Media Culture, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences
Maastricht University, November 2007/ November 2008
Vincent van Merwijk
For more than 20 years I produced radio documentaries. I worked for a pop music channel (and was actor, the leadsinger in a radio play about a punk band) and informative channels (news and background programming). I made documentaries about all kinds of social issues, traveled around the world, the Americas, Africa, India, Europe, and won the Silver Reiss microphone, the no. 1 award for best radio production in the Netherlands.
As editor-in-chief I was responsible for other prize winning productions, like The Holland Family (Prix Europa, drama) and Rob Muntz, the Inburgerking (Silver Reiss microphone).
Till January 2007 I was head of Radio and Internet department of RVU, an educational broadcaster and chairman of the EBU (European Broadcasting) Features Group that organizes the International Features Conference each year.
Last years I was managing a cross media project 'Club of 100.nl) in which team works together on radio (daily), tv (weekly) and the Internet (24 hours).
After January 2007 I travelled aroud: Australia, Thailand, Nepal, Aregentina, Paraguay, and was a trainer at Radio Netherlands Training Centre in Hilversum.
Since August 2008 I work as a lecturer at the School of Media (Windesheim, University of Applied Sciences) in Zwolle.
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In this presentation I will tell about the serious, journalistic approach: a documentary about human rights, Kurds and violence in Turkey (Human Landscapes 1999).
Another documentary with a journalistic approach was recorded in Suriname (2000), 'Where my umbilical cord was buried.....', and is a story about a killing in a small village called Moiwana; it's a story of a group of people that were forced to leave their birth ground.
In 'Rob Muntz, adventurer' the 'radiodocurette' was introduced: a mix between documentary and drama. Rob Muntz, main character travels to Africa to shoot a giraffe.
Productions in which I was not involved:
from the USA you will hear ‘Ghetto Life 101’. In March, 1993, LeAlan Jones, thirteen, and Lloyd Newman, fourteen, collaborated with public radio producer David Isay to create the radio documentary Ghetto Life 101, their audio diaries of life on Chicago's South Side. The boys taped for ten days, walking listeners through their daily lives: to school, to an overpass to throw rocks at cars, to a bus ride that takes them out of the ghetto, and to friends and family members in the community.
Ghetto Life 101 became one of the most acclaimed programs in public radio history, winning almost all of the major awards in American broadcasting, including: the Sigma Delta Chi Award, the Ohio State Award, the Livingston Award, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting Awards for Excellence in Documentary Radio and Special Achievement in Radio Programming, and others. Ghetto Life 101 was also awarded the Prix Italia, Europe's oldest and most prestigious broadcasting award. It has been translated into a dozen languages and has been broadcast worldwide.
‘The change in farming’ (Adam Goddard and Steve Wadhams, CBC Canada 1998) is an amusing piece in which Henry Hawes, Adam’s grandfather, explains everything about the changes in farm machinery, cattle raising and inseminations. When his grandson, a composer and sound designer, starts manipulating his voice in the studio, his grandfather really is stumped.
Finally ‘The Sunshine Hotel’ (David Isay 1998), is an audio portrait of one of the final vestiges of the Bowery, New York's notorious skid row. In the first half of the century, the mile-long Bowery's bars, missions and cheap hotels (or flophouses) were home to an estimated 35,000 down-and-out men each night. Today, only a handful of flophouses, virtually unchanged for half a century, are all that remain of this once teeming world
1. From: ‘HUMAN LANDSCAPES II
(RVU, broadcast on 14 April 1999)
Based on the epic poem of the Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963). In the RVU documentary "Human Landscapes" the Dutch-Turkish-Kurdish writer and journalist Özkan Gölpinar goes in search of the bits and pieces which have determined his identity. Through the eyes of Gölpinar the programme shows what many Kurds experience: that you are not where you want to be, don't want to be where you land up, whereas the place where you come from no longer exists except in your memory.
The result is a journey through a twilight zone between fact and fiction, past torture, village evacuations and human rights activists who daily run the risk of being murdered.
A journey also from Istanbul to Diyarbakir, the capital of the region the Kurds call "Kurdistan".
A documentary by Özkan Gölpinar and Vincent van Merwijk.
Sound design: Leo Knikman.
05’14 - 14’45 = 9’30
(mother)
"I am there because I don't want our sons to be murdered, or that our sons' friends are murdered, or that they get locked up."
(bell + mother)
"The police don't give us the opportunity to demonstrate, we're taken away and beaten, we're even tortured."
- She is the mother of Hassan Ocak - Hassan Ocak was one of the best-known Turkish journalists, who has disappeared -
(mother)
Why does no one listen to us, people suffer, people are locked up, they break into the houses to take people away, but no one listens. Why does no one listen to us?"
** music **
Voice (Ozkan, the writer)::
To what extent had I erased my memories from my mind?
I was too young, I always said when someone asked about my past.
Was the image I had of my native region still the same?
Before my departure from Holland I once again leafed through all the letters from Turkey.
Bits and pieces of memories of friends, family,
and here and there something about politics.....
15 March 1986.
The fighting comes closer and closer and the army forces us to join in the war fighting as village guards.
Can't you arrange something for me in Holland?
13 February 1991.
The soldiers have taken Berivan's brother with them.
Fortunately Berivan herself is quite all right. She wants you to know that she still loves you.
Greetings, Ahmed.
** music mixes with sound police van **
Özkan at demonstration:
A number of journalists quickly try to fix any part of their clothing that may have got loose.
Mobile phones are carefully tucked away.
I think they have a bit more experience with these kind of gatherings, because often not only the demonstrators but also the journalists fall victim to police violence. Police units with bullet-proof vests have the advantage.....
I have not yet seen a mother with a weapon in her hand here, but I wonder why they.....
.... we are now sent away by the police... we must.... briefly.....
they're now being regrouped.... we are now standing....
strangely enough we're standing in a cordon of policewomen on one side, special units in front of us....
(Turkish male voice)
and policemen to the left of us...
** tram bell **
The street is hermetically closed off, there's only one track left, a small path where the tram passes....
The last instructions are now briefly being discussed.....
** sound of clapping, beginning of demonstration **
I now hear clapping from the left.....
(sound demonstration)
the mothers are coming this way.....
(sound demonstration)
the police group themselves and at once move fast towards the mothers,
they walk straight up to the mothers..... cameras......
mothers call out for respect and attention for their children.
Now there's a commotion; a cordon of military units close them in.
"You have to disperse", they say, behind us
(sound demonstration)
The mothers call out: "we want an honourable life, without torture."
Now a few journalists are pushed away, before us, camera crews which all the time.... there's a disturbance...... there's a disturbance.....
we're pushed away further and further, behind us are the female units,
now we're closed in by a cordon, and we can't get past.....
(police in Turkish)
The mother of.....
(police)
.... that policeman now says: "he's a foreigner, he must be sent away".
Let's go away briefly, because he says: "what are you looking for here, you're a foreigner, what are you looking for here?"
Now someone is being arrested, taken along, roughly.....
we're being sent away by another policeman, and a van...
..... now arrested persons are taken away..... people are violently pushed away
(Turkish)
we are pushed away, forcibly.... a number of people have been taken away in vans..... now flowers are hurled at the policemen....
.... it seems there's a fight going on in the van.... people are taken away in vans....
... I see a number of people inside trying to get out of the van....
.... no one is allowed to leave now, we've been driven into a into a passage... in one of the shopping streets... someone is forcefully dragged into the van....
.... They're particularly afraid of the foreign journalists, that's why the German journalist and a Dutch photographer were so forcibly dealt with....
The camera of one of them has been flung away... people stick out... their fingers out of the van, make the sign of peace... one police.... now there's heavy fight... fighting inside the van...
.... People are shouting.... some people are crying....
one policeman is being hit..... ..... in the back they're hitting someone with truncheons.....
all I can see er..... wrestling of the.... mass of people.... oh....
(Turkish)
..... some people are crying..... I hear someone who says: "you can see it with your own eyes, why are you doing this?
Why are you letting this go on?" a woman who is standing just behind us,
"just look at what's going on", she says.
The policemen now hold up a shield, preventing the photographers from
taking pictures.... cameras are raised.... but the shield.....
.... is literally being used as a shield, so that no photos can be
taken of what is going on
in the van....
(male voices)
.... I, I hear, I hear people crying.... I hear people from inside the van.... they try to shout out.... I. I see two faces of people.... now the shield is pushed up again.....
... someone is shouting there, he has a wound just under his eye...
and he shouts out something, but I can't understand it.....
The van now tries to move off with a number of prisoners inside and, yes now it disappears out of sight, the shields come down again....
- I let.... try to move forward a bit -
.... now they are trying to scatter the group of those people who are still present in the square.... camera crews are coming back.... and now they go, in a cordon the special unit dissolves, they move on
.... we now try to find out if some women have been picked up,
I do hear that a number of people have been taken away,
I did see Hassan Ocak's mother briefly, she was standing behind us,
a group of people took her with them, to the back, took her under their protection, because people went and stood around her.....
