Monday, December 16, 2013

What Would Lincoln Say...and Is He Really Dead?





By Peter Rodman

Peter Rodman--at this writing,
still claiming to be alive. 

(You be the judge.)
A handful of recent "deaths" (some real, some fake) have been reported--not just on Facebook, but pretty much everywhere.
I am not writing this to blame anyone for reporting the false information--but I think I 'get' what's happening here, and you will too...if you haven't already.
It's actually a relatively new phenomenon. Well...maybe not 'new' per say, but the brazen nature of it, and the zeal behind it, seem pretty 'new,' in an even sadder way.
We underestimate the zeal of youngsters to "spoof" or "hoax" people through the internet at our own risk.
You've heard of 'Gen X' and 'Gen Y'...
Welcome to 'Gamer Gen'--where everything's a game-- and it's especially fun, if it's inappropriate--like tricking a family into thinking their loved one has died.
I wish I were kidding...but I'm not. 
Believe me, I realize this is about as 'icky' a subject as I could possibly pick for a blog, but I'm writing this with a sincere hope of forestalling anymore needless heartaches or finger-pointing.  Let's fight this stuff with smarts.
The truth is, if you read this whole thing, and any of this happens to you again, it's YOUR fault...not the fault of whomever wrote what you read, or said what you heard.  

We want to think it simply *cannot* be true, that some heartless fool would falsely report a death (i.e., the great Sam Moore, of 'Sam & Dave,' just two weeks ago) JUST to fool people.
Sam Moore
BUT...it happened--and I fell for it myself, even though I could have called directly to find out.  I don't know why it took me so long to double-check...but immediately upon 'finding out' Sam had 'died,' I went to my tape archive and began editing the most heartfelt compilation of interviews and music I could.  It's what I do, now that I'm a retiree.  More accurately:  It's all I can do, to express grief, happiness, or love.  Three hours later, I posted a really cool Sam show, for people who (like me) felt like hearing his one-of-a-kind voice one more time, speaking as distinctively as he sings. (Or "sang," I thought.) Pretty soon, somebody came on to say they'd checked with his wife...and Sam was very much ALIVE AND WELL. 
I immediately took down my "tribute" interview show, and re-checked my sources (a great singer who knows Sam intimately was one who had said he died), and they were eminently reliable. So what happened here?
We got punk'd, that's what.
And even after the REAL family had actually confirmed that he was alive, more elaborate 'articles' surfaced--all very official looking--insisting that the new reports (of him being alive) were a hoax!
Game on.

Fast-forward to this past Saturday, when the country singer Ray Price ("For the Good Times") was falsely reported to have died, one day after his family's sad announcement that his terminal illness would require hospice care, as nothing more could be done to fight his maladies.
Do you remember when Freddie Mercury (of Queen) announced that he had AIDS on a Saturday, and was gone by Monday?  If so, it was not entirely unexpected to hear the reports of Mr. Price's supposed demise.
But once the family denied it,  there came a tsunami of social network know-it-alls, angrily blaming the messengers (news outlets like The Tennessean and CMT, who briefly picked up the story)...and they are partially right to say the story should have been checked better...but are being a bit too hasty in their judgements, as well.
Like I say, this is relatively new territory--and even most of us 'hardened media types' have not traversed such low terrain before.

                      
Let's look at the actual sequence of events:
Ray Price
I will not name specific names, but an immediate family member who runs Ray's own website says HE saw a very convincing post ('article') about his father's death, on that site, which prompted HIM to officially announce his own Dad's death.
Considering that source, I hardly think The Tennessean or CMT are to blame...this time.  (I'll explain that shortly.)
It seemed plausible enough, given the fact that just two days earlier the Price family jointly issued a "farewell statement" from Ray himself, essentially saying he was going to hospice to die.
I believe the words "last days" were used at the time, but that may be false--just like anything else you read on the internet, if you're starting to get my drift.
But the clear impression from the family had been that 'it won't be long.'
Does that justify a premature announcement (let alone confirmation) of Ray's death?
Of course not.
False is false.

...or is it?

Two things are at play here:
1.) The barrage of sympathetic posts on Facebook and Twitter, reacting to the LEGIT ('hospice') announcement led MORE than a few fans and friends to carelessly post messages of sympathy that started with "Godspeed, Ray!" and morphed into "R.I.P., Ray." That's just the nature of the beast.
It's like playing that old game of "telephone."
(If you're too young to remember it, ask a codger you love.)
Now imagine being an already-grieving family member, who runs Dad's website, knowing his Dad is dying already...and tell me he's to blame, for believing somebody's sudden 'confirmation' of Mr. Price's demise, on the site.  Especially if he weren't able to contact anybody, to verify it.
Fact is, you or I might have fallen for it, too.
But that ain't the half of it, unfortunately.
A half dozen of my friends who are revered newspaper writers also got fooled, this time around.

So what's going on here?  Was the son to blame for falsely reporting his Dad's death?
Obviously a third party posted the very convincing 'death notice' on his Dad's Facebook 'fan' page, a post that he (the son) became convinced was true.
It's seems pretty heartless to blame the guy (‘estranged’ or not) for thinking, “Oh, my God…Dad died!”
It looked 'real' enough to HIM, is all that matters--and it played upon his vulnerabilities, at the worst time possible. That's just cause for sadness, not anger.

Or...
Was it the best time possible, for a devious mind tp plant the story--fooling even his family?
In other words...and I hate to say this: Was the whole 'mistake' somehow intentional???
(Not by the family, nor anyone connected with them--but by a person intent on starting that brushfire of rumor, by posting a falsehood in the exact right place at the exact right time?)
  (Note: In a sad bit of irony, 87 year old Ray Price actually passed away six hours after this blog was written, posted, and sent out. It could not physically be withdrawn, but I was able to edit in this addendum:
"Since this column concerns the relatively new phenomenon of  internet hoaxes and media missteps  concerning celebrity deaths, it will stay up--with absolutely no disrespect intended whatsoever, to a fine country music artist. My thoughts are with Ray's family--all of whom have undergone a needlessly hideous three-day ordeal, at the hands of internet pranksters, increasing already existing family tensions at a time when they least needed it. My sincere hope remains the same as when I wrote it--that by better informing readers about HOW these incidents actually happen, the likelihood of them happening all over again will decrease, going forward." --PR )


Let me repeat, I too was recently fooled (in the case of Sam Moore) and embarrassingly published those sad thoughts and touching excerpts from our past interviews...simply because I loved Sam. Well, it turns out I still love him, because (as Sam's wife straightened out the very next day) Sam is very much still with us!  In other words, this phenomenon is becoming all too common.
So I am not at all inclined to judge the outlets who falsely relayed reports THEY thought sounded credible...at least not THIS time.  Not The Tennessean, nor CMT, nor even Ray Price's son or brother or cousin or whatever. Nor do I feel anybody else should berate these people. They are already grieving.


