11. Marvin Gaye - 'Abraham, Martin and John'
Dear Steve,
I've been doing a bit of thinking lately about your 'Afternoon Show' that used to be on Radio Fun back in the day. Would I be right in remembering that you took over that 'bunk off school early' slot from Tony Sideburns sometime in '79 ? I certainly hope so as I hate it when I get my music references wrong. You should have seen me if I blew a quiz question those nights in 'The Ship Inn' when my Producer used to do those music quizzes a few years ago. An Emperor embarrassed is not a pretty sight, Steve, so it's probably best to humour me on this. Anyway, what I was thinking about was this ...
... on your show Steve, you used to have a character called 'Damien the Social Worker.' I don't know if you remember but Damien was always talking about the "comm - yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew - niteeeeeeee" - or 'community,' but I was just trying to get his intonation right. You may not know this, Steve, but it was you - through Damien - who inspired your Emperor to get out into the community and get a better idea of what was happening beyond my attic room. I had tended to get too absorbed in my records and 'virtual' broadcasts when what I really needed to do was connect more with the public. Luckily, my charity work - which I don't talk about that much - and my incognito 'Road Shows' give me a good interface with my listeners so that I'm pretty up to speed with the great issues of the day. So, Steve, what I'm leading up to here is a proposal which I've broadcasted via this little cassette I've sent you with this letter. As you can see, it's called 'Another True Story.'
What I'd like to propose here, Steve, is for a reintroduction of that 'Another True Story' slot on your show. You could use some of the ideas and stories The Emperor has already used on 'FM247' that I've selected for you from my very own afternoon show on Radio Retro. If you're happy with that, then my Producer would be pleased to hear from your producer, so that they can get it together. Even if you can't use these true stories here, I hope you enjoy this personal broadcast and I hope to meet you some day.
All the very best,
Shrimpero
(aka 'The Emperor')
"OK, Steve, I'll start off the show with 'Another True Story.' This one's from the mid-eighties when your Emperor was traipsing around the estates of Bestminster, the premier borough of The City. I'm gonna have to respect the code of confidentiality that we adopt in CommCare, so for want of a better psuedonym, I'll call the guy we're going to meet 'Irate Ian'...
...it was a hot Summer's day in '86, Steve. You were on the radio that afternoon and I'd been sent to see Ian by The Controller of Charity Work at Bestminster's Area 3 Office not far from that big station featured in the famous Kinks song. The Controller was concerned that Ian had isolated himself once again and wanted me to check on his 'mood and presentation,' I think she said. So off I went, transistor in hand and ear piece playing you loud and clear. I got to that imposing Victorian block where Ian lived and avoided eye contact with the youths on the stairwell, making my way past the loafing oafs without any problem thankfully. I could smell Ian's flat a few yards before I got there, Steve. Bit of a gut-churner if truth be told. Anyway, here's my 'case record' of what happened next when I gave a cheerful ratta-tat-tat on Ian's door...
A gruff voice enquired from the other side of the door, "Who is it?"
"It's Shrimpero, from Area 3 in the comm-yeeeeeeeeeeeew-niteeeeeeee. Just come to say hello, Ian, and see how you are. The Controller sent me."
Might as well have a bit of banter with the old boy, The Emperor thought, try to start off with a bit of a grin at the very least.
"Shrimpero, ah yes, I was expecting you. Now hold on, I'll be with you in a tick. Don't go away now...I just have to attend to these locks..."
"No sweat, Mr I, your locks are your security, I know that... take your time, I won't be going anywhere."
A waft of foul-smelling pungency assailed your Emperor as the door opened slowly inwards. Irate Ian looked tall and imposing in the doorway, although he was now slightly stooped. He looked me up and down and beckoned me into the flat before turning down the dark hallway, where he shuffled past the boxes stacked on boxes towards his dank sitting room. I duly followed him, observing a routine that had stayed constant for several months. Irate Ian sat in a dusty beaten-up old armchair in the near corner of the small square-shaped room and gestured towards a once-impressive black leather sofa, ninety degrees to his chair, for your Emperor to be seated. The room was full of piles of newspapers and magazines stacked on bare floorboards, with an old radiogram and television vying for the remaining space by the window, which I noted was thankfully open. I sat at the window end of the sofa and smiled meekly at my host, who looked less downbeat than usual, reflected by the impression given that his wavy grey hair had been washed through recently.
