Private Parts (18 page)

DC 101 AIRS GAY DIAL-A-DATE

Washington Gays may have been done a great service by a radio disc jockey. Howard Stern recently made a "Gay Dial-a-Date Game" the focal point of his popular broadcast . . . [Stern, who is twenty-seven years old and married, has been holding Dial-a-Date games on radio for three years.] When homosexual listeners wrote him suggesting that it would only be fair to have a Gay version of the game, he agreed. Stern often wields his voice on the air to mercilessly puncture the pretensions and underline the stupidity of the people who call his show. Therefore, there was concern that he would use the occasion of the Gay Dial-a-Date to ridicule homosexuals. Instead, on Friday a.m., the Gay community was treated to one of the best, most sensitive treatments of Gay themes ever to air on the mainstream media.

For the first Gay Dial-a-Date he decided it would be best to feature Lesbians because the audience would be more likely to accept them, but he promises in the future there will be a Gay male version. Stern gave "Miss X" and her three suitors -- bachelorettes numbers one through three -- the opportunity to refute the idea that all Lesbians are ugly women with hairy legs and hiking boots, and the misconception that most Gays molest children. Listeners who called up to scorn or mock Gay Dial-a-Date while it was on the air were made short shrift of by Stern.

"The American people are smart. They hear Howard on the radio and they realize that's the program to tune in to." -- Arnold Schwarzenegger

I was pushing the boundaries all over. I didn't know how far I would go. Anything that happened to me became grist for the mill of my show. I was with Fred doing an appearance on the local Charlie Rose television show when we saw Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was there to tape an earlier show. I loved Arnold and I had just read that he was about to do the Conan film. Now, normally I'm not a star-struck kind of guy. I don't just go up and approach celebrities and say, "Hey, I'm a big fan." But I figured maybe I could get

something for the radio show, so Fred and I started following him. He walks pretty funny because he's so muscle-bound his thighs are like hitting each other. So we were following him and he went into the men's room. Fred and I looked at each other and we followed him in. He was sitting in a stall, with his pants down around his ankles, and he was taking a monster dump. A loud, big, smelly shit. I knew this was the rudest thing to do but I also knew I could talk about this for years on the air, so I said, "Arnold!"

"Yes." His booming voice filled up the bathroom.

"Hey, I'm Howard Stern and this is Fred Norris. We do a radio show in Washington."

"Yes, boys," Arnold says politely.

This was great. You're always vulnerable when you're crapping out, no matter how big a star you are.

"Hey, I just want you to know I'm a big fan of Conan the Barbarian and I think it's a superior move for you to do it," I said.

"Thank you, boys," he said. "I really appreciate you saying that."

We had this whole conversation with him and then we walked out. Later we ran into him on the set and introduced ourselves to him again. I thought it was really nice of him to even answer us. I would have been embarrassed as hell. Years later I had him on my show and I told him I was sure his penis was as long as his last name.

It didn't take long for Robin to realize that I would talk about anything on the air. In fact, let her tell this story.

I'll never forget the day I realized that nothing was sacred. I had started to gain weight. We had been under attack from management all the time. Goff hated us, and the other djs hated us because we were getting so popular. It got really depressing even though the show was doing great. We were both drowning our sorrows every day at Roy Rogers with bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes. We both ballooned up.

One day I got up in the morning to get ready to go to work and I couldn't get my pants buttoned. I walked into Howard's studio and I said, "I can't believe how fat I'm getting. I couldn't get the top button on my pants done today," and I showed him. I went back into my studio, because we were gonna do a break, and he got on the air, and he immediately said, "Guess what, everybody? Robin has gotten so fat she can't button the top button!" I was horrified! This is the worst thing you could do to a woman. He just got on the air and told all of Washington, D.C., that I was so fat I couldn't button my pants. I couldn't believe he had done that. He was so sweet and understanding just seconds before. I looked at him and he gave me one of those little-kid shrugs like, "I couldn't help it."

