The musings of Sean Paul Murphy: Editor, Producer, Screenwriter, Author. Or, Hollywood -- and beyond -- as seen from an odd little corner of northeast Baltimore, Maryland.
Here's another COVID free ZOOM edition of the Yippee-Ki-Yay Mother Podcast, a multi-generational look at the movies.
We've been keeping it safe by staying at home and watching Waterworldthis week. Our special guest Darcy Wilkins found the film particularly memorable and influential. To me, this was the perfect opportunity to reevaluate the film, which was more notable for its out of control budget at the time of its release than anything that happened on the screen. In addition to Darcy, this episode also features another appearance by our continuing guest John Quatrucci, podmaster Ralph's younger brother. Don't worry folks, the mighty Wojo should be back for next week's edition.
I'm not going to give away what we're watching next week, but you can bet that someone will be eastbound and down and loaded up and trucking.
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
Here's another chapter of my memoir The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God. It is my tale of first faith and first love and how the two became almost fatality intertwined. I have resolved to read a chapter of one of my books every week while we're on coronavirus lockdown. Still, I don't think I'll get the fatally intertwined part. You might have to buy the book to get to that.
In this chapter, I talk about my death, or, as you might surmise, my my near death. Whatever. Trust me, it was an eye-opening enough experience to yank me out of my shell to write the book.
It took a pandemic to reunite the Yippee-Ki-Yay Mother Podcast, a multi-generational look at the movies, in this special home edition.
Podmaster Ralph Quatrucci thought the best way to take our minds off the pandemic was to watch Miracle Mile, a1988 pre-apocalyptic cult classic about a couple who meet and fall in love on what might be their last day on Earth. Others might disagree. Still, it was a great chance to get together again with a very special guest: Casting Director Billy Damota.
Billy DaMota
Billy is a great guy who had cast eleven of the features I wrote. I am always quick to give him credit for the success of the films. Billy has been fantastic on two fronts. He was always able to find us some cool "box" names for the films despite our limited budgets, and he was always able to find some excellent performers in the other roles. Screenwriters and directors, myself included, want to believe that people see our movies because of us. Our talent. That's not true. Ultimately, people come for the actors and their performances. They're the ones on the screen. They're the ones people identify with. Billy has always delivered the right actors for us.
Additionally, Billy was able to give us -- and you -- special insight into Miracle Mile because this was his first film as a full Casting Director. You'll hear the inside story from him.
This episode also features a guest appearance by John Quatrucci, Ralph's younger brother, who is wearing his Charlestown Chiefs uniform in honor of the film Slap Shot, and a prevue of our next episode.
It was great getting back into the Yippee-Ki-Yay groove. Don't worry, Wojo will be back. She just wasn't in the mood for a disaster film at the time. This episode was recorded on ZOOM. The video portion is up. The audio version will be released soon.
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
Ashley Carlson, the Senior Editor, Media Liaison, at TouchPoint Press, recently suggested that all willing TouchPoint authors read a chapter of our books online to help entertain people stuck at home during the pandemic.
I thought that was a great idea. I enjoyed reading the prologue to my upcoming paranormal thriller Chapel Street, which was inspired by a true haunting. But it wasn't enough. I have decided to read a chapter a week of one of my books and post it here on my blog while the crisis continues. I'm not sure I will be able to achieve that goal, but I'm going to try.
I plan to read selected chapters from Chapel Street. However, I thought I might as well read some chapters from my memoir The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God. In one way, that would be easier than Chapel Street. SinceThe Promise is a true story, I have plenty of pictures to illustrate the events. Also, if the virus gets me, at least I will have at least part of the story of my life online in my own words. Not a bad legacy.
I'm also thinking of reading a chapter or two of some works in progress. We'll see.
Ashley Carlson, the Senior Editor, Media Liaison, at TouchPoint Press, recently made a suggestion. In order to help alleviate the coronavirus isolation so many of our authors -- and our readers --were experiencing, she suggested that we should read a chapter from our books and post them online.
There was talk of a series of Facebook Live events, and I hope some authors pull it off, but that's not my style. A live event would simply reveal why I chose to be a writer instead of an actor! I am not happy with my reading voice. In fact, on a number of occasions, I attempted to read chapters of my first book, The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God, to post online, but I was never satisfied with the work and never released it. I wanted it to perfect. Error free. Not so this time.
