Category Archives: the hippy

The Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll Collection

All Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

These are a few of my favourite things

The Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll Collection is a loosely connected series of the northlondonhippy’s most recent written pieces. It was all produced in a 5 week period.

Think of this new, inter-linked collection of material as the hippy’s second book. Effectively it is the sequel to his first book, Personal Use.

You can read all this brand new material for free right now.

December 2023 Update:

The hippy has added another piece to the collection, called “Now, Hear This”.

“Now, Hear This” was first published in November 2023, but the original idea was conceived back in March. It belongs here with the rest of the collection, and is now the introductory piece.

Now, Hear This

The hippy looks back at the roots of his lifetime love of modern music, through the songs he grew up with, and technology of the day that played it for him.  

His journey began when he was 2 years old, and it started with the Beatles, and a couple of years later, Motown and more. 

You’ll see, these memories turned out to be a lot more bittersweet than expected, as you read, and listen to “Now, Hear This”.

My Summer of Springsteen

During the Summer of 1982, when the hippy was still living on the Jersey Shore, he ran into Bruce Springsteen regularly. 

Bruce wasn’t just a local hero back then, he was already a major, international rock god. He’d released his first five classic albums, toured the world repeatedly, and only played the largest venues available. 

That summer, the hippy saw the Boss hanging out, and performing in small bars down the shore, nearly every weekend. Some nights, more than once. And Bruce saw the hippy, too.

These are his memories of “My Summer of Springsteen.

MTV Redux

Rock & Roll

In this four part series, the hippy takes you back to a fairly amazing period of his young adult life.

In the mid 1980s, the hippy was loosely associated with MTV Music Television as an intern, and then occasionally employed by them as a freelance production assistant. 

It’s also a tale of unrealised potential, and squandered opportunity, but it has taken the hippy a while to work all that out.


Part One – What? And Give Up Showbiz?
Part Two – Name Dropping
Part Three – Crappy New Year!
Part Four – The Death of the Dream

Time Aside – A Short Story

***Bonus Content***

Let’s pause the real life nostalgia briefly, and take a deep dive into some alternative personal history.

There’s no sex, drugs, or rock & roll in this one. “Time Aside” is a twisty tale of time travel, anti-natalism, and regret that’s rooted in the hippy’s real life back story.

It’s bonus content, so check it out! Or you could wait for the movie?

Tales from the Pre-Internet

Sex

Everyone thinks of dating apps, and websites when they think of meeting people online, but before the internet, in the 1980s, some folks were already playing around online. People were meeting up, and having naughty fun too. And the northlondonhippy was one of them.

The hippy refers to this period of time as the “Pre-Internet” in his recent series called MTV Redux. Thinking about that time was the inspiration for this series. 

In the three part series, “Consenting Online Adults”the hippy overshares about many of his experiences. 

And in Bonus Part Four, the hippy shares an additional tale from the Pre-Internet that deserves to stand on its own. This piece will leave you with one big question, but in Part Four – “I’ll Never Tell”.

Consenting Online Adults

Part One – The Prologue (1975-1983)

Part Two – Connecting (1980-1987)

Part Three – All Good Things (1985-1997)

Bonus – Part Four – I’ll Never Tell (1986)

Historic Hippy

Here’s a short selection from the hippy’s archive, if you want to know more…

I was a Background Artist on the BBC 10 O’Clock News – That’s who he was for the longest time

Piecing It All Together – This is why he is not that guy any more. TLDR: Epilepsy

Countdown to the End of the World – This is what the hippy would like to be doing next, if he had a choice.

Doing Some Good

The Ceasefire Initiative

While we’ve got your attention…

The Ceasefire Initiative – It’s just a small, simple idea to begin the process of finally putting an end to the pointless, useless “war on drugs”. We’re not seeking donations, just your support.

Follow us on Twitter: @ceasefire4good

#ceasefire4good #ceasefire4ever

(All words © Copyright 2023-2024 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)

My Summer of Springsteen

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

During the Summer of 1982, while I was still living on the Jersey Shore, I ran into Bruce Springsteen regularly. 

Bruce wasn’t just a local hero back then, he was a major, international rock god. He had already released his first five classic albums, toured the world repeatedly, and he only played the largest venues everywhere he went. 

That summer, I saw the Boss hanging out and performing in small bars “down the shore” nearly every weekend. Some nights, more than once. And he saw me, too.

These are my memories of “My Summer of Springsteen”.

The Fast Lane

It was the summer of 1982. I was still living at home with my parents about a mile inland from the Atlantic Ocean, in northern Ocean County. I had just completed my first year at Monmouth College. And I had a job in an office in Red Bank that summer. 

The drinking age in NJ was 18, but they raised it to 19, when I was 17 years old. It meant I had to wait an extra year to be able to hit a bar legally, and 1982 was that year. 

They checked ID really closely back then, especially in the summer when the tourists descended upon the area. Year-round Jersey shore residents called all the summer tourists, “bennies”. I bet they still do. Local legend says bennies are known for wearing socks with their sandals, and they are all terrible drivers. 

I was still hanging around with friends I knew from high school, and most of them preferred shitty bars with a top 40s DJ, no cover charge, and cheap drinks. I was into live music. 

That summer, I started going to the Fast Lane, a live music venue on 4th Avenue in Asbury Park. It’s gone now, but it used to be one of the biggest, busiest bars in town. 

I saw Billy Idol at the Fast Lane, Blue Angel too – They were Cyndi Lauper’s old band. 

It didn’t surprise me at all when Cyndi broke big, she was an incredible performer even back then before she was well known. I remember her coming into the audience, and spinning around like a whirling dervish while singing. It was quite a performance. 

Bon Jovi were the house band at the Fast Lane that summer, and I saw them open for headliners many times. They were good; tight too, but it wasn’t my sort of music. 

Front: Cyndi Lauper, Members of Bon Jovi, and Billy Idol. Back: Fast Lane entrance

One night in June 1982, I was at the Fast Lane with an old friend of mine from high school, who I will call JB. He was into dancing, and a couple of us dubbed him “Disco JB”, because he would often take over the dance floor like John Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever”. The boy could move.

I don’t remember what band was playing that night, but what I do recall is that JB drove, which meant I could drink. And I did, like I meant it. 

At one point we were both at the bar, when right across from us, I saw someone ordering a drink, that I swore was Bruce Springsteen. It looked just like him, but JB disagreed. We argued about it, I got wound up. I finally went around the bar to settle the dispute. I was a bit drunk by now. 

I walked right up to the guy and said, “Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but you’re Bruce aren’t you? My friend over there doesn’t think you are.”

Bruce laughed, and said yes, it’s me. I thanked him, apologised to him for disturbing him, and went back to my friend to settle the argument. JB admitted he was wrong. 

A short while later, Bruce was around the same side of the bar where I was, and we made eye contact. I spoke to him again, and said “I’m really sorry again for bothering you. I’m a huge fan, I have all your records, and I saw you last year at the Meadowlands, and the Spectrum. You’re my favourite!”

You get the idea, I gushed like a teenage fan meeting his hero, because that’s exactly what I was. The doubt I had from JB must have muffled this response in my first interaction, but the more I spoke, the more excited I got. It was Bruce Fucking Springsteen! And I was talking to him! He was the coolest guy in the room!

At the back of the length of the Fast Lane, was a large set of carpeted risers, that ran behind the bar, and opposite the main stage. Bruce asked me to sit down with him on them. So I did. 

He made small talk with me. He asked me my name, my age, where I was from, and what I did. Doug, 19, Point Boro, college student, and office worker. Also, a massive fan, and pissing myself with excitement because I was sitting here right now with Bruce Springsteen. I didn’t say that last part out loud. I tried to stay cool. I expect I failed.

Bruce excused himself, and said he’d be right back. I didn’t think he would return, but he did. And he brought me a Heineken. Bruce Springsteen bought me a beer! And it was imported, too!

He offered me the beer, I took it, and thanked him. Then he sat back down, and I asked him a few silly fan questions. I asked him about what I think of as his main guitar. It’s the one he’s holding on the cover of Born to Run, a natural coloured Fender Telecaster. I asked him what year it was made. He wasn’t sure, 1950-something, he said. 

He joked about needing a drink, because he’d had an argument on a phone call with his girlfriend, who was in LA. He said something about the distance.

After a while, Bruce and I said our goodbyes. JB didn’t want to stay out late, and since he was driving I didn’t have a choice, so we hit the road. 

I’ve reflected on this interaction with the Boss over the years. I realised that Bruce understood the importance of this moment for me… Or for any fan he encountered. 

Bruce knew it mattered. He could have brushed me off. He could have kept his distance after my first blundering contact. Hell, he could have had security remove me. But he didn’t. He treated me so kindly. He was so generous with his time. And he bought me a beer!

I don’t know if Bruce hit the stage that night, but he might have done. I wish I could have stayed to find out. I did save the empty beer bottle. He didn’t autograph it, or anything like that, but still I kept it for years anyway. 

I couldn’t believe I met Bruce Springsteen. I know I shouldn’t have been surprised, he had a reputation for hanging out in Asbury. I guess I never thought I would be that lucky. 

I had no idea how lucky I would really go on to be later that summer.

Springsteen Fever

My family moved to the Jersey shore when I was one year old, and the first place we lived there was Asbury Park. I grew up along the coast, it’s proper Springsteen country. Bruce grew up in the same general area. 

Before breaking big, Bruce started out in the seaside bars of Asbury Park. He was getting a lot of local press, long before he started receiving national, and then international acclaim.

In 1975, Bruce was on the covers of both Time Magazine, and Newsweek, at the same time. His star was rising, and has continued to rise, as it still does to this day. He soon became one of the biggest rockstars in the world, and he’s still selling out stadia over 40 years later. 

In high school, I was a massive Bruce Springsteen fan. He was a local hero, and arguably the biggest music star to come out of New Jersey. Frank Sinatra may have taken issue with that statement. Apologies to the Chairman of the Board!

I had all of Bruce’s early albums. And in my senior year I had an after school job at a record store in Point Pleasant Beach, when his fifth record, the double album, The River was released in 1980. It was his first new album to be released since I had become a hardcore fan. I was 17 years old. 

On the day of the release, I bought two copies, one on vinyl, and a second on cassette. I did get an employee discount, but still spent most of my wages there anyway. 

I couldn’t wait for my work day to finish, so I could hop in my car, and put the cassette into my tape deck. The cassette copy was meant only for my car. Cruising around the streets of the Jersey shore with loud music playing was a common, and popular pastime back then. 

When I got home, I played the LP too, over and over. It was sublime. From the radio-friendly hit single, Hungry Heart, to the deeply emotional title track, The River, every tune was an instant classic. I loved it.

Someone I knew had scored me an autographed photo of Bruce. It was a promotional pic from around the time of the release of Darkness on the Edge of Town , his fourth album. I still have the photo somewhere. I should find it. 

“Darkness” is my favourite Bruce album. As much as Born to Run put Bruce on the map, Darkness on the Edge of Town cemented his position as an amazing song writer. The music, lyrics, and subject matter were all taken to another level. There was a new expansiveness to this material. I wouldn’t say it was Bruce’s peak, but he was really hitting his stride. 

That said, and to answer a question I’m often asked, my favourite Springsteen song is Thunder Road. There is no finer example of a Bruce track. It’s perfection. From the gentle story of a man’s love for a woman, to their romantic escape, it’s a prayer, and a gospel to fleeing on the open road. And the song itself is beautifully structured, starting with the soft opening piano notes and gentle harmonica solo, and those first soulful lyrics. Then it builds more intensity as it barrels full speed towards that final, mournful saxophone solo ending. The song will bring tears to your eyes. Just me?

Many of Bruce’s songs, including Born to Run, are more about leaving New Jersey, than thriving there. That made it really awkward when NJ considered making it the official state song. 

But if you want a song from Bruce that celebrates the Jersey shore, I can think of no better tune than a track from Bruce’s second album, The Wild, the Innocent, & the E Street Shuffle, called 4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy). Just listening to it, and I can smell the sea air, and cotton candy along the boardwalk.

I think you’re getting the idea. I was a massive fan. So when I finally got to see Bruce live for the first time, it was an incredible thrill. 

The first time I saw Bruce, he was on The River Tour. I saw him in July 1981 at the Brendan Byrne Arena in the Meadowlands. I think they just call it the Meadowlands Arena now. 

I had decent seats on the floor, maybe 15th row, centre. The show lasted easily 4 hours. I’ve seen hundreds of bands, and dozens of major headline acts, and I’ve never seen anyone with Bruce’s enthusiasm, or talent. 

Bruce is next level good. He’s magnetic, dynamic, and energetic, with a riveting stage presence. He wasn’t just Born to Run, he was born to perform! It was the best concert I’d ever seen, and was only bettered by other future performances from Bruce. 

A Springsteen concert is like a religious revival, and he powerfully delivers the evangelical gospel of rock and roll according to Bruce. It’s transcendent, and life changing. And I’m a believer!

I saw him again a week later, at the Spectrum in Philadelphia. They tore it down more than a decade ago, but it used to be another indoor arena, like the Meadowlands. Only this time, I managed to get 4th row, centre floor seats from a ticket agency. Scalping tickets isn’t new, and it wasn’t cheap, I paid 180 bucks for the pair. These days, good seats for a Springsteen concert would be one hundred times that cost. I was really lucky.

That concert in Philly was even more enjoyable than my first one, because of my amazing proximity to the stage. The show was similar, but he changed up some of the set-list too. I was so close, I could see the sweat dripping off him during the encores. 

I didn’t think I would ever better that experience of being so close to my musical hero, while seeing him perform live. Little did I know that around a year later, I would. 

My Summer of Springsteen

After my first encounter with Bruce, I next saw him again at the Fast Lane. I didn’t even know he was there, until he appeared on stage with the headliners that night.

The band was the Stray Cats, a rockabilly trio that were hot in the early 80s. They were wicked good. Towards the end of their set, the lead singer, Brian Setzer said he had heard a rumour Bruce was in the audience, and he invited him up on stage.

I didn’t expect this, and there was a long pause as Bruce made his way through the crowd to join the band on stage. They did three numbers, all rock and roll classics. I only remember two of them, Long Tall Sally, and Be Bop A Lula.

I was a couple yards back from the stage, and there was Bruce, shredding a guitar, and singing his heart out with one of the hottest bands around. I was in heaven!

I saw Bruce a couple more times at the Fast Lane, with Beaver Brown mainly. They were an east coast band, that sound a lot like Bruce. Check out the film Eddie and the Cruisers, if you don’t believe me. The band did the soundtrack. 

The bar I saw Bruce in the most that summer was the The Stone Pony.

The Stone Pony

I never spoke to Bruce again, but I saw him pretty much every weekend after that performance with Stray Cats in the Fast Lane. 

And if he saw me, Bruce always acknowledged me. I doubt he remembered my name, but he knew my face. Whether it was a smile, or a nod, or even a little wave of his drink, if he saw me, he always let me know. 

It got to the point, where I worried Bruce might think I was stalking him. I mean, I was stalking him, but only to see him perform. After a while, I even tried to avoid being spotted by him. I know that sounds silly, especially when you discover something I finally realised: I wasn’t the only one looking to see Bruce every weekend.

I’m pretty sure Bruce was working on his sixth album, Nebraska that summer. The record is a collection of 4-track demos that Bruce had recorded at home in NJ, that he released instead of the full E-Street Band versions. 

Nebraska was a really special record because the production was so stripped down, and basic. Bruce released it in September 1982, after my summer of seeing him so much. It would make sense that he was putting the finishing touches on it around that time. He’d work on it during the week, then at the weekend, he would cut loose in the local bars.

I’d look at the listings for live events in the area every weekend, and I’d guess where Bruce might pop up. It wasn’t that hard. You just needed to keep an eye out for the best rock and roll music being performed on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night.

The band I saw him with the most that summer, was Cats (On A Smooth Surface), and Bruce would often join them at 2am, for their entire final set. They were the house band at the Pony. Once I worked out Bruce liked to perform with them, it made finding him a lot easier. 

They used to do all sorts of rock and roll standards together. Twist and Shout was nearly always played. The old Gary US Bonds song, “Quarter to Three” as well. 

Towards the end of the summer, and I’m guessing since it became a regular occurrence, Cats started doing a couple of Bruce’s own tracks with him. I am struggling to remember which ones. Something from Darkness? The Promised Land? Candy’s Room?

Gary US Bonds had a bit of a revival in the 1980s, thanks to Bruce producing a couple of records for him. To show his gratitude, Gary gave Bruce a car, named after the first record they worked on together: “Dedication”. 

The car was a ragtop, and had the word “Dedication” painted on the sides in huge letters. It was hard to miss. Bruce drove it a lot that summer, and you would often see it parked around town. I tried to find a photo of it online, but I came up dry. I know they exist, I’ve seen them before. 

I also used to sometimes hang out at the Inkwell Coffeehouse in Long Branch. It didn’t serve booze, so it could stay open all night, and it was a groovy spot to hit after the bars closed. It was a very cool venue, known for good food, and Dutch Coffees. I read it closed last year. I was in there one night during that summer, and seated at the table next to me, was Garry Talent, the bass player from the E-Street Band. 

It felt like every time I turned around, there was something, or someone Bruce related. Even when I wasn’t trying. 

Meeting Other Mega-Fans

I wasn’t the only one following Bruce around that summer. At the Pony, I’d always make sure to be up against the stage for the very last set of the night, so that when Bruce performed, I was just a couple of feet away from him.

