WHOoPLA: Chapters 22, 23 & 24
<span style=”font-size:180%;”>Chapter Twenty Two: <em>No Guarantees.</em></span>
The next step in his thousand mile journey had Tim The Rock N Roll Animal stepping out onto the 21st story crystal palace/newsroom ledge. As encouragement, Arnold briefed Tim on Boeff’s call and the status of things. He was very careful to limit Tim’s expectations, even overcompensating by dramatically underplaying the potential for success. Tim:
“He kept telling me over and over that there’s no guarantee that the bands gonna come here and play…You’re really laying yourself out on the line for a while here…You may have to stay out there for some time …4, 5, 6 weeks.”
Arnold told The Animal this just a few hours before he was to make his leap. Tim was already committed, so whatever he thought of it, there was no backing out.
One of the ways Tim, Patti and many other staffers would buffer their fears was to believe that maybe Arnold knew more than he was saying. That he actually had this in the bag all along and was just playing a big game. That was a comforting thought to all of us because, at this point in time, it was beyond our ability to comprehend how it could be done any other way.
Thus, as Tim prepared to head out onto the ledge it had been a telegram and then one conversation with the band’s Asst. Manager. That was it. Oh, and a wild plan to create this big….
The studio was crowded with people as Tim began his rant. The logistics of his starting his well rehearsed spiel had been hastily considered. The microphone that we used when we were on the air was permanently fixed to a flexible arm that hung over the control board- so it couldn’t be taken outside. Further, someone would have to be on the board after Tim left to run commercials, play songs and so forth so the choreography was going to be a bit tricky as someone was going to have to slip in after him to engineer.
As he began to speak, he had the strangest look on his face that stood in contrast to his angry but tempered gripe. He was smiling. Trying to bite his smile but nonetheless, smiling. Why?
“It was thinking ‘What the hell…Oh my God…What have I gotten myself into?’”
His rap was splendid. He wasn’t selling anything. He was just mad. The Who are a great band and Milwaukee is a great city. He wasn’t whining, vulgar or tactless. He made sense. He was right.
Rock On Milwaukee!
As he walked with the substituted hand held microphone in his hand through the newsroom and toward the window, we all silently made way. When he opened the window to crawl out there was one small problem, the microphone extension cord was too short and stopped at the windows edge. So Tim had to crawl out feet first while still talking on the mic that was hovering about one foot inside the room. It left him in the dubious but rather appropriate position of being bent over half in and half out for the balance of his rave as the engineer scrambled for more cord. Now he even looked like he was ready for anything.
<span style=”font-size:180%;”>Chapter Twenty Three: <em>Honk for The Who.</em></span>
After a moment to catch his breath and do the quick change to a longer cord, Tim stood up and surveyed the city from his 21st story perch. I love the way cities look at night from high above. Especially when the view is unrestricted by glass, open to the elements. Tim’s view looked southeast from mid downtown. It included an unblocked sight line toward the South side of Milwaukee, QFM’s stronghold. It also allowed you to view a couple miles of the East West running main drag- Wisconsin Avenue. From the ledge you could literally hear QFM blasting from the open windows of the cars that cruised below. It echoed off the stone and brick walls of the other nearby tall buildings. The giant red neon sign atop the Marc Plaza Hotel directly kitty corner glowed brightly but not such that it drowned out the mosaic of multi-colored L.E.D’s of streetlights, stop signs and moving automobile headlights. About a mile directly to the east the flashes ended where Lake Michigan began. The pitch black backdrop made the lights from the jets that approached General Mitchel Airport look like UFO’s in 3-D. I can’t tell you how many times I got caught out there “nightdreaming” with a song suddenly ending quicker than expected then making the mad dash through the window back into the studio to start the next one just in time- or, many tmes, after a short, embarrassing moment of dead air.
Tim was a person who liked his creature comforts so, while there would be no better person to make the appeal that was needed, there are many others of us who would have been better suited to appreciate the beauty of the space and the time spent there. On the ledge, you were on the top of the Milwaukee mountain and it wouldn’t be hard to get excited about your cause when merely looking up and around gives you inspiration.
But that’s way to earthy for a Rock N Roll Animal. Tim had a job to do.