- now let's just try and see if we can get out onto the street -
.... yes, what I've just seen is really horrible.
Fighting could be seen inside the van; mothers were taken away.
Just now we spoke with them, they are people of flesh and blood who only wanted to hold a silent demonstration here.
It really hurts to see this.
** street sound mixes with music **
2. From: ‘HUMAN LANDSCAPES II’
27’45 – 31’05 = 3’15
** sound tv + telephone **
Özkan in waiting-room bus station:
We are now in the province of Sivas, in the town of Gürün,- my native region -.
We are waiting here for the bus in a converted shed which serves as a ticket centre.... There's a television in the corner...
(sound singing on television)
On television there are pictures of the programme "Mehmetcik",
which means something like "Soldier Boy".
In this programme soldiers who are stationed in the south-east of the country can send a message to their mothers.
It's a very nationalistic programme, which is also used to recruit new soldiers.
In the background you now hear a soldier sing a song for his mother.
So again and again there are pictures of soldiers who recite poems, uttering nationalistic slogans.
The face is filled with anger, the eyes radiate hatred.
I now see a soldier, with in the background a Turkish flag flying and he recites a poem for his mother.
It's a very emotional speech he is holding now, holds up his hands and says that he shall fight unto death and that no one needs to be afraid.....
"Oh strong soldier, don't lower your eyes,
walk, go forward, go forward,
never go backward....."
** sound television mixes with music **
Voice (Ozkan, the writer):
The people in Gürün say that there's not much left of my village,
just like hundreds of other villages in the surroundings.
The villages around Zara, Kangal and Divrigi have also been evacuated.
Why would they say it if it wasn't true?
You may change the names of the villages,
but how can you change the colour of the mountains
and the singing of the rivers?
At one time these mountains were ours,
and those woods over there, they were ours too,
like the sun.
Until my father called our family together,
out of breath and covered with dust,
muttering inexplicable words about a distant country.
25 Years ago we flew away,
without saying goodbye to the village, our house and family,
to arrive somewhere where we were not welcome.
Ever since, I am busy saying goodbye.
Nowhere found the peace I was looking for.
27 Times I moved on. Never able to settle anywhere.
** sounds of the town **
Because I knew that at a given moment I would be leaving again.
3. From: “Where my umbilical cord was buried.....”
(RVU, 2000/2001)
° the umbilical cord is the birth cord that connects the mother with the embryo or unborn child
Synopsis
In November 1986, the Maroon village of Moiwana was attacked by soldiers of the Surinam National Army. As a result 43 innocent women, children and elderly people were killed. More military raids followed on villages in Eastern Surinam, killing many more civilians. In that particular area, Surinam's National Army leader Bouterse’s men were hunting down members of Ronnie Brunswijk’s Jungle Command. Many Maroons have since fled the area, seeking refuge in neighbouring French Guyana.
Surinam is a former colony of the Netherlands, and quite a few Surinam people still speak Dutch. In this documentary we interviewed a number of eyewitnesses to the massacres. Fifteen years on, many of these refugees are still living right across the Marowijne, the border river between Surinam and French Guyana. They’re afraid to return, because they’re still hearing stories about Maroons being killed. Now the district is also being prowled by former members of Brunswijk’s Jungle Command.
The story is told by Eddy Dap, a Maroon who now lives in The Netherlands. During the period of military strife he negotiated in the peace process between Brunswijk and Bouterse. With sounds from Surinam and French Guyana in the background, he tells us about the rituals and traditions of the Maroons, or Marrons. They still feel a strong bond with their ancestors from Africa - the continent from which these people were taken by Dutch slave traders. We hear, among others, human rights worker Stanley Rench, Jungle Command leader Ronnie Brunswijk, and Adolf Kuba, who lost his 21-year-old pregnant wife during the army
raids.
In this documentary only Marrons were interviewed.
A documentary by Guido Spring and Vincent van Merwijk
Sound images: Leo Knikman
Original broadcast date: 8th December/ April 2000
Recut in Februari, broadcast in April 2001: Vincent van Merwijk
00’00-04’20”= 4’20
(Introduction): Tropical morning sounds/ birds/children’s voices/
roosters crowing/
Women singing, mixed with sounds and crowing
(Leonie)
....My name is Leonie Pinas, domicile St. Laurent.
(opens letter, begins to read)
Dear Eddy Dap. I’m not happy here in French Guyana.
I have no papers, you see.
Because they said I was with the Jungle Command.
I have five children. The children here cannot go to school, because I have no money for the school bus.
Dear Eddie Dap, will you please.......
(Eddy Dap reads on, doubled with Leonie reading)
......Dear Eddie Dap, will you please help me with this problem.
I have no house, no bed. Nothing. I have no work, and the children have
no clothes on their backs.
How can you help me with these problems?
I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to Holland, here there’s no way
out; there’s no way out in Surinam.
Rooster crowing
Women singing
Rooster crowing, morning sounds, children
(Eddy Dap speaks, sounds can still be heard)
......This crowing is so typical of a village in the Surinam jungle.
The roosters are the alarm clocks of the Surinam interior......
(little child)
A rooster...(rooster)...is known by its note, you might say. And...(rooster) ...wakes everybody up, around four thirty, five o’clock. The children, no matter how small, will get up too then. They will sit by the open fire...( rooster)...to keep warm.
The old people will tell stories about the past. Sometimes stories about the future as well. Children are mostly concerned with the future....(rooster)...
Even at such an early age they’re philosophizing about what they would like most...(rooster)...
About their desires.....
Their dreams....(children’s voice)...
All this is passed on at dawn, at the fireplace....(children’s voice).......
To take fate into your own hands, not leaving it in someone else’s hands. Because even if you do, you’re still guilty of your own fate......
Sound of child coughing, a stick, tropical sounds, children (talking Surinam),
open fire krakeling (4’20)
4. From: “Where my umbilical cord was buried.....”
14’17- 19’50”= 5’33
(Adolf Kuba)
.......My name is Adolf Kuba, born in Surinam, Marowijne district.
Now I’m a resident of French Guyana. Because of certain experiences I have been put through.....
Well, I’m still afraid of those men; I still fear the Surinam National Army, first of all because.......
...my first one....my darling.....she was in pregnancy...... My first child – a daughter or son, I don’t know that - ......well, she was shot by the National Army......
......her body.........yes..........I will never return.....to Surinam....(sighs)
......Her body was completely burned......yes.....
I was in Patamakka, there I worked, and they told me she had died, shot she was....
From there I went to Mungo to come and see for myself, and they told us that her body was in the morgue.
I came to see her, came to see her. And just when we came there,
everything was.....on fire.....
I could not bury her....couldn’t see her anymore..... bury....like that......and so I never saw this child of mine.......so
eh......yes......(sighs).
......She was 21 years.......
(sound out)
libation ritual, old woman talking, children
(Eddy Dap)
She’s calling to her ancestors, her great-grand parents, her ancestors who came from Africa with all their knowledge, and now this is a sacrifice she makes, a libation, and she’s asking them to come and help.....
Sounds from ritual, bottle of rum, children
....A libation to invoke mercy from her ancestors, who came from Africa with all the knowledge that has enabled them to survive to this very day. And now she’s calling to the gods......(old woman performing ritual).......
This is Kunumanti, that’s an African language used in rituals. Kumanti, Kumanti......(old woman performing ritual)..........
She’s the eldest, the tribal mother, mother of many, many children, and by virtue of that she becomes the person who makes sacrifices to the gods, to the ancestors......
Old woman, clapping sounds, ritual
5. From: “Where my umbilical cord was buried.....”
30’00- 32’15= 2’15
I have five children. The children here cannot go to school, because I have no money for the school bus.
Dear Eddie Dap, will you please.......
(Eddy Dap reads on, doubled with Leonie reading)
......Dear Eddie Dap, will you please help me with this problem.
I have no house, no bed. Nothing. I have no work, and the children have no clothes on their backs.
How can you help me with these problems?
I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to Holland, here there’s no way out; there’s no way out in Surinam.
I asked Ronnie Brunswijk to help me, but he won’t.
Will you send me clothes? My child is not well and needs to go to hospital.
Leonie, with kind greetings..........
(Leonie).....kind greetings from Leonie....
......So she sees no way out, there’s no authority that could help her.
She’s lost her faith, her trust that things will ever get better for Moiwana.
(Eddy Dap Surinam).....me combabakete pejucombakete berie......
Where my umbilical cord lies buried, that’s my home.
And for her that is Moiwana.
women, Moiwana song ends
(Eddie Dap)
But Marrons, you cannot break them. They always survive.
And so I keep hoping for that.
