop one last name. The Japanese company had also made some stuff for US audiences, including a PBS series called “Faces of Japan“, hosted by Dick Cavett. I had nothing to do with the series, it was produced before I worked there, but Dick used to turn up for parties. I really liked him. I’m a fan, I’d even read his autobiography, and I got to chat with him a fair bit. That’s it. 

None of the MTV-styled stuff I worked on at the Japanese company went anywhere, which I found frustrating, so I started looking for something else. 

I’ll keep this brief, but the Japanese company did some co-productions with a company called Visnews. They’re now known as Reuters TV. 

I got to know people at Visnews, and they started giving me freelance work. And then they offered me a staff job. And then a transfer to London. That’s how I ended up here. I worked for Visnews for around 5 years. 

Visnews eventually led me to the Associated Press, when they launched their first TV agency, APTV in London in 1994. I was a foundation staff member. That company is now known as APTN, Associated Press Television News. I was with them for 9 years. 

I then landed at BBC News, where I was employed for 16 years as a senior broadcast journalist. I only gave it up because of some unexpected, heavy duty health issues. I’m not working now, but I’d still like to be. 

And that’s the straight line from my internship at MTV in 1986 to the present day. I wouldn’t be sitting here in London right now, if it weren’t for the solid foundation in media production I haphazardly constructed at MTV.

I know I’ve mentioned I have some regrets, and I do. Who doesn’t?

I feel like ultimately MTV especially, was a huge squandered opportunity, but I still wouldn’t change a second of it. All I ever really wanted for as long as I can remember, was to have an interesting life, but I learned early that plans are for suckers. 

Life happens to you whether you like it or not, more than you make it happen for yourself. I let life happen to me, and I’m glad I did.  

I’ve had a lot of fun, met loads of really cool people, and I’ve done some cool stuff too. And on that score, I don’t regret a goddamn thing.

The End

If you enjoyed MTV Redux, it’s part of something larger, I’m calling the “Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll Collection“, a showcase of my most recent writing, all produced in a 5 week period.

The next piece I’ve published is a short story, called Time Aside. It’s a twisty tale of time travel, anti-natalism, and regret. You’ll dig it!

Or check out Hippy Highlights, for a curated archive of the very best of the northlondonhippy.

(All words © Copyright 2023 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)