In a truly weird twist, the last time this happened (a few weeks ago, when Lou Reed died) countless "credible" reports said he DIDN'T die...and we all (well, most of us anyway, if only for a second) fell for that hopeful 'truth,' too.
Sadly, it turns out a TRULY sick Lou Reed "death denial" was published on a website which prides itself on 'hoaxing' deaths either way, including falsely stating the person is still living.  What they are trying to prove, I don't know.

"Something is happening here, and you don't know what it is.  
Do you, Mister Jones?" --Bob Dylan


Here's the thing:
'The Onion' is a hilarious website we all know, that posts preposterous (false) headlines for the sake of humor. "Borowitz Report?" (in The New Yorker)...same-same. Both are brilliant.
But what we have lately began to unpeel is a much stinkier 'onion'--one created by ninja numbskulls who've made it their business to convince you the truth is false--and their First Frontier is "celebrity deaths."
Lou Reed
So not only has Jackie Chan NOT died, as they said he had over and over, in the first example of this, years ago; but Lou Reed has not NOT died.
(In other words...he's actually dead.)
But that took the better part of TWO DAYS to confirm--even for reputable news outlets.
This more blatant 'spoofing,' (if that's the term) is all fairly new and complicated stuff.
Near as I can tell, most of the elaborate "fooled you" sites (regarding celebrity deaths) work this way:
Either A.) In very sensitive times (Ray just entered hospice last week) when people EXPECT bad news, some source finds the perfect time--and a convincing graphic, well placed (i.e., on Price's own fan page)--to "announce" that death with 'an article' that looks "real."
Boom.  Fire started.

B.) When people reflexively wish a sudden death announcement weren't true (through their own shock or grief, as with Lou Reed) somebody who thinks they're being clever convincely announces that it's NOT true, using almost all the same tricks.
Both are *eminently* exploitable scenarios, because of all the emotional investment in beloved characters, public and private--and both scenarios actually HAPPENED, as shown above--fooling not just legit news outlets, but actual family members.
More and more, we're seeing this very thing (exploitation hoaxes) happen.

After the Lou Reed embarrassment, I went back and looked a bit more closely at all the articles that had said "Lou Reed Still Alive; Death Reports Are A Hoax" ...and once you actually go to those sources,  you'll find (albeit in fine print)  very clear disclaimers that said these were so-called "humor" or "parody" webites, thus presumably indemnifying them from libel suits, for printing TOTALLY FALSE SHIT! (The print wasn't immediately noticable, but it was there.)
So when you see an 'article' that looks JUST like a newspaper obituary, but in the small print under it the site source says something like  'newsnot.com' or 'newsish.com' (I made those up just now; insert any unfamiliar name) remember: These are LOSERS, who just think it's 'funny' to do this shit.

On another (slightly different) subject (though they both fall firmly under the "gullable" category), the
foundation for all of the above comes from a long line of false posts by "Warren Buffet," "Bill Cosby,"  "George Carlin," and "Morgan Freeman,"all of whichcan be readily debunked at www.snopes.com

I still see otherwise intellegent friends re-posting totally bogus "John Lennon" quotes, just because they sound good. And even if you gently point it out to them, they'll say, "Well I like it anyway," or some such thing.  Turns out we just want to believe what we want to believe. 

The truth is, nearly nothing attached to any of the above names (John Lennon, etc.) is anything they actually said in real life--or (as in the case of Buffett) it's been embellished with all manner of whack-job libertarian crapola.
Take it from me, it's no more "true" than that Nigerian inheritance e-mail you once got, ten years ago.

Someday, "reverse death hoax" websites will be a known thing to teach your kids to look out for.  So far, though...not really.

Meanwhile, I'm sticking with my favorite adage:

"Never believe anything you read on the internet."
--Abraham Lincoln



_________________________________________________________
This Column Copyright 2013 by Peter Rodman. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

God Bless The Turtles!




By Peter Rodman

God bless the Turtles. First, a little history, if you will...
For over 35 years, I have been openly critical--both in print, and on the air--of the "record industry" (as we used to call it) which, time after time, bungled their business with a "defense" that was both lazy and greedy. Oh--and did I mention "crazy," too? As far back as 1977 I wrote a series of columns in defense of used record stores, who were beginning to be harrassed (by actual police) for so-called "theft," just for re-selling used albums they'd bought from customers. I received many threatening letters (which I still have) from ASCAP and BMI back then.
But their response to a changing market grew even more hysterical after that.
The record companies tried to stop cassette recorders from even being marketed. They price-fixed CDs (which cost them 60 cents to make) at $16, for decades. As the internet grew (another innovation they railed against), instead of negotiating better royalty rates (or building them into the hardware itself!!!) they labeled the vast majority of their consumers "pirates," thus permanently alienating their own consumer base--and even tried to stigmatize the passing around of 'mix tapes.'
All of it, completely wrong-headed.
In short, the record business became an industry of misguided bullies.
Having said that, I have also maintained (all along) that better royalties were the key responsibility of the *performance rights* organizations--who, if they'd ever stop focusing on banquets, awards, and shaking down some bowling alley operator in the desert for a minute, might have kept up with the times, in defense of the creators!!! (Question: Why don't everything from patch cords to jewel cases have a royalty built into the price? Answer: Because if your Manhattan address is "1 ASCAP Plaza," the money and effort is obviously focused elsewhere.)
Well, finally somebody is taking the right approach--and as you may have guessed, it's NOT a record company, nor BMI or ASCAP....it's an artist.
Flo & Eddie, a/k/a "The Turtles," have bravely stepped forward to take the fight to court, state-by-state if necessary. They are suing Sirius because they receive NO performance royalties for anything before 1972, based upon a horribly flawed federal copyright law. (Unlike many, I have no problem with the low rates Pandora or YouTube pay, IF they are the agreed-upon rates between them and the performance rights organizations. Got a problem with it? Blame BMI, for not doing their job!)
But this is not about "rates."
Sirius brazenly pays NOTHING to any artists, for any of their work prior to 1972--essentially building a large part of their business model on freeloading--and right now, they're getting away with it.
To their great credit, Mark Vollmann and Howard Kaylan have become the first to stand up and say, "No more."
To which I say, "BRAVO!!!" As the past has clearly shown, only artists are going to be able to stand up for artists.
Such a pity, the pathetic "record industry" couldn't (or wouldn't) do it.
******************GOD BLESS THE TURTLES!!!***************