I would see the same faces night after night, including a heavyset woman, who was often next to me at the front of the stage. One night, I remember her reaching out, and repeatedly touching Bruce’s boot with her index finger. She would then make eye contact with me in her delirious excitement, every time she did this. I would find out who she was, eventually. 

And I ran into a guy I knew casually from Monmouth College. We got chatting between sets, and we both discovered we were Springsteen fanatics. He said he had a bootleg video of some Springsteen concert, but he didn’t have a VCR. VCRs weren’t rare in the early 80s, but they weren’t super-common either.

I told him I had a VCR we could use, and I also had a copy of the “No Nukes” movie, which featured, at the time, a rare filmed performance from Bruce. Obviously, I’m biased, but Bruce’s set is the best thing in the film. There are many clips on YouTube including the trailer to the updated digital version. That’s what it was like for me, seeing him every weekend. 

I started hanging out less with my old high school friends, and I would often go to Asbury on my own. It meant less, or no drinking, but it also meant I could choose my own venues. But once I encountered that guy from college, I would often hang out with him, and the other hardcore Bruce fans he knew.

Obie

My new friends came to my parents place one Saturday afternoon to hang out, and watch the Springsteen videos. 

The video my friend had was a bootleg recording from an arena performance. Someone had sneakily recorded the video feed from the big screen, along with the mix from the stage audio. It was surprisingly good quality for a bootleg. 

They mentioned they knew Bruce’s personal assistant. I didn’t know he had one, but he did. Her name was Obie, and she was a local Jersey Shore legend, that I bet you’ve never heard of before. 

Obie was also Bruce’s biggest fan, and she is credited on many of his earliest albums like this: Homework: Obie. 

One night, after seeing Bruce at the Stone Pony, the Springsteen fans I knew invited me to join them at an all night diner after the show. It was the only time. 

When we arrived, the car I mentioned with “Dedication” painted on the side was parked outside, only it wasn’t Bruce driving it that night. It was Obie, his personal assistant. 

At the diner, the woman I saw touching Bruce’s shoes at the Pony was already sat down at the table. I was introduced to her. It was Obie. I got to sit next to her. 

(Little) Steven Van Zandt, Obie Dziedzic, and Bruce Springsteen

I’d be lying if I said I could remember much of the actual conversation. I know it was dominated by talk of Springsteen, and Obie’s infectious love of his music. She was unquestionably his biggest fan. I think she took an interest in me, only because I was new. 

I’d see Obie again in the bars that summer, and would say hi to her, but I can’t say I really knew her. I was sorry to see she passed away so young. RIP Obie. 

Big Man’s West

Big Man’s West was Clarence Clemons’ bar in Red Bank. It was a very cool venue, but it didn’t last very long. The local authority gave him a hard time throughout the period it was open. One of the restrictions they put on the bar, was it had to close at 1:30am. Most Jersey shore bars back then were open till 3am. 

I saw a few great shows there that summer. Little Steven and the Disciples of Soul were wicked good. And I saw Woodstock legend, Mr. Sheffield Steel himself, Joe Cocker perform there in front of a shockingly small crowd. 

Mr. Cocker was backed by a group of local musicians. Someone in the crowd told me it was mostly guys from Bon Jovi. I thought I recognised lead guitarist Richie Sambora. His guitar playing was amazing, but he spent most of the show, leaning way back against the piano with his eyes closed. I think he was wasted, but in a good way. It was a fantastic night. 

The act I saw the most at Big Man’s, was Clarence’s own band, Clarence Clemons and the Red Bank Rockers. It was a massive group, and it included a full horn section. 

Besides Clarence, the real draw was their lead singer, JT Bowen. His voice, and moves always reminded me of a skinnier version of James Brown. He was a performance dynamo. They put on quite a show.

I saw Bruce with them a few times, I think it was mostly on Sundays. There’s a reason I’m mentioning that. 

One of the bits Clarence’s band used to do was a 2-song medley that mixed two classic songs together: Jimi Hendrix’s “Fire”, with Springsteen’s “Fire”. The Pointer Sisters’ cover of “Fire” is probably the version you know, but Bruce wrote it. 

The Bruce song “Fire”, has a really classic baseline, that you would recognise, the same way Hendrix’s “Fire” has the memorable line “let me stand next to your fire”, and they combined the two in a way that was seamless. They used to do a ten minute version of it, with JT absolutely killing both tunes. Seeing Bruce join them, and singing it together with JT was life changing. It would give you chills. 

The other song I remember them doing is “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out”, from Born to Run. Little Steven had arranged the horns on that one, it’s a famous story. Hearing it live with a full horn section for the first time is something I’ll never forget. 

Whenever I went to Big Man’s West, I saw Clarence, whether his band was performing or not. He was even hanging around the night I saw Joe Cocker. He was hard to miss. He was physically imposing, I think he briefly toyed with playing NFL football, after playing ball in college. I cried a little when I read that he passed away in 2011. RIP Big Man. 

Remember, I mentioned Big Man’s had to close early, at 1:30am? The one bonus to that is Bruce would finish jamming with Clarence’s band around that time on a Sunday night, then he would jump in his car, and drive to the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. He would then join Cats for their last set at 2am.

And guess who would make the same drive? Yep, me. 

Summer’s End

Sunday nights became my favourite night of the week. I am pretty sure for three weekends in a row that August, I saw Bruce perform with Clarence Clemons’ band in Red Bank, followed by a second set with Cats at the Pony. Two sets in one night! Choose a superlative. Any you could think of would apply. It was superfuckingneatocool! I was in Springsteen heaven, it was a weekly Bruce-gasm. And all for a couple of bucks cover charge, and the cost of a beer. 

My old high school friends didn’t have much interest in the Asbury music scene. I ended up falling out with one of my best friends in the street outside the Stone Pony one weekend. 

My friend was driving, I was drinking. He wanted to go to some shitty bar near Shark River, called the Headliner for last orders. It wasn’t my scene; top 40s DJ music, and watered down drinks. It was a downmarket singles bar. 

We had a massive, screaming drunken row. I wanted to stay at the Pony, my ride didn’t. I stormed off in a huff. I was miles from my parents house. It was like 2am. There was no such thing as a mobile phone. I knew nothing about taxis. I was on my own.

Just had a look on Google Maps, the distance from the Pony to my parents’ old house in Point Pleasant is over 12 miles on foot. And it says that walk takes over 4 hours. At the time, I just knew it was far.

I probably managed the first five miles on drunken rage alone. At some point, mid-journey, I realised just how badly I fucked myself. It was somewhere between Belmar, and Bradley Beach that I stuck my thumb out, and tried hitchhiking. I wasn’t very successful. 

I managed another 5 miles or so, before a kind stranger picked me up. He drove me the last couple of miles, and dropped me off about 5 minutes walk from my final destination. 

It was nearly 7am before I finally made it home. I was exhausted, every muscle in my body was sore. I don’t think I have ever slept as long as I did that day. 

I only ever drove myself to Asbury after that, and I didn’t drink. Drinking is overrated anyway. I just wanted to see bands, and Bruce. 

The Last Show

I remember the last time I saw Bruce that summer. It was on a Sunday night at the Stone Pony. I’d like to be able to say it was Labour Day weekend, and maybe it was, but I can’t remember. 

I know the bar was packed out. Towards the end of the summer, word had spread that the Boss turned up at the Pony most Sunday nights. The place was heaving, and the crowd was wall to wall. 

I snaked my way up to the front of the stage for the last set of the night. Right next to me was the most stunning woman in the entire bar. I pretended not to notice. 

Bruce took the stage with Cats, and tore it up for an hour. It was a high energy set. 

That’s the thing about seeing Bruce up close that summer. He was the exact same performer I saw at the Meadowlands, and the Spectrum. He brought the same energy, talent, and showmanship to those small bars, that he brought to huge stages in front of thousands of people. It didn’t make a difference to him, he just loves doing what he does. And it showed, time after time.

I said earlier in this piece that Bruce was the coolest guy in the room, and whenever I saw him that was true. There was no one cooler. But when he was up on stage, blasting out rock and roll classics, or his own tunes, he wasn’t just the coolest guy in the room… He was also the happiest. And as much joy as he brought to the audience, he was always the most joyous in the house. Everyone should be lucky enough to love their job as much as Bruce Springsteen does. 

When the set finished, and the lights came up, the stunningly beautiful girl turned to me, and just blurted out, “That was amazing!”

She had long light brown hair, with blonde highlights, and long tanned legs. She was wearing a pair of frayed Levi cutoffs, sandals, a sheer, tight top, with visible tan lines. She looked like summer perfection. I don’t think there was a guy in the bar who hadn’t noticed her. She was so hot she sizzled. I can still picture her. 

I agreed with her, and said Bruce is great. She told me it was the first time she’d ever seen him, and she was only “down the shore” for the weekend. As I was talking to her, I could sense her attention was elsewhere. 

She was looking at something over my shoulder. I assumed she was checking out a better looking guy. There were definitely plenty of them. And I was right, she was looking at someone better looking, but I didn’t realise who it was at that point. 

I followed her gaze as she tracked someone moving through the crowd with her eyes. Then I felt a tap on my right shoulder, so I turned my head right, but no one was there. 

I then looked to my left, and there was Bruce. He had just passed behind me, and was still walking. He had his head turned around, looking right at me. He had tapped me on the shoulder. And then he smiled, and gave me a nod. 

Bruce knew exactly what he was doing. He saw me chatting to the best looking girl in the bar. He tried to give me a boost. Told you he was the coolest guy in the room!

The girl said, “Oh my god, do you know Bruce?”

“We’ve met”, is all I said. It was true. 

I wish I could tell you that I spent the night with this rock and roll goddess thanks to Bruce’s intervention, but I didn’t. She was laughably, unquestionably out of my league. She was only talking to me because she was so excited after seeing Bruce. It’s infectious, I knew the feeling. Her friends found her not long after that, and they all left.

Memories

I moved out of my parents’ place not long after that, and my visits to Asbury became more sporadic. I didn’t run into Bruce again. Big Man’s West closed. I started working full time. Life moved on, and so did I. A few years after this, I left the Jersey shore, and moved to the greater NYC area, with dreams of pursuing a career in the media, dancing in my head

I saw Bruce on the Born in the USA tour in ’85, at the Meadowlands again. Twice. He just kept getting better. It was his biggest album, and they were some of his best, and longest shows. 

In 1991, I moved to London. I saw Bruce again in 1992, at  Wembley Arena on the Human Touch/Lucky Town tour. It wasn’t a double album, it was two separate records. He didn’t have the E-Street Band with him on the tour. They didn’t perform on the records either. That was all new. 

I saw him again at the Brixton Academy in 1996, on the Ghost of Tom Joad tour. This time Bruce performed alone, and played only smaller venues like the Academy. It was a very stripped down, emotional show. Raw. 

The last time I saw Bruce live was at Emirates Stadium here in north London in 2008, on the Magic tour. He was back with the E-Street Band. Clarence was still alive, but Bruce’s original keyboardist, Danny Federici was ill, and only appeared on the first leg of the tour. He wasn’t with them when I saw the band, and he passed away around this time. RIP Mr. F. 

Iconic Image of Clarence & Bruce from Born to Run (1975)

It was great to see them all back together again. It was an amazing show, Mrs. Hippy was with me, and it was her first Springsteen concert. She was blown away too. 

I’m still a huge Springsteen fan. I bet you worked that out. I still love his music, and especially his classic albums, but I dig his newer stuff too. He’s continued to grow as an artist, and he has continued to be prolific in the 40 plus years since I was lucky enough to make his acquaintance. 

As a long-time live music fan, I’ve seen countless bands; small ones, big ones, local ones, national acts, and international too. And of all the performers I’ve seen, none have compared to Bruce Springsteen. The fact that he is a genuinely good guy, is just a bonus. 

Nothing in my life has ever even come close to matching the amazing time I had over 40 years ago. It was the best summer of my life. It was my summer of Springsteen. 

The End

If you enjoyed reading this piece, there’s plenty more where that came from! 

Next up in the “Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll Collection” is MTV Redux. It’s about my time working for MTV Music Television in the mid 1980s, but it’s also about a whole lot more. 

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

Tales from the Pre-Internet – A Series

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Everyone thinks of dating apps, and websites when they think of meeting people online, but before the internet, in the 1980s, some folks were already playing around online. People were meeting up, and having naughty fun too. And I was one of them.

I refer to this period of time as the “Pre-Internet” in my other recent series, MTV Redux. Thinking about those days was the inspiration for this series. 

In the three part piece, “Consenting Online Adults”, I’m going to overshare about many of my experiences from back in the day. 

And in Bonus Part Four, I have an additional tale from the Pre-Internet that deserves to stand on its own. You may or may not believe it. This piece will leave you with one question, but “I’ll Never Tell”.

Trigger warning – I talk very frankly about sex, and human sexuality. I have a lot of sex too. If that sort of things offends you, please click here.

Are we still cool? Please proceed: 

Consenting Online Adults

Part One – The Prologue (1975-1983)

Part Two – Connecting (1980-1987)

Part Three – All Good Things (1985-1997)

Bonus Sections:

Part Four – I’ll Never Tell (1986)

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

Consenting Online Adults – Part One

The Prologue (1975-1983)

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Setting the Scene – My Real Sexual Education

I think I had my first formal sexual education lessons in the 6th grade, when I was 12 years old, and our PhysEd/Health teacher told us how babies were made. When a man loves a woman, blah, blah, blah. Ovum, sperm, zygote, blah, blah, blah. It didn’t teach me much.

Around the same time, my mother gave me a children’s book, called “How Babies Are Made”. It said the same kind of thing, “when a man loves a woman…” blah, blah, blah. It had cartoons, including a man, and woman in bed together under the covers. I learned even less from that book, than in class.

How Babies Are Made – This is the actual book cover!

My mother was uptight about sex. She was uptight about everything. She used to say that 25 should be the age for drinking, smoking, and sex. She didn’t exactly install a healthy attitude around any of it. There was a lot of shame.

My dad was only marginally better. When I was around 12 or so, he took me for my first real hair cut at a barbershop. Up till then, he was doing it with a pair of clippers at home. Now, he said I was old enough to have a proper cut. He took me along with him, when he was getting his hair cut. 

There were a few chairs, but only one barber, so my dad went first, and I sat in the waiting area. There were many magazines on the table, including “gentleman’s magazines”, and it was there I was allowed to read my first Playboy magazine. 

And by read, obviously I really mean that I looked at the photos. You may not know this, but the photos in Playboy Magazine were mostly of naked ladies. 

In the middle of the magazine, there was a foldout page, called the centrefold, which was a full length photograph of the Playmate of the Month. I glanced over at my dad, who saw me pull out the centrefold, and he just gave me a single nod of his head. 

Let’s look at this with our modern day eyes. At age 12, I was introduced to a world where women are objectified for male pleasure. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a Playboy, but it was the first time I was allowed, and encouraged to look. I was being indoctrinated. I had no idea of it at the time, it was just normal for the 70s. 

Around the same time, women’s rights, and the Equal Rights Amendment were having a moment. Women’s liberation was everywhere, so was Gloria Steinem, They all had their work cut out for them. Still do. 

Girlie magazines were a feature of my youth, and not just at the barbershop. When I was in high school, one of my classmates worked out when the local convenience stores disposed of the previous month’s unsold mags, and he used to dumpster dive to get them.  He did this monthly, for years, and would hand them out to all his friends. And not just Playboy, he would also get Penthouse, and Hustler magazines too. It is from these magazines that I got my real, yet less than ideal, sexual education.

It’s true

This system went on for years, my friend supplied me, and most of my high school with dirty mags every month. The magazines had the covers ripped off, but the magazines themselves were still intact. 

I’m far more verbal, than visual, and as much as I liked looking at the photos, what I found more interesting were the stories. 

Playboy was a bit dull, and the photos were airbrushed to within an inch of their lives. This was well before Photoshop existed. For me, the best things in Playboy were the in-depth interviews. I know that’s a cliche, but it was actually true.

Hustler magazine was really downmarket, I could see that even at age 15. The articles were puerile, and poorly written, and seemed to be aimed at the low IQ side of the market. And the photos! They wouldn’t have been out of place in a medical journal. I do remember the founder, Larry Flynt, fought many freedom of speech battles, and he mostly won them. 

Penthouse was somewhere in between the other two. The photos were a bit more explicit than Playboy, but not quite as gynaecological as Hustler, and the writing could be hit, and miss. 

However, one section of Penthouse really caught my imagination. 

Specifically, I really got into reading Penthouse Forum letters. They were allegedly real life tales from the magazine’s readers, of their own interesting, or noteworthy sexual exploits. 

The letters followed a very simple format. The stories usually started with a line like this: “I never thought something like this would ever happen to me, but…”, and almost always ended with “needless to say…”.

Here’s an made-up example of what I mean:

“I never thought I something like this would ever happen to me, but I was in the laundry room of my apartment building, when this beautiful woman came in to wash her clothing too. She loaded up the washing machine, and then stripped down to her bra, and panties, and put the clothes she was wearing into the washing machine with the rest of her stuff, and started the cycle. And then she turned to me, and said “see anything you like?” I was game, so then we had amazing, god-tier sex right there, on the floor. It was fantastic, and needless to say, I will be looking forward to laundry nights every week from now on!”

The stories were usually far more graphic than my example, and I assumed most of them were made up. Sometimes, I really wanted them to be true, as they gave me hope that one day, I would have my own Penthouse Forum worthy experiences.  And “needless to say”, I looked forward to that day, very much.

There were stories about threesomes, stories about wife-swapping, and loads of stories about amazing sex with random strangers. If you can imagine it happening sexually, I probably read a Penthouse letter about it. 

