Private Parts (23 page)

We were still fucking with Hayes, too. He called us into his office for a meeting and he was talking his usual shit about how we had to clean up our act so he could get better, more prestigious advertisers on the show, and Robin and I looked at each other and just got up and walked out of his office in the middle of a sentence.

As we were walking down the hall, Robin looked at me and said, "Are you sure we haven't gotten a little crazy here? We just walked out of the general manager's office while he was in the middle of a sentence."

"What are they gonna do to us, Robin?" I shrugged. "Fire us?"

Meanwhile, I was out of control on the air. New York was in the middle of that stupid Statue of Liberty two hundredth anniversary and Robin was reading a news story about how Lee Iacocca had raised $200 million for the statue's restoration but he needed to raise another $200 mil.

"What do they need all that money for?" I wondered. "What are they gonna buy her, a bronze tampon? They gonna get fifty thousand gallons of copper so she can douche?"

Here I was the number one radio entertainer in the world. I was invincible. Everyone wanted me ... and no one could touch me.

I don't know, call me naive, but I thought I could just go on and entertain my millions and millions of listeners at NBC as long as they were happy and still tuning in and the network was making millions and millions each year selling my ad time. Well, I was wrong. The bastards were going to fire me.

Except God intervened in the form of a major hurricane. On September 27,1985, New York awoke to howling winds and torrential rainfall. Most New Yorkers took the day off, but I called Robin and Fred, and we decided to go in and brave the storm. It never occurred to me to stay home that day. Dale Parsons, my program director, called to beg me to stay home. The truth was Dale was told by NBC management to make sure I didn't go to work because I was supposed to be fired that day. It was a Friday and this way the Saturday newspapers would carry the story and it would be forgotten by Monday. None of the execs were available to fire me that day because the storm kept them home. They just figured I wouldn't come in. I came in and did one of the most vicious shows ever. Ironically, I even predicted my own firing.

The show was going fine until I heard that Soupy had announced on his program a few days earlier that he had just signed to do a

syndicated version of his show on the NBC network. I became livid. For years I had been trying to get my show syndicated on the network. I had been promised that they were working on it, but it was all hot air. And now Soupy got to do his show nationally. I totally freaked on the air. I refused to believe it until I got confirmation from my bosses. The problem was, they weren't at work; they were all hunkered down in their suburban homes waiting for the hurricane to blow over.

I frantically tried to call Randy at home but I couldn't get through. I reached Hayes and I put him on the air and he denied knowing anything about it. His denials sounded hollow. All the while I was ranting on the air that if this information was true, that was it, I was quitting NBC.

Now here I was embarrassing all the execs by throwing them on the air, and they were freaking out because I shouldn't even have been on the air! They had promised Grant Tinker, the president of NBC, that I would be fired.

I threw open the phone lines. All my listeners called in and said they'd hate to see me go but they'd understand. Putting Soupy on national was too much of a humiliation for anyone to take. It was nearing time for my shift to end. Jack Spector had already come into the studio to prepare for his show. I took one last phone call. It was the guy we set up for the Bestiality Dial-a-Date.

"Howard, this is your dog lover dial-a-date. No one called me yet," he complained.

"It might take a month or two," I said.

"By the way, I heard Soupy talking about the show, too. You really not coming in Monday?"

"I'm not sure how the scenario will play out. We have three offers from other stations. There's a lot to consider," I said.

"By the way, I hope your bathroom has towels in it. It didn't when I was there. I had to wipe my hands on my pants," he complained.

"Here's a guy who made love to a dog worrying about wiping his hands on his pants. I don't see how that would disturb you."

"It was a clean dog," he said.

That was the last call I ever took at NBC.

I went home that night bummed out. Over the weekend, I went jogging and tripped over some of the tree debris from the hurricane. So on Monday morning I reported for work on crutches. Robin and

I were supposed to have had a big meeting on Friday but since the top brass couldn't make it in, they had rescheduled it for Monday before we went on the air. We were to meet at 12:30, but I didn't arrive at NBC till 12:45. Fuck them and their meetings. John Hayes met me in the hall and escorted me to an elevator. "Randy wants to see you alone." He smiled and put his arm around me like the priest who visits death row. Little did I know that Hayes had been given orders to make sure I got on that elevator. Hayes couldn't wait to get me on that elevator because it was his job to fire Robin while I was upstairs being fired.