Please direct all angry and/or threatening letters to:
Peter Rodman
1 Rodman Plaza
Nashville, Tennessee

Here's the story which inspired this commentary:
http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/thr-esq/siriusxm-attacks-turtles-playing-lawsuit-648237

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

My Lyin' Country




By Peter Rodman


I'm beginning to wonder about my country.
On a national level, we've got Republicans shutting down the government, monuments included--then pretending to let veterans into the WWII memorial--complete with a podium, and a microphone(who knew!)conveniently set-up right beside it, for RNC chairman Reince Priebus to proudly boast (on national TV!) about letting them in, when HIS PARTY shut 'em out in the first place!
Talk about chutzpah!
Does a man who does this have any conscience at all?
Has life boiled down to a winner-take-all game, and nothing more?
Does the truth even matter in America anymore?
Or is "up" finally "down," and vice versa?


This may seem at first unrelated...but do you remember around 5 years ago, when we all started getting 'robo-calls' every single day?
Even if you were on the 'Do Not Call' list?
Back when the list worked, I got none.
Now...I get two or three a day, minimum.
And they've gotten quite sophisticated, in their deception:
"Hey," says the caller, "this is Jeff, with a reminder..." blah, blah, with just the right pauses...before you even realize it's recorded.
Why did this begin happening so often, just 5 years ago?
Because unregulated CABLE TV companies (who are monopolies, in most American cities) began offering home telephone service back then, and blew right past every existing law regarding telephone privacy. My phone--unlisted forever--suddenly became 'listed.' Now, you can look up my entire domicile history, like anyone else's. But before--believe me--you couldn't.
It's gotten so bad that last year, the FCC actually offered a $50,000 reward to anyone who could come up with a new program to restore the effective "Do Not Call" system we used to have. (The reward money is still out there for any aspiring computer geeks, just in case you can't get your pajama-wearing deadbeat kid out of his pajamas.)

Okay...
So there are two (seemingly) unrelated examples of what I would call 'brazen deception in America.'
And I'm not even gonna COUNT the kind of stuff we've always had--which once fooled a foreign houseguest of mine into thinking some guy named 'Ed MacMahon' was about to come to the house any minute, with 10 million dollars for her. (I am not making this up.)
I remember gently telling her, "No, here in the States, never believe anything anyone tells you, until I see it! They're all lying!"
And we thought it was bad back then!
In addition to no longer being 'rare,' this deceptive behavior seems to have become the norm in my country.

Need more?

Then there's a piece of mail which just arrived this afternoon:
Tell me, when did junk mail become SO deceptive that even an eagle-eyed, paranoid guy like me can't recognize it?
Answer: When they stole the exact type-faces of IRS and other government documents, just to sell the same old insurance and prescription drug scams they've always sold.
Shouldn't that be illegal?
If even I can't tell it's fake, how does my 90 year old Aunt stand a chance?

So here we are. A nation of charlatans, liars, and cheats.
John Lennon was right: Nothing is real.
At least not anymore...

What I'm wondering, is how we ever managed to get the last honest guy in America elected President, and then allowed him to be bamboozled and obstructed by one tiny, radical wing of the Republican party?
Oh, wait...silly me!
I remember how!
It actually goes back to Bill Clinton, who allowed "The Fairness Doctrine" to expire.
The Fairness Doctrine, in case you're too young to remember, mandated that all 'talk radio' and other vital public airwaves--which are supposedly licensed in the best interests of the American public--be required to offer both sides of a story, where possible.
Simple.
Let's allow Rush Limbaugh to have his show. Michael Savage? No problem.
But somewhere in your schedule, as a licensee, you needed to offer a show--any show--from the opposing point of view.
That is gone today.
So if you ever wonder how even some of your own friends became radicalized, now you know.
A steady diet (usually at work) of smart, reasonable sounding voices, spewing wildly racist and hateful garbage that would never even have made it on the air 40 years ago, is all they get.
Eventually, up IS down.
The sky is green, and the grass is blue--as science tells us, a constant repetition of falsehoods makes for truth, over time.
That's what happened.

And when you ask "What would be wrong with reinstating the Fairness Doctrine?," the likes of Sean Hannity become downright apoplectic.
"Let the free market decide!" they holler. "We don't need the government deciding what we can and cannot hear!!!"
Sounds good, right?
But the free market doesn't actually decide. Coinciding with the Fairness Doctrine expiring, restrictions on frequency ownership were virtually erased--which is why, if your city once had 50 radio and TV stations with 50 different owners , it now has 50 stations with only 4 owners.
Even in a city like D.C.--something like 70% African-American and Democratic--you can no longer find a liberal voice anywhere on the radio.
The argument that there'd be "no audience for it" is as bogus as the phony letter above; or the "concern" Mr. Priebus showed for those veterans; or the never-ending phone calls from "Jeff" and "Donna" that you sometimes end up talking to, only to realize they aren't even capable of listening.

Speaking of cheats, have you met my good friend Gerry?
If you google him (say, "GERRY MANDERING DISTRICTS") and look at the maps, he will look like a crazy monster, or a Rorschact test.
But no, that's precisely what gerrymandering looks like--a crazy, convoluted puzzle piece no reasonable person could ever assume was a single district. (Or more importantly, an "accident.")
Remember your 6th grade Social Studies class, where they taught you that term? No?
That's when congressional district maps are "artfully" RE-DRAWN to accomodate a certain known quantity of one party's loyal voters. It ensures that nobody else will ever win an election for that seat, based upon detailed research of voting patterns--and it further ensures that almost nobody can even challenge that congressperson, in a primary.
In 2010, the GOP presided over the most massive re-drawing of congressional district lines in U.S. history.
And people wonder why these Tea Party people keep getting re-elected!
It's as if the currently winless New York Giants re-drew the football field, so that every time they stepped into their own locker room...TOUCHDOWN!!!


I'll say it again:
We've become a nation of charlatans, liars, and cheats.
That's us, today.
And any place where dishonesty reigns is doomed to destroy itself, sooner or later.

Oh...and stay away from the West Side Highway.