Apparently, grownups were having sex all the time with each other, and behind each other’s backs too. Pretty much, whenever grownups were alone, they were banging. Sex was happening everywhere, and I couldn’t wait to be old enough to play along. 

Very few people were actually having sex in my high school, and I’m not just saying that just because I wasn’t. Sure, it happened, I can think of two kids born out of wedlock to students in my school. 

Do people still say “out of wedlock” or am I showing my age here?

Most of my friends weren’t having sex either, though it did somewhat improve in our senior year. 

There wasn’t much random shagging, or even drunken shagging, I would say most of the teen sex I was aware of was more traditional, and within monogamous relationships. 

A friend of my dad’s gave me some advice about sex when I was a teenager, maybe 15 or 16. The guy would have been in his 40s, and he was married, with kids. And he was a doctor, technically, because chiropractors count too. 

My dad’s friend told me that he was very worldly, because he served in the Navy. He had travelled all over the high seas, so I should listen to him. 

This was his advice, based on the antics of a sailor he allegedly served with for a while. He said this guy had a simple view, “If you randomly approached 100 women, and asked them if they wanted to fuck, you were likely to get slapped 99 times. But on that 100th time, boy oh boy, you were in for the time of your life!” 

Yes, an adult really told me this. And meant it. Getting laid is simply a numbers game. Even if there is a touch of truth to it, it is a horrible thing to tell a teenager. I just didn’t know any of that at the time. It is problematic advice to be giving a young man, but I was given it just the same. 

And here’s the thing, that sort of attitude was prevalent way back then, and quite frankly, I expect it still exists today. Women existed simply to please men, and it was man’s obligation to find as much pleasure as possible. While the opposite was true for women, and every women’s duty was to protect, and maintain their virtue. None of that was healthy, or made any sense. 

I juggled that sort of advice, while also admiring strong women I saw in the media, and believing in gender equality. Put it this way, my biggest celebrity crush of the 70s, and 80s, was Jane Fonda. And to be honest, she’s 85 years old now, and I still would. And I can promise you, whether then or now, she wouldn’t, with me anyway. 

One of the articles I read in Penthouse was about the Hite Report, written by Shere Hite. It was a groundbreaking, in-depth study of female sexuality, that built on the work of Alfred Kinsey, and Masters and Johnson. People doubted the female orgasm even existed, and Ms. Hite wished to set the record straight. 

Imagine thinking female orgasms were a myth? Many people did back then, and shockingly, some people still do. I remember learning the term ‘pre-orgasmic woman”, and wanting to go on a mission to help them all. Not really, but it sure sounded like a fun way to spend my summer break.

Even before I was sexually active, I liked sex, and had a healthy, and positive interest in it. What I lacked was the confidence, self esteem, and social skills required to find a willing partner.

I’ll end this section with one of my weirder, early near-sexual experiences. At the time, I didn’t think it could possibly be real, but a week later, I learned I should have trusted my instincts. 

It’s a bit like a poorly written teen comedy film from the early-80s. I might have been played by Judge Reinhold. He would have nailed my awkwardness perfectly. 

I was at a party towards the end of my senior year of high school, being held at a friend’s house. His parents were divorced, and he lived with his mother. It was a nice place, with a built-in pool, that I expect his dad was still paying for. 

There was a lot of drinking going on, and everyone was reasonably drunk, but my friend stayed relatively sober, because it was his party. Plus at the end of the night, he needed to drive his girlfriend home. 

I stayed late to help clear up, as my friend drove his girlfriend home. My friend’s mother, and I were left alone. I was 18 years old. 

It was a pool party, so my friend’s mother was in a one-piece bathing suit, and I was just wearing a pair of trunks. Once we were finished clearing up the empties, we sat down together, and had some more drinks. I knew my friend would be gone for a while, because he wanted to have car sex with his girlfriend, before dropping her off. 

My friend’s mother was extremely attractive, something I obviously had noticed before. She was probably 38, or 39 at the time, and more than a little tipsy. 

I thought I was imagining things, as she seemed to be openly flirting with me. I genuinely couldn’t believe that it was possible. 

I was a healthy, normal teenage boy, and I had a healthy, normal reaction to her flirtatious behaviour, especially when she kept brushing my leg with her fingers. 

I popped a boner. I pitched a tent. I had the mother of all erections. 

There is no way in the world that she couldn’t have noticed my arousal. And I was starting to have very impure thoughts about my friend’s mother that I knew were wrong, even though they felt oh, so right. 

I heard my friend’s car pull into the driveway, and the front door opened, and that was enough of a boner killer to bring me back to earth. Nothing happened with his mother, and I tried to convince myself that it was all in my imagination. I’d just had too much to drink, and had read too many Penthouse letters. Stupid me!

Around a week later, I was back at my friend’s place one evening after a night out. We were going to have a swim, or something, before I went home, only we heard laughter in the back yard. 

We walked around the side of house to investigate, and found my friend’s mother on top of a guy in the swimming pool, kissing him deeply. Awkward. 

We were both even more shocked when we worked out who he was. He was a guy who graduated high school the previous year. That would have made him 19 years old at the time, only a year older than me. He mowed my friend’s mother’s lawn for her, that’s how she knew him. And I could clearly see, she was getting to know him a whole lot better. 

I wasn’t imagining things the week before. She really was getting sexual around me. If I was a bit more clever, that could have been me with her in the swimming pool. 

That said, my friend was fuming that his mother was fooling around with this guy. He vandalised the guy’s pick-up truck. He keyed it. That’s how pissed off he was about his mother’s swimming pool romp. 

On balance, his friendship was more valuable to me than the handjob from his mom, that might have been. My regret isn’t that I missed the opportunity, it’s that I missed recognising it. I promised myself, I wouldn’t let that happen again. 

Infidelity

When I was 18-19 years old, I worked in a small office. Most of my colleagues were only a little bit older, but all of them were married, with children. And all of them were prolific cheaters. 

At first, I thought of them as role models, but in time I realised they were just jerks. Or, to use a more appropriate slur from back then in Jersey, they were total fucking douche-bags. 

They cheated on their wives with other colleagues. They cheated on their wives with women they picked up in bars. They cheated on their wives, whenever, and wherever they could. And they didn’t hide the fact that they were married, they all wore wedding rings. And some of the women they slept with from the office, had even met their wives at company parties.

This was a total mind fuck for me. Infidelity was something I really only knew about from the media. It’s a popular trope on soap operas, or in dramas, but I never expected to see it happening in front of me so blatantly. It made me question everything I thought I knew about marriage, and relationships. 

These were working class guys, who went to vocational school. Their wives were stay-at-home moms, and they kept blasting out more kids. They were all 25, or under. They used to drink, and take drugs all the time too.

These were the people who first gave me cocaine. They used to start drinking before work, and pound beers all day. Lunch was in a bar, and mostly liquid too. And they smoked loads of weed. They taught me how to be a hardcore party boy, and on that score, I was an eager student. 

In my head, I nicknamed the three of them “the Kowalskis”, as in Stanley, from the Tennessee Williams play “A Streetcar Named Desire”. I was pretentious, even back then, but I was also right. 

The company allowed me some flexibility in my hours, because they knew I was studying at Monmouth College at the time, but also because it suited them too. 

My supervisor came up with a great idea. She suggested I work later hours, so they could lengthen the the amount of the time the pricey equipment was used, so it was more productive throughout the day. It made good business sense for them, and made working around my classes even easier. 

So most days, I would start mid-afternoon, and work until late evening. I was usually done by between 11pm, and midnight. The company had a punch clock, and timecards, so my hours were tracked, and I was paid OT, if I did any. 

The thing about the late shift is I was usually the only person around the office after hours, except for the cleaners. And I was the only one around to answer the phone. 

I expect you can imagine who would often phone late in the evening. It was always my colleagues’ wives, looking for their husbands. I could hear the worry, and upset tones in their voices.

I was forced to cover, and lie for my colleagues. It was expected of me, like some sort of man, or “bro code”. 

It didn’t matter if I knew which local no-tell-motel they were using for their adventures, I certainly couldn’t tell their wives. And to be fair, I didn’t know what exactly which room they were in, so I could plausibly deny knowing their precise whereabouts. I wasn’t really comfortable with doing it, but I did it anyway. Did I even have a choice?

Remember, from reading Penthouse, I knew about things like open marriages, and partner swapping. In other words, there were more ethical ways of broadening your sexual horizons, than cheating on your wife. 

One day, when they were drunkenly bragging about their conquests in the bar, I said  a few things about divorce, and open marriages, and the hypocrisy of sleeping around. And it triggered all three of them.

They all said they would never, ever leave their wives, no matter what. They were adamant about it, and claimed they loved them.

Then, I suggested why not try swinging, if they wanted to sleep around. Why not have an open marriage, or do partner swapping. That was a step too far for all of them. 

The first one said, “No way would I let my wife be with another guy.”

And the second spluttered, “She is for me only, I don’t share!”

And the leader of the group said definitively, “If my wife ever fucked another guy, I’d kill her”. Well, that was settled. 

What’s good for the goose, ain’t good for the gander, eh?

I learned a few life lessons hanging around with these guys. The first was: Don’t get married young. It wasn’t something on my radar anyway, but spending time with them, hammered the point home. 

The second lesson wasn’t as significant, but it was still useful information. Most people, if given the chance, and think they can get away with it, will cheat. I would learn that it wasn’t always as black, and white as that, but it is still one of my takeaways at the time. 

Mainly I learned to disrespect marriage. It was a meaningless institution. It didn’t imply fidelity, or loyalty. Real commitment is better than marriage. Some religious mumbo-jumbo, and a piece of paper won’t magically change that.

And if someone doesn’t respect their own marriage, why should anyone else? Why should I?

In Part Two – Connecting, I finally get online, and the real fun begins!

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

Consenting Online Adults – Part Two

Connecting (1980-1987)

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Going Online

Home computers were relatively rare in the early 1980s. I got my first Radio Shack (Tandy) TRS-80 in November 1980.

It couldn’t do much, you had to write programs in Basic, line by line from hobby magazines. And there was no easy way to save the programmes, except unreliable cassette tapes. I was still in high school. 

A couple of years later, I had my first apartment, and bought my second system, an Apple //c. That model was a cheaper, but less open, and expandable version of the classic Apple //e. It had a monochrome screen, with green text only, like the computers in the film, The Matrix. It could do a lot more than my first system, like word processing. I had a printer too, and used my new computer for writing college assignments. 

I also bought a modem. It was my first, a 1200 baud dial-up, which is super slow and worked with the Apple //c. It could take a minute for a page of text to load. Sorry, this is all a bit geeky.

There wasn’t much to connect to back then, mostly small bulletin board systems (BBS) that were locally based, and run. If you didn’t stay on local systems, the call charges could quickly add up. 

The other option was a national paid for service. CompuServe was the biggest back then. I did have a month’s free trial, but I couldn’t afford the charges after that. 

It was totally text based, no pictures, no video, and no audio, but you could get news wires, email, and quizzes. Basically it was just text based information, or entertainment. And it was a “walled garden”, meaning you could only connect, communicate with, or see things on the CompuServe system, and that included the email. If someone else subscribed to a different online service, they were completely cut off from other systems. There was no internet, or even interoperability, back in the early days. 

The big, new thing on CompuServe, or CIS as it was known, was something called the CB Simulator. If you saw it today, you would recognise it as an early type of chat room system. It was organised into channels, which worked like rooms. One channel was dedicated to “adult fun”. 

The other big thing to come out of CIS, and the CB Simulator, was “CompuSex” or “hot chatting”. There were articles in newspapers, and magazines about this new phenomenon, where random strangers were helping each other online… get off. Distance didn’t matter, you could have computer sex with anyone, anywhere. It was the future!

On that first night, I hot chatted with someone who claimed to be a girl around my age, from Hawaii. I have no idea if any of that was true, but we spent a couple of hours, typing one handed about our most explicit sexual desires, and what we would be doing to each other, if we were together. 

I wasn’t terribly experienced at this point, but I wasn’t a virgin either. What made me good at hot chatting, and what gave me such a vivid imagination, were all the Penthouse Forum letters that I had read over the years. 

I was oddly good at it. It was probably my earliest ongoing, creative writing. Take that Mrs. Smith’s 6th grade English class!

That was nearly all I did for that one month trial, I chatted to far away girls, in far away places, about our deepest desires. As a horny young guy, it was fun, but it wasn’t nearly enough. It never occurred to me to look for local people on CIS, that I could meet in real life in that first month. 

When the free trial ended, I turned to the bulletin boards. Most of the early systems were centred around hobbies, like computers, or cycling. One local BBS that I found was an adults-only hook-up site for swingers. Sex can be a hobby too.

The site was small, and only one person at a time could connect to it, so often the phone number was busy when you tried to access it. My persistence paid off, and I managed to create a profile, and have a look around.

Unsurprisingly, it was mainly single men, a very small number of couples, and no single women. Most of the men were older, like 40s or 50s older. I was 20 years old at this point, It would have been 1983.

I wasn’t registered on the system that long, when I received my first private message. It was from a couple. The writer actually said she was the female half of the couple, and she said they were looking for someone close to their ages for a threesome. 

I’d never considered a threesome with a couple. Whenever I had that particular fantasy, it was always me, and two women. I tried to keep an open mind, so I replied, and we exchanged a couple of messages. I think she could sense my reticence. She asked for my phone number. I gave it to her. 

A couple of nights later, my phone rang, and it was the female half of the couple, ringing from a pay phone. She said she had an argument with her husband, and she needed to get out for a while. Could she visit me, just to talk?

I arranged to meet her somewhere nearby, because my apartment was hard to find. She hopped in my car, and we drove back to my place. 

She was cute. She had dark brown hair, and was just wearing jeans, and a tee shirt. She was maybe a year or two older than me. 

Not long into the short journey, she told me definitively, that she wasn’t going to have sex with me that night. I can’t say I was planning on doing anything with her. I don’t know what I expected. I was going with the flow. 

We got back to my place, and I sparked up a joint, which we passed back, and forth as we chatted. She talked a lot about her marriage, and how unhappy she was, but she said they were determined to make it work, because of their baby. 

After a while, she moved closer to me, and kissed me. She said, just because we’re not going to have sex, doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. I was in no position to disagree. 

We started making out, and it got intense. She started touching me in my special place. She offered me a BJ. She didn’t have to ask me twice. She kept her clothing on. 

After we were done, she said she had to return home, I drove her back to her car, and that was it. I didn’t hear from her again, but her husband phoned me a couple of nights later. 

He was friendly. He asked me if I enjoyed meeting his wife, and if I had a good time. He asked if I was up for a threesome. He also asked if he could blow me too, and he offered to visit me on his own that night. 

I declined. I told him I didn’t swing that way. He pushed it, he said I owed him since he let me fool around with his wife. He told me had sent her to see me the previous night, and it was all his idea. 

I was starting to put the pieces together. She was the bait, and he was trying to reel me in. Or did she pre-screen my peen? Ewww. Whatever. I knew I was in way over my head. 

I said thanks, made my excuses, and got off the phone. I didn’t hear from them again. 

If you think I learned my lesson about the swingers BBS system, you’d be wrong. Another couple’s account contacted me, but this time it was different. They weren’t looking for a threesome, the wife was looking for a lover on her own. I was one of the few men on the site that was close to her age. That’s why she contacted me. 

I remember her name, I remember her. I liked her. She told me her husband had gone off sex completely since she had her son, and she was very frustrated. 

They talked about wife swapping, but her husband wasn’t into the idea, he wanted a threesome with another guy. And she wasn’t interested in that. So they were at an impasse. 

They had signed up to the BBS, but they never did anything, so my new friend took it upon herself to use the account, to see if she could find some fun on her own. Most of the single guys on there were a lot older, I was closer to her age. She was only a couple of years older than me. 

We met, and we liked each other. We had a really good time together, sexually. It was actually the best time I’d ever had with anyone, up to that point. We met a second time, and it was even better. 

I knew she couldn’t be my girlfriend, what with having a husband, and a kid, and all, but I thought it might become a regular thing. I was living in fantasy land. And then she asked me a question, that reintroduced some reality. 

She asked if she could bring her young son with her on her next visit, because she couldn’t find anyone to watch him. She said he would be fine on his own, in his baby buggy, or whatever it is you transport babies around in, while we had our fun in the other room.

And that’s when the guilt hit me. I didn’t care how young, or well behaved her son was, I didn’t want to be the cause of him needing therapy one day. I didn’t want to give him some memory he’d have to bury away. I didn’t want to be in this situation, so I got out of it during that phone call. I ended it right there. 

To be honest, I wish I met her under different circumstances. I really liked her. She got married too young, so did the first woman I met. None of them were emotionally, or intellectually, prepared to be in a normal, adult relationship. And for that matter, it was the same for those creepy cheating guys I worked with around the same time.

I didn’t seem to know anyone around my age who was married, and happy about it. Or faithful. All of this left an impression, and a few scars. 

I Never Thought It Would Happen to Me

I was working in a different office in 1984, and a new work buddy of mine came to stay with me for a long weekend of debauchery at the Jersey Shore. I think it might have been Memorial Day. 

The plan was to hit the bars along the shore, and chase girls. The bars were heaving, but we were having terrible luck with the ladies. 

At one point, we were in a dodgy bar in Long Branch, and it was getting late. I was making eye contact with a really pretty girl on the other side of the bar, and was getting ready to make my approach, when her biker boyfriend came up behind her. When she stood up, I saw that she was around 8 or 9 months pregnant. He had on a Pagan jacket, which means if he turned up a minute or two later, I might have ended up stomped by the whole gang. It was that kind of night. 