The crisis created by the pandemic emphasized, to me, the foolishness to seek perfection -- whatever that might be. It's inherently artificial. I think what people want and need now is authenticity. It's time to let down the masks and tear down the walls. That's why I wanted this reading to be as down and dirty as possible. I have a nice camera and a nice microphone, but I decided to record everything on my iPhone. I wanted to make it as DIY as possible. I did, however, reserve the right to edit my read, but I didn't edit much. The final piece is ten minutes long. I probably only recorded about twelve minutes of media. This is pretty how it would sound if you came over to my house, put a gun to my head, and asked me to read a chapter of my book.
Possibly Ernie Stark with his mother Sophia on
the front porch of their home on Wheeler Avenue,
then called Third Street.
The last blog in my ongoing series about my family involved the public suicide of my maternal great-granduncle Frank Kostohryz. This entry deals with the public suicide of a grand-uncle on my father's side. The stories have a different endings. Frank survived. Ernie didn't. But, because of the stigma associated with suicide, their stories remained shrouded in silence. These are secrets grandmothers keep.
I really don't know how close my grandmother Rita Cecilia Rosenberger Protani Pollock was to her great-uncle Frank Kostohryz. She was twenty-years-old when he died, and the Bohemian side of her family seemed close. Therefore, I'm reasonably sure she had more than a passing acquaintance with him. Yet she never mentioned the most newsworthy episode of his life when we talked about him. She had to know.
My grandmother Margaret Angie Robertson Murphy, on the other hand, definitely knew her uncle Ernie very well. Her middle name came from Ernie's wife Angie Cromwell Stark. They lived near her. She was a frequent visitor to their home. She said they had the best radio in Dunmore, Penn., and she spent many an evening there listening to big bands. She was twenty-four when he died. She remained in contact with his two sons who survived to adulthood, Robert and Doug, until their deaths. That said, anytime she mentioned Douglas Stark, she always pointed out to me that my father wasn't named after him.
Now there was no denying how Ernie died. He jumped off the Nay Aug Park bridge in Scranton, Pennsylvania, impaling himself on an exposed pipe near the bottom of the ravine. It was big news, and it proved difficult to retrieve the body. I found the following story from the Scranton Times pressed between some pages in the large Stark family Bible.
Here's the text of the story from a Scranton newspaper on November 7, 1938.
The story made the front page. A photo on page seven showed his body impaled on a pipe below the bridge. The headline for the photo is: "Scene of Dead Man's Leap." The caption read: "While the body of C. Ernest Stark, proprietor of a gas station at Wheeler avenue and Ash street, was yet impaled on an iron pipe in Roaring Brook after a plunge of about 250 feet from Nay Aug Park bridge, the above picture was taken by The Times photographer. The path of the plunge from the north railing of the bridge is shown by markings and the cross marks the location of the body. A small island juts from the water near the bank and the body struck on an iron pipe rising from the bit of land, the pipe passing clear through the body. The use of 300 feet of rope to get the body to the bridge was necessary."
MAN, HIS MIND UPSET BY GAS PRICE WAR, LEAPS TO DEATH
C. Ernest Stark, Proprietor of Wheeler Avenue Station, Hurls Self From Park Bridge and Is Impaled On Pipe 250 Feet Below. Friends Too Late To Save Him.
C. Ernest Stark, forty-five, of 1103 Wheeler avenue, Dunmore, proprietor of a gas station at Wheeler avenue and Ash street for about ten years, and who, according to his family, had been driven insane by the gasoline price war which has been raging in Dunmore since Sept. 18, jumped to his death from the Nay Aug Park Bridge, which spans Roaring Brook, at 9 o'clock this morning. While two friends in an automobile, suspicious of his intentions, approached from him from the western approach to the bridge, Stark vaulted the railing and flung himself into space. The body struck on an iron pipe extending from a little island in the brook and was impaled. The crash of the body against the pipe was of such terrible force after the plunge of about 250 feet that the pipe went through the body from front to back. Death was instantaneous.
