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)