WHOoPLA Chapters 12 & 13

Chapter Twelve: What Plan?

For the 21st largest market in the country (Milwaukee has since declined to #36) there wasn’t much room in the public’s eye for too many big events to happen at the same time.

The results of Milwaukee Brewer General Manager Harry Dalton’s blockbuster 7 player deal from the year before were paying off as Robin Yount, Paul Molitor, Cecil Cooper, Rollie Fingers, Pete Vuckovich and back-up catcher/future manager Ned Yost and team had the best record in baseball and were bearing down on the American League pennant. The Milwaukee Journal described the upcoming home games as “opening a new season” and headlined the Sports Section with:

“THE BIGGEST HOMESTAND EVER.”

LPX was all over it. Their AM across the hall, WISN, had just recently won the broadcast rights away from AM historic Milwaukee powerhouse WTMJ, so their tie-ins were proving valuable. Bobbin Beam, who had made her name as an air talent and later PD at QFM but jumped ship to LPX on their debut, was singing the National Anthem before games. That’s exposure that was hard to compete with. Beyond that LPX was throwing their considerable promotional funds behind The Pro Rock Rally to be held at the lakefront. It was a response to a wacky Burlington, Wisconsin preacher who was crusading against the evils of music. He claimed that rock music, in particular, had been infiltrated by forces that can turn adolescents into Satan worshippers. The former Valium addict claimed his being “born again” not only cured his addiction but also his Leukemia. He created a list of 55 performers who were dangerous. It included Elton John, The Captain and Tenille and the hard working Village People. There were very real fears that the free concert at the lakefront Gun Club site would erupt into a brawl of some sort so the Milwaukee Police department was planning a show of force. They had tried to line up Doors keyboardist Ray Manzerek for the show but ended up settling for The Shoes opening for Blackfoot. With all this going on, it was going to be a struggle to get folks attention. This wasn’t a time to be subtle.

Lee Arnold wasn’t. This was going to be a loud, noisy, brash, in-your-face, affair. Just the way he liked ‘em to be.

The next day, Friday, excited about his creation, he called QFM’s ad agency The David Joseph Group. David Joseph, as it was called, was a powerful force in Milwaukee’s music scene. They had created QFM’s “Rock On Milwaukee!” ad campaign and were instrumental in bringing QFM back to prominence after the devastating hit it had taken from the coming of LPX. They were also the concert promoters for The Alpine Valley Music Amphitheater. Arnold detailed his ambitious idea to them thinking that they would love it and be happy to jump in and help. Instead, they beat it down with every word. “It was too late,” they said, “it can’t be done” and further, “Why would Arnold work with McElrath on it and not them?” Not only would they be no help, they had the ear of Ralph Barnes, Arnold’s boss, and they didn’t hesitate to make it clear to Barnes that they thought it was a bad and risky idea.

Arnold chalked it up to sour grapes. He then also called station owner Bill Lynett who told him to,

“Put together a plan on it.”

Chapter Thirteen: Crazed

There’s no question that Lee Arnold did cocaine back then. He wasn’t the most discreet about it. Whether or not it was an addiction is up for debate. The “Cocaine Culture” was in full swing and had permeated every aspect of the radio, record label and music management business. There was a clear distinction between those who did and those who didn’t. Nearly everybody who was IN did, or almost HAD TO because to NOT would leave you out of the loop in some very important circles. With “good blow” you could get great tickets, great food and get laid as easy as saying, “Yes, I have some.” You could have “followers” and influence. You could improve your position. You could coerce, manipulate and, if needed, destroy people. Cocaine was the tool to get you there- IF you could manage it well.

Radio pressures were monstrous on management. If the office door was closed, they were more than likely doing coke. And the door was almost always closed. The gossip mill ran wild with stories. One had a prominent Program Director who did so much coke that he literally destroyed the cartilage in his nose. As he was in the hospital getting a new schnoze installed compliments of his employer, he still managed to partake by sticking the coke spoon into his throat and using a hacking gasp to throw the blow up into his lower nasal cavity. Another story featured a similarly positioned fellow who developed an uncontrollable lust for “women in white pants” and got busted for soliciting a prostitute who turned out to be an undercover cop.

Great ratings? Coke. Concert to promote? Coke. Club owners wanted to pay us with coke instead of cash. Record reps, who actually had coke as part of their promotional budgets, were spreading it around like salt. Many times when the local bands needed coke, we found it for them.

Coke hound radio groupies sucked up to us jocks all the time. They were particularly gifted at making perfectly poignant and even personal comments about your on-air show from the night before that would demonstrate that they had a special interest in you. They played to the mega ego deep inside all of us and, even though their racing speech gave them away as obviously buzzed up, I was glad to take what I could get even going so far as to string them out with slightly feigned interest. You knew that the “Got any blow?” question was coming and that after you said “No” they would quickly loose interest and disappear. Even though they were pathologically manipulative creeps, they still fit the twisted All American ideal of aggressiveness, ambition and entrepreneurial creativity.

One time a heavy teenage white rock slut flagged me down at the Eagles Club auditorium just after I had introduced yet another “has been” band that was attempting a comeback. She said she had coke and wanted them to piss on her. When a band member asked me after the show if I had any blow I pointed her out to him and he apparently saw to it that they both got what they wanted. I know this because she showed me a poorly focused Polaroid picture a couple weeks later. In it she was laying in a bathtub with her top off but black spandex pants still on. She was pinching her own nipples with a stream of pee splashing on her stomach. You couldn’t see anyone from the band in the picture (which made it’s credibility suspect), just a big blurry palm reaching in from off camera waving “Hi.” She was actually proud of it and grateful for the hook-up. It was the coke.

What amazed me was that there were some co-workers who could do it all. They’d smoke dope during the day at the station, drink booze at a club, do coke to recover from the booze and then do more coke to stay awake because they weren’t going to be able to sleep before their next on-air shift so they had to just keep it going. Smoke. Drink. Snort. Snort. Snort. Smoke. Drink. Snort. Snort. Snort.

Coked up bosses were a normal sight for me. Their glassy eyes and Cesar Romero painted smiles were the tell tale signs. But Lee Arnold’s everyday demeanor was so wired that you could never tell the difference between the “shakin” Lee Arnold and the “naturally manic” Lee Arnold.

One ratings celebration party at a swanky hotel had a foot high “93QFM” spelled out in coke on the removed dresser mirror. It didn’t last long. Arnold couldn’t resist calling the LPX request line and passing around the phone to give everybody an opportunity to harass Susie Austin who was on the air.

“Did I ever do drugs? Yeah! We all did. Did I do them a lot? No.”

Arnold claims the talk of it and the reality of it were far apart. His salary was a measly $36,000 per year. Coke was expensive.

“Did I try to dissuade people from thinking I was just a crazed person? No! Better that they think that!”

Did he do things that could get you arrested? Sure.

“Did I do things like that a lot? No!”

His next question is a very good one.

“Do you think that somebody who was fucked up could have pulled this shit off?”

~ by Scott on December 8, 2007.