Police and firemen were unable to reach the body with a seventy-five foot ladder of the fire department, which they extended downward from the run of the sloping bank on the west. The body was not recovered until about 10:45 o'clock. Unable to launch a police boat in the rush of water, the police and firemen agreed on the plan of having a fireman swim to the body and hauling it up by rope. Lieutenant Henry Weber, of the fire department, stripped to his underclothes and swam out. He tied a rope around the body, then returned to the western bank with the rope end. Firemen and patrolmen aided in bringing the body to the bank.
Basing their estimate on the fact that 300 feet of rope were required to hoist the body from the brook to the bridge, police say Starkplunged at least 250 feet. One rope measuring 200 feet in length was not sufficient and a rope of about 100 feet in length was added, bringing a total measurement of 300 feet. Allowing for the footage used in tying the body and for handling by firemen and policemen on the bridge, the police say that at least 250 feet of rope were used to span the space between the bridge and body.
During the more than an hour and a half that the body was on the island, hundreds of people viewed it from the bridge. It had been terribly mangled by the impalement on the pipe.
Had Been Deranged
For some time, Mr. Stark had been mentally ill, said members of his family. "The gas price war is the cause of this terrible thing," said Douglas Stark, a son. Mrs. Stark and Robert, also a son, agreed that worry over the price war had caused mental derangement, and they said that they noted for the last several days that Mr. Stark seemed to be worrying more all the while as the war of prices continued.
Mr. Stark left his home for the gas station this morning and returned a short time later to kiss his wife good-bye for a second time. A bit worried by his return, members of the family made certain that he went back to the gas station. But he had been there but a short time when he asked Frank Delucy, of Ash street, to take care of the station as he was going back home about a block away. Delucy became suspicious of the actions of Stark and requested Albert Jordan, of John street, and Jack Gerrity, of Ridge avenue, to follow him in a car. Stark made short cuts to the park and reached the bridge ahead of Jordan and Gerrity. Before they reached the entrance of the bridge from the park proper, Maurice Richards, local automobile dealer, saw Stark standing by the bridge railing about fifty feet from the western entrance. He had driven away when Jordan and Gerrity arrived. Before they could do anything to prevent his leap except to shout "don't jump," Stark vaulted the railing and took the fatal plunge.
Was Well Known
Seth Jones, Jack Gallagher, Jack Davis and Gerald Jennings, park employees, were notified by two screaming boys that a man had just jumped from the bridge and they called the police. A squad of police and the hook and ladder company from fire headquarters rushed to the bridge. The longest ladder on the truck measures seventy-five feet and it did not reach within several feet of the brook when extended from the lowest ledge on the western bank.
A canoe was obtained, but could not be launched in the rush of water and two ropes were then used for the rescue. Sergt. William Warren, Capt. George Davis, Sergt. Joseph Gscheidle, Detectives Harry Scull, Reese Alexander and Martin Knight and Patrolmen William Consolato comprised the police squad which rushed to the scene.
Mr. Stark was one of the best known men in the Petersburg section. He was a member of the Petersburg Presbyterian Church since youth and also a member of the Jr. O.U.A.M. His gas station is located on the southwest corner of the Wheeler avenue and Ash street intersection. In front of the station this morning was a sign to the effect that gas was selling for 13 9-10 cents, tax included.
When the gasoline price war started in September, Mr. Stark, an independent, joined the group battling against the large company-owned or controlled stations and friends said this morning that the war had cost him a heavy loss. "But even with the losses at the station he had no real need to worry," said his widow this morning. In addition to his widow and two sons, Mr. Stark is survived by one brother, Jacob Stark, Scranton; and two sisters, Mrs. Frank Ellis, West Pittston, and Mrs. Arch Robertson, Dunmore.
Another newspaper story appeared on November 8, 1938. A photo of the firemen, policemen and spectators on the bridge accompany the story. The headline over the photo says: "Where Dunmore Gas Station Owner Leaped To His Death." The caption reads: "Police and firemen rushed to the Nay Aug Park bridge over the Roaring Brook yesterday after C. Ernest Stark, Dunmore, leaped to his death. They were unable to reach the body with an extension ladder. Lieut. Henry Weber of the fire department swam to the body and fastened a rope to it."