_____________________________________________________
Copyright 2013 by Peter Rodman. All Rights Reserved.
_____________________________________________________

Here's a song (written by my friend Gary Burr, and sung by Patty Loveless) you might find relevant!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-_Znh6oA5g

This doo wop classic by the Shields was included on the very first 'Oldies But Goodies' album:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zCjAkMV1Cw

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Rolling Stone Steps In It, Big Time


By Peter Rodman





No way around it, Rolling Stone Magazine's new cover is the biggest mistake they've ever made.
And they haven't made many, so I'm particularly sad to see this.

The cover is nauseatingly inappropriate; the outcry richly deserved.
It's a real shame they did this, because the damage may eventually become first-paragraph material in Jann Wenner's (and/or the magazine's) eventual obit.  And I'm not saying they should pander to every sensitivity out there, but at a time when print media's been fighting tooth-and-nail for every ad page and reader they can muster, just to survive... well, this may not have been the wisest move in their playbook.

Put another way, if this were a tennis championship, this cover controversy would qualify as "an obvious unforced error." 

Though it shouldn't really be a "right/left" issue, this tone-deaf blunder is already being used by the right wing, as a weapon to attack the magazine's credibility--and it'll be a handy and effective tool with which to beat down any future investigative pieces 'conservative corporates' may find threatening.
That is a terrible shame.

Rolling Stone is one of the few remaining outlets for clear-eyed reportage, one fine example being Matt Taibbi's excellent work exposing the financial corruption in our political system. 
Even this particular story (on 'The Bomber') might be a good one...but for this reader, it loses all credibility before I even read it, based on the wildly wrong-headed cover art.
You look at this issue, and you think "What is 'The Bomber' anyway...this kid's latest album?"

The point is, even many avowed left-wingers (and I count myself as one) find the 'rock-star cover' for this doofball wannabe-terrorist completely repulsive.
It may as well have said...

EXCLUSIVE:  Dzhokhar's Favorite Colors! 
What kind of girls does he like? 
Do YOU want to win a date with Jokey???
Seriously.
How 'bout a slightly less 'groovy' pose than this 'selfie' from a thoughtless jerk who ruined so many other peoples' lives in a second or two,  casually severing limbs and families forever??
Here's why it's so wrong, point by point:

Here is how it actually looks on a newsstand.
Would one be far off surmising he's been
"on the bus with Willie Nelson?"

The cover blurb says he "fell into radical Islam," and "was failed by his family."  Sure sounds like the poor kid had nothin' to do with it...
But nevermind complaining about
the words on the cover--since they're all buried at the bottom, where you can't even see 'em on a newsstand! 
Tell me, did the editors really think throwing in the word "monster" at the very end, in the bottom right corner--completely *not* visible on ANY magazine stand (see pic above)-- would somehow ameliorate their colossally bad judgment?
The magazine's defense has been to mention that RS has put many infamous types on the cover before, and that is true. 
But they just don't get it.

See, it's not the fact that you put the kid on the cover.
It's the shot you used...and the way you used it.

Logo-header, completely uninterrupted.  I've done a bit of professional writing myself, and that normally signals the reader, "Everything's okay here!" 
Glamour shot, retouched and airbrushed to perfection.
What is he, a model? 
...certainly not a model citizen. 
Here's the difference between the 'Bomber' cover and a few past RS covers of notorious figures:  When Rolling Stone put Charles Manson on the cover, almost nobody complained.  That's because it was contextualized ("A Special Report") and because of the way in which he was portrayed--beneath a big yellow circle (target?), with the whites of his crazy-ass eyes highlighted, by a lack of yellow.  The logo is  much more serious and small--almost somber looking--and it blends in, rather than looking like a full-splash fanzine, as does the newer one--especially in the bold and friendly 'orangey-red' selected to compliment 'Dzhokey's' softly airbrushed face.
Two different worlds.  
One: a (past) generation of RS editors and layout artists who knew what the hell they were doing.
Two: the clueless bunch who let the new cover see daylight. 
Likewise, one could easily tell Richard Nixon was a bad guy by the cover art Rolling Stone chose to use, back then. 

The fact is, in the past Jann Wenner has 'batted a thousand,' in defending every ballsy move the magazine has made.
He deserved to win every one of those battles.
From 'America: The Sleeping Giant' to the General Stanley McCrystal expose, the magazine's record is nothing short of astounding. 
But he deserves to lose this battle.

Jann's editors have done the magazine a disservice, with their feeble defenses about "the long-standing tradition of journalism," which apparently they forgot to apply to these needlessly complimentary graphics.  
Graphics are an editorial decision. 
In fact, it might even be said that they represent an editorial!
That's why there's an uproar, Jann.
Not because he's on there, but because of HOW he's on there.  You know that, deep in your heart. 
Look again at that Nixon picture, above.  Then do yourself a favor...and don't be like him.  You've righteously defended the magazine before, but that doesn't mean you must defend even a terrible mistake. 
Which this is.

A lot of people have come out of the woodwork to say they've been longtime loyal readers, just
to punctuate their complaint about 'The Bomber' cover...but I actually have been a loyal reader from Day One back in late '67, when I first spotted your amazing new publication in a record shop on Bleecker Street, and scarfed up the (newsprint-folded) issue, with John Lennon pictured on the front.

Now, I now find myself in the sad and awkward position of actually siding with the magazine's detractors--many of them serving a political agenda I find abhorrant--and that just ain't right.
I don't wanna be on their side, Jann!

You're the Beatles of rock journalism. You virtually started the whole profession, and I personally owe several decades of tax returns to it.  But this is not good.
And it's in no way a minor mistake.
Certainly, it's not a "meaningless" controversy, as a writer friend put it earlier today.  It's especially not "meaningless" to  the permanently disfigured (or dead) victims of the mindless shithead who just "made 'The Cover of the Rolling Stone'," as the song goes. 
In fact, maybe a quick listen to that song might help some of you figure out just what's so wrong about this new cover.  
Go ahead.  Click this link, and give it a listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ux3-a9RE1Q
Then tell me it was a good decision to glorify this loser.

Even the Beatles had one "serious lapse in judgement" (as TIME magazine called it back in 1966), and ultimately had to withdraw this album cover, after it was printed.
Remember that?  Of course you do, Jann!

You're a rock expert, and still a huge fan...just like me. 
Those "Butcher covers" are collectors' items to this day, and all because the Fabs pretended to be butchering human beings  on the cover. 
Butchering babies...in 1966!

Well, guess what:
Now you have your very own "Butcher cover."

Only this time, it's for real.
It's somebody who actually butchered human beings.
And you present him like you would any average rock star?
Just another "lost boy." Coulda been anyone, right?

A poor little cutey, who "fell into it?"
Jann, I just wish you'd suck it up, withdraw the issue from newstands*, and do like the Beatles did:
Admit that the cover was "a serious lapse in judgment." 