But that was nothing compared with what I did to Alison. We had been married almost four years and we decided to have a baby. It was February of 1982 and we went to Aruba on a vacation because that's a nice place to bang away and try to make a kid. In Aruba we met these other people from Washington who invited us over when we got back. They had a nice house and a fancy hot tub and Alison went in the hot tub. Meanwhile, I started calling Alison every morning on the air with the Pregnancy Patrol report. Fred played some ambulance sirens in the background and I'd ask if she got her period yet. She missed her period. So we were telling everyone she's pregnant. We flew up to Boston to visit her parents and grandparents and immediately told them. Alison's grandmother, this great woman who was in her nineties, said, "If I were you, I wouldn't broadcast it." I already had.

So Alison was about six weeks pregnant and she started cramping and bleeding. I took her to the doctor and he put her down on

the table and he said that she was expelling the fetus. It was about the size of an aspirin but we were totally bummed out. We didn't know if Alison could get pregnant again. We felt like total failures. So to keep our sanity, we started kidding about it. I said that we should take some Polaroids of the blood blob and send it to our parents so they'd at least have a picture of their grandchild. After a couple of days, Alison was joking about it, too. So I decided it was okay. The next day I got on the air and it was time for God to do the weather:

"Let's check in with God. Hello, God. Yo, God! Your holiness!" (Thunder and lightning sound effects.)

"This is God."

"What's the weather like, man?"

"Hey, Howard, I see your wife had a miscarriage."

"Hey, you're not supposed to talk about that!"

"You tried to have a baby and you failed."

"Don't bring that up on the air! I didn't tell anyone."

"You couldn't even succeed in getting that right. Boy, are you a loser
."

"I don't think this is funny."

"You're not a real man. Ha, ha, ha. You must be half a man. A real man would have done it right the first time. You're an embarrassing creation."

I started crying.

"Howard, I will make it mostly sunny today. Maybe you should go out and breathe some fresh air and go do it and get it right this time."

When Robin came on, we continued the discussion.

"God let the cat out of the bag. I didn't want other people to know," I cried.

"I'm sorry," Robin said. "Pull yourself together."

"That was my kid," I bawled, "and now he's lying on some laboratory floor. My kid's gone. And with him all my dreams and fantasies. MY STUPID WIFE HAD TO HAVE A MISCARRIAGE! IT'S ALL HER FAULT!"

"It's not her fault, Howard," Robin said.

"You know what it was? All the LSD I took in the sixties. I'll tell you kids out there, don't be like your pal Howeird and take LSD. I did it a long time ago and now I'm paying for it. It's my fault my wife

had a miscarriage. I've got pulverized sperm. Chromosomal damage. Just because I wanted to see rocks move and watch trees melt. I blew it. I'M A WUSSY. I'M SHOOTING BLANKS. MY WIFE SAID IT'S MY FAULT, I HAD DUD SPERM." I sobbed hysterically. "Don't tell my wife we talked about it on the air," I said.

"You should talk about it, get it off your chest," Robin counseled.

"They made us put the kid in a bottle so they could examine it and see what was wrong. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT WAS LIKE? My wife and I wanted to save the bottle. He's our kid. We even named him. Ethan. We got him in formaldehyde. We're going to carry him in the bottle and take him to the zoo next weekend, buy him some popcorn. Every slob on welfare has kids, why can't I? What did I do to deserve this? We're going to have a birthday party for him. We're gonna act like he's alive. Just because he's in a bottle doesn't mean he can't have a life of his own."

"So I'm gonna be Auntie Robin?" Robin asked. "Should I buy him toys?"

"Don't get him toys," I said. "Get him fresh formaldehyde every once in a while. DON'T LAUGH AT MY MISERY, ROBIN."

I opened up the phone lines and we were flooded with calls. The first call was a woman who had been pregnant nine times and lost seven.

"If you were my husband, I would divorce you. That was the cruelest thing I ever heard. I care!" she yelled.

"You care about what?" I asked.

"Your wife."

"I care about my wife, too, lady," I snapped.

"You made a boo-boo. You're cruel. Talking about the miscarriage and then referring to it as a blob on the floor. My God, man, put yourself in her shoes for just a minute and think how she might feel," the woman said.

I let her have it. "HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL? IT WAS MY KID! MY KID! I LOST MY KID!"