We struck out everywhere, but I was in a never-say-die mood, so we kept going. We bounced between Asbury, and Long Branch, we drove along the ocean. 

I spotted a hitchhiker. She had long blonde hair, and a cocktail in her hand. I fucking love New Jersey!

I pulled over, and asked her where she was going? She said, “Wherever you are, baby”, and she climbed into the back seat. We went back to my place.

She was all over me as soon as we got to my mine, and we went into the bedroom. My friend watched TV on the sofa. 

I never thought it would happen to me, but… This was my Penthouse Forum letter moment. Random hot sex, with a random hot chick.  Completely consensual, no hypocrisy, no infidelity, and it was completely meaningless. It felt like a win. 

When we were finished, we went back to the living room, and she asked my friend if he wanted a go. He declined. I didn’t say it was classy. Then I drove her home, it wasn’t too far. We didn’t even know each other’s names.

Hobroken

I moved to Hoboken in north Jersey in the summer of 1985, as I was attending New York University, after commuting from the shore for a semester. It is a mile-square city, just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, between the Lincoln, and Holland Tunnels. It was a great place to live. 

When I moved I also upgraded my computer again, to my third system. It was an Atari 1040ST, and it had a colour screen. Yes, the same Atari that makes video game consoles. They made decent desktops back in the day, too. And I had a 2400 baud modem for it. Still slow, but only half as slow as my previous 1200 baud model. 

I think they dropped their prices, because around this time, I properly subscribed to CompuServe (CIS), which was still the biggest online system. Later, I would sign up for a cheaper, competing system, called PeopleLink.

Back then, the open internet wasn’t easily available, all you could really use were private, paid-for closed systems, like CompuServe. There were others, but CIS was the big daddy.

I had two experiences early-on via CIS, that were wild, and I’m going to tell you about both of them. I was taken advantage of by a couple of older women. And I liked it. 

I got chatting to a woman in her late 30s from Brooklyn late one night, and things got intense quite quickly. 

She told me she was a big girl. Like really big, but she was also voraciously horny. She was into threesomes, she was into random hook ups too. And she hadn’t been with anyone in a while. She offered to jump in her car, drive across Manhattan, and through the Holland Tunnel, all the way to my front door. How could I refuse?

The agreement was this: I would be wearing nothing but a bathrobe when she arrived. As soon as she walked through my door, I was meant to not say a word, and just lead her into my bedroom, and then ravage her. I could handle that. 

She arrived, and I buzzed her in. She didn’t exaggerate, she was big, but she was also really sexy. She had thick, very long curly, dark hair, and glasses. Think sexy, and confident, like Lizzo, only white. 

I brought her into the bedroom, and gave her a passionate kiss. She said, “Oh, you’re good.” She was about to find out. 

Oral sex shouldn’t be a controversial subject, but like most things sexual, people are weird about it. I’m not. I dig oral sex, both ways. No shame, there’s nothing more enjoyable than taking a trip on the downtown train, or having someone return the favour. 

I gave my big, new friend more orgasms than she could count. 

She took good care of me too. Over and over. We went at it for hours, before she left. 

My experience with the big girl was wild. There were maybe two hours between our initial online contact, and our real world contact. It felt like the future!

Hey, I’m going to stop briefly to mention condoms. I haven’t brought them up until now, but I’ve always used them. 

AIDS was a big thing in the 80s, but before AIDS, there was another social disease that stayed with you for life that I was also trying to avoid. No, not herpes. Fatherhood. Just because I don’t spell it out, doesn’t mean I didn’t use condoms. I did. 

That’s Bananas!

Do you remember the film, Logan’s Run? It’s a really cool, classic sci-fi film, that’s more than a bit ageist. Aside from the dystopian story, there are two things that stood out to me when I first saw it in the cinema as a kid in 1976.

The first is a silly one, but I’m going to share it anyway. There’s a scene in the film when actress Jenny Agutter changes her clothing, and you catch a glimpse of her side boob. It was the first nudity I’d ever seen on-screen. I can still remember it. I’m sure I’m not the only former teenage boy with this very vivid memory.

As a further aside, at one point I lived in the same neighbourhood of London as Ms. Agutter. This is more than 25 years ago, but I passed her on the street, more than once. I never spoke to her. It would have been weird if I did. 

The other element I recalled from the film, is a throwaway moment, and plot device. At one point the main character, played by the actor, Michael York, is looking for a sexual partner, and browsing the availability of people. 

The “browsing” was done via some device that facilitated random people, materialising inside his flat, via some sort of Star Trek type transporter device. 

The main character, “Logan”, checked out people of both genders as they popped into his flat. He would then push the “next” button, and someone new would physically appear. He did this until he found someone he liked. It was like swiping left, or right, only on real life people. And he “swiped right” Jenny Agutter. I think that’s how they meet in the film. I haven’t seen it in a long time. 

The device in the film reminded me of a much higher tech version of finding people on CIS, and BBS’s. In the future, they would just materialise in your bedroom, ready to rock and roll. 

The second woman I met was even older than the first. She said she was divorced, and 42 years old. That’s a 20-year difference, for you math fans out there. 

After we chatted on CIS, she came over the next evening, with a plan to spend the night, so she could drink. She was petite, and had a short, bob-style hair cut, light brown coloured. 

She’d eaten before she arrived, so we got down to the drinking, and smoking. She was a chain smoker, and I wasn’t a slouch in that department back then either, and we had a couple of joints too. 

She was sexually aggressive, and not shy about it. She wrapped herself around me, and started kissing me hard. She kept telling me, “more tongue, more tongue!” That made me feel a bit inexperienced. Compared to her, I definitely was a beginner. But what I lacked in experience, I more than made up for with enthusiasm. 

She warned me her period might be about to start, but said it wasn’t anything to worry about. What did I know about periods? Very little. 

We adjourned to the bedroom. We made angry monkey love all night, in every way you can imagine. And maybe a few ways you can’t. 

The next morning, we said our goodbyes, and I went to change the sheets. Her period had started all right, and it finished too. All of it finished overnight, after our marathon romp. My bed looked like a murder scene. Nobody warned me about this. I told you I didn’t know much about periods. 

PeopleLink

The other system I was using was called PeopleLink. It was strictly a platform for chatting, and it had more of air of respectability about it than the free-for-all that was CIS’s CB Simulator. The online community there was more respectful, and behaved more in line with real life norms.

I hadn’t lived in Hoboken that long, and didn’t really know anyone in the area, beyond the other students on my course. And most of them were scattered all over the tri-state area. So I went to a PeopleLink meet-up event in Manhattan. 

Some of the people I met at the event, I had been chatting to online, respectfully, for a while. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t flirting, there was, but it wasn’t as explicit, or in your face as it was on CIS. 

There were other people I met that night, that I hadn’t chatted to before, but would go onto chat with later on. One guy I met at that event, would go on to change my life.

In the end, I met four women that night, that I would see again. 

The first one had nothing to do with PeopleLink, but her sister was a user, and one of the organisers of the event. She was really pretty, and probably about 10 years older than me. That was more of an issue for her, I was cool with it. 

I was kinda cute back then, but I wouldn’t say I was particularly good looking. I had very long curly brown hair, and a short trimmed beard. I dressed in jeans, tees, and I would have been wearing a tweed blazer at an event like that. Plus a pair of cool boots. 

I don’t remember this woman’s name, but I remember liking her, a lot. We had a little intoxicated snog towards the very end of the PeopleLink event, and I got her number. 

We went out, twice. The first time was dinner, and drinks, and some more kissing. Our second date was a live taping of a network sitcom, at a big studio in Manhattan. The TV show was Kate and Allie, and the tickets were via someone I knew at NYU. 

After the recording, we went for a drink, and she dumped me. She couldn’t get over the age-difference thing. So it goes. 

I stayed in touch with the three other women I met that night. My online chats with one of them progressed to being somewhat hot, and heavy, and we arranged for her to come over, and spend the night with me. 

She was in her early 30s I think, and didn’t mind my age at all. She was looking for something serious, and while I can’t say that was my priority, I was open to the possibility if it happened. 

She confessed to me she was a virgin, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t do “stuff”. She was waiting for “the right one”, before going all the way. Fair enough. Whatever, I’m cool. 

We were not compatible. Sexually. I’m just going to leave it at that. The night was weird, and she wasn’t for me. 

On to number three. This one should have been a Penthouse Forum letter. The set up will certainly put you in mind of one. Or a porn film. Then it all goes really wrong. 

The third woman was a flight attendant, or stewardess, as we called them in the olden days. She lived in the midwest, but travelled all the time, and was frequently around NYC. She could also “deadhead” to Newark Airport, pretty much any time, so the long distance wasn’t an issue. And she could be based anywhere for her job, so if we really hit it off…

She arranged a deadhead flight to spend a weekend with me, and I was going to pick her up at the airport in my car. It was only a 20-30 minute drive from my place in Hoboken.

I was really looking forward to seeing her again. She was really cute, and more than a bit sexy. Who wouldn’t want a stewardess girlfriend? It would be like living in a sitcom. Imagine the high jinks!

I picked her up outside the terminal, I didn’t need to park up. She was extraordinarily drunk when I found her. She wasn’t quite to the point of falling down, but she was close. 

Turned out, the crew she flew with were friends of hers, and they  plied her with drinks during the entire trip for her ‘dirty weekend with her new man’. She gave me a really sloppy, lingering kiss. I told you it was like a sitcom.

We set off for my place, it wasn’t a long trip at all. At some point on the Pulaski Skyway, she asked me to pull over. There’s no shoulder on the Skyway. It’s an elevated highway, so there was no “pulling over”. 

Then she asked, “how do you roll down the (electric) window?”, but before I could answer, she threw up all over the inside of the passenger car door. 

Yep, she blew cookies. She chundered. You can choose your own euphemism, if you like.

We’d been together less than 20 minutes, and the mood was pretty much ruined. Though, on the plus side, it certainly sobered her up quickly. She couldn’t have been more apologetic if she tried. Or embarrassed. It was not the ideal way to start our long, sexy weekend.

When we got to my place, she had a shower, and brushed her teeth, while I attempted some damage control on the inside of my Toyota. 

When I got back upstairs, she was ready for more alcohol, and I could certainly use a drink at this point too. We shared a joint, and cuddled up on my sofa. And then she told me she was a virgin, but we could still do “stuff”.

At this point, virginity was becoming a running theme. I’ve run across so many women over the years, who prized their virginity, but still found ways to be sexually active. 

Call me old fashioned, that really always seemed to me like some serious hair splitting. It was real morality jiggery-pokery, and I struggled to understand how they made the math work in their heads.

We started fooling around on the sofa, and it didn’t take too long before we moved to the bedroom, to do more “stuff”. 

She had told me she liked whippets. They are little canisters of nitrous oxide, that you used to fill a balloon, and then you would inhale the gas, and get a very pleasant, and short-lived high. They’re fun in the bedroom, and for the most part fairly mild, and safe. You used to be able to get them in any head-shop in NYC, and they were cheap. 

And that’s how we spent the weekend. We drank, we smoked, we inhaled nitrous, and ordered takeaways. Hoboken had loads of great restaurants that delivered. I’m pretty sure we went into Manhattan and hung around too. And on the Sunday night, I brought her back to Newark Airport, and that was the last time I saw her. 

I had tried to clean the car as best I could, but it was still smelling funky on Sunday night. I had to get it professionally cleaned in the end. I never felt the same way about that car after that, and I ended up selling it around 6 months later to a guy I worked with at MTV. Sorry, Steve!

Now, for the final woman from the collection of four I gathered at that one PeopleLink meet-up. She was 15 years older than me, and we were together for around 6 months. I’m pretty sure I was her midlife crisis. 

I can remember her first name, but for the life of me, I can’t recall her surname.  I wish I could, I’d search for her online, and see what happened to her. She’d be 75 years old now. Yikes!

She had three kids, all daughters. The oldest was only a few years younger than me, and was at the time engaged to an aspiring airline pilot. She hated me. 

The youngest daughter was under 10. She could have been 6, she could have been 9, I don’t recall. She hated me, too.

The middle daughter was 16, or 17, and I’m fairly certain that she had a little crush on me. All of it was awkward. 

My older-woman GF worked in high finance, and had been involved with putting together the financing for some major Hollywood blockbusters. She drove a Maserati, and lived in a big house in a posh NJ town. She was often in the city. The first time I saw her after the event in Manhattan where we met was at my place. 

We had stayed in touch via PeopleLink, and we chatted occasionally. I wasn’t sure if she was into me, or if she was just friendly, until she suggested she drop by to visit me the next time she was in the neighbourhood. She ended up staying for a couple of days. Her intentions towards me were pretty clear by then. 

It was a real relationship. We even met each other’s parents. Technically, my time with her, counts as the third longest relationship I’ve ever had in my life. 

At the time, I was barely employed by MTV, and only attending some of my classes, before dropping out completely. I was hardly a prize boyfriend, but I don’t think anyone would have described me as her “toy boy” either. 

After around 6 months, she came to her senses, and dumped me. I didn’t take it well, but I didn’t put up a fight either. I never saw her again. 

If you think I was prolific with a computer, and modem, keep reading. In Part Three – All Good Things, I find even more ways to meet random strangers

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

Consenting Online Adults – Part Three

All Good Things (1985-1997)

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

I never thought it would happen to me, again

I was always an equal opportunity shagger, especially when meeting pre-internet strangers for pre-arranged sexual liaisons. I met women of all shapes and sizes, and all races and religions too. 

I didn’t discriminate. It was always a bonus if someone was conventionally attractive, but never a big deal if someone wasn’t. What was more important to me, was the vibe. And honesty. I can have a good time with anyone nice. So could you, if you really wanted to. Just sayin’.

OK, let’s be really honest. I was easy. I was a good time. I was a party boy. I liked to drink, smoke, snort, and fuck. I’ll let you in on a little secret: All of that is really my religion. Halle-fucking-lujah, and A-fucking-men to that! And shouldn’t that make it all tax-deductible?

I had one more weird success from PeopleLink. This time, I can remember her screen name, but not her real name. She lived somewhere in western NJ, that was accessible by train. She suggested I travel by rail, so I could drink heavily, and stay the night. Sounded good to me. I got one of the last trains heading in that direction.

Like I said, I was an equal opportunity shagger, and I was always up for a good time, but for the first time ever, someone misrepresented their looks to me. This had never happened to me before, but when I met the young lady, she was nothing at all like her description. 

She picked me up at the train station, and I was really confused when she called out my name. Like, I had no idea who she was for a moment, until my brain put together that she was my hostess. 

She wasn’t ugly, but she was a bit big. That wasn’t the issue, the issue was she wasn’t honest about it. I would have still come. It also explained why she told me to take the train. There wasn’t a return train until the morning. I was stuck there. 

She had some coke, and a big bottle of Jack Daniels, so we got down to it. It didn’t take too long before we were in her bed, playing around.

And then, I never thought it would happen to me again, but… her roommate got home, and she came into the bedroom. She saw the lines on the bedside table next to a half drunk bottle of JD, and her roomy riding a stranger. 

She asked if she could join the party too? I guessed, just based on how easily this happened, that this wasn’t their first rodeo sharing a guy. Giddayap!

It was another Penthouse Forum letter experience that was most unexpected, and surprisingly good fun. 

We woke up entangled, and played around some more. Then the roommate drove me back to the station, and gave me the longest kiss good bye. 

Chatlines

There’s an indescribable rush that comes with meeting a complete stranger for the first time, knowing you’re going to fool around with them. It didn’t always have to be full sex, but it sometimes did. Every encounter was different. Every woman I met was different, that was part of the thrill. 

And it wasn’t that I avoided relationships. I met girls, and dated them conventionally, but these traditional attempts didn’t work for me. I was too immature, not marriage or family minded, and most girls would work that out quickly, and move on. 

Right off the top of my head, I can think of three woman who dated, and played around with me in a really traditional way, that went on to get engaged, or married to someone else fairly soon afterward. 

In one case, this particular young woman went from rolling around on top of me on my sofa one weekend, only to announcing her engagement to someone else a week, and a half later. She window shopped, and didn’t think I was a good long term bet. She was right. I wasn’t a potential ring on anyone’s finger. 

I debated whether or not to include this section, but as I’ve told this story, I’ve realised my telephone adventures are just as important as the online ones. I thought I might be developing a sex addiction, but what I was really developing was a stranger addiction.

When I moved to Hoboken, the cable TV system had a local community channel, with text adverts. As cable TV was a novelty to me, I checked out all the channels, including this one. And one night when I did, I saw an ad for a brand new service that was being trialled in the area. It said it was a “party on the telephone”, and it was super cheap, like 1 cent a minute, cheap. So I gave it a try. 

When I phoned the number, I think there was a brief recorded greeting, and then you were thrown into chaos. It was like a conference call, only there were maybe 8 people trying to shout across each other, mostly guys. 

Occasionally you’d hear a girl’s voice, and then it would go quiet, and someone would try to find out where in the area she was. And then someone nearby would shout out his number, and presumably, she would phone the guy, and then maybe they would hook up. 

It was like the online chatrooms, only more chaotic. It was also more accessible, because the bar for entry was lower. You didn’t need a computer and modem, just a normal telephone.

Everyone knows what chatlines are now, but in 1985, it was a brand new concept. There was even an article in the local paper about the chatline test. 

Hudson County was the test market, and if it was successful, they were going to roll these phone lines out all around the country. I think it said they were a huge success in Brazil, where they originated, but I wouldn’t swear to that part. Mainly, it gave me a new source of local strangers.