GAS PRICE WAR IS BLAMED FOR STARK'S SUICIDE
Family Says Owner Of Service Station Worried Over Losses
Despondent, city police believe, over losses incurred in the current gasoline price war, C. Ernest Stark, 45, of 1103 Wheeler Avenue, Dunmore, owner of a gas station at Ash Street and Wheeler Avenue, ended his life yesterday morning by leaping from the Roaring Brook Bridge, Nay Aug Park. Stark's body was impaled on an iron pipe after a 250 feet plunge into the gorge. The pipe extended from an isle in midstream.
Efforts of the police and fire department to extricate the body by means of the extension ladder proved fruitless. Lieut. Henry "Bridgie" Weber, Truck 1, removed his uniform and swam through the brook and attached a rope to the victim's body. It was then pulled to the high bank. About 300 feet of rope were used.
Weber was taken to the Turkish Baths later to stave off any illness that might arise from exposure.
Douglas Stark, a son, told police that Stark had been brooding over the price war. Mrs. Stark, wife of the victim, also offered the opinion that worry over the price slashing may have caused mental derangement.
LEFT SERVICE STATION
Frank Delucy, Ash Street, was at the station when Stark said he intended to go to his home for an hour or so. Delucy declared he was suspicious of the victim's actions and requested Albert Jordan, John Avenue, and Jack Gerrity, Ridge Avenue, to follow him in an automobile. Jordan and Gerrity reach the bridge just before Stark vaulted the railing into space.
Captain George Davis, Sergeant William Warren, Sergeant Joseph Gscheidle and Patrolmen Walter Hoffman and William Conslato and Detectives Harry Scull, Reese Alexander and Marlin Knight investigated.
He is survived by his wife and two sons, Douglas and Robert; a brother, Jacob Stark, this city, and two sisters, Mrs. Frank Ellis, Pittston, and Mrs. Arch Robertson, Dunmore.
Funeral arrangements, by Howard J. Snowdon, will be announced later.
So what's the secret? It's all in the newspaper. Worried about financial ruin because of a price war, poor Uncle Ernie became deranged and threw himself off the bridge in despair. What could be more straightforward?
But I never bought it. Perhaps it was mere hindsight. I knew that his sons would successfully run the gas station until their own retirements. Neither of them married, and they left a sizable estate. My grandmother was one of their heirs. There had to be more to the story. I questioned my grandmother about it repeatedly, but she always feigned ignorance. In cases of suicide, families often latch onto to an acceptable narrative that makes it easier to deal the events. That's what happened here. But there was another layer to the story. One they preferred to forget.
I can't remember who told me the truth -- whether it was one of my uncles, or one of my Stark cousins in Scranton -- but they said Ernie's death had nothing to do with a gas price war. It was all about guilt. Years earlier, Ernie had killed a man in an automobile accident.
Here's the story I found about the incident. The story was from The Scranton Republican, Fri, June 17, 1927:
CYCLE-AUTO CRASH
CAUSES ONE FATALITY
------
Clarence Coolbaugh, 25, of
Falls, on His Way Home
When Fatally Injured
------
VICTIM BADLY CRUSHED;
DIES AT STATE HOSPITAL
------
Carl Stark, of 828 Third Street,
Dunmore, Driver of Automobile
Hurled from his motorcycle in a crash with an automobile on the Clark's Summit hill yesterday afternoon at 4:30 o'clock Clarence Coolbaugh, about 25, a garageman of Falls, was fatally injured.
Dies at Hospital.
Picked up in a dying condition following the crash, the young man was rushed to the State Hospital where he died at 6:25 o'clock. Hospital attaches said that he suffered fractures of the lower jaw, nose, both legs and skull in addition to lacerations and other injuries. Carl Stark, of 828 Third street, Dunmore, was the driver of the automobile which figured in the crash, the State Highway patrol reported. No arrest was made pending the completion of the investigation by the State officers. The accident occurred about quarter way up the steep incline, which is one of the most dangerous sports on the entire Lackawanna Trail. Stark, the authorities say, was descending the hill while Coolbaugh was going up the incline on his way home.
Thrown From Motorcycle.
Both vehicles came together with a crash that could be heard for some distance. Coolbaugh, the report of the accident says, was thrown from his motorcycle to the ground with terrific force. Persons who came to the aid believed that the young man had been killed, but when he was found to be breathing, no time was lost in having him placed in an automobile and rushed to the hospital. The body will be removed to the home of his parents at Falls this morning. He is also survived by his widow, a brother, Roy, of Falls, and a sister, Mrs. Willard Courtright, of Milwaukee. The victim conducted a garage at Falls.