I hobbled into Randy's office.

"Sit down," Randy said.

I sat.

"I'm going to have to put an end to the show," Randy said soberly.

I figured he meant the syndicated show. So they were right, Soupy was going to get his show syndicated.

"Okay," I said, getting up, "I gotta go to work."

"No, I mean the afternoon show."

"Okay," I said again, and started for the door. I was in shock.

"Do you want to sit down?" Randy said.

I said, "No. If I'm fired, I'm leaving. I have no reason to be here."

I hobbled downstairs to my office and called my agent, Don Buchwald. Within minutes, Buchwald strolled into the office with a cold bottle of champagne in hand, singing "Happy Days Are Here Again." Robin, who had just been fired by the Incubus himself, looked warily at Don. But Don was thrilled. He was certain we'd be back on the air shortly, making a lot more money.

STATEMENT FOR CALLS RE: HOWARD STERN

The Howard Stem Program has been taken off the air at WNBC.

The reason for this move, as explained in the statement broadcast, is that conceptual differences exist between Howard Stern and WNBC regarding the program.

If you wish to state an opinion we ask you to write to:

John Hayes, vice President & General Manager

WNBC

30 Rockefeller Plaza

New York, N.Y. 10020

Thank you for your call.

GUIDELINES:

A. Be as polite as possible to all callers -- this is very important.

B. John Hayes is not accepting phone calls on this matter. -- Please write if you want.

C. We will forward mail to Howard Stern and Robin Quivers.

D. If caller becomes abusive, politely end the [call] by thanking them for their interest, then hang up.

I sequestered myself in my inner office. Hayes came around and tried to see me but I wouldn't let him in. He sat in

the outer office and talked to Robin.

"You know, my greatest fear is that you guys are going to go across the street and kick our butt," Hayes told Robin. He said that, but he didn't mean it. I know he really thought we were not employable. He also figured it would be a snap to replace us.

Meanwhile, in place of us, they were playing music and periodically interrupting it with this prerecorded message:

NOW, WNBC VICE PRESIDENT AND GENERAL MANAGER JOHN HAYES:

WNBC ISSUED THE FOLLOWING PRESS RELEASE THIS AFTERNOON. AS OF TODAY, MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 30TH, WNBC HAS CANCELED THE HOWARD STERN PROGRAM BECAUSE OF CONCEPTUAL DIFFERENCES THAT EXIST BETWEEN HOWARD STERN AND WNBC MANAGEMENT AS TO THE PROGRAM. I ENCOURAGE ANYONE WILLING TO EXPRESS AN OPINION ABOUT THE CANCELLATION OF THE HOWARD STERN PROGRAM TO WRITE TO ME,

JOHN HAYES

GENERAL MANAGER

WNBC

30 ROCKEFELLER PLAZA

NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10020

YOUR COMMENTS ARE WELCOME.

While this announcement was being made, Robin and I were standing outside of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, surrounded by a few boxes containing all of my valuable tapes and bits, waiting for an NBC car that would never come. We finally took a cab. Later that night, Fred and Gary penetrated NBC security, using a forged pass, and emptied the entire contents of my office into a U.S. Postal Service van that Baba Booey had borrowed from a friend. They started at midnight and took load after load out past an uninterested-looking security guard. Finally it was 3:00 a.m. and they had packed up the last load and were almost out the door when the guard spoke up.

"Hey, you two!" the guard yelled.

Fred and Baba Booey froze in their tracks.

"You know what time it is?"

We were home free.

The next day, every paper blared the firing in its headlines. The
New York Post
ran a full front-page picture of me and Alison and our first daughter. One camera crew accused me of staging a disc jockey hoax. That afternoon, I hit each local news show and told my side of the story, which was that I had no idea why I was fired. Not one NBC executive would take credit either, but I had my theories.