I had many encounters with random women of all sorts because I shouted my number at them on a chatline. I did it enough, that I can’t recall all of them. Loneliness is more common than anyone wants to believe. 

I used to drink a lot back then, and I’d come home late at night, drunk, bored, and horny. So I’d go online with my modem, and I would go on the chatline too. 

There were a few things I had in my favour. I had my own place, and I was always willing to pay for a taxi to my front door, and back. I also always had weed, booze, and condoms. 

One of the first girls I met, was also one of the kinkiest. To be honest, even though I was a bit more experienced at this point, she was still way more advanced than me.  

She said she liked it a bit rough, and wanted to be used. That’s never been my thing, I am far more into the passionate, and sensual side of sexual play. But I’m open minded, and willing to experiment, so I agreed. 

She said she was going to wear a short skirt and tee-shirt., with no undies, or bra. And she said she didn’t have any money at all, and I would have to pay for the cab as soon as she arrived. I was cool with all of it. 

It was around 2am, and she was only about 10 minutes away. I went outside, and waited for her to arrive. 

I know what you might be thinking, that this story is going to take a dark turn. You’re right, but it’s not in the way you think. I didn’t get jumped, or mugged. Nothing like that. You’ll see. 

The cab pulled up, I paid the guy, and he drove off. My new friend was seriously hot. She undersold herself in her description on the phone. I was legitimately surprised. We went upstairs.

I had the lights low, and MTV on TV, and we sat down on my sofa, for a drink, and smoke. She sat down right next to me, really close. 

Her skirt brushed upwards as she sat down. She didn’t pull it back down, and her thighs were exposed. 

We started kissing, and she aggressively took my hand, and rammed it between her own legs, hard. I got the idea, and we moved to the bedroom. 

I definitely wasn’t rough enough for her. Let’s call it what it is: rape play. It’s a big turn off for me. She wanted it rougher than I was comfortable with, by country mile. We had some fun anyway, but I could tell it wasn’t what either one of us really wanted.

As she was getting dressed, she asked me to call her a taxi. Then she casually mentioned that she needed to get back, because she’d left her young children sleeping alone in her apartment. All three of them, and all under 5 years old. 

I felt myself take a sharp intake of breath. Wait, what?

She said they’d be fine, and that she’d done it before. and they don’t ever wake up. I was not cool with this, so I phoned for the cab, and told them we needed it as soon as possible. 

Yes, if I knew she was leaving her kids home alone, I wouldn’t have played this game with her. I’m not a monster. I could imagine seeing a story on the news about a tragic, fatal house fire, started because some young children were left alone in the middle of the night. It freaked me out. 

A couple of nights later, my phone rang, and when I picked it up, it was a voice I didn’t recognise, asking for me by name. She said she was a friend of rough sex mommy, and that’s how she got my number. She said her friend told her she would really like me, and that I was her type. Could she drop by?

What do you think? Of course she could. 

I had a quick shower, and didn’t bother getting fully dressed. Her friend arrived, and she was surprisingly hot, too. 

Think about it, hot girls are usually friends with other hot girls. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? Simple, because I was never that bothered. Like I said, good looks were only ever just a bonus. You can have fun with anyone. Well, I could anyway. 

She was a bit drunk when she arrived, and we literally just got down to it. We were far more compatible, and I had a more enjoyable time than I did with rough sex mommy. I didn’t have to pay for this one’s taxis either, but at the end of our time together, she did ask me to phone for one, and I did. 

It was only after she left, I realised I didn’t get her number. I would have been up for partying with her again, but she never called. 

One last memory, yet another virgin, this one in her mid twenties. We met twice, both times in public. 

The first time, we went to the cinema, and she was aggressively horny. She was all over me, like a second skin. She told me she would only have sex if she was in love with someone. 

On our second date, which was a drink, that was meant to be followed by a trip back to my place, she told me she loved me. She wanted me to tell her I loved her too, so we could have sex. 

I’m not sure if it mattered to her if I really did love her, just as long as I said the words, as she was that desperate for sex. But I didn’t say it, I wasn’t going to pretend to love someone, just to get laid. I was going to find someone else to party with instead. And she should have been grateful for that, but she wasn’t, and she left in a snit.

I could go on like this for pages, but I think it would be tedious, so I will just summarise. There were at least 6 more women that I met from the chatline that I can remember off the top of my head, and probably even more that I can’t. I was prolific, and I struggle to recall them all. 

At some point I got bored with it. I eventually started working full time, and socialising with colleagues, and my online, and telephone adventures became fewer, and further between. 

I probably conventionally dated more during this following period. I think I was getting bored with the randomness of it all. I was starting to think if someone cool came along, I’d be willing to consider a relationship. Maybe I was finally maturing emotionally?

Long story short, I did meet someone, and we were together for over 2 years. It was my second longest relationship, and I had met her at a wedding. It took me out of the game.

Loot & Chatlines

London

The girl I had the relationship with for a couple of years was British. I moved to London, in part to be with her, but also because a transfer through my job at the time became available. She is only a part of why I moved here in 1991. 

When she dumped me in late 1992. I was in a foreign city, I was alone, with only a few friends, and things at my job were getting rough. I turned back to sex, and strangers.

The first place I found random hook-ups, was a weekly classified listings magazine, called “Loot” that had personal ads. I met a few people that way, including the ex-wife of a musician from a major British classic rock band. I dated, and slept with her for a couple of months. She was into non-monogamy, but she liked to talk about it too much. What she got up to when we weren’t together wasn’t my concern. I wasn’t jealous, it just didn’t turn me on. 

In that initial period after my big break-up, my meetings from Loot helped build my confidence, and they sustained me sexually. They helped me meet people outside of my social circle too. 

Some were random hook-ups, other meetings were more like conventional dates, and some were a combination of the two.

Chatlines existed in London the 90s, but were for the most part were advertised on commercial TV late at night, and stupidly expensive. Then one launched in London in the mid 90s, that I found via an advert in TimeOut magazine. It was dirt cheap, and run on a local number. Late one night when I was drunk, I gave it a try.

This new, cheap chatline was different from the chaotic one I used back in New Jersey. This was a one-on one-chat line, and you were connected to only one person at a time. Either one of you could press a key, to end the connection and move on to the next person, or you could keep talking. 

At the start of the call, you would press 1 if you were male, or 2 if you were female. That way the system knew who to pair with who. 

Occasionally, you would be connected to a guy, trying his luck. No judgement, but there are separate lines for gay, and bi guys. These guys had a specific kink for straight guys. Again, no shame, and clearly they must have had some luck, or they wouldn’t be there. You just press a key, and move on. 

The main part of the game on this system seemed to be geographical suitability. That was especially true if you were looking for a quick meeting on the spot, but less so if you were arranging something for a future date. I was living fairly centrally at the time. 

I had a lot of luck on this system. Again, more than I can ever remember. I had late night visitors, and I had normal dates from it too. I took it as it came, I had a great time.

Here’s a fun one. At one point I was unsuccessfully pursuing the flatmate of a colleague of mine. She wanted to be “just friends”. It was annoying, because I really liked her. We used to spend a lot of time together. It was like being back in high school. 

My not-girlfriend constantly gave me mixed signals though, whenever we were alone. She was friendly, and flirty, but she made it clear she wasn’t attracted to me, and didn’t want to be my girlfriend. I never pressured her for sex, but she knew I was into her. 

I met a girl from the phone line, and we had a normal date, that turned into a sleep over at my place. She was really, really nice, and it turned out she worked in the same industry as my not-girlfriend. And randomly, I worked out that they knew each other, and had a business meeting together the previous week. 

When I next saw my not-girlfriend, I asked her if she knew my new telephone friend. I was right, she did. When my not-girlfriend asked how I knew her, I told her I was dating her, I thought my not-girlfriend was going to explode. For someone that said they weren’t attracted to me, and didn’t want to be my girlfriend, she sure seemed jealous. Go figure. 

I mostly wasn’t online during this period in my life. I went a few years without a computer. I wouldn’t get one again until the late 90s, when the internet really started to take off. 

The phone line was fun, and I used it for a couple of years. I only stopped, because I met my current partner, conventionally. We’ve been together for 26 years, and we’re still going strong. 

When I met Mrs. Hippy, I was seeing three different girls I met from the phone line, all non-exclusively. Within a week of meeting the future Mrs. H, I ended things with all of them. All were non-exclusive, and on-going for various lengths of time. 

One of them was sort of my girlfriend for a bit, and then sort of not my girlfriend. She was a good time, in the same way I was. She liked to party hard. 

Little, by little, it felt like more of her stuff was ending up at my place after each visit. First it was a toothbrush, and then some undies. Then before I knew it, a week’s worth of work clothes. It was stealthy. 

She told me she lived with her ex-boyfriend, but couldn’t move out because they owned their flat together, and the market crash meant they couldn’t sell yet. He had a somewhat different view of their relationship, and when I found that out, I ended it. Thing is, I found out the hard way, by running into him. Not literally, but close enough.

Six months later, she phoned me late one night when I was drunk, and horny. She was wasted too. She missed me. We had really good sex. I missed her too. She visited. We hooked up on and off after that.

The other two were far less involved, and all just sex only. One was a motorcycle courier, and she used to turn up at my place during the day if she was in the area in her leathers, like Catwoman.

The other was a kinky Norwegian nanny, who pushed for things I wasn’t willing to do, like choking her. Sorry, not for me. 

It was easy to end it with all three of them. And my decision has stood the test of time. 

Between 1983 and 1997, I had a lot of wild, crazy, booze fuelled fun. That’s about 14 years. I more than got it all out of my system. I’ve now spent nearly double that time in a monogamous relationship. I just had to find the right woman, and I did. I can’t help it if the audition process was extensive, and unduly time consuming. 

I lacked confidence, I had low self esteem, and I used to drink heavily. I also really liked recreational sex. It’s no surprise I explored, and enjoyed whatever fun I could find. I’m not ashamed of any of it. I wasn’t grown up enough for a real relationship until I was in my thirties. Until then, I was just a good time. 

I wish people weren’t so uptight about sex. It seems like things have slid backwards a bit in society, when it comes to sexual freedom now, compared to the 70s, 80s, and 90s. And it shouldn’t be that way. 

There are so many more avenues to meet people now, than there were back then. And today, there is far less stigma. Everyone is on Tinder, or knows someone who is on Tinder, or one of the many other dating apps. 

The problem seems to be that it isn’t as easy to genuinely connect with anyone. Instead of making meeting up with friendly, sexy strangers more likely, it’s somehow pushed people further apart. It doesn’t make sense. 

It feels like it was easier, back in my day. Everyone was drunk, and horny, and willing to take risks just to have a good time. 

My days of pursuing recreational sex with strangers are long over, but that doesn’t mean the rest of you can’t keep that flame burning. 

There should be no shame in having a good time, as often as possible. So, what are you waiting for? Get out there! Forty years from now, you will still have the memories. It might even make for a good story.

And if I can leave you with one final thought from the last 40 or so years of my sex and love life, it’s this: Good sex is about a lot more than just physical attraction. And real, genuine, lasting love is about more than just sex. 

The End

But wait, there’s more! 

I have a bonus, extra story to share with you. You will really want to read this one. I should warn you now, that it will leave you with one big question, but in Part Four – I’ll Never Tell.

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

Tales from the Pre-Internet – Bonus – Part Four

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

I’ll Never Tell (1986)

Of the many encounters I had from the pre-internet in the 1980s, this is by far the weirdest. You might not believe it, but I swear to you it’s true. 

One of the first things Lisa told me about herself during our first online conversation is that she is constantly mistaken for a very famous actress while out in public. She said she looked so much like this actress, the intrusions from members of the public were constant, and she didn’t like going out because of it.

We’d been chatting, and flirting on CompuServe, the largest online community in America at the time. Being online was still quite a niche pastime in the mid 80s, but I had been online for a couple of years at this point, and had met lots of people. My new friend was a little newer to this sort of thing. 

She sounded great, she lived in Manhattan, and was around my age. She told me her job was boring, and not worth talking about, even when I pressed her for more info. She seemed sweet, and she seemed into me. 

I’m a better writer, than I am a conversationalist, so for me chatting online was a bonus, and I usually made a decent impression. Around this time (late 1986 I think, November or December), I was still studying film & TV at New York University, while getting occasional freelance work from MTV. She liked that. 

The actress she said she looked exactly like was particularly popular in the 1980s. One film she was in, one of her earlier roles, caught my attention when I screened it on HBO. I had a little crush on the actress, so the fact that she said she was her double, intrigued me. This actress also starred in one of the most popular, and trendiest films of the middle of the decade.

Remember, the pre-internet was text-based only. There was no photo swapping, or video calls. The height of intimacy at this point, short of meeting, was to exchange landline numbers, which we eventually did.  We spoke for hours, about everything, and anything. We really clicked. 

She wanted to meet me, but she didn’t want to meet in a bar, or restaurant, as she said we would be constantly interrupted by people mistaking her for that famous actress. She didn’t want to invite me to her place. And she didn’t want to come to my place all the way in Hoboken either.  It was a bit of quandary, because after chatting online, and on the telephone for a few weeks, I really wanted to meet her too. 

I came up with a solution. Someone I knew had a ground floor, studio apartment in the West Village, just off Bleeker Street. He worked during the day, so I asked if I could use his place for an afternoon coffee date. He agreed, loaned me his spare keys, and I arranged for her to meet me there a few days later. 

I arrived a bit early, with some coffee, and some fresh cookies. His place was fairly tidy, and presentable. As it was a studio, it had a futon, which was in the upright, sofa position. Everything was respectable. 

I had some weed with me too, because back then I always had weed with me. She knew I smoked regularly, and she said she occasionally did too, so it was all cool. 

I was nervous while I was waiting, so I sparked up a J, as I was sitting on the futon. She was right on time, the intercom rang, and I buzzed her in through the front door. 

I met her in the hallway, and I was immediately taken aback. She was stunning. And she didn’t just look like this famous actress. I was immediately 99% sure that she was that famous actress. Internally, I attempted to convince myself I was imagining things, but deep down I knew I wasn’t. It was actually her. 

I tried to hide it, but I’m sure she picked up on my stunned reaction. I invited her inside my friend’s apartment. 

When we spoke on the telephone, I also thought I was imagining things, when I realised she sounded a bit like this famous actress. I didn’t mention it, since it seemed like such a sore subject. If anything, I disregarded it, and laughed at myself for thinking something so silly. Clearly it wasn’t so silly after all.

When she didn’t hug me as we first met, I already knew it was going badly. She had said on the telephone that as soon as we were together, she was going to “hug the stuffing out of me”. She said it more than once, but when the opportunity presented itself, there was no hug. 

I could tell she was disappointed with my looks. She didn’t really try to hide it. The warm, kind person from the online chats, and telephone, didn’t seem to arrive with her. She was cold. I adjourned to the kitchen to make a couple of coffees, and put the cookies on a plate.

While in the kitchen, I thought about my options. At this point, I was certain I had an extremely famous, popular, and drop-dead gorgeous actress waiting for a coffee in the other room. I also knew she was pretending not to be this famous actress, and had been playing at this weird ruse since our first online conversation.

And I also knew I fancied the hell out of her. If you asked me for a list of “dream celebrity girlfriends of the 1980s”, she would have been in the top three. 

I was not intellectually, nor emotionally equipped to navigate this awkward situation. I was so out of my depth, it was laughable. And I could tell now that she met me, that she was just not that into me.

I returned to the main room, with a couple of coffees, and the cookies. She had turned on the television, it was some bullshit on Oprah Winfrey, I don’t remember the topic. She was completely invested in whatever it was, to the point of ignoring me while she sipped her coffee, and nibbled a cookie. 

I tried to make conversation, but she literally shushed me, so she could listen to Oprah. It wasn’t just going badly; our intimate, romantic coffee date was a total disaster. She made me feel like a total piece of shit with her rudeness. 

She finished her coffee, said it was nice to meet me, but it wasn’t going to work out, and she said she was going to go on her way. I didn’t try to stop her, I was kind of lost for words. 

As she was walking out the door, I said something along the lines of, “Be honest you’re [name of famous actress], aren’t you? You might as well admit it. You don’t just look like her, you are her!”

She turned back, looked me sternly in my eyes, and shouted, “No! And don’t you dare tell anyone that I am, either!”. And with that, she was out the front door, and out of my life. Her “don’t you dare” admonishment only further convinced me of her identity. Don’t. You. Dare. 

And that was that, it ended in romantic disappointment for both of us. I didn’t end up with a famous celebrity girlfriend, or even a look-a-like. I didn’t end up with anyone after this encounter, just a hard knock to my already fairly fragile self-esteem. I never contacted her again, and obviously she didn’t stay in touch with me. 

It didn’t deter me from meeting other people from the pre-internet, but it did leave a sour taste in my mouth. I have not thought about this incident in like, forever. I tried to put it out of my mind. 

This actress still works, though she is not as prolific as she once was. For years after we met, whenever I would see her in something, I would remember our meeting. Over the years, that started to fade, and I hadn’t thought about this encounter in a very long time. It’s only because I’ve been poking around in my memories of this period in my life, that this one floated up to the surface. I told you it was a weird story.

I know what you want to know. I know what anyone who reads this would want to know. It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? You want to know who the famous actress is. It’s only natural to want to know such a basic fact. 

This happened over 35 years ago, I certainly don’t hold a grudge. I’m way above, and beyond that now. That would be the only reason to name, and shame her today. I’m not going to do it. I’ll never tell. Her identity stays a secret. I’m taking it with me to the grave. I hope she had a good life. I think I did alright myself. 