All of it.






_______________________________________________________
This article Copyright 2013 by Peter Rodman. 
All Rights Reserved.
______________________________________________
*This would amount to roughly 70,000 copies, ironically almost the same amount of Beatles 'Butcher Covers' Capitol Records printed and had ready-to-sell in 1966, before they were withdrawn. (NOTE: A couple million more copies of Rolling Stone are mailed to subscribers each month.) 
______________________________________________
**Looking at the full 'Bomber' cover, you'd be forgiven for momentarily guessing that some hot young artist had just covered the old Joe Walsh song. If only. 
Here's "The Bomber" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2v-uUADxa0

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

After the Noise: A personal memoir, featuring Barry Fey



By Peter Rodman



Our plate was full, to say the least.
With deadlines looming before the Stones’ July 16, 1978 stadium show in Boulder, my wife and I were spread out all over the floor of our tiny apartment. There were markers, stencils, tracing paper, poster boards, reference books, magazines, album covers, handwritten notes everywhere, a red telephone, and an old fashioned electric typewriter.
You might say we were immersed in 'Rolling Stonesville.'
She, laying on the floor--pretty as always--putting her finishing touches on a pencil drawing of the band so gorgeous that even the Rolling Stones themselves eventually approved it--with no words, nor any trace of their ‘tongue logo’ on the front--unheard of! (Of course, the back of the shirt said “Happy Birthday, Barry!” as the show was to take place on concert promoter Barry Fey’s 40th birthday, and yes…there you would find the ubiquitous, Andy Warhol-inspired logo.)
My own mission was to create a breezy-but-comprehensive “History of the Rolling Stones,” for the 50,000+ free programs/magazines to be distributed by the Colorado Daily at stadium entrances, on Colorado Sunday #2. Nothing else would appear in the magazine, besides pictures and ads.
It was all mine.
Every word was painstakingly researched, and a handful of small “sidebars” highlighted various non-musical (or cultural) events in their lives.
Soon--with less than a week to go before they hit the stage--we had finished our work, cleaned up the living room, and turned it all in.
Some tools of my trade in the aforementioned
living room, on a much calmer day.

The shirts (now priceless collectors’ items, believe me) were ‘offset printed’ onto white t-shirts with red “rings,” a signature of the times--with 'grey factors' to capture the detailed pencil work, a much more expensive prospect back then, than mere 'block coloring.'
And the programs came out beautifully, with one glaring exception:
They’d managed to omit my byline altogether!
Over 40 pages, and nary a mention of who wrote ‘em.
Not a trace of moi.
Nice.
What's the old cliche again...

"It's only rock 'n roll..." 

Anyway, it was with no small measure of (let's call it) irritation that I fielded an angry phone call from Barry Fey about the program, a few nights before the show. It was hot off the presses, and he was equally hot under his (then-considerable) collar.
He opened in full 'Bill Graham tantrum' mode.
In fairness to Barry, that kind of over-the-top belligerence had become a sort of  'template' among rock promoters, ever since Graham’s monstrously bellicose (read: barking mad) behavior in the Gimme Shelter documentary had won him a nationwide ‘Don‘t Mess with Bill’ badge of honor.
You sometimes got the feeling Gimme Shelter was required viewing for rock promoters. Certainly Barry Fey had seen it--and he seemed to have taken pretty good notes, judging from the roaring lion on the other end of my cherry red, squiggly-wired home telephone.
(By this time, even Fey’s underlings fancied themselves as ferocious--though I never saw them as anything but tiny men behind the curtain, bluffing hopefully toward ‘Wizard’ status.)
But in this case the voice on the other end of the line was the real thing--and by that I mean really, truly chilling.
Now picture ME:
I am home, in said living room (probably in my pajamas, having a beer) taking this call--which always, to me at least, invited a little ‘Archie Bunkerness’ on my part, at the time. I may very well have been watching All in the Family.
All I remember is that I looked at my wife like,“Aw, jeez, Edith…who’s it now?”
The gravely-voiced lion began without so much as a hello:
What the fuck should I tell this kid, when he sees this?”
Well…at least I knew who it was...

“What are you talkin’ about, Barry?” I responded. (This was the rough equivalent of Alfalfa saying to Butch, “Yeah??? Put up yer dukes!” on The Little Rascals.)
I gathered some courage, and continued.
“Are you tellin’ me I get no credit whatsoever for doin’ all this stuff for you, and that’s all you have to say about the whole book?”
“This is gonna break that kid’s heart,” he insisted, lowering his voice in mock-sincere tones. “I’ll be surprised if he even wants to go onstage in Boulder now, after reading about an old drug bust in Toronto.”
Oh…that.
(At least now I knew what he was talking about.)
On page 23 or so of the program, tucked away in a corner of this mighty tome I’d slaved over for weeks, I happened to mention (in one of those tiny sidebars) how triumphant it was, that Keith Richards was once again able to tour in the U.S., his working visa having been briefly suspended, as the case made its way through the Canadian legal system--at one time threatening to put him behind bars for a goodly sum of years. This infamous arrest (added to a heap of others, in my defense) had not only made worldwide headlines, but kept the Stones from touring in the States since ‘75.

The Rolling Stones in Ft. Collins, Colorado 1975
Photograph Copyright 1975 & 2013 by Peter Rodman.
As I saw it, this was mere reportage--and more than slightly relevant to the Stones’ upcoming appearance.
On the other hand, I didn’t exactly see myself as Barry saw me--which was apparently as more of a flak than a reporter, at that juncture.
But hey, I was young--and in retrospect, that was a good thing.
Others have kow-towed to promoters since, but me?
No Sirree…“I’m a ‘reporter,’ Barry!”
So I guess in that sense, my naivete about ‘integrity’ and such helped me find a unique voice. But on this particular night, Barry was not happy--and let’s face it, the access he and his company provided me (to just about every rock star on the planet) was pretty much my bread ‘n butter.
That point, incidentally, was not lost on my wife.
Silly me-- I was under the impression the Stones had actively cultivated their 'bad boy' image!
I must add, that was the first (and last) time I ever heard Keith Richards referred to as a “kid.”

