My Public Access Memory Anecdote

Memory is a tricky thing: we remember some things very well, some things somewhat well, and some things not at all. 

Obviously we always remember the big things very well -- moving residences, graduating schools, getting and leaving jobs, taking interesting trips, losing virginity's, witnessing (or participating in) historical events like big elections or news stories, etc. Then there are things we do in our lives that are interesting but somewhat memorable: usually one-off things like seeing a good show, taking a short trip, having a  date, having good conversation, etc. Then there's everything else that we either can't remember or choose to forget -- like traumas.  

File this under "remember somewhat well", an interesting one-off: the one and only time I hosted a public access TV show. 

My recent post about public access television jogged this almost seventeen year-old memory. It's something I did completely on lark, enjoyed it, and, for reasons I cannot understand or remember at all, never did again. 

By 2003 I had been watching too much public access. It cured my boredom. Late at night there would be lots of call-in shows, where an assorted array of quirky New Yorkers would sit before a camera in a studio with poor acoustics and take calls from the freaks watching. I even called in  a few times myself -- just to have someone to talk to. After watching more than my fair share of this junk, I thought "Hey! I could do this!" So I contacted Manhattan public access, filled out some form, went down to their studios on West 59th street, took a short "training class", and then got an one night half-hour time slot in July of that year.

The idea for the show I proposed, that the public access station let me air one time and then, for reasons that were never explained to me, never again, was to take calls from New Yorkers where they would air their confessions. In fact, I was going to call the show "Nighttime Confessions".

Around 11:30 one Wednesday night, I went into a small TV studio and stood behind big table. Two cameras behind a glass shield pointed at me. There were lights overhead, blazing. I had written down the name of the show and the phone number to call in on a piece of paper and taped it to the table. I even included my email address. As soon as 11:30 hit, a red light went on. I smiled for the camera, briefly told the audience what the show was about, and started taking calls.

To my shock, the calls poured in.

I had never been on-air before, I was completely unknown as a host, and yet people were just itching to talk to me. Many of the calls were people just yelling or telling me that I sucked, and I quickly hung up on them. One guy, who I assume was gay, was very flirtatious. Then a girl called in for love advice, talking about how some guy had just gotten her pregnant. She asked me for advice and I don't remember what advice I gave but then the next call was another girl who scolded me, remonstrated with me, told me that I had no business giving anyone advice. And then ... the show was over. 

I left the studio, got in a cab, went home, and then ... nothing. I never got another shift and never did another show. 

And that was it -- a complete and total anti-climatic memory. Fortunately, after that, I started having more success with "da' ladies" and stopped watching so much public access. 

Footnote: I did get an email from someone after the show, a really nasty picture. I deleted it and that was that.