Jungle sounds
6. From: ‘Rob Muntz, adventurer...’
(RVU, broadcast in November 2002)
Synopsis
ROB MUNTZ is the enfant terrible of Dutch radio and television.
Indeed, posing as a TV minister in the US and walking around Vienna dressed up as Hitler made him something of a TV celebrity.
In a series of five so-called ‘Radiodocurettes’, programme maker Rob Muntz sets out on a quest for ‘sheer male bliss’. He wins the Dutch national body building championship, goes hunting in Africa, directs a pro-female adult movie, and prospects for gold in Surinam. In the last episode Rob Muntz seems to have vanished into thin air. Apparently he has been involved in a scam, as the listener may have been gleaned from earlier episodes.
In the series documentary and drama are virtually indistinguishable.
This type of radio show - another tell-tale sign of which is its tongue-in-cheek approach - we like to refer to as ‘radiodocurette’.
Remember though that these dramatized stories are rooted in real-life situations.
The series was created by Rob Muntz, in close collaboration with the editor Leo Knikman, with whom the scenes were only developed in the editing stage. Dutch crime novelist Thomas Ross kindly agreed to help
with the plot development for the series.
To accompany the series an internet site was set up
(www.robmuntzavonturier.nl) where a regular update on Muntz’ adventures could be found.
Final editing: Vincent van Merwijk
00’00 – 12’55= 12’55
music
The dream of anyone who dare call himself a real man…
Winter… outside it’s freezing, but here inside there´s a fire glowing,
crackling in the grate… In your arms you’re holding your favourite mistress, and below you there’s a tiger skin, its mouth gaping.
All this, added to a proud wall display of antlers, should help to render a faithful image of The Happy Huntsman’s mansion.
“Gee, Mr Muntzavonturier.nl, where did you get all those amazing hunting trophies?”, asks the wench.
Gently relieving her of her panties, with a broad sweep of your arm you conjure up an image of the African savanna. In the process you knock over one of the burning candles, which happens to fall on the nylon tiger skin…
The next moment you’re desperately trying to put out the eager flames with a bottle of Jägermeister.
And while the antlers on the wall are melting, a tear of bitter disappointment wells up in the doe’s hazel eyes.
This is the moment of truth. No More Made In China!
Solemnly you take off your deerstalker, promising her…“My dear child, for you and you alone I’ll shoot…
a giraffe…”
hunters blowing bugles
‘Well, here I am on the Huntsman’s Open Day, in the Dutch Royal Forest.
It’s a lovely day, and there’s a jolly atmosphere.
All around me I see happy families, people with their children, their dogs.
The Jägermeister Promotion Team. All those sweet, happy girls… Hello, there! Stalls selling venison satay, and you can also buy stuffed rabbits and pheasants.
I even saw a hare dressed up as a hunter, wearing a deerstalker, a tiny little rifle strapped across its shoulder.
And look, over there you can shoot clay pigeons.
And believe it or not: There’s even a man selling salted herring.’
’Quite often these dogs…’…
’Oh, let’s hear this!’
‘…are referred to as uh – particularly when we’re talking about hounds - as BLOOD-hounds.
Perhaps it’s a good idea to demonstrate how kind and gentle these dogs really are…
I don’t know if there are any children here… (Yeah!…Yeah!…Yeah!…)
If you’re a child and you’re not over five foot tall, he’s actually inviting you to come near…(children’s voices)…So you can stroke these dogs here…’
‘Bizarre.’ (children’s voices, dogs barking)
‘They won’t hurt a soul, they’re ever so kind and gentle, these animals are… (children’s voices)…
Look, here they come…(dog barking)… Oh, we’re going to have a crowd here…
That’s right, just stroke them, lads…(sound of ferocious dogs, children screaming)
That just goes to show: The children are our future… (children screaming, dogs growling)
This also proves that these dogs are socially well-developed animals… (ambulance)
In the meantime, while these children are stroking the dogs: I’d like to hear the sound…’
Bugles and sounds mixed with music
Phew, what a day…
I had to down at least four Jägermeister to wash the worst of these images from my mind’s eye.
”Do you shoot large calibre as well, Mr. Muntz..?”
Next to me I a newly materialized elderly lady was winking at me – the spitting image of Rost van Tonningen’s widowed wife*… (*the widow of an infamous Dutch WWII nazi)
In a mumbling voice I confessed I’d never fired a shot in my life.
However, I was going to change that before the day was out. If only to keep those frigging hounds at bay…
(final music)
(sounds)
‘You know how to hold a rifle?
‘Sure…Well, I’m lefthanded…’
‘No problem, I’ll stand on the other side…’
‘Well, I used to own a short rifle, you know.’
‘It’s not loaded, so nothing can go wrong. First try and hold the rifle with two hands, and look through the sight.’
‘Jesus…How long is it, this range?’
‘You aim at a target, in this case it’s shaped like a roebuck. There are points indicated on it, so the hunter can use it for practice. The 10 represents the part of the deer’s body where a hit will be most lethal. See? (Yes). Beyond it is the heart (yes). So that’s worth 10 points. What I want you to do is to aim for the shoulder blade from a 100-metre range. Just to get the feel of it…
‘A hundred metres! So the end of the range is at a 100 metres?’
‘It ends at 100 metres, which is common, that’s a normal distance…’
‘…It’s one hell of a distance…’
(machine sounds)
‘Gee..’
‘Ever fired a shot before…?’
‘No, never, really. I never had to do army service.’
(sound) ‘It’s not loaded. Pretend you pull the trigger. Centre the crosshairs on the deer’s shoulder blade. Push the butt firmly against your shoulder…’
(click) ‘Click’ (yes) ‘Alright?’ (yes)
‘Now put on your earmuffs, okay?’
‘This is the big one? Alright, now I’m going to shoot at a picture in the distance. A picture of a deer. So this is a large-calibre rifle…’
‘Right, and remember that these are rifle-range conditions…(right)…So the ‘animal’ is standing quite still, for as long as you like, while you’re sitting on a chair, ready to fire, leaning on a cushion, 100% poised…(sure)
‘Keep a distance of about one inch between your eye and the eye-piece…
Like you had it a moment ago, then nothing can go wrong…Keep it firmly against your shoulder…And when you think the cross is nicely centred on the deer, just squeeze the trigger…Is it sitting firmly against your shoulder…?’
‘Yes, the hardest thing is to hold it steady, isn’t it? Am I supposed to pull it in that direction?’
‘This is just right, hold it firmly against your shoulder, and Bob’s your uncle…
Whenever you feel you’re ready for it, just pull the trigger…’
(gunshot)
‘Jésus!’
(sounds)
‘There’s no hole in the… Well…Look here…Look here (not so bad)
‘Yeaah.’
‘In the 9, see? Your aim was just a bit too low. It’s lethal enough, though…’
‘I did kill it?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘So I didn’t injure it?’
‘No…No…But for someone who has never fired a shot before, this isn’t bad at all, not bad at all.’
music
Not bad at all??? Come off it, man. I’m a natural, that’s what I am.
While those bugle boys are doing their laps around the range ad
nauseam, I’m getting looks of admiration from all sides…
(whispers) Like this gorgeous blonde next to me, who shows more
interest in me than in her target, it seems…
(music ending)
‘You’re a keen shot as well, madam.’
(upper-class lady): ‘Thank you, giggle-giggle.’
7. From: ‘Rob Muntz, adventurer...’
25’00- 30’40”= 5’40
(telephone ringing)
‘Good afternoon, Dronkers speaking.’
‘Yes good afternoon, this is Robmuntzavonturier.nl. Is this Jägermeister?’
‘That´s right, good afternoon.’
‘The reason why I´m calling is this...(yes)…I´ve become an avid hunter…(ahum)…and now I´ve found that Jägermeister and hunting are hand in glove, so to speak…(right)…because you happen to carry this deer logo…(right)…the antlers…(right)…and I have this nice idea because soon I’ll leave for a hunt in South-Africa…(right)…and uum, well that’s rather costly…(right)…and so I thought: What I’m actually looking for, is a sponsor that would fit the picture…(well, yes…)…well, so hunting and Jägermeister…’
‘Right, well we don’t do any financial sponsoring.’
‘You don’t? Well, but I have this idea…(right)…Perhaps you would consider a sponsorship in kind?’
‘And what would it be for, sir?’
‘The giraffe…’
‘What do you mean, giraffe?’
‘Well, I would like to shoot a giraffe, and I thought, maybe you might be willing to sponsor the giraffe. Because I want to shoot a giraffe, and it costs 1800 euros…’
‘Well, no, I’m sorry to cut you short, but we’re not in the least interested, so in that case…’
‘No, no, of course not, but obviously this is all a joke, right? The thing is: It might be an idea to shave the Jägermeister logo into the giraffe’s neck…’
‘No, sorry sir, I really am, but eh…’
‘But Jägermeister and hunting are hand in glove, aren’t they?’