The night before the show, Barry’s threw himself a birthday party at ‘Anthony’s Garden,’ a small disco inside Boulder’s Harvest House Hotel.
There, I saw something I’ve not witnessed before or since:
It was the formidable ‘guy you don’t mess with,’ Barry Fey--way before he softened his image and dropped 100 pounds--unabashedly and wildly dancing (in public!) to the Stones’ latest hit, “Miss You.”
I still have a vision of him, surrounded by women and sycophants, waving his arms in utter glee--lost in the beat, and shamelessly singing at the top of his lungs:
and some Puerto RICAN girls, that’s just dyyyyy'na MEEETchoo!!!”
When the song ended, he made the guy play it again.
…and again.
In truth (as Barry himself would tell you), he was never really sure he’d get to promote the Stones again.
Like so many ‘larger than life’ guys, Barry Fey was riddled with insecurities. They say anger and fear are close relatives, but most people are far more comfortable displaying the former. You might well wonder how anybody with such a resume could ever doubt himself, but he did.

Mick Fleetwood-- backstage at Folsom Field,
 with his lovely inflatable friend...
Photograph Copyright 1977 & 2013 by Peter Rodman. 
 Oh sure, there were the backyard parties with Lynyrd Skynrd, before the plane crash that ate half the band; the backyard basketball pick-up games with REO Speedwagon; the good times with Bruce, the Dead, and countless others--all backed up by endless stacks of laminates and stickers, as if to prove it all.
The “birthday party” existed as much to let off steam as anything else, since the road to presenting the Rolling Stones in Boulder in ‘78 had not been a particularly easy one.
The link below features Barry telling the 'inside story' of how he got the Stones to play Boulder that year, in almost maddeningly melodramatic fashion:
Barry Fey on 'Sunday Night with Peter Rodman' --May 21, 1978*
(You may want to read on first, as this page will disappear after you click above.)

On the morning of the concert, I arrived at the designated (backstage) chain-link fence at around 6 a.m., lugging my usual 20 pounds of recording equipment. Everyone I’d seen the night before, including Barry, was still in bed…but I liked to stake out a decent perch in the press box, a secret stash for handy portable recording equipment backstage, and to familiarize myself with each of the security staff members I’d encounter over the next 15 hours or so. Freelancers have an added responsibility, I always thought, to be on time, assist in any way they can, and generally stay out of the way until needed.
Believe me, I was groggy.
Okay…hungover, too.
Even my wife groaned, “noooooo, you can’t be leavin’ this early,” but it was a short walk across the lovely University of Colorado campus from our place, and besides…I kinda liked to soak up the calm before the storm.
To his credit, the guard said, “I’m sorry, where’s your pass?” and I showed him what I’d been given by Phil Lobel the night before, but apparently this wasn’t the right pass…so rather than argue with him, I thanked the guy and simply walked back home and crawled into bed.
“You were right, it’s too early,’ I said, and fell right back to sleep beside my beautiful wife.
Phones were a lot louder back then--or at least it seemed loud, when my ‘hotline’ began ringing, at around 7:45.
I was so sleepy, I rehearsed my “hello’s” a few times before answering. “Hello…helloooo…hem, ahem…”
...Hello?
“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!” 

In the pressbox at Folsom Stadium in Boulder, overlooking
another 61,000 seat sell-out, this time an Eagles show.
Photograph Copyright 1978 & 2013 by Peter Rodman.
"Barry, I didn’t have the right pass. It’s okay, I’ll be there later on…you don’t need me until…hey, I don’t even think you do need me there today, anyway!”
It was true. 
My work (creating the programs and t-shirts, and conducting all kinds of pre-show interviews on the radio) was done.
And besides, I didn't even work for Barry Fey!
“Listen," he said, calming down some, "I heard you were there (even though he wasn’t yet), and I know what happened. So you can just go back to the gate; the guy has everything you'll need.”
By this time I would rather have stayed home, but this was the nicest thing he could have done, and I wasn't about to not honor it.
So I dragged myself back to the stadium, and that was that.



Barry Fey backstage at Folsom Field in 1978,
with the Beach Boys' Mike Love--
plus a proof sheet from the Eagles show.*
Lest you think our personal or professional history was always contentious, Barry Fey appeared for a cumulative total of over ten hours on my radio show, in half a dozen comprehensive interviews (two of which are excerpted herein) over a ten-year period.  He even guested on my puny little Channel 12 TV talk show (appropriately called Who's on 12?), and allowed me unfettered access to nearly every single show he produced between 1975-1985, whether it be at Red Rocks or the Rainbow, Folsom Field, Mile High Stadium, Ebbets Field or Macky Auditorium.
Many of my work-weeks involved up to ten interviews, face-to-face, with every act from Sting to Van Halen to Zappa to the Dead, and back again.  (And by 'back again,' I quite literally mean doing fresh interviews when they all came back again, in a year or so.)
Probably the only time I ever had to beg for anything was at Red Rocks, where I’d try and get a parking pass, because they’d literally 'box in' thousands of cars alongside the mountain, and unless you were one of the 30 or so lucky cars backstage, you’d be leaving with everybody else, in the exact reverse order you came.
So that, to me, was a far more imoportant perk than any 'backstage pass.'
But the rest was pretty much just to facilitate the work, and the work was interviews.
What I got out of them was the thrill of presenting something beautiful on the air, or in print; what ‘Feyline’ got out of them was a single interview that I’d parlay into many different articles, columns, and radio shows from Colorado Springs to Aspen, all over the state.
My business card at the time, which listed many of my outlets, carried the slogan ‘Largest Freelance Music Circulation in the Rockies.’ In retrospect, the thing looked like a laundry list.

I’d like to add a few more things you might not know about Barry Fey here.
When Tommy Bolin died, Barry came up to the small funeral chapel in downtown Boulder and delivered his eulogy. A few years later, he did the same for Tommy’s former Zephyr band mate, Candy Givens. Both had died of drug overdoses.
A lesser man would have glossed over it, but Barry--to his great credit--went right at it.
His first words from the podium  at Candy's funeral were, “Listen, I have to tell you something--each and every one of you here-- and I‘m only gonna say this once. I did this for Tommy, and now I’m doing it for Candy. But I don’t wanna have to do this again.  Let me repeat that:  I don't wanna have to do this again."
Boom.
That was Barry, at his very best. The man whose reputation as a 'bully' preceded him, had actually used a pulpit to create a better 'bully pulpit' than anyone else I've ever seen.  It was brilliant.