Front page of the
New York Post.
The unemployed at home.

One theory, which later surfaced, was that Thornton Bradshaw, who was chairman of the board, was riding in his limousine and said to a friend, "I think we own an AM station here in New York." For the first time ever they tuned in, and heard me setting up the dude with a dog for Bestiality Dial-a-Date. Bradshaw screamed, "Fire that guy immediately!" and told Grant Tinker he'd better not hear me on the air again.

I confronted Grant Tinker several years later on the air. I was at the Emmy awards show and Tinker had just been given the prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award. Here he was beaming, glowing, stepping into the press room to answer very respectable questions. I stood up screaming, "GRANT TINKER, WHY DID YOU FIRE HOWARD STERN? WHY?" He wouldn't answer.

Meanwhile, my agent, Don Buchwald, starting sorting out the various offers we had immediately received. There were a few good ones coming from Los Angeles. But there was no pressure to take

anything. NBC had just renegotiated my contract and they still had to pay me for the next three years. NBC acknowledged this in their conversations with Buchwald and they also told him that if we went to a station in L.A., they would pay us fifty thousand dollars.

"You call them and tell them to shove their fifty thousand," I told Don. "I will never go to L.A. Tell them that I'm going to stay right

The first few days at K-Rock, knocking Imus off his perch.

here and destroy that radio station. I'll make it so bad for them that they'll have to sell that piece-of-shit station. I'm going to rob them of all their fucking ratings."

"If Howard Stern beats me,

I'll eat a dead dog's penis."

--
Don Imus

I was crazed. But I was right. A few weeks later, I signed with K-Rock to do afternoons. A few weeks after that, K-Rock asked me to switch to mornings so I could go head-to-head against Imus and destroy him. I said I would

do it and I did. My ratings soared and I dragged Shit Stain down to a one share. NBC wound up selling the station for millions less than it was worth. Pig Virus wound up in some station in the Midwest. The Incubus is back in San Francisco, humbled. Thornton Bradshaw, the former chairman of the board of NBC, is dead of a painful cerebral hemorrhage. Grant Tinker, the other moron who now publicly takes credit for firing me, hasn't had a hit TV show for years and will probably die a very painful death.

DONT FUCK WITH STERN!

Spill It

Celebrity True Confessions
Chapter 7

How do I get celebrities to talk? I keep the studio dimly

lit and I try to keep them in there for hours. After a while, I just wear them down, and then they forget they're on the radio.

That's the secret.

I can't stand bullshit. I never like doing typical interviews. When you're on the radio, you have nine hundred competitors, and there's no loyalty. Your audience will abandon you in two seconds. That's why I hate my audience. They're so damn fickle. You'd think they'd have some allegiance. Just because I'm having a bad day doesn't mean they should ruin my career. And just because a celebrity is going to come on doesn't mean he is just going to come on and plug. I want people working hard for me.

And besides, I don't need guests on my show because I've proven that I can get ratings without them. You come on my show, you'd better perform. I'm busy telling everyone that I jerk off every night and stick fingers up my own ass; you'd better open up, too.

Here's a bunch of celebrities I like because they're honest and can laugh at themselves:

SANDI KORN

PENTHOUSE PET

RUNNER-UP
PENTHOUSE
PET OF THE YEAR

Sandi is one of my favorite guests -- great to look at and incredibly naive about simple world events. Her claim to fame on my show has been her remarkable inability to answer questions that any sixth-grader would know. Sandi told me
Penthouse
pets were smart and that she was practically valedictorian of her school.

"Sandi, what country did
Saddam Hussein
invade during the Gulf War?" I asked. Fred played some "Jeopardy" music as Sandi contemplated.

"Uh ... what is ... Jerusalem?" Sandi smiled.

Who gave a shit if the answer was Kuwait, Sandi was wearing a skimpy bikini. The lump in my pants grew heavier and thicker as I thought about tying her up and eating her for an hour ... while I talked about world events.