The only person I have ever shared this story with until now, was the guy who loaned me his studio flat for the meeting. He was skeptical at first, but in the end he believed me. What convinced him was her entitled attitude when we met. 

But to me, that’s not the convincing detail, though it doesn’t hurt. For me, if I was hearing this story, what would convince me is the amount of effort she put into building the foundation of her lie. It started during our first online chat, when we exchanged written physical descriptions. I don’t think I was the first person to play this game with her. I don’t think I was the first one to lose that game, either. 

If I’m playing amateur shrink, I’d say she struggled with her early fame, and thought anyone attracted to her, was attracted by her celebrity, and success. She wanted to meet as a nobody, and have someone fall in love with her for her personality. I was definitely sliding in that direction, right up until we met. She adored my personality, until she saw me, and then she didn’t like my looks. That’s how it goes sometimes with blind dates. 

Over the years, my 99% certainty has notched up to 100%. Yes, I am certain, and sure it was her. It was my most intimate brush with celebrity, and we didn’t even make physical contact. I used to wonder what my life would have been like, if our meeting went differently, but that’s a fool’s errand. It was what it was. 

You can believe me, or not believe me, it’s up to you, but I hope you enjoyed this odd tale from the pre-internet.

The End

If you enjoyed that, why not check out the rest of the series. Parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t already.

Or you could read my four part series about working at MTV in the mid 80s, called MTV Redux.

It’s all part of my “Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll Collection” – a series of loosely connected pieces, all written in a 5 week period.

There’s even a bonus short story, that might blow your mind.

And if you’ve already read MTV Redux, why not check out Hippy Highlights – a curated list of pieces designed to entertain, inform, and amuse you. So many choices!

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

Time Aside – A Short Story

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

What would YOU do if you figured out how to travel through time?

The Discovery

If you’ve come here looking for me to reveal the secrets of time travel, you might as well stop reading. The key to unlocking it is surprisingly simple, and it still shocks me that I am the first, and as far as I know, only person to have made this discovery. Twice. 

As you will soon learn, I used my knowledge unwisely, and paid quite a high price for it. And now, I will take that knowledge of how I did it with me to the grave.

I was 25 years old when I made this discovery, but it would take me a decade and a half, before I’d be able to apply it in the real world. Turning the theoretical into the practical became my life’s work. 

This sort of research didn’t come cheap, so I had a cover story involving quantum theory that was very well funded. I set up my lab in a large research facility complex. Most people didn’t even know I was there. I mostly kept to myself. 

I actually published a couple of papers on the quantum theory. My cover work didn’t go to waste, but no one had a clue what I was really up to in my lab. Well, almost no one. 

Jennifer knew. She was a lab assistant at the facility, and we had become friendly. In time I grew to trust Jennifer, and I finally showed her around my lab, and explained my true research to her. 

Jennifer was initially dismissive, but I revealed just enough to get her to believe, and I convinced her to help me with my first real-world experiment. 

The first time I travelled back in time, I went to 1958, which is 5 years before my real time target, early summer 1962. I spent nearly a year in 1958, before returning back to 2003, and my lab. I spent that year putting a plan into action, that I aimed to execute in 1962. It started with robbing a bank. 

No, seriously! I needed cash, and obviously couldn’t bring any from the future, so I did a bank job. I couldn’t think of any other way to raise an initial stake in the past. 

Just because I couldn’t bring cash, didn’t mean I couldn’t bring back a weapon. It was my father’s .38 pearl-handled revolver, that he gave me on my 18th birthday. He had won it in a shooting contest in the 1940s, so it wouldn’t have been out of place, had it been discovered. In the end, I didn’t need to fire a shot. 

The bank I robbed was in the mid west, I’m not going to say where. I needed to be in New Jersey, which is where I’m from originally. So after my big score, I hopped on a train, and took my satchel of cash to a big bank on the Jersey Shore, where I opened an account. 

I also made some clever, high yield investments. They didn’t even ask for any ID, which was annoying, because I did the old Frederick Forsyth trick of getting a birth certificate for a baby that had died close to birth, who if still alive would have been around my age. Real Day of the Jackal shit! It was so easy too.

Let’s just say if I told you what price I paid for Polaroid, and Kodak stock, and what I would sell it for 5 years later, it would make your eyes water! I made a killing.

My first time travel trip was a success. Not only did I prove that my theory worked, but I was able to lay the groundwork for my real mission, and why I wanted to invent time travel in the first place.

And even though I was away for a year, from Jennifer’s perspective, I was only gone for a few minutes. The remote return module I designed worked perfectly as well. 

The Mission

Jennifer told me I was crazy, when I finally explained to her why I invented time travel. I understood her reaction, even if I vehemently disagreed with it. 

My plan was simple. I wanted to go back, and convince my mother not to give birth to me. I had it all worked out, preventing my birth would spare me the pain of life. 

I was born 6 weeks prematurely in January 1963, and have been paying the price ever since. I was a sickly child, or so I was repeatedly told. As an adult, it has been even worse, and I have suffered from a myriad of unpleasant physical, and mental health issues for my entire life. It was bad, and it was only going to continue to get worse, the older I got.   

I never understood why my parents had me. They had been married for nearly a decade before I came along. They couldn’t afford a kid either, yet they had me anyway. I’ve spent my entire life wishing they didn’t. Until I realised, through my breakthrough, that I might be able to do something about it. 

I knew abortion back then wasn’t common, but I also knew it wasn’t completely impossible, if one had funds. That’s why I needed the money. It’s also why I invented time travel. I was hoping I could erase myself from existence, along with my discovery. 

Time travel is too dangerous, and open to abuse to be allowed to exist. Much like me. I’m dangerous too, and I shouldn’t exist either. 

So that was my plan, I was going to travel back in time again, and convince my mother to have an abortion before she told my father she was even expecting. And I had the funds waiting for me in 1962 to pay for it, too. 

Jennifer said wishing to erase myself from existence was insane.  

I told her I wanted to set time aside, so it would be as if I never existed. 

She said what I wanted to do is commit timicide. 

Both are pretty clever, setting “time aside”, and committing “timicide”, but maybe Jennifer’s made-up word has the edge. 

I told Jennifer if it worked, if I was able to commit timicide, I wouldn’t be returning. I told her there was even a chance I could reset the whole universe, and she might not even remember I existed. 

The truth is I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if it worked, but it was a risk I was willing to take. I told you I was dangerous too. 

Whatever the outcome, I told Jennifer that if I wasn’t back 10 minutes after my departure, then my mission was a success, and to be happy for me. 

Away We Go

I had everything I needed packed, and ready to go. I was dressed in a retro suit and tie that would blend right into the era. 

Jennifer hugged me goodbye, just a little longer than I was comfortable with, and her eyes welled with tears. Does she have a little crush on me? Why am I only realising this now?

I time travelled. I’m not going to describe the tech, or the process, but I can tell you that for me, it was instantaneous. 

I arrived in a small park after dark, in the the seaside city of Asbury Park. That could be a song lyric!

I carefully hid my remote return module in the park. No one could find it, unless they knew exactly where, and how to look. It was safe. I checked into the Berkeley Carteret Hotel on the sea front, and got a room with an ocean view. 

My family moved to Asbury when I was about 1 year old, so being back there in 1962, about 2 years before I would actually live there, didn’t feel unfamiliar at all. In many ways, it felt like coming home. 

We moved out of Asbury in 1967, before the riots, and trouble, and I only lived there for three years. That said, it was the first place I lived on the Jersey Shore. That’s why I chose it. Nostalgia. 

The next day, I sold all my stocks, filled my bank account, and bought a late model used car. It was clunky to drive, and lacked the amenities of the future, like power steering, and power brakes, but it was basic transport, and that’s all I needed. 

I gave myself a couple of days to enjoy Asbury. It was mid-June, the schools hadn’t broken up yet, and the summer season hadn’t properly kicked off, but the weather was glorious.

I strolled along the boardwalk, ventured into the Casino, and the Palace too. I had hot dogs, I ate burgers, I even had a Kohr’s Frozen Custard. I forgot how much I loved those! 

I walked through Convention Hall as well, but nothing was going on there at the time, not even the annual boat show. I walked the length of the entire boardwalk. And I filled my lungs with the fresh sea air. There is no other scent quite like it.

I walked all the way to Ocean Grove, my dad spent his summers there as a kid. We would have still had family there, somewhere in ‘62. It’s a weird Methodist summer camp slash town. It was even weirder back then. You couldn’t drive a car there on a Sunday, it was even illegal to ride a bicycle on the lord’s day within the city limits. I don’t think that changed till the 1970s.

I think I revisited my early childhood because it was the last time I was truly happy, and healthy. Once I hit age 5 or 6, the slide downhill began. 

After I had my fill of the Jersey Shore, and my weirdly nostalgic visit across time, I headed for north Jersey, where I would hopefully find my mother.

Hi Mom

I had heard enough stories about my parents’ lives that I had a pretty good idea of where to find them in 1962. Well, not “them”, as I didn’t need to speak to my father. I was hoping to avoid him, and just speak to my mother. 

My confidence paid off, as I knew both of my parents worked for the same company back then, Bendix. My mother only gave up her job when I came along, something she occasionally bemoaned during my childhood. 

She used to tell me that on warm, sunny days, she would take her lunch break at a park right across the street from her office building. That’s where I found her.

She was sitting on a bench, on her own, at the side of the park. She was eating a sandwich, a small red tartan thermos was next to her on the bench. 

As I passed by, I pretended to notice her. I said: “Ann?”

She looked up, and made eye contact. She studied my face. I could sense her feeling that there was something familiar about me, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. She must have thought I was a co-worker. It was a big company, and she was the executive assistant to the president, so most people probably knew who she was. 

I asked if she minded if I sat down. She said it’s a free country, and went back to her sandwich. That was my Mom for sure. 

I told her I knew her. I told her that her parents’ names were Fiorovante and Anna, and that she grew up in Paterson, and that her husband’s name was Henry, but most people called him Mac. And his family called him Bud, or Buddy…

She stopped me there, and appeared somewhat confused. “How do you know that? Nobody I know, knows his family calls him Buddy.”

“I know everything, Ann. You’re not going to believe me, but I am your guardian angel.”

She scoffed. “What’s your game, buster?”

“No game, I promise you, just some friendly advice. You’re expecting, and I reckon you’ve only just worked that out, and you haven’t told Mac yet, have you?”

She reflexively responded with “I’m just late… And how could you know that? Who are you?” She spat that last part out at me, angrily. 

“I told you, I’m your guardian angel. The baby you’re carrying shouldn’t be born. You will have a difficult childbirth, he will have many health problems, and a miserable life. You can prevent all that, and I’m here to help you.”

She teared up, I didn’t expect that.

”So it’s a boy? How do you know all this? How can you be so sure? What if he grows up, and cures cancer? Or goes to the moon?”

“He won’t. And he doesn’t. He will just have a very unhappy life. I don’t believe in curses, but that’s the best way to describe his potential existence. He will be cursed to suffer for his entire life. You don’t want to be responsible for the pain of another, do you? You can prevent all of that if you just listen. You must believe me!”

Ann stood up defiantly, and shouted “Get away from me, you creep. What’s wrong with you? Just leave me alone. Go! Now!”

“No”, I replied as I too stood up. “You don’t understand, you have no idea how terrible his life will be. You can prevent it. And I can help, whatever the cost.”

“You sick man. You weirdo. You want a complete stranger to have an abortion? And you want to pay for it? What’s wrong with you? You sicko!”

“You’re not a stranger, I told you, I am your guardian angel. How else could I know so much about you? I only want to help, and spare that poor born unborn child a horrific life.”

“That’s it mister, I’m done. I’ve had enough of this. I have to get back to work. Don’t ever speak to me again”.

I was flummoxed, and off balance. I didn’t expect this reaction. I don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. 

I instinctively grabbed her arm, and said “wait”, and then I don’t know what came over me, but I punched her in the stomach. Repeatedly. She screamed. I screamed. And then I felt a strong hand on my shoulder, as I was spun around.

Now, standing in front of me was my father. We would have been about the same age, give or take. And he hit me with a roundhouse right, that knocked me unconscious. 

Doe

I woke up in a cell, in the local police station. My jaw was broken, and I was pretty bruised up. Even though his first punch knocked me out, my father kept the blows coming, until a couple of cops pulled him off me. Everything hurt. 

They searched me while I was still down for the count, and they found my driver’s license, in the name of a child that died 40 years earlier. The cops were laughing about my name, “John Doe”. It’s not my fault that was the name of the dead kid I found. 

“Doe, you’re awake?”, said one of the cops. “We’ve got a duty lawyer coming in to speak with you. You’re in a world of trouble, son.”

Of course I am. 

The duty lawyer was young, maybe late 20’s, and didn’t seem experienced, but it didn’t matter to me. He explained the charges, and said based on the woman’s statement, I was more likely to be sent to a mental institution, rather than prison, if I put in an insanity plea. If I didn’t, they were going to throw the book at me, and I was going to do hard time in a state prison. 

“I’m not insane”, I told him, but he didn’t believe me. And I didn’t blame him for that, since my mother’s statement said I kept claiming to be her ‘guardian angel”, and I urged her to terminate her pregnancy. That does sound kind of crazy when you think about it.

I told the lawyer I could prove I wasn’t insane. I asked him for a piece of paper, an envelope, and a pen, which he pulled from his briefcase. 

I scrawled one word, plus two numbers on the paper, folded it, and put it in the envelope. And then I sealed the envelope, and I wrote “Do not open until 16th January 1963” on the front of it. 

I told him as well, don’t not open the envelope before that date, I made him promise, that under no circumstances would he open it before the 16th. If he does, it could render this entire exercise pointless. He didn’t understand, but swore to me he would follow my instructions, just the same. 

I also told him to watch for a birth announcement from Ann, and Mac in the local newspaper. Their baby was due at the end of February, or very early in March, but I said that he would see the announcement sooner than that. I told him when he saw it, he would understand. That left him even more perplexed, but he noted it on his legal pad.

I could tell he didn’t know what to make of any of this. It probably made him think I was even crazier.  

Obviously, I couldn’t explain anything truthfully. I would only sound even more insane than I already do, if I did. I did agree to put in an insanity plea though. There’s a certain insane symmetry to all this. 

Guilty by reason of insanity was accepted by the judge and I was sentenced to life at Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital.

I was a model in-patient, quiet, reserved, and well behaved. Docile. The staff all called me “Doe”. The other in-patients didn’t call me anything, as most of them were properly howl at the moon, barking mad. They didn’t sleep under bridges back then, you didn’t find them in train stations, or on the street. In the 60s, the severely mentally ill were institutionalised, and I was surrounded by them. 

“Doe, you have a visitor”.

Those were words I never expected to hear. It was the very end of January 1963, and the young duty lawyer who helped me with my plea, had come to see me. I immediately figured I knew why. 

He opened the envelope as instructed on the 16th of January, and read what I had written. That one word, plus two numbers.

Yes, that one word, which was my first name. My real first name. I knew it would be the name of Ann and Mac’s baby, who was born on the 15th of January, 6 weeks too early. And the numbers? Four and ten, because that was the baby’s weight, 4 pounds, 10 ounces. 

The lawyer was holding the local newspaper, he showed me the birth announcement. “Born to Ann and Mac (redacted) on January 15th 1963, a baby boy, weighing 4lbs, 10oz, named Douglas.”

“How did you know?”, he asked me. “How could you possibly know the date the boy would be born? And his weight? And he was 6 weeks premature. And how did you know they would name him Douglas?”

“This doesn’t prove you’re not insane. I don’t know what it proves, but how the bejesus did you know all this ahead of time? It’s impossible!”

It didn’t make a difference to anything. I was just showing off. 

12 Years Later

I’d been in Marlboro for 12 years. It was 1975 now, I’m 52 years old. Nothing had changed, just me. I was older, greyer, sadder, and on even more medication.  

My life was pretty miserable before I travelled back to 1963, now it was positively pitiful. I guess I was getting what I deserved. I was a terrible person.

“Doe, you have a visitor”. 

It had been 12 years since anyone had come to see me. I wondered who it could possibly be this time, as I made my way to the visitors lounge.

It was my father. He was greyer, and older too. I flinched when I saw him. He held up his hands in a surrender gesture, and said “I just want to talk”. We sat down.

“You’ve been in here for 12 years, keeping her secret. Keeping your secret. Why? You must have worried I might work it out. But why destroy your own life to protect her? What is she to you?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I know my dad, he was sharp, but not so sharp that he worked out my real secret… That I was a tragic time traveller from the future, who fucked up badly. 

I didn’t say much of anything. I had no idea what secret of my mother’s he thought I might be hiding by staying in a mental hospital. And I wouldn’t exactly call it “staying’, as leaving really isn’t an option in a secure facility. 

That said, the truth is that I probably could have escaped. The security wasn’t that good. And I could have stolen some clothing, hitchhiked back to Asbury Park, located my remote return module in that small park, and travelled back to 2003. But I didn’t. I deserved to be right where I was, and I knew I should live out my days here. 

My father spoke over my silence with even more words, that became increasingly angry. He was losing his cool.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I left her, not that it will do you any good in here.”

“Huh? You left her? Why?” I said, somewhat astonished by this unexpected revelation. 

He pulled a wallet sized photo out of his pocket, and slammed it on the table in front of me, and said, “Look at it. Look at it!”

I recognised the photo immediately. It was my 6th grade school photo from when I was 12 years old. It looked like a younger version of me, because it was a younger version of me. But I couldn’t explain that to my father, could I?

He drew a reasonable conclusion based on the evidence. The kid looked exactly like the guy they locked up for assaulting his wife, after trying to convince her to have an abortion. He put two, and two together and it added up to infinity. 

