"Derailment in Steamtown"
Or:
"Rantin' in Scranton"
Thursday, May 4th, 2000, 3:00P.M. E.D.S.T.:Teterboro Airport
And so, our rag tag team of potty mouthed funnymen once again takes to the skies on a
mission to bring tasteless humor and misinformation to the 'entertainment deprived' of
this great nation. Today we are to grace Scranton, Pennsylvania with our presence. I don't
know what disturbs me more...the fact that we are making the trip, or that it's actually
our return visit. Although I recall we were a pretty big deal the last time we were there,
I think it had less to do with our status as celebrities than the fact that the only other
amusement alternatives available to these poor unfortunates are The Red Barons AAA Farm
Team, or 'Steamtown', a train themed attraction "Where you can 'Step back into time
and experience the rich heritage of steam transportation." Wow. No wonder they treat
us like Gods here. It's either us or a coal mine cave in.
The pilot informs us that although our flight only will be a swift 22 minutes, it will be
bumpy, as there's much wind, and we won't be in the air long enough to ascend to a higher
altitude to insure a smoother trip. Charles does not take the news well. Despite the fact
that he's a seasoned, veteran pilot, I have never seen someone have such an aversion to
air travel. The fact that he knows what all the blinking lights in the cockpit actually
mean, and yet is STILL terrified to fly, is not something that I find all that comforting.
The other reason he isn't that fond of flying is that he suffers from severe motion
sickness...a malady which he desperately tries to stave off through a variety of measures:
Traveling on an empty stomach, placing a vertigo patch behind his right ear, taking half a
bottle of Dramamine, twelve Valium, and by wearing an electronic, pulse emitting, nerve
stimulator on his wrist that he procured from the Sharper Image catalogue. Two minutes
after we take off, he is unconscious. At first I think it's due to the Valium and
Dramamine, until I realize that, it must be because I've placed his hand in a saucer of
warm water to make him 'pee' in his sleep (that old Camp Bunk gag) and, as he's wearing a
device on his wrist that's putting out roughly 12 Amps, I've electrocuted him.
3:25 P.M. Scranton Wilkes Barre 'International' Airport
We arrive at the Scranton Wilkes Barre airport and, as I look at the welcoming party
approaching the plane I realize that, not only must Wilkes Barre' be the Lackawanna
equivalent to 'Dingle Berry', apparently they practice inbreeding ABOVE the Mason Dixon
Line as well. We manage to bring Charles back to consciousness, at least enough to get him
into the Limo, and set out for the hotel, which, I am told is a renovated historical
landmark, constructed out ot the remains of the old Erie Lackawanna Train Station. The
word 'Remains' I will soon discover, is quite apropos.
3:40 P.M. The Scranton Station Hotel
As we pull up to the front of the hotel, I definitely am feeling part of the whole
'Lackawanna' mystique, in that, if there's one thing at this very moment that I definitely
'lack', it's to 'wanna' be here. I'm informed that after the remote broadcast tomorrow, we
are to be given a special trip aboard one of the old time steam trains. This is,
apparently, both an honor and a huge deal. I'm telling you, these people make the Amish
look like party animals.
I spit as I'm reminded of the Pennsylvania Dutch, as it brings back memories of a most
unfortunate episode from my past involving a pair of pliers, a Mennonite Farmer and a
Hereford cow. I really do despise the Amish. As far as I'm concerned they are one ethnic
group that has gone unmaligned for far too long...I don't know why they've escaped abuse,
seeing as how they're the only minority I can think of that you can trash without fear of
reprisal...they're not allowed to have radios or T.V.s! You can make fun of 'em all you
want...they'll never know! Those hat wearin,' hex sign paintin', noodle eatin' pretzel
benders! Hey brother Ezekiel! F. U. and the wagon you rode in on!
4:50 P.M. Room 515
Scranton, it appears, does have quite a rich heritage in Locomotive Lore. Virtually the
entire town is built on the 'Train' motif. There are 'Whistle Stop' cafes, 'Depot'
Shoppes, and 'Topless Bars' where they feature women with 'Large Cabooses'. Even the pay
per view porno movies are part of the theme. One title that catches my eye is 'Tanya Pulls
A Train'. I attempt to take a nap, despite the fact that the last thing I hear on MSNBC is
a report stating that tomorrow there will be a planetary alignment some doomsday naysayers
believe will cause the end of the world. I decide that I will have steak this evening for
dinner, just in case there's some validity to their claims. No sense worrying about my
cholesterol count when the planet is on the verge of exploding into a collossal ball of
flame.
7:30 P.M.
Larry calls from the lobby, inviting me to have dinner with him, Bob Cordaro, the County
Commissioner, and Scranton native Jason Miller, the actor most known for his portrayal of
'Father Damian' from 'The Exorcist', and the playwright most known for penning 'That
Championship Season'. He's a friend of Bob's and I am anxious to make his acquaintance, if
only for the opportunity to 'talk shop'. I envision us discussing our similar experiences
with the Broadway Stage, although I believe his play lasted more than the twelve minutes
that mine did.