‘No, they are not hand in glove.’
‘Yeaah!’
‘But thanks anyway for your call, sir. Goodbye!’
music
Well, thanks very much! Now what?
I can hardly shoot a giraffe in instalments. And I don’t want to be left without a drink either. Quite Simple.
What I’ll do is: I’ll take out another loan on the adult movie I’m about to make, and snuggle into the comfy cushions of South African Airlines’executive class…
You want something to drink, sir? Yes please…
(car/airport sounds)
‘Well…here I am…here in South-Africa, at Johannesburg Airport. And if I’m not mistaken uh…(CONTINUES IN ENGLISH) Hello, are you mister
Jones?’
‘Yeh,’
‘Jane’
‘Hi, Rob’
‘OK, thank you….’
‘Watch you head, Jane. Hahahaa.’
‘Hahaha’
‘So you had a good flight?’
‘Yeh! Yes we did.’
(car sounds)
‘So, how long was yoúr flight?’
‘ O, I think it took about a…’
‘Half a day…’
‘More than that…’
‘Fifteen…’
‘Fifteen, seventeen hours, something like that…’
‘But: We’re here!’
‘We’re here, in South Africa.’
‘Yeh! It’s great eh, South Africa? You’ve been here before?’
‘We’ve been here many times, yeh.’
‘For hunting, or?’
‘Always for hunting’ (always)
‘What did you hunt here in South Africa, last time you were here?’
(TRANSLATES INTO DUTCH) ‘What did you hunt here in South Africa, last time he was here?’
‘Oh, just about everything. Rhinos and elephants…’
‘Leopards?’
‘Just about everything.’
‘Just about anything that roams the face of this earth…You brought your own special gun with you?’
‘That’s right, that’s uh… I got my own special bullets and guns and things. Yeah.’
‘He brought his own guns, right. The great thing is, there is only one bloke in this whole wide world whom I would like to go hunting with, and that’s J.D. Jones. And guess what, he’s sitting right next to me!
It’s mindboggling, and right now we’re headed for Sand River Safaris.’
‘I’ve got a funny story about those filling stations that you got here in the town stuff. About in 1984 there was this doctor, a very famous doctor. He let us use…’
‘I’ll translate it….(FREE TRANSLATION INTO DUTCH) We’re now driving past a rather quaint filling station. Bit sixtiesh, with little blacks in front of it. And he knew this doctor…You knew a famous doctor?’
‘What he would do: Before we get into the town he would stop off and urinate in a beer bottle…’
(FREE TRANSLATION INTO DUTCH) ‘He was with the doctor, driving a car.
Then he had to stop to fill up the tank. But before he did that, he pissed into an empty beer bottl…He was urinating in an empty beer bottle?’
‘Yeah sure. And you know we put the bottle on top of the the tank..’
(FREE TRANSLATION INTO DUTCH) ‘So they when they filled it up, he put the piss-filled beerbottle on the gas pump. Yes…’
‘And then you know, pay for the gas and we drove on off as if we forgot the beer bottle…(kidding?)…There would be a mad race from all those people sitting around to get that beer bottle…(hihihi)…because, hi, you
know they didn’t know what they were gonna get, hihih, they got something but not what they thought, hihih. That was good fun…That was really fun. We did that a few times…’
(FREE TRANSLATION INTO DUTCH) ‘Oh well, right…So those people…I can picture it. So those blacks are drinking a … yuck, hahaha.’
‘But it was different then in South Africa, in 1984. Much, much different…’
‘It was better?’
‘It was much better then.’ (music starting)
‘Now you got all these people. Everybody is all mixed up now (fadeout)
8. From: Ghetto Life 101 Recorded in Chicago, Illinois.
(WBEZ Chicago, premiered May 18, 1993,)
Producer: David Isay
Jones: Good morning. Day one. Walking to school. Leaving out the door.
(Door opens. Music fades up.)
Jones: This is my dog, Ferocious. You know why he got that name if you hear him bark.
(Bark)
Jones: I see the ghetto every day walking to school.
Some guys on the corner burning a fire. Be here summertime, wintertime, spring, fall -- every day. With they drink in they hands. Probably some White Port, Willie P, Jack Daniels, E&J.
I live here. This is home.
(Speaking to friends) What's up, Emmie? What's up, Doodoo?
This is my walk everyday, so I'm taking you on a little journey through my life. Yes, my life. Yeah.
(Music crescendos, then begins to fade.)
Jones: My name is LeAlan Jones and I'm thirteen years old. I live in a house just outside of the Ida B. Wells Projects. My best friend, Lloyd Newman, lives in the Ida Bees. This is our story.
(Knocking on Lloyd’s door)
Jones: Every morning I pick up Lloyd on the way to school. Today we're ready to work -- strapped with our tape recorders and microphones.
(Sound of Lloyd's house)
Newman: Whassup?
Jones: You got the Tom Brokaw-look, lookin' like Tom Brokaw. You got the Tom Brokaw, nigger, sit down.
Newman: This is Lloyd Newman and I'm fourteen years old. I live with my brothers and sisters in the Ida B. Wells projects.
Jones: Let me describe Lloyd. Lloyd is short. He weighs about 75 pounds. I have an inch between my fingers when I put them around his wrist. He got a head like a Martian.
Newman: Alright, now let me talk about LeAlan. His belly take up his whole body.
Jones: Like your head take up yours.
Jones: We been friends since first grade.
Newman: That's seven years!
Jones: Man -- seven years of our life together.
(Lloyd’s house fades out and the sounds of a classroom reciting the "Pledge of Allegiance" fade in.)
Jones: Our first stop today is Donoghue Elementary School, where we're both in eighth grade. It's right across the street from Lloyd's house in the projects.
Students (reciting): Liberty and justice for all . . .
Teacher: Be seated. No, no . . .
Student: Good morning Vietnam.
Newman: Monday morning at 8:30.
Jones: It's kind of rowdy in the morning.
Teacher: Shante Hayes. Torrence Hinton. Absent. LeShawn Hunt. Absent. Uhh Terry Johnson. Absent.
Jones: That's Ms. Ford, our homeroom teacher. We give her a hard time.
Teacher: Fellas, would you please shut your mouths?
Jones: Some times we learn. Most of the time it's just too rowdy to learn.
Teacher: I can support myself. I can buy the things I want to because I learned to use my brain. Now lets try working on yours.
(Class giggles.)
O.K., the sheets that I have been giving you so far . . .
Newman: LeAlan and I interviewed our principal, Mrs. Tolson, about working at a school like Donoghue.
Jones: Is it hard being a teacher in this neighborhood?
Tolson: Yes, yes. It's difficult. Not so much because the children are really any different. It's difficult because of the publicity that surrounds the area. And you don't believe that we believe you're smart.
Jones: But sometimes, there's no denying we're smart.
Newman: After school, day one. Me and LeAlan head downtown with our tape recorders.
(Sound of bus)
Jones: On the bus, some one tells us that there are professional basketball players staying at the Hyatt Regency. So, being top notch reporters, we head to the hotel to check it out.
(Hotel lobby music)
Jones: You hear the nice music they're playing?
Newman: Yeah.
Jones: A few minutes later, we scammed our way up to the 20th floor. That's where we found Dale Ellis -- a guard with the San Antonio Spurs. He let us interview him in his room.
Jones: Yeah, I'm from Ida B. Wells -- what part of the United States are you from?
Ellis: Atlanta -- actually Marietta I'm 29 minutes north of Atlanta.
Jones: I know you played for the Sonics and you won the three point contest. What are some of your greatest achievements in life?
Ellis: Well, the biggest achievement, I think, is just being here for one.
Jones: We chilled out with Dale for about fifteen, twenty minutes. It was cool.
Ellis: Math was always my favorite subject. It was always my favorite subject.
Jones: Thank you. Can I have your autograph?
(Everyone laughs.)
Jones (whispering): Goddamn. That was Dale Ellis man. That was Dale Ellis, man!!
Newman: Dale Ellis, thank you.
Jones: Dale Ellis from the San Antonio Spurs.
(Downtown Chicago street sounds.)
Jones: After we finished with Dale Ellis, Lloyd and I figured we did enough for our first day as reporters.
Jones: Man, I'm tired.
Newman: Who ain't tired? I think I'm about to have a back-stroke carrying this stuff on my back!
Jones: Okay, I'll talk to you guys later. I'm out.
(Tape recorder clicks off .)
(Fade up on sound inside LeAlan's house.)
Jones: My house, day two.
Newman: LeAlan lives just a block away from me in an old house on Oakwood Boulevard. There are three houses attached to the side of his.
Jones: One of them's burned, and two of 'em just abandoned. And one of them, it leans over and keeps moving our house over to the side. When it get cold outside, it get cold in here. When it rain, the rain coming in. Whatever nature do, this house do. I'm in my front room now. How you doin', Toochie?