Eleven years prior to his tragic leap from the Nay Aug Park bridge, Uncle Ernie killed a man in an automobile accident. It stayed with him. He remained wracked with guilt about it. From what I was later told, his guilt was compounded by the fact that he didn't pay any price for the accident. He was a well-liked and well-respected man. The powers-to-be left him completely off the hook. Everyone looked the other way.
Except Uncle Ernie. Leaving for work that last desperate morning, but returning home to give his wife Angie a second and final kiss. She was suspicious. She asked his friends to follow him, but he managed to give him the slip long enough to finally pay a bill he felt had been too long delayed.
I wonder how worried Ernie really was about the gas price war? How much of a factor was it in his decision? Was it just the final straw that broke the camel's back? It had to be a stressor to some degree. However, it's not difficult to understand why the family embraced that narrative. Ernie was a victim in the gas war. He was the little guy being crushed by an evil giant corporation. The death of Clarence Coolbaugh only complicated matters. No point talking about that. Better just forget about it.
That, apparently, is what they told him at the time of the accident, too.
I wonder if he would have ended up on that bridge if they would have dealt with the guilt he felt instead.
It's sad that he felt compelled to do what he did. He probably had no idea how his act would ripple through his friends and family for decades. For example, in the wake of her husband's death, Aunt Angie had her sons promise they would never marry and leave her. And they didn't. If Ernie could have foreseen that reaction, it would have probably compounded the guilt he already felt.
That's why it's best not to kill yourself. You think seems couldn't get worse. Well, maybe not for you, but they might for the people you love.
Be sure to check out my novel Chapel Street. It tells the story of a young man straddling the line between sanity and madness while battling a demonic entity that has driven his family members to suicide for generations. It was inspired by an actual haunting my family experienced.
You can buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
About ten years ago, my brother John was at my house for a party. He pulled me over to the computer because he wanted to show me something on Youtube. It was a vulgar fake commercial about a Baltimore car dealership that he found hilarious.
When it was done, John asked me if I had seen it before. I said, "Yes, I made it." He was surprised, and so was I. To my knowledge, only two VHS copies of the spot existed, and one of them was safely tucked away in my basement. The other one must have escaped.
Once the spot found its way onto Youtube, it became a genuine self-sustaining meme. Other people created their own versions. It was amazing. Big Bill was getting more hits than all of the trailers for all of my movies combined. When it came to Youtube, Big Bill Hell's was far and away the most popular thing I had ever been involved with.
Here's the original:
So how did a wannabe Christian screenwriter, and a lovable sea monster from a local kiddie's TV show, become the invisible hands behind such a vulgar, long-lived meme? It's a long story, but, since I've got cabin fever due to the pandemic, I might as well tell you.
It started back in January of 1990 when I either quit or was laid off by the advertising agency Gray Kirk & Evans. I'm still not sure which it was. I had been with the company on and off since late-1984/early-1985 when it was originally called Smith Burke & Azzam. I got the job through nepotism, pure and simple. My mother Clara Murphy was the office manager. She got me a job in the mail room. I shifted into the Accounting Department, did some time in Media before finally shifting into Broadcast. If I had any ambition, it was to become a copywriter, but mainly I just enjoyed working for the company so I didn't mind when they made me a producer instead.
I said my career with the advertising agency was on and off because that was the nature of the beast. When they got new accounts, they staffed up. When they lost accounts, a bloodbath inevitably ensued. I believe I was laid off four times prior to 1990, nearly once a year. It never bothered me. I was usually only gone a few weeks before they'd start hiring me freelance again and before long I'd be back on staff getting ready for the next layoff. (I should have stayed in the Accounting Department. They were a great group of people and rarely got laid off. Creatives are a dime a dozen, but you don't fire the people who handle the money!)
The 1990 bloodbath was a little different. This time I had a choice. The creative director, Michael Diliberto, called me into the office. He said I wouldn't be laid off, but my duties would change. They were laying off the broadcast business manager and I would have to pick up some of her responsibilities, which included talent contracts and broadcast trafficking. I had performed both tasks in the past, but I had been promoted out of them. I didn't like doing the contracts, but I was fine with that. I did not, however, want to get back into trafficking. That was a pain in the butt.