I hung up on her. "I'M NOT GONNA TAKE THAT FROM HER. I COME ON THE AIR AND BARE MY SOUL TO YOU AND THIS WOMAN HAS THE NERVE, THE NERVE, TO MAKE FUN OF ME. I'M REALLY UPSET. WHY DO YOU THINK I WASN'T HERE LAST TUESDAY! I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL WITH MY WIFE WHEN SHE LAY THERE." I started acting as if I were sobbing. "IT'S MY KID, TOO. HOWARD JUNIOR. WE

HAD TO PUT THAT KID IN A BOTTLE AND THE DOCTOR STILL HAS OUR KID AND I WANT HIM BACK."

I composed myself. "I even bought my wife roses when she told me the good news. I spent thirty bucks on those roses and then I called up the florist and said, 'Look, the kid didn't make it. Give me at least fifteen back.' The guy said, I don't care, pal.' I'M NEVER USING THAT FLORIST AGAIN! THAT IS MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN!"

That night I went home and went to sleep early. I should get Alison in here to tell you the rest of the story.

Twelve years and three children later, this whole thing is pretty hysterical, but I didn't feel that way then. I got a call from a local reporter who asked me how I felt about Howard talking about the miscarriage on the air. Howard was already asleep. The more this reporter told me, the angrier I got. He got me completely crazy and I stayed up all night and yelled at Howard. I was pissed. I felt really violated by him for the first time ever. I was mortified. I was furious. I was up the whole night, I felt so betrayed by him.

This reporter Dennis was writing positive articles about me, but this time he acted like all of Alison's gossipy friends who listen to the show and then report back to her on what I said. This guy prodded her. "Didn't it make you feel bad? Don't you realize it was your baby he was talking about?" He got to her and she went ballistic on me. "You're an asshole! You're a moron!" she screamed. What was I supposed to do? Once she was joking about it I figured it was okay to talk about it on the air. My personal life has to be my material because I hate to go out anywhere. Hey, I have to fill up five hours a day. I thought this would be strong material for at least a week but I had to nip it in the bud. Bitis interruptus.

The next day I went on the air, all contrite.

"We'll do Dial-a-Date tomorrow. I also want to tell you that due to the fact that I told you about my wife's miscarriage yesterday, my wife isn't talking to me now. Just because I wanted to be honest with you people. She said, 'That isn't the kind of thing you should tell your

audience. You can't talk about that on the radio, you just should have said it was a false alarm.' I said, 'No, no, you don't understand. The whole premise of this radio show is that I'm honest with the people.'

"So we're not talking now. We're having a fight. She's not into talking because she's embarrassed. A lot of women have miscarriages. I know why we had it. Because I eat all that artificial sugar with the cyclamates. In my coffee this morning I'm having regular sugar with that fake milk. Come to think of it, there's a lot of chemicals in that nondairy creamer. Maybe that's what's destroying my children."

I started reading the ingredients. "Corn syrup solids, partly hydrogenized vegetable oil, coconut oil, cottonseed oil, palm oil, then something called sodium caseinate, you know that's going to kill my kid."

Then God came back on to do the weather. And He apologized to me for talking about my wife's miscarriage:

"I'm sorry I made fun of you. Just because you're not a real man doesn't mean I have the right to make fun of you. [A baby cries in the background.] By the way, do you hear that baby in the background?"

"Yeah."

"That's
yours. He's up here with me now."

"Oh, man."

"Not to worry. We're having a good time. I'm going to introduce him to Jim Morrison of the Doors."

"You better not, that guy's a derelict."

"I will make it a nice day today. This is God on DC-101."

"God, I'm sick and tired of you. You're out! I'm gonna get me that guy from Channel Four, what's his name?"

Alison:

I wanted to climb under a rock. I started getting all these letters from people whose children had died. I got a letter from a woman , who had a stillbirth and mine was the size of I an aspirin! I was so embarrassed. When we went out in public, I felt that people could see right through me. But I could never stay mad I at Howard. I understood it wasn't so horrible. Within two seconds, he can talk to me and he

has such a sweetness. I know this sounds corny, but he can turn to me and say, "I didn't really mean to hurt you, I really love you," and then it's all over with.

That was the turning point. I knew that nothing was off bounds. I thought, "Here we go." He always says that nobody knows if this is true or not because he embellishes stories, but I still get angry when he talks about our personal life, even to this day. It's weird, but if I have a problem with something I have to say to him, "I have to talk to you but I don't want it on the radio." Then he'll say, "I wasn't even thinking about it for the air, but now that you mentioned it, it would be great radio."