June Jones (Mom): Okay.
Jones: That's my mother. Everyone call her "Toochie."
Jones: Say hello, Jeri.
JERI: Hello.
Jones: My little sister, Jeri. I'm walking up the stairs.
Newman: LeAlan's grandma and grandpa live on the second floor of the house up a rickety flight of steps.
Jones: Listen. (Shakes creaky banister.) That shows you how rickety they are.
Jones: My grand mother moved into this house in 1937. Her name is June Marie Jones. I interviewed her in her room.
Jones: This is still day two. It's 12:06. Hello.
June Jones (Grandma): Hello.
(Laughs.)
Jones: What we gonna talk about?
Grandma: We gonna talk about the neighborhood.
Jones: How it changed and everything. How do you think it changed?
Grandma: For the worse. When we first came in the area there were no projects, there were all homes. And at one time we had nice hotels where different movie stars would come in and stay.
Jones: When you start seeing a major change in the neighborhood?
Grandma: It wasn't all of a sudden. It happened gradually: day by day, year by year. You could see the change when people would move out, or maybe the original owner would pass and their families didn't want the building, and they would just go down.
Jones: My grandma raised eight kids in this house. Her two oldest boys died. Now she has six kids.
Grandma: I have three boys and three girls. They all spoiled rotten. And so are the grandchildren, and especially you.
Jones: Get you!
(They laugh.)
Jones: What type of child was I when I was little? I was a whining child?
Grandma: No, you was a nice little red headed boy with the blue eyes.
Jones: I had blue eyes or brown?
Grandma: They was blue. They were lighter when you were young. And your hair was lighter. And it would turn white in the summer and darker in the fall.
Jones: Well how was I named?
Grandma: You got your name from your two oldest uncles. Oldest boy's name was Alan, and the second boy was Eric Lee, and your mother made your name out of the two names.
Jones: Why she didn't name me no common name? Why she have to name me a sentimental name?
Grandma: Because you're different. Your name is different and you're different.
Jones: My name is LeAlan Marvin Jones.
Grandma: And she gave you the "Marvin" for Marvin Gaye because she liked to hear him sing.
Jones: My name is sentimental.
Grandma: Yeah, your name is special and you're a special person, too.
Jones: Compared to other people who live in this neighborhood, my grandma says she had it easy.
Grandma: I think I been blessed, because things could have been a whole lot worse than they have been.
Jones: But she has had plenty of troubles -- the kinds of things you see in every family around here. My grandmother had one son who was murdered. She has another son who's addicted to drugs and is in and out of jail. Her grandson, my cousin Jermaine, came down with leukemia when he was six. He was cured, but the medication left him learning disabled . It upset his mother so much that she started drinking. Now he lives here with my grandmother -- sleeps in her bed.
Jones: How old are you?
Jermaine: I'm eleven. I'll be twelve this year.
Jones: What do you think about your mother?
Jermaine: She okay.
Jones: You love her?
Jermaine: Yeah. When she not drinking I love her. If she start drinking, I don't.
Jones: Me, my mother and my little sister all stay downstairs in the front room. I sleep on the couch. My mother and sister sleep on a mattress on the floor. Even though my mother lives with us, my grandma also has custody of me and my sisters, because of my mother's mental illness. This is my mother, Toochie.
Mom: I been on medication, off and on, since 1977.
Jones: She's okay now, but she's had a lot of problems in the past. It's upsetting to see her when she sick.
Mom: One time, I had went downstairs, and it's a long story, but I started seeing shadows on the back porch when I used to look out the window at night. And it looked like Ronald Reagan, and he was talking to my grandmother. And I was hearing voices. And the voices told me to get butt naked. I had did that before, too -- taking my clothes off.
Jones: What type voice are these? Are they a man voice, or a female voice, or just a voice?
Mom: Just a regular little voice up there.
Jones: Who is my father?
Mom: Your father is a fellow named Toby Flipper. He say he know you exist. He seen you when you was about two. And I ain't seen him since.
Jones: What do you think happened to him?
Mom: He probably dead.
Jones: Thank you.
Mom: Okay.
(Tape recorder clicks off.)
(Street sounds)
Jones: Lloyd lives about two blocks from my house in the Ida B. Wells Projects. The Ida Bees are made up of about 3,000 units. Most of them are low-rise houses. A lot of them are in miserable condition.
Newman: Now we walking in the Ida B. Wells. Which is 50% houses are boarded up. Now we're going into my house. We're knocking on the door.
(Sound of knocking.)
Kicking on the door.
(Sound of kicking.)
I hope she hurry up and open it.
(Door opens up.)
Now we walking into my house.
(Sound of loud music played on the stereo at Lloyd's house.)
Jones: Lloyd house is kind of messed up. There's lots of roaches creeping around. The toilet's been stopped up off and on for years. The place is always noisy. Lloyd's mother died two years ago from drinking. His father is also an alcoholic. So Lloyd's two older sisters have been bringing him up since then. Lloyd's sister Sophia was the closest to their mother.
Newman: How did you react to it when you heard that she died?
Sophia: I was very upset. I just thought my life wasn't worth living. I wanted to die, too. I just thought we wasn't going to make it without her. But I see that we made it, and I'm very proud of us.
Newman: Do you think it's hard bringing us up at the age of twenty?
Sophia: Well, I'll be twenty this year -- I'm nineteen. But sometimes you all give us a tough time, but I love having you all as my brothers and sisters.
Jones: All together there are four boys and three girls living in the house. Lloyd's sister is bringing them all up on a $500 a month welfare check. It isn't easy.
Chill: My name is Michael Murray.
Lloyd's brother: His name is "Chilly Mac." He's at the liquor store.
Jones: Almost every day, Lloyd's father visits the house. His name is Michael Murray, but everyone calls him "Chill."
Chill: They gave me that name. I used to shoot pool, I used to hustle -- any kind of way I could get some money.
Jones: When he come over, he's almost always drunk. And the kids make fun of him. Like today -- they asking him to spell "food."
Sister's Friend: Spell "food."
Chill: L-O-O-F . . . L-O-O-F.
Jones: L-O-O-F?
Sister's Friend: F-O-O-D.
Sophia: Wait -- what did you spell? We said spell "food." What you eat.
Chill: Oh, food. What you eat?
Sister's Friend: Yeah, buddy boy, spell food.
Chill: L-O-O-F?
Newman: I asked my father, Chill, what his best memories of my mother are.
Chill: Me and her have fun, putting our feet in the water together. We were sober then -- but once we started getting high, them memories gone. They gone.
Newman: Why are you drinking?
Chill: I don't understand why I'm drinking.
Newman: Do you think you going to stop?
Chill: Yeah, I'm going to rehab, and take care of myself.
Newman: What do you drink?
Chill: I drink about two or three pints of wine a day. But it ain't helping me, it's only killing me. Don't people understand it’s destroying you?
Newman: If it's destroying you, why do you still drink?
Chill: That's why I got to go into rehab, because I don't want to destroy my family. I want my family.
Newman: Do you think you've been a good father?
Chill: Yes, I have. To the best capability I could.
Newman: I have no further questions.
(Tape recorder clicks off.)
9. The change in farming (whole production)
(CBC Canada, broadcasted 1998. By Adam Goddard and Steve Wadhams)
Adam Goddard, announcer: My grandfather's name is Henry Robert Tyndale Hawes. Hey there, papa. How you doing?
Henry Robert Tyndale Hawes, grandfather: Not too bad.
Goddard: Good. He lives in a farmhouse near Grimsby, Ontario.
Tell you what, I brought some...
Hawes: Well, come on in here...
Goddard: Okay, in just a second...
Hawes: Well, that's awful. I don't like taking my boots off when I go into places.
Goddard: It's the house where he was born.
Hawes: I'll light some lights, it's kind of dark in here, dark all over today.
Goddard: He's eighty-nine years old.
Hawes: My eyes are bad this morning. Everything seems pretty blurry.
Goddard: Is it?
Hawes: I tried to read the paper with a magnifying glass. It don't work. That damn print on that paper's
rotten.
Goddard: Yeah.
Hawes: I thought you were going to play a tape that you made?
Goddard: Yes, I am.
Hawes: Where's that?
Goddard: It's right here. It’s in the...I just brought the machine with me. I had it on the CD.
I'm Adam Goddard. I'm twenty-five years old. I'm a composer and a musician. My studio is in Toronto. I'm also using, ah, piano expansion. Has a beautiful, beautiful classical piano sound, French horns. And you know here's examples of digital watches, and that is a recording of a toaster that's stuck. Using unconventional sounds is a...is an interesting way of putting your thumbprint on a piece of music. But the most important thumbprint here is having part of my heritage ingrained in music. I'm talking about my grandfather. He's never been to my studio, but his voice is here. I've taped a lot of stories that he's told. Ah, a lot of memories about his past, and I've got hours and hours of just storytelling basically.