8:00 P.M.
Meet Bob and Larry at the 'Dining Car' restaurant, where, much to my chagrin, I learn that
Mr. Miller has 'begged off ' his dinner invitation. Bob says it's because he is very busy
directing a new play with his theatre company, but I suspect it has more to do with
Larry's 'Dimi, why you leave me to go be priest?' impression, which I'm sure he performed
for Mr. Miller about two or three times more than Jason felt comfortable feigning
appreciation for. Larry is the single most fun person you could ever hope to be with in
public. He will literally say or do ANYTHING for a laugh. A loveable character trait that
he never tires of displaying and one that endears him to all who come into his eye line. I
have never seen someone more 'On' than Larry. In fact, I firmly believe that both Robin
Williams AND Jonathan Winters would find his ceaseless merrymaking an impressive, albeit
exhausting, talent. After Larry regales us with four of the filthiest, funniest Irish
jokes from his bag o' tricks, our lovely waitress, Kara, comes by the table to take our
order. Larry asks her if there's anything left in the kitchen after she ate, pointing
towards her stomach. She sweetly informs him that she is seven months pregnant, a
revelation to which Larry responds, 'So what? You're eating for eight now?' She is
immediately smitten.
10:14 P.M.
After polishing off a half dozen quarter pound size cocktail shrimp, a 33 oz. ribeye, nine
beers, four congnacs and a flaming dessert, I decide to return to my room to finish my
writing for the morning's show and have a little snack before bed. I bid both of my dining
companions a good evening, and after one final 'Got a quarter for an old altar boy,
father?' from Larry, I turn in. 4:30 A.M. will come mighty fast.
12:40 A.M.
Not quite as fast, however, as 12:40 A.M. does, at which time I am awakened from the
blissful eight minutes of sleep I have achieved thus far, by a phone call from Mark
Chernoff, our program director. He regretfully informs me that the fate of the morning's
remote is in dire jeopardy. Apparently, the hotel has committed an incredibly stupid
protocol gaffe, and Imus is in full attack mode, calling for a human sacrifice in
retaliation for the faux pas. Although admittedly idiotic, the mistake would seem innocent
enough, if it weren't for the fact that there is also accompanying deceit, cover ups, and
bad attitudes on the part of the hotel staff. After three minutes of hearing Imus' ranting
from down the hall, I, too, want them all dead as well.
1:13 A.M.
Bernie, Mark, Larry and Chuck are all in the hallway, Charles resplendent in his flannel
feetie pajamas, having finally bounced back from the unfortunate 'short circuiting' that
occurred en route. They are all hotly debating what cause of action to take next, while
Imus feverishly packs, stopping every once and awhile to emit a primal scream and 'Elvis'
another television in his room. He is definitely not doing the remote in the morning, and
has summoned Brant to come down from New York with the Limo to take him back home. I peer
out of my door to see my comrades alternately go into the fray to beseech the I-Man to
reconsider. It's not until Bob Cordaro, after showing up in his sweat pants and cutoff
T-Shirt, is greeted with gunfire, that everyone finally accepts the fact that there will
be no remote in the morning.
3:37 A.M.:
Brant finally arrives, and packs up the Limo. Imus asks if any of us want to come with
him. The thought of a two and a half hour car trip with a ranting, heavily armed I-man is
not something any of us feel like experiencing. We all beg off, opting instead to make our
return on the plane first thing in the morning. As he leaves the hotel, we can hear Imus
screaming, calling the hotel manager a 'Big Fat Tub Of Shit'.
5:01 A.M.
There are four hundred fans waiting for us in the ballroom, unaware that the remote will
not take place. Many of them have been waiting on line since early afternoon yesterday, to
insure a 'good seat'. Charles, Larry, Bernie and I meet in the lobby with our bags, and
attempt to leave through a back entrance as Mark Chernoff goes into the ballroom to break
the news to the fans. As I get into the limo there is a roar that I haven't heard the
likes of since Altamont, and as the car pulls away, I think I hear the sounds of shouting
and glass breaking. I wonder if Mark will ever get out of there alive. Charles is worried
that our flight crew hasn't had a sufficient amount of rest seeing as we will be leaving a
good six hours earlier than our original scheduled departure time, and starts to break out
in a cold sweat. I ask the driver if he knows where we might be able to score some heroin
to help alleive Chuck's anxiety, but before he can answer, Chuck's perspiration has come
in contact with his nausea-preventing electronic pulse wristband, and he is shocked into
blissful sleep.
As Bernie helps me and Larry pull his body onto the plane, I realize that Scranton has
just experienced the greatest wreck in its history, one that will go down in the annals of
Locomotive legend. Steamtown has been hit by a freight train called Imus. The planetary
alignment has taken place, and in a way, the world has indeed ended for one syndicated
radio affiliate, a hotel chain, and around 500 entertainment starved fans.
Sometimes, I guess, life has its little derailments.