Mick Jagger at Folsom Field, 1978
Photograph Copyright 1978 & 2013 by Peter Rodman.
In his heart, behind all the bluster, he truly felt insecure. Barry would reveal this in stunning fashion on the air with me during 1979, during our third two-hour radio interview. By this time, his 'legend' was intact--and even an interview at the Governor's mansion wasn't complete without a Barry Fey reference.
The link below features both Governor Dick Lamm's comments, and Barry's unusual 'personal revelations.' 
(Once again: You may want to read the rest of this first, as this page will disappear after you click the link--but it is worth hearing!)
Colorado Governor Dick Lamm & Barry Fey on 'Sunday Night with Peter Rodman' 1979*

At one point during the interview, he said he’d wanted to ‘go hang out’ one night, “and it wasn’t that I couldn’t get anybody to do it, it was that I didn’t know who to call.” When he mentioned that he had never even had a driver’s license, we got dozens of calls from my listeners offering to teach him to drive. In short, his candor that night was utterly disarming.
Up until then, he’d rarely (if ever) shown such vulnerability in public (that I knew of, anyway), but after the overwhelmingly sympathetic response that appearance generated, ‘opening up’ in interviews became another part of the routine, for Barry Fey.
I’ve always felt kind of proud to have fostered the atmosphere that allowed that little ‘breakthrough’ for him--and I know he appreciated it, because he began preparing anecdotes even more carefully, for all the subsequent interviews we did. Almost like an act.
But I love good radio, and Barry Fey made mighty good radio.


Another story comes to mind, though I’m sure I’ve left out dozens of better ones, in my haste.
PR with Eddie Money (at left) in
Folsom Field, 1978
On the next Stones tour, in 1981, I found myself backstage in the dressing room area, waiting for one of the opening acts (in this case, Heart) with whom I was to tape an interview, after their set.
The room was more or less circular--designed for the opposing football teams in the stadium to have their locker rooms at opposite ends of the circle. But for rock shows at this 61,000 seat venue, the various opening acts split one locker room, and the headliners (in this case, the Stones) used the other.
Now Heart had just finished up onstage, and the Stones had arrived.
In fact, I’d been standing right next to Barry when Mick walked up (I seem to remember a helicopter, but he may have just stepped out of a limo that day), and by way of a greeting said, “Barry! Have you sold the 3,000 obstructed-view seats?”
I remembered that Mr. Jagger was a graduate of the London School of Economics, and I knew he’d squeezed every dollar out of Phil and Barry during negotiations for this appearance…but still…you could’ve knocked me over with one of Keith’s scarves, when I heard that.
No “hello,” no “Nice day!” Just…
“Barry! Have you sold the 3,000 obstructed-view seats?”
I wouldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t heard it myself!

Now you could really feel the anticipation building, between set-changes--as (for heaven’s sake!)...
The Rolling Stones were about to appear! If “Miss You” had been their biggie last time in Boulder, “Start It Up” was an even better hit to have, this time out.
Jane Rose, who handled such things for the band back then, had been very clear in our phone calls:
Don’t expect any interviews.
Learning how to make your best case and then take ‘no’ for an answer was a skill I’d now honed for seven years or so, with hundreds of publicists and managers--so I accepted my fate. (Incidentally, this paid off years later, as she got me on the plane with Keith and Ronnie and Stanley Clarke, for their ‘New Barbarians’ tour. Note to Freelancers: Be a long-distance runner. It’ll serve you well...I promise!)
But I’d be lying, if I didn’t say that some teensy-weensy, tiny part of the reason I was there to do 'Heart' was to be available, just in case the Stones had a change of heart…though they wouldn’t.
Look at it this way:  If you’re a photographer, at least bring your camera.
Okay, so back to that circular ‘ante room’ backstage in Folsom Stadium…
People were milling about, maybe 20, and I sat patiently on a bench, avoiding any conversations at all, just waiting for my Heart interview.

Ann  & Nancy Wilson (of Heart), backstage
at Mile High Stadium with Peter Rodman

Suddenly, a couple security guards came in and curtly cleared the place out.
I got up to leave.
“No,” said the guy. “You stay.”
I obeyed.
Now there was only me, on a bench in the circular white, cinder block room. It felt like being captive in a large holding cell at some prison, or being on an awkward date at some fancy restaurant. She’s gone to the bathroom, and you keep crossing your legs and nervously posing ‘just so,’ as you anxiously await her return to the table. (Or...the prison guard will be back in a moment!)
Actually, I wasn’t nervous…just self-conscious.
It seemed like it got very quiet, too, as I sat in my solitary confinement.
After a marathon two weeks preparing everything and very little sleep the night before, here I was in my ninth hour at the stadium, suddenly all alone with my idle thoughts, trying to keep alert.
What is going on? Let’s see…must be, ohhh…thirty feet across, between those doors. Should I look at the ceiling? Gotta downplay this recording equipment. What if I get kicked out? …wonder how many bricks there are in here… This went on for such a long time, I began to daydream about having made some huge mistake, and come to the stadium on the wrong day.
Now, in walks Mick Jagger. Believe you me, that'll interrupt a daydream.
Gulp.
Skinny! ...I began to 'come to'...
He was dressed as an American football player.  I'm not kidding--he had on everything but the helmet:
Crisp white football pants (knickers with pads, essentially), striped knee socks, sneakers, and a green (Philadelphia Eagles?) jersey with full shoulder pads.
In every sense of the term, this guy looked ready to play.

I didn’t even dare glance down at my prized JVC 1610 cassette recorder or the brand new $150 condenser microphone I'd bought for the occasion, both of which were right beside me. My left hand became a ball of sweat, trying to tuck the 25 foot wire closer to me, as if I could somehow hide who I was, and what I was there for.
He (Mick) seemed oddly…amused. 
It was almost like he was acting out a well-rehearsed scene, but he said nothing as he scratched his freshly shampooed hair, bobbed his famous head back and forth, and eyeballed the various white doors on the white walls which surrounded us.
I remained frozen in my seat.
Can this be happening? Where is everybody?  Do they even know I'm in here alone, with Mick Jagger? There must be 200 people behind the stage in this general area, and 61,000 more in the stadium!  Why is nobody else here at all? 
And let me just say right here and now, no famous person has ever looked so famous to me in person, with the possible exception of Muhammad Ali--and I'm not bragging when I say this, but there have been literally thousands of other interviews, over the years.
So I guess the good news about Mick is, certain people look just exactly like who they are.
The bad news…?
I was starstruck.
Finally, he spoke...in crisp-upper-(famously)-lipped, veddy British tones... 
“Do you 'appen to know where I might foind Haahht?”
“Oh!” (I snapped out of it again.) “Uhhh, yeah. I think they’re in there," I said, pointing to one of the doors.
Then came my geekiest moment:
I’m here to interview them!” I blurted.
Groan.
Way too late for a pitch, Petey...

