"A WBAI Story or Uncle Sydney Remembers"
Since I'm in retirement now I thought I should write down my memories of some of the demented hijinks I witnessed or was instigator of.
Years ago when the station, Wbai wbai.org was near Times Square. I guess this was in the 1980's somewhere. Anyway we had this New Years party put on by the station's Dead Heads.
That's fans of the old rock group the "Grateful Dead" if anyone born after the 20th century is looking in.
As to that Dead Head party it was deranged chaos on skates. Drunken stoned hippies their girl friends, and drug dealers were all over the place. I was the engineer on duty, and my job, besides keeping us on the air, was to keep order.
Well things got edgy, and nuts after a bit, and I had to strong arm some trouble makers out to the street. Booze crowds, and loud music does this. I warned the rest of the crowd to chill or I'd call the heat, and shut down the damned show.
I planned to put a transcribed 1956 "Liberace" program on in their place so was half hoping they'd give me cause. Anyhow things calmed down, and the guys went back to playing bootleg Dead concerts, and I went back to fixing crap.
An engineer's work is never done.
The point of this whole saga was what I found in the famed Wbai men's room. No not two guys butt fucking each other whom I walked in on the previous summer.
No not the junkie friend of one of our insane hosts nodding out on the floor.
No not even that screeching freaked out cat in a travel bag left by a forgetful guest.
No this time it was a set of heroin works.
Oh my gawd it was amazing stunning unbelievable a vision from drug fiend heaven. There it was perched atop a crap stained toilet like an Angel slumming in Hell.
There in a finely carved cedar box lined with purple velvet was a expertly hand made chrome etched crystal glass, and silver gilded hypo with an assortment of different sized custom made needles.
One could see that passion went into the fashioning of this spike.
My heart went aflutter. A sinful thought passed through me of absconding with this blessed instrument of dreams, and nightmares. 'But how could I deny a fellow searcher of this wonder.
I carefully cradled these wondrous works in my arms, and went to the main studio where the deranged drunken drooling Dead Heads were. I opened the sound lock, and holding the works over my head said,...
"...Did one of you bleeping degenerates lose something?!"
A tentative hand went up, and a smiling hairy drug addict came forward, and claims his wayward property.
It was all in a night's work.