Hawes: I'd like to talk about...I'd like to talk about the change in farming
Goddard: All right.
Hawes: The change in farming like...when it went from the binder to the combine to the bailers
to the silo fillers, all that big change.
I'd like to talk about the change... I'd like to talk about the change.
Goddard: As you can hear he's got a very rhythmic...rhythmic voice. Um...the pitch that he talks, he's got a lot of variation in the tone and pitch, and I find that he speaks somewhere between the key of B flat and C sharp, which I think is kind of interesting. So. I've done one piece in C sharp where he's talking about his father, when he's talking about the change in farming, he tends to talk in the key of B flat.
Hawes: Then they come out with machines that cut the corn in the field and blew it into a
wagon.
Goddard: He's a, I swear he's...
Hawes: A machine.
Goddard: That's an F and a B flat, and it's right on the key of B flat, so it's perfect. You know you
just hear, machine (with music). Right.
Hawes: Machine.
Goddard: Doo, doo. Okay.
Hawes: There was only...there was only two guys. One guy drawing the corn, and the other guy operating the machine in the field. Where before there was maybe twelve guys working. That's supposed to be improvement, eh.
Goddard: But then I said...you know I asked him, "Do you think that, that is improvement?" And he says, "Oh yes, you know, because as far as a...as far as a workload goes we can produce more." And his attitude is, "Okay, less people will be working on that farm. But that doesn't mean that there is less employment, that means there will be more produce made, and it will bring down the cost of food."
Hawes: Another thing that I'd like to bring up, is they come up with um...they started what they
call artificial insemination. And they formed...they formed a breeders' organization, see, where they kept different bulls, like, ah A Holsteins and Herefords, Jerseys and so on. And they collect the semen from those bulls and then they would...they had guys what they called inseminators and they would go around and breed your cows. We did away with all the bulls.
Goddard: Yeah, okay.
Hawes: That's supposed to be improvement, eh. It certainly was. Artificial insemination.
Goddard: So I had a drumbeat that I was using...that I was planning on using later on.
(boom-ka-boom boom-ka) Um...I'm not sure if that's going to work...work or not. It's worth a shot…
Hawes: The average cow, we'll say, is giving forty pounds of milk, see. They brought these bulls in and over the period of a few years they raised the production of that cow up to seventy pounds. We did away with all the bulls.¨
Goddard: I think the most important thing to me is the he understands why I'm doing it. Um...he's a foundation, he's a figurehead in the family (laughs). He's um...he always gets the chair in the middle of the room you know, and rightfully so, I think, so. I mean I'd love to be like him when I'm his age.
I'd like to be like him right now.
Hawes: The change...the change ... in farming.
Goddard: Yeah, okay.
This piece is called the change in farming. And what I did was I recorded you talking about a couple of changes in farming.
Hawes: Oh, that was when the chap was here with the picture.
Goddard: No, no, it was quite different from that. No, this is from another recording.
Hawes: Oh, I never had any other recording, did I? Goddard: Yeah, I came up quite a while back...
Hawes: Oh!
Goddard: This is a long time ago.
Hawes: Oh!
Goddard: And you were talking about the changes in farming, You were talking about the changes with combining...
Hawes: Oh yeah, yeah, yeah.
Goddard: Yeah. And the changes with, ah...
Hawes: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Goddard: And the changes with um...you know, um...artificial insemination and how...
Hawes: Oh yeah.
Goddard: ...and how now cows can produce a lot more milk. And I took the, ah...you know you have a very musical voice?
Hawes: What?
Goddard: I don't know whether you realize this or not but your voice is musical.
Hawes: Laughs. I can't sing worth a shit. GODDARD: (Laughs) Oh, I don't know.
Hawes: I'd like to talk about the change... I'd like to talk about the change...I'd like to talk about the change...the change, in farming... the machine when they went from the binder...machine to the combine...remember that...machine to the bailers to the silo fillers...oh yes, all that big change. It certainly was. All that big change. That's supposed to be improvement, eh. Certainly was. Artificial insemination...improvement...they had guys what they call inseminators and they would go around and breed your cows. We did away with all the bulls...the change...the change...in farming...sometimes they didn't use a team, sometimes they'd use a little tractor...the change...the change...in farming... I often wonder sometimes how I ever did manage to do the work...the change in farming...the change in farming like...in the barns, eh...well, I remember...I remember...I remember... when I bought my first combine...corn in the fields, it seemed funny...there'd be two of us working...well...well...taking the place of fifteen...well.. .well... I remember...well...well... I remember...getting into arguments over things with some of my friends...some of my friends...changing and changing...that is the reason...higher production has kept the price in stores...what it is...I'11 tell you how you're going to reap the benefit...the stores...the change...the change... sometimes they didn't use a team, sometimes they'd use a little tractor...the change...the change...in farming...1 often wonder sometimes how I ever did it...the change...the change ... in farming...the change in farming like...the change in farming like... the change...
Hawes: Now we've run out of tape, eh.
Goddard: (Laughs) Right. So anyways that's it.
Hawes: Now I don't understand this.
Goddard: Yeah.
Hawes: Repeating myself all over.
Goddard: Yeah.
Hawes: Why?
Goddard: Why did I do that? That's a musical thing.
Hawes: Is it?
Goddard: Repetition.
Hawes: Oh!
Goddard: Yeah. I wanted to pick up some of the character in your voice.
Hawes: Talking about something I didn't know I had.
Goddard: Well, you do.
Hawes: As long as you know what you're doing, that's the main thing.
Goddard: -That' s right, yeah.
Hawes: Yeah, I'm just a guinea pig (laughs). Right?
Goddard: (Laughs) Right.
Hawes: But anyway, we can go out to the barn now, eh.
Goddard: I'm Adam Goddard with my grandfather Henry Hawes in Grimsby, Ontario. Good night.
10. The Sunshine Hotel (whole production)
(Recorded in New York City, premiered September 18, 1998, on All Things Considered.
Producer;David Isay)
(Sounds of lobby ambience.)
NATHAN SMITH: Welcome, come on in, if you got the rent money, you can stay, if you ain't beat it! This is an eat it and beat it hotel. Normally, people come in, they stay for a day or two and get out. But for some reason or another, people come here and they like to stay -- for a year, for two years. In other words they like to give you aggravations. If you like aggravations come to the Sunshine Hotel -- it's a lovely place.
SMITH: You checking out?
TENANT: Yeah, I didn't like the fleas in the bed.
SMITH: Fleas?
SMITH: Yeah, I had fleas. I scratched all night, the whole time I was here. Yeah, roaches all over the wall.
SMITH: It's a nice place, if you're short of funds, and you need to lay your head down for a couple of hours, we hope to make your stay pleasant. But don't ask me for towels or soap -- we don't have it. We do not have those luxuries.
TENANT: You want to see ID of any kind?
SMITH: No, I believe you. This is the kind of hotel where everybody gives an AKA anyway.
SMITH: You're welcome to a room -- for a very nominal fee.
SMITH: Okay, here you are my friend, you're all set.
HENRY FOGELMAN: Thanks a lot buddy.
SMITH: Okay, you can square yourself away, this that and the other
SMITH: This is the last of the last.
SMITH: Welcome to the Sunshine Hotel.
SMITH: The last of the last.
FOGELMAN: Thanks a lot. I'm Henry by the way.
SMITH: Henry, I'm Nathan. Okay my friend, okay.
HENRY: Pleased to meet you.
(Door closes.)
SMITH: What's up garden, what's happening?
SMITH: My name is Nathan Smith, and I'm the manager of the Sunshine Hotel.
SMITH: Yeah, what can I do for you?
TENANT: I'd like to pay my rent.
SMITH: Good. You made the landlord a happy man.
SMITH: This hotel in 1998 probably looks the same as it did in 1928. Like almost all of the flops, the lobby is on the second floor, up a narrow flight of steps. It's just a large room with wood floors and a couple of chairs. I sit in a cage at the front, running the joint.
(Phone rings.)
SMITH: There's only one telephone for the entire hotel, which keeps me pretty busy.
SMITH: Sunshine give me a ten-four. (Shouting) Hey Eddie, Eddie do me a favor! See if you can get Earl Simpson. Tell Earl it's his mother. Earl! Earl! Wake him up and throw him out his bed. Tell him it's his mother.
SMITH: Headed to the john? You gotta see me.
TENANT: Can I have some toilet tissue?
SMITH: 35 cents a slice, I'll put it on your tab. You want paper too? Okay.
SMITH: Past the lobby, you'll find the living quarters for the 125 residents of this hotel. The Sunshine is one of the last places in the country where people live in cubicles. Maybe it's a little hard to imagine for those of you living in more affluent circumstances. Picture a long hallway, with a series of doors on either side. These are the cubicles. Four by six, no windows. The cubicle walls are only seven feet high, so there's chicken wire along the top to keep guys from climbing over into the next room. It's like living in a bird cage.