It turns out that more than a decade before they invented the term, I’d been “Punk’d!”
The whole thing was a set-up!
You’ll just have to take my word for it: Nothing like that ever happens by accident--especially at a Stones show. That much, I know.
Barry would never fully admit that he’d set me up…but I know he did.
Perhaps it was his way of apologizing for some of the rough treatment I'd endured over the years, especially during the '78 Stones fiasco. Or maybe he felt more grateful to me than I even knew, for all the interviews and writing and hard work.
I dunno.
But I ain’t been ‘got’ like that anytime before or since, that's for dang sure!
Not many folks can use Mick Jagger for their practical jokes, either.
But Barry Fey could!
And hey...at least I got 'Heart.'

In 2008, I was asked to speak at the 30th reunion of the University of Colorado Program Council (CU’s student event board), celebrating the ‘The 1978 Pepsi Summer of Stars,’ which had featured stadium shows by the Beach Boys, Eagles, and Rolling Stones, plus dozens of other acts in smaller venues. 
George Harrison at McNichols Arena, 1974.
Photgraph Copyright 1974 by Peter Rodman.
It was to be a 'whole weekend' affair, so I happily reserved myself a little log cabin at the old ‘Foot of the Mountain’ hotel, and flew out to Boulder from my home in Nashville to see everybody again.
I had no idea it would all come rushing back to me, after having left Boulder behind, during the mid ‘80s…but there were all the wonderful faces I’d worked with so closely, from Phil Lobel (my main connection to Feyline) to Stu Osnow and Bob Webster (all Chairmen of the PC at various times); Jc Ancell (Facilities Manager for CU, and a key liason with the City of Boulder); Bob Greenlee (the former owner of KBCO, where Sunday Night with Peter Rodman had aired for the better part of a decade), etc.
On Friday night we all convened at The Harvest House, in that same little bar/disco where Barry had held his party 30 years earlier, the night before that ‘78 Stones show.
Now, everyone was all grown up--balding, grayer, larger, older, and presumably wiser.
It was quite a trip.
Barry seemed delighted to be there. It seemed oddly as if he hadn’t been out of the house in a while.  He’d eventually been forced out of the rock promotion business, as corporate conglomerates came into town, hired up some of his old hands, and simply muscled him right out of the picture.
Paul McCartney playing "Yesterday"
on the 'Wings Over America' tour in '76,
at Denver's McNichols Arena.
Photograph Copyright 1976 & 2013 by Peter Rodman.
He looked content, but sort of shriveled up now--with a Wolf Blitzer/snow-white beard, and the sort of pale frailty you normally see in the halls at hospitals.
I decided to film a few moments on my (then new) fLiP camera, and as I began zeroing in on Barry, he was debating some past memory with one of the guys.
FUCK you!” he barked at the guy, with great emphasis, “You didn’t do that, I did that!!”
Then he noticed the camera, and his facial expression changed in an instant, from Ralph Kramden to Gleason's classic 'Poor Soul.' Turned out he was only trying on his old shoes for a second, because the man who was here tonight wasn't the same person who used to relish a fight. 
Barry Fey had changed.
He eyeballed my camera nervously now, and tried to deflect the attention his outburst might have gathered.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he said. “What is it?”
“It’s a fLiP!” I said, “and it’s a movie camera!”
I’d never seen Barry blush before, but his face got all red, and suddenly he seemed mortified, to realize he'd been caught on camera, doing his 'legendary Barry Fey' impression. We all joked around for a little while longer--but right then and there, I knew he had long since reassessed that ‘Bill Graham’ approach to life that had once served him so well. I felt guilty even looking at the footage later, but Barry later sent me a note saying I should have gotten more such footage! (see video link and Barry's note, below)
Clearly, life had quieted down for the Big Guy.
It had a big night out for him. In all those intervening years, he’d become considerably more fragile. His embarrassment at that key moment--even though it lasted only a second--was captured on video, and belied even more sensitivity than he'd shown in all of those ‘revealing’ interviews, so long ago.
The next day, we all met up at The Greenbriar for dinner.
Barry was a no-show. 
Maybe it's just my own perception, but it seemed like he just felt out of his element, pretending to pal around with old men and women he’d once known as college kids and/or employees. Whatever it was, his expected attendance never materialized. I became the de facto 'keynote speaker' at the dinner.

never saw him again.
But he slowly began showing up on Facebook a few years back, and pretty soon he’d come up with a memoir, too. Now he was all over Denver, signing books and recounting old tales, posing for pictures with strangers and revisiting his ‘Backstage Past,’ as the book title put it.
And that’s just it: I think the Barry of recent years felt removed enough from his ‘golden era’ to not only appreciate it, but to appreciate living without it.
That’s why, in a real sense, he could only revisit, not re-live it.
You get tired; you really do.
One such book-signing took place at a Walgreen's in south east Denver, on the former site of the Rainbow Music Hall, where everybody from Sting to Journey had started out, on their first-ever tours. The only trace of its "legendary" past is a little sign out front, just above the word Walgreen's--right over the LED marquee that scrolls through toothpaste sales and camera department specials.   

We had quietly begun sending notes back and forth via Facebook, and I’ll keep most of that stuff confidential, but it was often amusing tidbits about the supposed 'big-wigs' who'd succeeded him, many of whom he'd personally shown the ropes.
We talked about what we'd each been through (sometimes together) and shared a few lil' chuckles.
And in the end, he made sure to let me know he respected me after all, and I'm glad I did the same for him.
Not long ago I sent him another little note of appreciation.
Leave it to Barry.
He was full of surprises, but his response this time caught me off-guard:
                                              
“love you pete…”

That was in January of 2013; Barry Fey took his own life near the end of April.
Rest in Peace, Barry.

I liked you even better after all the noise.


________________________________________
*This article and all related photographs, videos and graphics are Copyright 2013 by Peter Rodman. All Rights Reserved. No portion herein may be used or redistributed without written permission.
________________________________________
ADDITIONAL NOTE (added on 5/8/13):
Barry Fey took his own life on April 28, 2013.
________________________________________
+Below is a link to the video of the referenced weekend I spent in Boulder in June of 2008, for the "30th Anniversary of the Program Council's 1978 Pepsi Summer of Stars." It features not only Barry Fey, but Phil Lobel, Stu Osnow, and many of the others mentioned above.
Underneath the video you will find several "Facebook" comments...one of which came January 18, 2013, from Barry Fey himself:
"you did a beautiful job peter, however if i had been featured more ???" 
(Note:  If you are not on Facebook, you may not be able to play this video.  It lasts just under 20 minutes.)