In the pre-digital era, you had to actually ship physical copies of the commercials to all of the television and radio stations where you bought time for your clients. Radio was easy. They all took reel-to-reel tapes of the spots. The television stations were a pain. They used a variety of different tape formats. Plus, you had to type up and include all sorts of instructions with the packages. You'd FedEx or messenger out the tapes, then have to call the next morning and verify that the tapes arrived. This was not one of the more glamorous parts of the business. Still, I was always a team player. I was fine with it, until I asked one final question as I was leaving his office.
"This is only temporary, right? Until we pick up some new accounts?"
"No," he replied. "This will be permanent."
That changed the equation. I asked him if I could have some time to think about it. He gave me a week. This was tough. I loved the company, but I couldn't see taking a permanent demotion. I decided to have a vote. Using a shot of myself wearing the Mr. Fun costume, previously worn by comedian Thom Sharp for our Six Flags commercials, I created a poster which read: Mr. Fun, should he stay or go?
Should He Stay or Go?
I just want to add that Thom didn't wear underwear over the spandex. Sadly, I had to. I couldn't fill it out the way he did.
The comptroller of the company, the late great Barbara Wells, called me into her office after she heard about the poster. She wanted to know why I was leaving. She said the partners wanted me to stay. I told her I couldn't take a permanent demotion. She was shocked. She said she was in the meeting concerning my status and the company president, Roger Gray, had instructed Michael to make sure I knew my new duties would only be temporary. She wanted to take me to Roger's office and report what Michael had said. I said, "No, don't bother." I told her Michael's offer meant he didn't have sufficient confidence in me in that capacity. There was no point staying under those circumstances. She understood. Mr. Fun was going.
BTW, there were no hard feelings with Michael. I worked with him as an editor dozens and dozens of times over the next twenty plus years.
Here's a spot I did with him a couple of years ago:
Now back to our story already in progress....
My former boss, Barry L. Smith, the mighty Smith of Smith Burke & Azzam, heard of my departure from GKE and had an idea. His friend, Chic Davis, who ran the Advertising Association of Baltimore, had an assignment no one would touch. Every year, the association held an awards ceremony celebrating the best local advertising work. The event was widely attended. I even made a spectacle of myself at the ceremony the previous year. This year, however, he wanted to shake it up a bit by having something called The Ad Follies, which would poke fun at the major agencies and their product. Baltimore was a small town. None of the usual suspects wanted to take a chance on offending either their current or their potential future employer. Barry told Chic to call me. He said I was just fired from GKE and didn't care whether I worked in the business again. He said I would be perfect. So Chic called me. The job was a freebie, but what did I care? I wasn't doing anything else.
At the time the Baltimore ad community was dominated by the six "families": Eisner; Trahan Burden & Charles; Richardson Myers & Donofrio; Gray Kirk & Evans, the venerable VanSant Dugdale and the all-powerful W.B. Doner. The companies were incredibly-competitive, but staffed with former employees of their enemies. Baltimore advertising people just bounced around between the shops. If you were a copywriter, an art director or a producer or an account executive, the best way to get a raise at, say, GKE was to jump over to TBC for a year, then get hired back at a higher salary. So you didn't want to burn too many bridges.
I had no such concerns. WBFF Channel 45, now the local Fox Affiliate, was going to provide the production. They were chosen for two reasons. One, their sales reps wanted to raise their visibility with the agencies. They thought assisting on this fun show would help them. Two, all of the regular post production houses turned Chic down because they thought assisting on this fun show would alienate them from the agencies. Local legend "Traffic Jam" Jimmy Uhrin, cameraman, editor and later on-air news personality, was assigned the job. To anyone growing up in Baltimore in my era, Jimmy was best known for playing Mondy the Sea Monster on The Captain Chesapeake Show for sixteen years.