FOGELMAN: My name's Henry Fogelman and I live in room 36-A. Basically it's the size of a jail prison cell. It's got a light and bed, mattress and blanket, with screen wire on the top. And basically, that's about it.
DANNY: It's very tiny. It's so small you have trouble making the bed.
CHARLIE: I've been in prisons, jails, I been upstate, down-state. My cells were five times bigger than my room.
SMITH: So it's not the Waldorf. But where else can you get a room in New York for $10 a night? If it wasn't for this hotel, a lot of these guys would have no place to go. All you have to do is look around. Like over there -- you see that old guy there with the snow white hair and the guitar?
(Sound of guitar.)
SMITH: This is Eddie.
SMITH: Eddie Barrett
EDDIE BARRETT: Hello
SMITH: Eddie's been with us about 100 years..
BARRETT: It's a new day Sunshine and the world is still here, we're still here. So that's good . . . hey . . .
SMITH: Eddie sits all day in a corner of the hotel, looking out the window and playing.
BARRETT: I'm gonna play you Johnny Cash . . . Johnny Cash. That's my inspiration, Johnny Cash.
SMITH: The funny thing about Eddie is that he always plays the same songs over and over and over again.
BARRETT: Maybe I might sit down and come up with a new tune in my mind, but by the time I pick up the guitar, I done forgot the tune I had in my mind, see?
SMITH: Eddie used to work as a band boy for Tito Puente, but he had mental breakdown and ended up at this flop.
BARRETT: I met a nice guy on the street, and he knew the Bowery and he told me "You looking for a hotel? Come on with me, I'll show you a hotel. This place called Sunshine. It ain't bad." So we went together. That's how it started.
SMITH: That was 30 years ago. And Eddie's still here.
(Music ends.)
COOKIE: (Singing.) Somewhere Over The Bowery . . .
HOLLIS: Hey Nate, let me lean on you for another smoke. Yeah, light it up for me Nate, my hands are cold. I ain't got no feeling in them.
SMITH: The Sunshine is the last stop. On the one hand, it's probably as close as you can come to living in hell: 125 dysfunctional guys crammed together in this old hotel. On the other hand, its pretty interesting. I've had everything here from a priest to a murderer. You wouldn't believe the characters that stay here at the Sunshine! For instance, you see that little elfin white guy walking through the lobby? That happens to be the only deaf mute crack addict on the Bowery.
PAUL DONOGHUE: (Mumbling.)
SMITH: This is Donoghue Bowery. He loves this place
DONOGHUE: (Mumbling.)
SMITH: This gentleman here, this is our sue maven.
BOB RUSSIN: Yeah, I'm Bob Russin.
SMITH: He sues everybody in town. I think he's suing the Pope now for malfeasance. Or Father O'Connor . . .
SMITH: What happened? This is Vinnie here . . . this Vinnie. . . what happened?
VINNIE GIGANTE: (voice box sound)
SMITH: Vinnie Gigante, cubicle 25-A. Vinnie has throat cancer and talks with a voice box.
SMITH: Yeah . . . yeah . . . yeah . . . yeah, that's Vinnie.
GIGANTE: This is the manager. He's the best guy here. I've been here seven years. This man is like my adopted father. And he'll tell you.
SMITH: Vinnie looks a lot like the famous mob boss Vincent "The Chin" Gigante. Rumor has it that the guy's his uncle, although I don't know.
GIGANTE: I came here because I was addicted to heroin. I didn't want to bother my family any more, so I've been here since then. And I will be here until I die probably.
(Bird chirps.)
SMITH: That chirping sound you hear is Vinnie's two lovebirds. He spends all day in his cubicle taking care of them.
GIGANTE: This is Pretty Boy -- he's ten years old. This is Little Bit -- he's five. He's a devil -- yes you are.
(Birds chirp.)
GIGANTE: They take good care of each other. If it wasn't for these birds, I don't think I'd have made it in this place. These birds have been my life. So many people don't realize you need something, you know, to help you through everything. Or you're not going to make it.
(Chirps fade out.)
ANTHONY COPPOLLA: Hey Pop!
SMITH: Tell me something, slick Anthony. Tell me what's going on.
SMITH: Anthony Coppolla, cubicle 4-B. Everyone here calls him Fat Anthony because he weighs 425 pounds.
COPPOLLA: Sometimes I knock off a 26-ounce can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli. That is for five people in the family. And I be eating it cold right out of the can. That is a load of eats! That's a lot of grub there!
SMITH: Anthony's an orphan who came to the Bowery as a teenager about 20 years ago. When I first met Anthony he was a normal-sized person. But something about this place caused him to eat . . . and eat . . . and eat. Anthony's gotten so large he doesn't fit into his clothes anymore. He walks around the hotel wrapped up in a sheet. And almost never leaves the building.
COPPOLLA: Why should I go anywhere? If I want air, I just open up the window. Turn on my fan a little higher, and I got air. (Laughs.)
SMITH: I've been trying to get Anthony to move to a hospital, but he won't go.
COPPOLLA: I don't want to leave, not yet. Too much like home . . . too much like home. You been in a place such a long time people get to be like family, you don't want to leave.
COPPOLLA: Let this young fellow in. This is my lunch.
BRUCE DAVIS: A little light snack. (Laughs.)
SMITH: That's Bruce, the hotel's 'runner,' delivering two bags of Chinese food to Fat Anthony. That's another part of life in these old hotels. See, up here in the Sunshine we're totally isolated from the rest of the world, so we create our own little society. Anything you want you can get from another tenant. We have a loan shark, a drug dealer, a guy who does other tenant's laundry for a couple of bucks, a room cleaner. And Bruce, who runs errands for tips.
COPPOLLA: Alright. Thank you.
BRUCE: Yeah, that's my dinner.
SMITH: All day, Bruce sits in the lobby waiting for runs.
VOICE: Bruce!
SMITH: And as soon as somebody calls him, then -- boom! -- he hops into action.
VIC K.: Okay. Tea two sugars, one Rolaid, two packs of Monarch non filter, large bacitracin, one pack ginseng, two packs Anacin. There you go.
BRUCE: Tea two sugars, Rolaids . . .
SMITH: Bruce is a Vietnam vet, and for him running errands is kind of like going into battle.
BRUCE: It takes constant concentration and constant alertness. The main thing is do the steps: get the order, remember who gave you the money, and remember how much they gave you.
VIC: 11 should cover it. Okay.
BRUCE: It's a work of constant steps and most of them are mental.
(Footsteps.)
BRUCE: Tea two sugars, one Rolaid, two packs of monarchs, large Bacitracin.
BRUCE: And walking all the time, you've got people constantly distracting you. Distraction's your biggest enemy.
BRUCE: (Mumbles.) All I need is a tea with two sugars.
BRUCE: You get to store . . .
BRUCE: Yeah, tea with two sugars.
BRUCE: You got to realize that you got to constantly be on guard, constantly be in guard. You're in the hustler's capital of the planet. Every third person you meet is trying to hustle you out of your money, store clerks included.
BRUCE: How much are the Rolaids?
CLERK: 75
BRUCE: OK, I gave you a dollar.
CLERK: I gave you 50 cent back.
BRUCE: You run into every kind of person that's out for money in the world out there. And you got other people's money on you. You got to defend it better than you would your own, because that's your livelihood. You blow it once you could ruin your career. You don't blow it. Once.
BRUCE: Check and make everything's all right.
BRUCE: My reputation is my business. I don't blow it. I don't blow it.
BRUCE: $1.37 your change.
(Door closes. Cookie and Crew singing "Back in my Heart.")
SMITH: Showtime. Showtime at the Apollo.
(Phone Rings.)
SMITH: Why, here's the phone. Business! (On phone.) Sunshine, give me a ten-four. No, he's not here. Didn't come in yet. But if he comes in I'll tell him. Alright. (Hangs up.) Cookie wants 20 dollars. So when the loan shark comes in I'll tell him. Leave $20 for Cookie.
FATS: Cookie with no teeth? Right, I know Cookie.
SMITH: Yeah, everybody's no teeth around here. In fact my greatest wish will be when I can have myself a set of choppers. You know what I mean?
(Music ends.)
ARTHUR MORRISON: My name is Arthur Morrison. I'm 63 now. I came to the Sunshine Hotel in 1960. At that time it was bars all over the Bowery, two or three bars on every block. And it was like Broadway, it never closed. And the whole Bowery was filled with nothing but alcoholics then. Most of the people that I knew that was on the Bowery is dead now, because of alcohol. And, so I'm lucky to be alive. I know that. Survive those years on the Bowery, you know. It's rough living. Really rough living.