Clearly, in his mind, I had had an affair with his wife, and I impregnated her. That’s why it took 9 years for her to conceive. He thought he was shooting blanks, and I was the daddy.

He already beat the shit out of me once, but I could tell, if given the chance, he would do it again, and then some. By this point he was seething with rage. 

“Nothing to say for yourself? Thought so.” He stood up.

“You’re wrong”, I said. “She would never cheat on you. I can’t explain why your son looks like me, but I promise you, you are his real father.”

“Bullshit. You lie. You liar. I don’t know why I came here. This was a waste of time.” And with that, he turned around, and left without looking back. I never saw him again. 

My father was a gentle, happy-go-lucky guy, always smiling, always laughing. He was a great father, he taught me well, took care of me, and treated me with kindness. The man that just visited me was nothing like that. 

He wasn’t the man I grew up with, he was bitter, and he was grieving. He was broken, and me breaking his trust with my mother, is what broke him. I could only imagine what growing up fatherless was doing to me. 

Meet yourself

I wouldn’t have another visitor for 13 more years, when I turned up to visit myself. It was 1988, I was 65 now. Doug Mark II was 25 years old.

My health continued to decline over the years, I was wheelchair bound, and taking more tablets per day than I could count. I aged badly, and looked older than my years. Haggard is the word that comes to mind when I catch my reflection in a mirror. The ward was even more dilapidated than I was. 

“Doe, you have a visitor”. 

It was only the third time I’d heard those words since being committed. 

The nurse added, “I think it’s your son. He looks so much like you! I didn’t even know you had a son.”

“I don’t”, I said, as she wheeled me into the visitors lounge. 

And there he was, it was like looking into a mirror into the past. My past. His clothing was a bit shabby, and his demeanour seemed somewhat rougher than me at that age. His father left the family home when he was 12 years old, that’s bound to have had an effect on him. How could it not?

“You’re not my father”, were the first words out of his mouth.

I said, “That’s right, I’m not. Your real father, is your real father. He got it totally wrong.”

“Yeah, and I paid the price, so did my mother. She doesn’t know, does she? She has no idea who you really are. And he told me he came to see you, so you didn’t tell my father either, did you?”

“No, neither one of them has any idea who I really am. I’m guessing you might by now, though. Am I right?”

Yep, you got it in one, old man. I worked out how to time travel, and you did too. Only you really fucking did it, didn’t you? You fucking fuckwit.”

Well, that’s me told. 

“Yes, I’m you, and you’re me.”

“No, I’m not you. Not exactly. Nature, yes, but nurture, no. You grew up with our father, didn’t you? He didn’t leave your family?”

“You’re right. He didn’t. He only left your family because I tried to prevent your birth.  And I tried to prevent your birth, because I’ve had a miserable life, and I wanted to spare you that…”

He interrupted, “You wanted to spare yourself that, you never, ever thought of me as a separate, living being. You never thought of me at all, and you created me! Your stupid actions had stupid consequences. Me! I am your consequences. You made my life worse than yours because you couldn’t even erase yourself properly! I can’t believe I’m such an idiot. Did you really think she’d have an abortion, just because you told her to have one? Seriously dude? That’s insane. She would never have done that in a million years. If anything, your little intervention made her more determined to have us!”

He continued, “And I’ll tell you something else. She told me that when we were born 6 weeks prematurely, they gave our mother a choice, to do extreme interventions to keep us alive, or to let nature do its thing. We weren’t meant to be born, and maybe, just maybe, our mother would have made a different choice, and let us go at birth, if you hadn’t messed things up so badly. Did you ever think of that?”

No, I hadn’t, and I admitted as much. Maybe this was the case when I was born too, only my mother never felt the need to tell me. Perhaps time is a coin toss, maybe a different version might have played out where I didn’t survive my birth? And my intervention made my survival more likely? Who’s to say? Time travel is a mind fuck, 100% would not recommend you try it, if you’re ever given the chance. 

What I now learned is that I ruined two lives, his and mine. Ours. I ruined our lives. I’ve spent the last 25 years in a stinking mental hospital, and Doug Mark II grew up fatherless from the age of 12. These are not ideal outcomes for either of us, and both were my fault. 

“Look, you know why I worked out time travel. I worked it out for the same reason you did, because I want to erase myself. Except now, I want to erase both of us.”

“How do you expect to do that?” I asked.

“How do you think? I’m going to travel further back in time, and kill my son of a bitch father, before he even meets our mother. Which is what you should have done in the first place, asshole. I’m a lot more determined than you were. That’s why you failed.”

He kept going, “You can sit in here till you die, and I can wait until however long it takes to turn the theoretical into the practical, and right your wrongs. Or, if you still have the means, you can send me to the future, and I can use of your perfected tech to travel back further in time, and make sure neither one of us is ever conceived. Let me fix this.”

Doug Mark II

Nine minutes had past since Doug Mark I had left 2003 for 1963, and Jennifer was starting to really panic. It was then that Doug Mark II materialised.

Jennifer was unsure why Doug looked so much younger. Had something gone wrong? 

It certainly had, but not with the tech in the way she was imagining. 

It took Doug Mark II a moment to get his bearings. “You must be Jennifer, he told me about you. I’m not him. I mean, I am him, but I’m a younger version. Nice to meet you.”

Doug Mark II held out his hand, and shook Jennifer’s. “I know this is weird, but he said I could trust you. He also said you know how to work his machine. I need to take one more trip to fix everything he broke.”

This was a lot for Jennifer to take in all at once, so she just sat down in silence. Time travel was weird enough, but now a different, younger version of Doug had returned. Doug Mark II?

“OK, sure. What do you need?”, was all she could finally muster.

Doug Mark II didn’t tell Jennifer everything, he left out a lot of details that she might find troubling. He didn’t tell her how his predecessor ended up, and he left out how much worse his life was as a result of Doug Mark I’s actions. 

He just stressed two things to her: That the new plan was worked out meticulously between both Dougs. And that this Doug had to make it all right, by going back to 1952. 

He explained, “Put it this way, right now there are two Dougs too many in the universe, and I’m in charge of Operation Doug-less.”

She didn’t get the joke. 

1952

Doug Mark II was legitimately impressed with Doug Mark I’s execution of the time travel discovery. He thought it was simple, and elegant, and he couldn’t have done it any better, or differently himself, given 15 years, and the same funding. 

The mission to kill his father was a simple one. Locate, and liquidate the target. Neither Doug was as certain as to where to find their father in 1952, before he met their mother to be. But they had a pretty reasonable guess. 

Doug Mark II time travelled to a secluded spot near the offices of the company where they thought their Dad worked at the time. 

Doug Mark II was armed with the same pearl-handled .38 revolver Doug Mark I used to stick up a bank in 1958. Doug Mark II wasn’t gifted the gun, and didn’t know it originally belonged to his father. Doug Mark II grabbed it in the lab, after being told where to find it by Doug Mark I when they planned this mission together. 

Doug Mark II kept an eye on the office’s large parking lot, from a nearby bus stop. He loitered there, waiting for people to start to leave the building at the end of the day. And when they did, he moved back over to the lot, keeping a keen eye out for a younger version of his father.

Doug Mark II hated his father for leaving his mother, and for leaving him. He always knew his father was wrong, but he didn’t know how he knew. Doug Mark II could sense something was off, but it wasn’t until he worked out time travel that he understood how complicated it all was. Doug Mark II could never forgive his father for doubting his mother’s loyalty, and fidelity. This was retribution, as much as it was an attempt at time correction. 

Neither Doug was sure if killing the old man would erase their existences. All they could do was hope if nothing else, it didn’t make things worse. 

Doug Mark II spotted Mac as he exited the building. He was heading for an old Chevy, when Doug said “Hey, is that you Mac?”

His father turned around, and said, “Yeah, who are you?”

Doug Mark II was less than 2 yards away from his father, when he drew the gun, and levelled it at him.

His father recognised the gun instantly, he had won it in a shooting contest in the 1940s. He blurted out “You’re going to shoot a man with his own gun?”

“What?” Doug Mark II said, and in that microsecond, Mac lunged forward, and grabbed at the gun. They struggled, and fell to the ground, wrestling for control of the weapon.

A shot rang out, and then a second. And then silence. 

Doug Mark II pushed Mac off of him, and up against the Chevy. He stood up, gun in hand. He then sat Mac upright and saw that both bullets had hit him in the chest, his head was drooping to one side, his eyes now open, and fixed.

A few seconds later, one of Mac’s colleagues found his body slumped against the car, and screamed for help. 

The gunman, and the weapon were nowhere to be seen, and never found. Mac was dead.

Jennifer

Ten minutes had passed since Doug Mark II had travelled from 2003, back to 1952. She knew if he wasn’t back in 10 minutes, he wasn’t coming back. Still, she waited 2 more hours, before going home. 

In that time, she had hoped, prayed, and dreamt that somehow Doug Mark I would return, and not Doug Mark II. But after the first 10 minutes had passed, she would have settled for Doug Mark II. Either was better than neither. 

She had a crush on Doug Mark I, but had never told him. She promised herself if he returned this time, she was going to confess to her true feelings. 

In her desperation, she even considered confessing her feelings to Doug Mark II, should he return. She was almost exactly between their ages. Doug Mark I was about 8 years older, while Doug Mark II was only 7 years younger. Maybe she could help shape him, make him less bitter than Doug Mark I?

When she returned to Doug’s lab at the research facility the next day, it was empty. All of Doug’s gear was gone. It was like it was never even there. 

When she asked other people at the facility about it, no one seemed to know what she was talking about. Jennifer quickly realised that she was the only person to remember Doug’s lab, or Doug.

Jennifer had learned many details about Doug’s life, and family, that she still recalled. She went online, and she searched. All she found was his mother’s obituary. It was in her maiden name. 

Ann’s obituary said she left behind many nieces, and nephews. 

There was no mention of a husband, or child. 

The End

If you enjoyed my short story, there’s plenty more of my work for you to read.

Why not check out my brand new, 4-part series – MTV Redux? It’s about how I started my career in the media with MTV back in the mid-1980s in NYC… But it’s also about a whole lot more.

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

MTV Redux – A Four Part Series

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

It’s difficult to understate the huge cultural impact, and significance of MTV when it launched back in August of 1981. 

The effects were seismic. MTV changed the way we watched television, the way we listened to music, the way we discovered new bands, new styles, and new fashions.  New everything!

Adding mandatory visuals to everything musical, altered the media landscape in so many ways. It redefined what was cool for the 1980s. 

The very first video MTV played was a song by the Buggles, called “Video Killed the Radio Star”, but that wasn’t really accurate. Video made radio stars into TV stars too. 

I was lucky enough to score an internship with MTV in 1986, when MTV was at its very peak of the decade. 

The previous year, MTV had staged their largest, most ambitious live event yet, Live Aid. They were already riding high when I started hanging out with them. 

In this four part series, I’m going to take you back to a fairly amazing period of my young adult life, where I was loosely associated with MTV as an intern, and occasionally employed by them as a freelance production assistant. 

It’s also a tale of unrealised potential, and squandered opportunity, but it’s taken the gift of time, and distance for me to see that.

MTV Redux

Part One – What? And Give Up Showbiz?

Part Two – Name Dropping

Part Three – Crappy New Year!

Part Four – The Death of the Dream

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

MTV Redux – Part One

What? And Give Up Showbiz?

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

The MTV Logo

1775 Broadway

MTV’s corporate headquarters, and production offices were originally at 1775 Broadway, a skyscraper at the corner of West 57th Street, right near the south end of Central Park in midtown Manhattan. The building is still there, but I’m not sure if MTV are in the same place. This was 37 years ago.  

It was an imposing office building, art deco I think. My contact, Harvey G, was MTV’s original Production Manager. He met me in the lobby, and brought me up to his office. I can’t remember what floor it was on, but his entire department was there.

Look up!

There was MTV branding everywhere, but I quickly learned that the studios, where they recorded the Video Jockey (VJ) segments weren’t in this building.  The actual studios were in a separate outside facility called Unitel, a few blocks west, if I recall correctly. I didn’t go there that often, probably just a handful of times. Everything other than the VJ studio segments, was dealt with from 1775 B’way, on location, or in a hired studio, or soundstage. 

I hope I’m getting this detail right. I remember being really impressed by free, restaurant style soda dispensing machines scattered around the office. They stocked Coca Cola, Diet Coke,  Fanta, Sprite, and soda water. There was an ice dispenser too, and a stack of branded plastic cups. Someone told me the machines were part of a sponsorship deal MTV had with Coke at the time. I thought it was a really cool corporate perk. 

Who doesn’t like free soda?

Harvey showed me around, and even introduced me to the Vice President of the department, a nice woman named Mona, who was also very welcoming. I can’t remember her surname. They were very keen to have an intern work with them.

Harvey and I then went into his office for a chat. He told me a bit about the department. He said quite a bit of what they did was dull paperwork, logistics, and operations. He told me that not all production was creative, or exciting. I thought I understood what he was telling me, but as I would later learn, I didn’t have a clue. 

We talked a bit about my studies, and my vague career goals. I really liked Harvey, and he seemed to like me too. We agreed a start date, and hours and he said he was happy to fill out whatever paperwork New York University required. 

He then went on to tell me an old joke about the circus, which I laughed at politely, without grasping its significance. Much later on, it would make a lot more sense. We shook hands, and I headed off.

NYU & Hoboken

My condo in Hoboken had cable TV, and I had proper access to MTV there for the first time. I had watched it before at other people’s places, but up until now, I never had it myself. 

I hadn’t lived in Hoboken that long. It was the summer of 1985, I was between semesters, and I was completely into watching music videos, and smoking weed. A boy needs a hobby.

When MTV aired the Live Aid concert that summer, I watched the entire broadcast from beginning to end. Bob Geldof and Midge Ure organised it to raise money for the famine that at the time was devastating Ethiopia. 

The concert was a massive, history making success. They had live stages in London, and Philadelphia, and many of the biggest artists in the world performed. 

Phil Collins played both stages, how cool is that? He played a set on the stage in London, and then hopped on a flight to the states, to play the other stage in Philly. 

Live Aid was the biggest event of the year, perhaps even the decade. MTV was the biggest creative force in the world at this point, it was a cultural behemoth.

The concert was amazing, and I spent the entire day dancing around like an idiot in my living room on my own, with a joint in my mouth. It was more fun than you might think. The concert is still worth watching today. Queen’s set alone was legendary. 

I had the summer off from NYU, having just completed my first semester there. I had transferred from Monmouth College (now University) in Long Branch, NJ. For that first semester at NYU, I commuted from the Jersey shore by train for my classes, so moving to Hoboken made a massive improvement to my life. 

I knew I wanted to work in film, or TV, but I had no idea how to do it. I thought studying it at Uni was a good plan, and NYU had a famous programme at their Tisch School of the Arts. 

I met loads of cool people there. One of my friends was roommates with Rick Rubin. His career as a music producer was already taking off while he was at NYU. Rick pops up again in passing a little later, I met him once, or twice at NYU, but I can’t say we knew each other at all. 

People at NYU talked about internships as a route into the industry. Again, I was clueless, but the basic concept is you work for free, and earn college credit. So in reality, because you pay for college  credit, you didn’t just work for free, you paid for the privilege too. Note my intentional, self aware word choice. Please.

My dream, like just about every other student in my programme, was to be a film director. I just didn’t know how to get from A to B, but an internship of some sort, seemed like a good start. 

While I was at Monmouth College, I also had an after school, slash summer job in an office, so I knew how to work, and behave in a professional situation. What I needed was industry experience, and contacts.

When I started my internship with MTV, I had already completed two full semesters at NYU, which included their basic, mandatory production courses, Sight and Sound 1 & 2. 

My first semester the previous January, was the television side of the course. My class was I think, the last last to use their black and white TV studio, circa I Love Lucy. The kit was really old. They were moving into a new facility the following September, with brand new training studios in full living colour. 

On the studio TV course, we played with various genres, and formats, from basic news production, to soap operas, but what seemed to limit us the most was the age, and poor state of the equipment. 

My second semester that started in September 1986, was when I got to do the film side of the Sight and Sound course. We shot on black and white 16mm film, without sync sound. In other words, no significant dialogue on the soundtrack. It was an intentional limitation, meant to focus your storytelling on the visuals, the sound effects, and music. 

I’d been playing around with cameras for years, since High School. I had no interest in football, but I filmed the games anyway, just to have access to a wind-up Bolex 16mm camera. And my high school had a fancy colour Sony 3/4” broadcast camera, that no one was allowed to touch. I had to fight to get access to it, with the principal, and the school board, and I won. 

I preferred film over video back then. Mainly for the aesthetics, but there were certainly some pretensions about it too. Video always felt more disposable, film felt more like art. 

At NYU, I was the cameraman on lots of student flicks, since I was comfortable with cameras, lenses, and light meters, and I seemed to pick up on the basics of 3-point lighting rapidly too. Other students were always happy for the help, and many were slightly technophobic. I benefitted from the extra experience, and getting to be creative. The more time I spent with a film camera in my hands, the better. 

We didn’t record sound on location, so that was one less thing to worry about, but we did use lights. Anyone who could afford it, augmented the meagre NYU kit we were allocated by hiring additional equipment. 

Or if you were really extravagant, you might hire a 16mm film editing suite, because the few hours you were allowed in the NYU suite were nowhere near enough to complete your masterpiece. I did that, along with my production partner, for our final main project. I have a copy of it somewhere on VHS, I should get it digitised, and stick it on YouTube for a laugh. 

