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In December of 1980 I was working in the radio industry. It was an era when pop country was stepping over dying disco for airwave radio dollars. Rock and roll was floundering into the eighties with punk popularity and princely confusion. Where I worked, we were making profit, with an "F", riding on the crossover from rock to country with acts like Alabama and Waylon Jennings.
We worked long hours and drank lots. On December 8, for some reason, I was late at the station. It might have been ilicit, or it might actually have been legit. I didn't work news and in a small market station, there was never more than one person in the news room. Usually in the evenings, the person spinning tunes was the one reading the news wire copy.
I am not a thief. I am an archivist.
I heard the DJ deliver the news of John Lennon's death from within the station. Ten minutes later, I relayed the news to my friends at the bar. There were no tears shed. But there was disbelief.
I don't recall any special tribute that night. Today, I am reminded of the controversial photograph of young people sitting on the Jersey shore one warm September day, while the twin towers were imploding behind them. They knew it was a horror, again, on Manhattan Island, but they were young and had a world of living ahead of them. There was no need for them to wallow in the horror of the moment.
The next morning I went to work. Across my desk came the new Billboard magazine, a mainstay in the music industry. So I delivered it to the newsroom to replace the earlier edition. As I lifted the back issue from the bunk I was faced with the back cover. Gulp. A lump floated from my chest to my throat. Such a gentle kiss. Dateline November 22. Double Fantasy. Full page ad.
Then I looked at the paper trash, there was no recycling in those days. The morning news crew had dispatched yesterday's news into the circular file, and there were three teletype print-outs. I slipped them into the magazine and carried the package back to my desk.
Okay. I stole it.
But I have protected it. And now I am sharing it. 1980 was pre-fax, let alone, pre-internet. Teletype was monospaced courier font allCAPS on paper one step above toilet paper.
I rescued these historical records.... and stored them in the magazine, until today.
Today is remembrance day. 11/11/11
Give Peace a Chance.