I can't remember all the bits, but I do remember a couple. My former mentor and creative director, Jeff Millman, who had decamped GKE for Vansant Dugdale had reportedly worked at all of the agencies. So I did a tour of his former offices, which grew larger as he career progressed. I also remember going to Richardson, Myers and Donofrio and demanding to speak to Mr. Richardson or Mr. Myers -- two men who never existed. Apparently when Hal Donofrio founded his agency, he added the two names to make the place sound bigger and more important than it was. Everything was going well. I was recklessly bold until we got to W.B. Doner.
W.B. Doner was largest and most powerful agency the region, and its boss, the immaculately-attired Herb Fried bestrode Baltimore like a colossus. An unwary adman could be easily crushed under his feet. No one, myself included, thought we would be able to bluff our way into actually interviewing him, but when we gained entry Jimmy finally drew the line. He said under no circumstances could I mock or be disrespectful to Herb. Herb could cripple the station if he withdrew his ads. I acquiesced immediately. It was easy to talk crap about Herb from a distance, but a mere glance at his mighty countenance cowed me completely. I can't remember what I said to him, but I was not disrespectful, only a tad impertinent. He smiled and chuckled. Mission accomplished.
We hurried back to WBFF to edit the bits together. In addition to the pieces we shot, I believe we also had some internal bits donated by the agencies themselves. As we were finishing, Jimmy asked me if I ever heard the Big Bill Hell's radio spot. I hadn't. He played it and I found it hilarious. I asked him who wrote and produced it. He said he didn't know. Just some local guys after a session for a real dealership. I said we had to do it as a TV commercial for the show. Jimmy agreed and we were in luck. They had all the automotive footage we needed laying around the station. Then we just added the tackiest possible graphics.
Since we were using the preexisting creative without permission, we decided that this would be a one time only showing. We made one VHS copy for the show, and kept another one at the station as a backup. The master was supposed to be destroyed. Our material played well at The Ad Follies, with Big Bill Hell's getting the most laughs. I made sure I walked away with the VHS and took it home with me and hid it away.
The VHS from WBFF somehow got loose and eventually ended up on Youtube.
So did we create Big Bill Hell's? No. The creators were some anonymous radio guys who never came forward to claim it.* Jimmy and I, however, were the ones who transformed the radio commercial into a television commercial that could find a home on a platform like YouTube. In a sense, we were the first to add onto the meme, but we would certainly not be last. I have seen countless versions come and go over the years, and I don't mind. They're not ripping us off any more than we ripped the original creators off.
Here's a few picked at random. There are many, many more:
Here are some reaction videos:
Big Bill Hell's obviously lives on. I only wish the original creators would step forward and take a bow. They have inspired laughter all around the world.
Was anyone's career destroyed by The Ad Follies? No. However, Barry was right about one thing: I never got another full time job at an agency or anywhere else for that matter. Thirty years of freelance, baby! And all six of those agencies numbered as my clients to one degree or another.
Gray Kirk & Evans, the company that laid me off, soon merged with VanSant Dugdale to become GKV. I started freelancing for them almost immediately, earning over twice as much as I would have if I had timidly remained on the staff that first year. How about that! And that was just the beginning. They became one of my most enjoyable -- and lucrative -- clients during that decade and beyond.
Those were heady days. Sadly, a number of those agencies are gone. The digital marketplace has changed the advertising business. There's less need for full service agencies anymore. Clients do more of their work in-house, and only farm out jobs beyond their capabilities to little specialty boutiques. And the budgets.... Man, they're only a fraction of what they used to be before the digital revolution. When I started in the game in the 1980s, the older folks used to laugh and say, "Sean, you should have been around when we were making the real money." Now I say the same thing to my younger colleagues.
I still love working on advertising, but most of my creative efforts are placed elsewhere now -- on TV, films and books.
When I watch Big Bill Hell's, I have to smile. It brings back great memories of a crucial time in my life when I was able to summon up the courage necessary to step out of my comfortable little nest to see if I could fly.
I could. And I haven't looked back, except in fond remembrance.
PS. At the suggestion of one of my nieces, I previously shared my info with Know Your Meme, and got them in touch with Jimmy Uhrin. I was hoping they would have found the original author(s), but no such luck.
*A friend of mine in the industry pointed me in the direction of actual creator of the Big Bill Hell's after I posted this blog. He said the creator had distanced himself from the work. I have reached out to him through a couple different email addresses, but received no response. Therefore, I will not be outing him here.
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