Before I get to my first day as an intern at MTV, I want to explain to you how I fell into this big opportunity. 

Don’t worry, it will be a brief, but necessary detour. Part of how I got this cool chance to be an intern at MTV, was because I was a bit of a computer nerd.

I had home computers, and dial-up modems in the early 1980s. One of the private online systems I used in a period I call “the pre-internet”, was called PeopleLink. It was one of the smaller online services, and it was strictly for networking, and meeting people. It doesn’t seem to exist in quite the same way anymore. I looked. 

PeopleLink used to organise in-person gatherings, and I attended one in NYC in Autumn 1985. Some alcohol may have been consumed, and unquestionably, I would have already been high when I arrived.

I hadn’t lived in the area for long. I didn’t know anyone in Hoboken where I had recently moved. The in-person meet-up was the chance to encounter people in actual real life that you may have been chatting to online, either in the public rooms, or privately one-to-one. 

The event was held in a moderately priced restaurant bar in midtown Manhattan, where a large private room had been reserved. It was surprisingly well attended. 

I only went to that one event, but as a result of it, I met four different women that I remained in touch with afterward. I had a couple of dates, and a snog with the first, a one night stand with the second, a dirty weekend with the third, and a six month relationship with the fourth. The fourth one was fifteen years older than me, I was her midlife crisis I think. Good times. 

Oh, not all four at once, but one after another, and pretty much in that order. I was easy, but not cheap. 

The reason I am telling you all this is that there was one other person I met at this event, who actually did change my life. And it had nothing to do with romance. 

The man’s screen name was “MTV”, and it turned out he really worked there. He was MTV’s original Production Manager. His name was Harvey G, and he gave me my start working in the media. 

Every other job I that I’ve had that followed after MTV, is because of having MTV on my CV. That’s why I’m only partially name checking him here now. He kickstarted my long career but I haven’t been in touch with him in over 35 years. I owe him a lot. I tried to find him online while writing this, but had no luck. I want to respect his privacy. Some people don’t want to be found. 

I got chatting to Harvey at the PeopleLink meet-up, and mentioned I was studying film and TV production at NYU. I asked if they needed any interns at the channel. 

Harvey shocked me and said yes, and gave me his business card. He told me to phone him if I was serious.

As I was getting ready to register for my third semester at NYU, in January 1986, I phoned Harvey, and he invited me for that first visit to MTV’s headquarters in Manhattan. It’s at that meeting, he made the formal offer. 

For my third semester, my main production class was on documentary production, and it was taught by an award winning film maker named Jim Brown, who was also my faculty adviser for that semester. I liked him, he was a good guy. 

I went to see Jim to discuss my potential MTV internship. I wanted to drop a couple of tedious core courses, some humanities bullshit, and instead earn the same number of credits by being an intern. He approved the plan, and dealt with the boring admin. 

Hey, look at me, I’m an MTV intern now!

My first day at MTV

I arrived early, as I always do. I was born prematurely, and I’ve been early for everything else, ever since. It was a Monday morning, bright and early, in January 1986. 

I should tell you what I looked like back then. I was only 23, I was bearded, and I had very long, somewhat curly hair, that went halfway down my back. I mostly kept it in a pony tail during the day, but would usually literally let it down in the evening, after a few drinks, or when I got home. It was an impressive head of hair, that I hadn’t started losing yet. I kept it long, on and off for most of my life, and for the very last time at age 55, before I cropped it all off for good.

Back then, I mostly dressed in blue, or black Levi 501 jeans, tee-shirts, and either denim, or leather jackets. Or if I wanted to look a bit smarter, I’d switch the leather jacket for a tweed blazer. And I always wore boots, cowboy, or biker, because I’m a bit short, and a decent heel never hurt. It was a look. 

I went for the blazer style on my first day. Harvey met me in reception, arranged for a building ID, and brought me up to the open plan office.

It was very corporate, I wasn’t the only long haired guy, but there weren’t many of us. Mostly it was smart suits, or dress shirt and tie combos, and respectable male haircuts. But I was young, a college student, and not getting paid, so I could get away with it easier. No one seemed to mind. 

I was introduced to everyone that day, so many people. I learned the department was formally known as Production Management, and Operations. I wish I could remember more names, and not just their faces. All of the people, but one, were really good to me throughout my time there. 

I was given a desk, with a typewriter, and telephone on it, and I was sat amongst a small group of production coordinators, and production assistants. Mainly, they doled out my work. Or to be more precise, they dumped the really tedious work they didn’t wish to do, on me. I didn’t mind. I was just happy to be there. 

There was a lot of paperwork, as they were constantly sorting out invoices for studios, production staff, and crews, that they had arranged for previous productions. Every desk was stacked with paper, mine included. 

And it really was my desk, I wasn’t sharing it with anyone. I could even leave stuff in the drawers! Trust me, as someone who would go on to work on nothing but “hot desks’ for the following few decades after this, having your very own desk was a BFD. 

My first task involved photocopying. So did my second. And third. You get the idea. There was a lot of photocopying. I became the king of clearing paper jams. I could also often be found in the departmental conference room, collating, and compiling stacks of documents on the huge table. And stapling, so much stapling. Welcome to the big time!

Mona, the Vice President, would occasionally ask me to go out and get her a regular coffee. That’s all there was back then. Coffee regular, coffee dark, coffee light, or coffee black, with or without sugar, all served in a Styrofoam cup, with a thin plastic lid. I wouldn’t have known what a cappuccino, or latte was in those days. I’d grab a receipt, and she would reimburse me on delivery. I probably did this once, or twice every day I worked there. 

On my first day, they told me I could take a lunch break. I had no idea what to do with myself, so I did what came naturally. I went into Central Park, and grabbed a hot dog with onion sauce, and mustard from a cart. 

Then I found a quiet spot by myself in Central Park, and smoked a joint. While I was enjoying it, I was startled by a tap on my shoulder. It was the guy who sat next to me back in the office, I think his name was Steve, and he would go on to buy my car from me later that year.

He asked me, incredulously, “Are you seriously sitting out here, smoking a joint, on your very first day?”

“Yep”, I said, as I shrugged my shoulders. What else could I say? He caught me red-handed. And it was decent stuff too. 

“Can I have some?” he asked.

Of course he could. Like I was going to say no! 

We passed the joint back and forth until it was finished, and then floated back to the office. And I made my first MTV friend that day. 

Routine plus fun stuff

The work itself was extremely dull, I fell into a routine. But there were so many cool people passing through the offices, it more than made up for it. Producers and directors from the studios, producers from different productions, and producers from the promo department too. I met so many interesting, and talented people. 

One producer, who gave me my first tour of the studios, and who I will call AA, always seemed to make a point of stopping to chat with me whenever she passed through the office. She seemed to be extremely well liked by everyone. 

One of the other producers I remember meeting was a guy named Joe Davola. I recall being introduced to him, and chatting with him. He was quite a colourful guy. They even named a minor character on the sitcom Seinfeld after him. He was fairly well revered at MTV back then, and a real creative force at the channel. 

I was meant to do around 2 or 3 days a week (officially 2.5 days a week), but with flexibility around my studies. I loved being there, but even more so when they started arranging for me to be more involved in the production side of things. 

The first on-location assignment they sent me on was as a production assistant for an ENG shoot for MTV News. They had an interview arranged with Tommy Boyce, one half of Boyce and Hart, the song writing duo behind many of The Monkees’ biggest hits.

The old Monkees TV series had been in syndication since I was a child, so I’d probably seen every episode ten times by then. And I grew up with their music too. I thought it was so cool to meet him. 

It was a three-man crew, which was the norm back then for ENG. ENG stands for electronic news gathering. There was the camera guy, the sound guy, and an assistant for them both, There was also a producer, and an assistant producer. That’s five people, plus me, the production assistant, so really six. And this was just for a simple interview with the interviewer off-screen, for what would probably end up being a 90 second item for the Music News. 

Kit was a lot bigger, and heavier back then, the recording deck was separate from the camera, and the lights weren’t LEDs. These days for news, there’s just the camera-person who also does the sound, and often they are the journalist/reporter/producer as well. Times change. 

The shoot was in a fancy hotel room somewhere in midtown, Mr. Boyce regaled us with lots of show business memories. I got to watch a real TV crew set up, and work. I got to listen to a producer interview him too. You never forget your first time.

I got sent out on all sorts of location shoots. I think they pitied me a bit, since all I did in the office was filing, photocopying, and coffee fetching. Oh, and I coded invoices too. Wow!

My real production experience came from my little field trips. I got to see small productions, large productions, and some in-between  productions. I went on shoots for promos, and for the news segments as often as I could. 

I asked loads of questions, and no one seemed to mind. I chatted with directors, and DPs, producers, costumers, and make-up people too. I tried to work out what everyone else was doing, and understand it as best I could.

I didn’t do much, I fetched things, helped carry things, I had no creative input, I was an agreeable, eager extra pair of hands. I went on so many of these shoots, that I struggle to recall them all. 

At the tail end of one studio job, while we were clearing up our stuff, Mona, the departmental VP dropped in to visit. 

Vice Presidents, or departmental managers in big organisations tend to be figureheads. They set policy, make big decisions, but don’t tend to get involved with details, so I was surprised to see her there. She chatted with the producers, and the director, but it was pretty obvious they didn’t know each other well, or maybe at all. And then she spotted me.

I was sweeping up with a broom. I can’t remember what this particular shoot was for, a promo of some sort, probably. I went on lots of those, because they often shot on film, which was my main interest. 

Mona spotted me, and came over for a chat. We spoke for maybe 10 minutes, I can’t remember the specifics, but we joked around a bit. She asked me how my internship was going, and I gushed about it. The incongruity of having a broom in my hands at the time was not lost on me then, just as it is not lost on me now. 

Filming promo material, adverts, channel idents and bumpers, and the like seemed to be a lot of what MTV produced, outside of the core channel content. In many ways, this was the one main bonus of being in this department, I got to see so many different types of productions, and on different scales. 

I loved being around MTV. I started skipping some of my classes, so I could hang around the office even more for those chances to do something fun. I still went to my production classes, the classes I enjoyed. And I continued to help other students with their filming, mainly one of my fellow students who was shooting a long form documentary. I was his cameraman, and shot many days for him. That was on 3/4” video, not film, NYU had reasonably decent ENG kit at this point.  

One last memory, which really illustrates the difficulty of breaking into the media industry in the mid 1980s, and especially into proper film. On one of these studio shoots, I got chatting to the director of photography, a freelance film cameraman with his own production company named Bill Dill. 

Film crews were bigger than ENG crews, and Bill’s crew was no different. He had a 1st and 2nd camera assistant, and a sound recordist, plus several more junior assistants. It was a big crew. 

As I was super-duper interested in film, and cameras, I got chatting to Bill. I think he had an Arriflex, or it might have been an Aaton, I don’t recall which. We had Arriflex cameras at NYU for my Sight and Sound course.

A film crew like Bill Dill’s would have mainly filmed high-end, but small projects, like commercials, or PSAs, or in this case, a promo for MTV. There was always work around, if you could find it. 

Bill was happy to answer all my questions, and seemed to appreciate my enthusiasm. I asked him if he ever thought about having an intern. He laughed, and said he already had three, and gestured towards the junior assistants. And he went on to say he had a long waiting list of more people eager to work with him for free. It made me realise how lucky I was to have such a good internship with MTV. 

MTV Studios

Eventually, they arranged for me to spend a day at the MTV studios, where they produced the main VJ segments, which was their bread and butter in the early days. 

I was really excited, I was a fan after all. That’s why I wanted to be an intern there. I couldn’t wait to see the studios.  

I was greeted by one of the producers, AA, who I mentioned earlier. She was expecting me. It was my first time ever, visiting an actual professional studio.

Like everyone at MTV, the people at the studio that I met that day were really nice to me, especially the producer showing me around. 

The producer, AA, explained that they pre-taped all of the insert segments between videos, none of it was live. It was the same for the music news segments, everything was prerecorded. I kind of figured that, but it was still cool to see the factory floor. 

The first area I was shown was the control room (or gallery if you speak British TV), which was the technical centre. There were half a dozen people in there. Someone was doing the graphics, someone else was mixing the audio, and yet another person was running the studio videotape decks. I’m pretty sure the director, and technical director were still separate roles back then, but in other studios I’ve been around since, the roles are combined. 

The studio director that day was Beth McCarthy (Miller), and she spent some time talking to me. If the name is familiar, she’s been a TV director for decades. Last I saw her name, she was credited as the director of Saturday Night Live. She directed episodes of 30 Rock as well.

On all the monitors was the main set, where the VJs would record the links played between videos. When the team took a break, my producer guide showed me around inside it. What surprised me was how small it seemed, compared to how big it looked at home on TV. I guess that’s part of the magic of television. 

I was introduced to two of the original MTV VJs that day, Martha Quinn, and Alan Hunter, but I can’t say I spoke to them very long. 

Besides the studio, and the gallery, and what I imagine were some dressing rooms, was a small production office with a few people in it. And that’s where I encountered to me by far the most interesting person I met that day. 

And who might that be? It was the studio intern, Ted Demme. 

Wait, what? The studio had its own intern? 

That’s right, the studio, and main production department had their own intern. That’s part of the reason my department wanted one too. Free help, is free help!

That studio, and production department internship was the internship I thought I was signing up for when I arranged mine. Ted worked directly with the producers, and directors in the studio all the time. I won’t lie, I was jealous.

Ted was a nice guy, I ended up hanging out with him that day. And I hung out with him whenever I went back to the studio. I wouldn’t say we were best friends, but we became fairly well acquainted with each other around this time.

Now that the studio people knew there was another intern in Production Management, and Operations, they would occasionally ask for me to be sent over to help when they were short handed, so I returned more than once.

After his internship, Ted went on to properly work for MTV, and to direct promos for them, before going on to direct episodic television, and eventually feature films. You might be familiar with his most well-known work, Blow  starring Johnny Depp, and Penelope Cruz. 

Ted’s own story doesn’t have a particularly happy ending, but he does make one more appearance, when we are briefly reunited at a large event later on. 

No sour grapes here, even though I learned my situation wasn’t ideal. I still got to go on location shoots, studio shoots for promos, and more news shoots too. Some shot on video, some shot on film, there was a wide variety of production types, and styles and I got to be around it all. 

In some ways, my internship gave me a more balanced, and rounded journey through MTV. It wasn’t what I thought it was going to be, but it turned out to be a whole lot more.

I learned about the business of production, hiring crew, hiring camera people, renting studios, scouting locations, applying for filming permits, dealing with freelancers in general, and most importantly, paying people’s invoices on time. I also learned about the real nuts and bolts of television operations, studios, and satellites too. 

I learned so much, just by watching other people. I was a knowledge sponge, and I soaked it all in. It wasn’t quite as creative as I had hoped, but it was still practical experience. It gave me a strong foundation in production, and broadcasting. Eventually, I managed to build a career on top of all of it. 

I ended up spending so much time hanging out at MTV, that I neglected some of my studies. If anyone at MTV noticed I was putting in more hours than agreed, they kept their mouths shut. I was still doing all the scut work, still making photocopies, still fetching regular coffees for the big boss too. My presence was very welcome, even if they had no idea how badly I was screwing up at NYU. 

And boy oh boy, was I screwing up.

What? And give up show business?

I went to see my faculty adviser at NYU, Jim Brown, I didn’t neglect his class. I made sure to attend, and I was still working on my classmate’s documentary for the same class. 

I was honest, I told him what had happened, how I was getting more from my time spent around MTV, than I was from my classes. I asked if I could drop two more classes, and instead get even more course credit for the extra hours I’d put in on my internship?

He looked at me, perplexed. He certainly understood why I was drawn into spending more time at MTV, but he explained it was impossible to retroactively change my semester coursework now, and get credit for effectively a nearly full time internship. 

I really screwed up. I ended up with a few incomplete grades in a couple of classes, but decent grades in the rest. Ooops, to the power of oh shit. 

I kept all this to myself. At this point it was too late to do anything about any of it. I finished my internship on the agreed date, and Harvey said they would hire me on a freelance basis whenever they could. And I got excellent feedback on my intern assessment form, so there was that. At least. 

On my last official day as an intern, there was a cake. There were gifts too, an official MTV baseball cap, and an MTV tee-shirt. I wore that tee-shirt out, but I think I might still have the hat somewhere. 

They thanked me warmly for my hard work, and that my friends, was that. I didn’t know if they would really ever call me again, or not. Spoiler alert: There are three more parts to this tale.  

As I walked out the doors of 1775 Broadway, for what I thought could have been maybe, the last time ever, I thought back to my very first visit to their offices, and my first meeting with Harvey, before I started my internship. 

I recalled the old joke I mentioned that Harvey told me about the circus. I didn’t really understand why he told it to me at the time, but by the end of my stint as an intern, I totally got it. 

Here’s that joke in full, I hope I do it justice: 

A father took his son to the circus. They saw all the big acts, there were the clowns, the jugglers, the high wire, the lion tamer, the trapeze artists, and the final act of the night, dancing elephants. 

After the show ended, as they were exiting the tent, the father and son noticed a hunched over, older guy with bucket and shovel, who came out into the middle of the now empty circus ring.

They watched as the old man began to scoop up the elephant dung left behind after the performance. 

The man’s young son was repulsed, and questioned his father as to why that poor guy had to shovel the elephant poo.

So the father called out to the man and asked, “why are you doing such a horrible, disgusting job? Why don’t you quit?”

And the older gentleman turned around, smiled, and said, “What? And give up show business?”

In Part Two of MTV Redux – Name Dropping, I tell you about the biggest event I worked on with MTV.

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