(Sounds of guitar strumming.)
SMITH: Some historical facts about this joint: The Sunshine was opened in 1922 by a guy named Frank Mazarra. Cubicles were a dime a night. His son Carl took over in 1945, and ran the place until a couple of years ago, when he sold it to new owners. Now they're looking to sell.
BUCKALOO: They should make this building landmark status.
SMITH: Yeah, that's an idea.
MASSA: Yeah, sure is. If we didn't have this place, we'd be in the streets, a lot of guys here. This is the only thing we can afford.
LA NELSON: This is a place where wise men do not dwell.. This place is the Last of the Mohicans.
MR. BLACK: I don't even call it the Sunshine. You know what I mean? I got a name for it. I call it the bum shine. You know what I mean, you know what I mean right? Huh huh.
SMITH: Like all of the flops, The Sunshine is a 'men's only' establishment. Some of the hotels left on the Bowery are still 'whites only,' but I let everyone in here. All races, all ages, all kinds of stories. We all have one thing in common: we're on our own. We all had homes, but for some reason we left, or got thrown out. Take me for example. Used to work in a bank, until one day, many years ago, I was injured on the job. They fired me, and that night my wife left. So I came down to the Bowery, and I've been here ever since.
Kerry: (Shouts.)
SMITH: Hey! Take Kerry in the back! Yeah, tie him up and take him in the back.
SMITH: Some of my guys in here are drug addicts or alcoholics. Some are just off of Rikers Island. Others just dream too big.
HOLLIS: I'm gonna build me a summer resort.
SMITH: Yeah, right.
HOLLIS: I'm gonna have an artificial football field, I'm gonna have four basketball courts, I'm gonna have a round oval 440 track. Track, Nate, track! Then I'm going to have . . .
SMITH: Hollis, don't you think that's a little over-ambitious? Why don't you just do one thing?
HOLLIS: You got to have direction, Nate. I'm having a summer resort and this is what it's going to be composed of.
SMITH: Some of my guys here at the Sunshine are working and trying to save a buck. Some are hiding out from the law. Some are dumped here by psychiatric hospitals.
LAWRENCE: Emotionally distraught people find a home in the Sunshine Hotel. And I found home inside me. White is girl color, black is boy color, blue is emotion . . .
JEFFREY MANGONES: My name is Jeffrey Mangones. I live in the Sunshine Hotel. I'm from a family of multi billionaires. My mother's a multibillionaire. So's my sister . . .
SMITH: And then there are those of us who end up here because we're dreamers, and just don't seem to fit in anywhere else. Like my relief clerk, Vic. Vic spends his days in a corner of the hotel, hunched over his Daily Racing Form, depressed. But he wasn't always like that.
VIC: In my case, I started off like probably so many people, maybe everyone for all I know. With sweet dreams you know.
SMITH: Vic grew up in Ohio with an alcoholic mother and an abusive father. He always felt like a misfit, so he buried himself in philosophy and poetry books, and then set off for the Bowery in 1960 to live cheap while undertaking his metaphysical journey.
VIC: I had some crazy, soaring ambitions of figuring out everything . . . figuring out everything. I was on the old impossible quest for "truth." You know? Ahh . . . it's like singing from that song "What's it all about, Alfie?" Who hasn't wondered what it's all about. Some fierce ambitions along those lines. I don't know. Seemed like I was making some progress. It was intoxicating. And after a while, it seemed like some crazy pipe dream, as they say. You know, figure there've been a lot more substantial heavyweights than me, by far, through history, and they didn't seem to come up with the answers. The big answers. So where do I get off thinking I had a chance for that. Seems like one of those stories better left untold. To me it seems that way.
SMITH (On telephone.): Could I get an ambulance here to the Sunshine Hotel, 241 Bowery? One of my tenants is very ill
SMITH: Mr. Marshall, room 5-B: 80 years old, senile, dumped here by his son two months ago. Doesn't eat anything but Oreo cookies. Can't walk to the bathroom, so he goes on the floor.
SMITH: Here they are now.
SMITH: He's down to 80 pounds now and jaundiced. Marshall wouldn't last another week here in his condition. I called his son last night, but he doesn't care.
SMITH: Yeah, look at him, he's starving to death.
Ambulance Man: Why don't you come on outside?
SMITH: Hasn't had any food, the whole nine yards.
SMITH: I mean it happens in a place like this. We're very popular with people being dumped, you know.
AMBULANCE MAN: Keep your hands on your lap. Don't reach out to grab anything. Just lean back and relax.
SMITH: The ambulance crew wheels Mr. Marshall out. And Edwin, our porter, puts on a gas mask to clean up the room.
EDWIN: You say you're going to throw everything away?
SMITH: Put it in a bag. Put in a bag, yeah.
SMITH: The cubicle is covered with feces, flies everywhere, and smells like nothing you've ever smelled before.
EDWIN: You see a lot of urine all over the floor. A lot of those milk cartons full of urine. It's the worst part, cleaning up rooms like this. Ahh . . .
(Music starts.)
SMITH: Watford's gone, Robinson's gone, Dave Rodriguez is gone.
SMITH: Late afternoon at the Sunshine. My shift is almost over, and I'm sorting through the mail.
SMITH: Calvin is gone, Ray is gone. Rodney -- he's deceased. This is the guy that got shot by the maintenance man here in the lobby over five bucks. Marcus is gone, Ozario's gone.
DONALD: It's like a death house. Okay, the seven months I've been here, five guys have died. Okay? And these guys will never leave the building. I mean months and months at a time. One guy I knew didn't leave this building for one year. He says "Donald." He says "I'm gonna die in this place." So it scares me. It scare me.
CHARLIE: I can't go no lower than this. I can't. The only thing I can do now is start, like a little chicken, start crawling out of the egg.
DONALD: I wake up in the morning and sit in the bed, smoke a cigarette and say to myself "Donald, what the hell are you doing here? What the hell are you doing here?"
MAX R.: Most of the people just lay on their bed all day in their cubicle, watching TV or listening to the radio or staring into space or sleeping, and just keep vegetating in these little cells. With fluorescent light overhead coming through chicken-wire. And that's their life.
SMITH: That's a guy we'll call 'Max R..' He didn't want his full name used. Cubicle 1L. Max is a 30-year-old Russian immigrant. A skinny kid with a pony tail and glasses. Unlike the other guys you've met, Max is one of my short-term tenants. He left his wife and kids in New Jersey and came here on a heroin binge two months ago.
MAX: This is my chance to get away, where I don't have to do anything for anyone, and just indulge to the maximum without being worried about what anyone's going to say, or how I'm going to affect others. No one knows that I'm here. It's just a complete getaway.
SMITH: Max is an architect. And even though he's only been here for a little while, he's managed to make his cubicle homey. Lit with candles. There are piles of books on the floor, and posters on his wall.
MAX: There's a painting of Durer's Saint Jerome, who was a hermit. He went to the desert and lived by himself for a very long time to try to seek knowledge. And achieve illumination. In a sense that's what I'm doing too, I guess. It's um, grotesque, and I enjoy it. It's like that movie The Cook, The Thief, The Wife, and Her Lover. The experience is so disgusting, so grotesque, so gross, but they make an art out of it. I'm kind of making an art out of experiencing this.
SMITH: A couple of days later, Max is arrested at the Sunshine.
SMITH: Max, they crashed him up against the wall several times, handcuffed and took him out of here. And that means his room is available for anybody that wants to rent. He's just a clean-out now. Nothing personal. He's a clean-out, and I'm gonna clean him out and sell his room. Maybe tomorrow. I'll probably sell it tomorrow, more than likely.
SMITH: Sign here, my friend. Sign and print.
SMITH: One tenant leaves, another checks in, but the hotel never really changes. The Sunshine will always be a dark place. Wake up every morning with chicken-wire just above you. Walls hemming you in on all sides. Alone. It's a stunningly sad place to live. Sometimes at the Sunshine I close my eyes and drift off. I forget where I am for just a second or two. Suddenly I'm not in a flop hotel, but sitting in some family kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. Then I wake up and I'm back at the hotel. Just like everyone else here, hoping for a break. Waiting for day that I can finally check out of the Sunshine Hotel for good.
SMITH: Wolford, I hope you enjoyed your stay here.
SMITH: I always tell my tenants the same thing when they leave.
SMITH: You're welcome to come back anytime, buddy.
WOLFORD: Very good.
SMITH: And good luck, buddy.
SMITH: "Good luck. Good luck." Yup: good luck. Wherever they're going I hope it's not the same as this. I hope it's a little better. But I always tell them "good luck." "Good luck" is all I say.
SMITH: Okay, Wolford. Tony, you gonna help him?
TONY: Yeah.
SMITH: Good, good.
SMITH: I'm Nathan Smith at the Sunshine Hotel.
SMITH: Take care my friend. Be careful. God bless buddy.
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