Mr. Midday, Jeff Petersen, played the live on-air part of the completely surprised first responder with a cynical and mildly convincing performance. Peterson was the 10a- 2p weekday anchor of the crew. He was a gentle and calming presence, exactly the essence of what a midday jock was to be. He smoked dope all the time in the well ventilated studio and loved to gossip. He loved coke too in the nighttimes and was feeling fine after he’d just completed a listener concert limo escort gig. He had left the winning couple at the MECCA Arena show and skipped out with the cool stretched ride to bang a newly divorced very drunk woman the group had met at the giant Major Goolsby’s sports bar just before the show. The lakefront romp was one of Jeff’s few dalliances and had him feeling nicely full of himself.
“Tim- what are you doing out here?”
“Jeffery!”
“What’s this about The Who?”
“Are you sober Jeff?’
“Nooo… not too… but I’m not out on the ledge buddy!”
“I’m gonna be out here. I’m stayin’ here. I’m gonna brave the elements and I’m staying out here ‘til somebody from the band calls or somebody tells me they’re gonna come to town!”
With a police car spotlight now shining up from the street he figured he better add one more little caveat.
“But I’m not gonna jump… I wanna stress that right now…I’m not gonna jump.”
“For The Who? I mean…THAT would really be nuts!”
Petersen’s sarcastic naughty dig at the band may have seemed ironic to some but was perfect. It wasn’t the band Tim was doing this for. It was the city, the hard rockin core fan base that had long been suffering in the shadows of that loud fat ass to the South. (The Bears still suck!)
As Petersen exited, Tim started calling out the names of the street level Wisconsin Avenue businesses he was just above to give listeners an idea of where he was at. The HoJo’s, The Ham & Egger, The Denmark Adult Bookstore, the Greyhound Bus station. Almost immediately car horns from below started to honk and, as they heard themselves and others on the radio, the action snowballed. Tim jumped on it.
“Yeah! Honk for The Who! Honk if you wanna see The Who in Milwaukee!”
It was another magical moment that gave us all a tingle, like fairy dust had just been sprinkled over the whole city. Word came later that the popular cruising strips on South 27th street, Villard Avenue and Highway 100 rang out too. This was on a Thursday night at 10:30pm no less.
<span style=”font-size:180%;”>Chapter Twenty Four: <em>The Blue Crue.
</em></span>
The sweet air of serenity was abruptly interrupted by two of Milwaukee’s finest who had keys to the station front doors and walked right in. A much bigger and more powerful trailer mounted mobile police spotlight shone on Tim up from the ground adding a Hollywood/Batman air. I’m picturing The Animals silhouetted head shape high up in the sky as the thugs from Police Chief Harold Brier’s loose gang of thugs made their way into the tiny newsroom. That’s not an exaggerated description when you remember that they had beat the shit out of manic lead singer Wendy O. Williams after her Plastmatics punk speed metal raunch band concert a few months before when her electrical tape costume fell almost completely off during her chainsaw thrusting, intercourse simulating performance at The Palms night club. These guys owned the town and did what they want. The Animal had good reason to be concerned.
“I was thinking this thing isn’t even gonna get off the ground and they’re gonna shut us down.”
Mike Wolf, the 6p-10p jock that preceded The Animal on the air talked with the elder upper mid-life alpha pig. Wolf explained in firm but forceful terms what the deal was. Wolf was a red bearded, fair skinned Irishman who could call upon his heritage when needed for the proper way to help people to see things his way. A good choice for this circumstance. The hog took a look out the newsroom window and said,
“Just checkin’ out the situation here…got some calls…”
(I know it sounds like Dragnet…But that’s what he said!)
Tim was silent for the first time in an hour.
“So that’s what’s going on here?”
He tuned in closely to The Animals ever important response.
“Yeah…ah…it’s…you know….it’s…radio…”
He gave the Animal a disgusted smirk. Exhaled.
“OK…alright.”
He turned around and started to leave. On his way out he tossed out a verbal fortune cookie for relief,
“Good luck!”
Moments later, the spotlight went out. The excitement was over. Everybody left and The Animal found himself out there all alone. Pondering. The $1,000 bonus Arnold had promised. The lobster and steak he would be eating from the restaurants that Arnold said would be standing in line to bring him food. Then a 180 degree turn. The scary thought that there was no end in sight.
“No guarantees,”
Arnold had gone out of his way to emphasize.
“Four to six weeks”
it might take.
“Maybe it would have been better if the cops had shut it down…”
he thought.
So much was buzzing around in his head. The strange new environment. The cars honking. He was way too jazzed to sleep on the crooked army cot. But he tried and the sun came up after what seemed like a blink.
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