"You're looking well, Ian - how's things?" ventured The Emperor gamely. A flicker of surprise seemed to cross Ian's saturnine gaze, but it was gone in an instant, if it was ever there at all. He paused before answering with a weary sigh, "Shrimpero...you're well meaning, but please don't try to kid a kidder. I may look like an old fool, but I know how I look and I know it's not well. 'Things' are as they always are and as you know, 'things' have never been that brilliant for me since the death of one Robert F. Cannoodly. Your damned Controller keeps going on about me taking up bowls but that's a death sentence if ever there was one!"
"Ah well, I guess she's just trying to encourage you to get out and maybe meet people again. It's a long time since you stepped across that threshold of your front door, I'd guess..."
"Look, I know what she's trying to do dammit, but you know the saying - a gentleman's home is his castle and I don't have to endure fools here if I don't wish to."
Your Emperor nodded in a psuedo-sagely fashion and decided to try a different tack rather than antagonise my potentially more irate host.
"So tell me more about what you've been up to lately...I remember you used to like that old guy on Radio Bore."
"The 'old guy' to whom you refer is the great Alistair Book, one of the finest journalists of his or any generation. And the 'chat' was 'A Letter From Antlantica,' a charming discourse on contemporary events in the greatest country in the world. We've not heard broadcasting like that before or since. The man is a master of the trade and will never be superseded, do you understand, never! And he also made a broadcast about Bobby Cannoodly!"
Your Emperor noted that Irate Ian looked animated, hunched forward in his armchair. He recognised that pose, the one that usually meant he was ready to hold forth on one of his conspiracy theories. I tried to keep calm as Ian waved his arms furiously, then shouting at me, "Bobby Cannoodly! What do you know about the murder of Bobby Cannoodly?!"
"Ah, well, he was Jack Cannoodly's brother, and featured in that song, 'Abraham, Martin & John.' You remember that best-known version by Marvin Gaye. .."has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby, he freed a lot of people but you know the good die young..." ? He got shot during the '68 Presidential election, didn't he? By that Arabian guy with the same names, Duran Duran, wasn't it? Apparently Cannoodly was pro-Zionovia and Duran wasn't happy about that - that was more or less it, wasn't it?"
"Ha - well, Shrimpero, you're in good company in getting it wrong. The great Alistair Book was on the scene in the pantry of The Ambassador Hotel in Los Alamos that night and even he reported that Duran Duran shot Cannoodly. But it was more complicated than that... much, much more complicated."
"Er, I have a feeling that you're going to tell me it was a conspiracy?"
"Damn right, sunshine! It was the crime of the century. Incredibly well-executed, so to speak. Well, Duran was a hypno-programmed patsy and there's no way he could have killed Cannoodly. He was always a few feet in front of him when he pulled the trigger, but the fatal bullet was fired inches from behind Bobby's ear. The good money is on a security guard who pulled Cannoodly down and started shooting in the pantry. Turned out that the guard was an employee of Lockspeed, who coincidentally supplied the engines for the helicopters used in the Albanian War, which Cannoodly would have got Atlantica out of double-quick if he'd been elected in '68."
"Hmm - an interesting theory, but it does sound a trifle far-fetched, Ian, even in comparison with your other ones...the Mafia and renegade CIA being involved in Jack Cannoodly's killing...all that stuff about the Roswell incident...the Atlantican involvement in the Chile coup I can swallow, but this, I don't think so...and what is 'hypno-programming' anyway?"
"Good boy, you have been listening. Have you ever seen the film, 'The Manchurian Candidate' ? No? Well, you should... hypno-programming was a 'mind control' technique devised by CIA scientists in the '50s. Hold on, I should have something about it over here..."
Your Emperor watched as Irate Ian moved towards the piles of newspapers and magazines stacked on the floor and was amazed as he picked out the papers he wanted in one swipe. "Yes," declared Ian, reading from a yellowy parchment, "hypno-programming was developed during the 'MK Ultra' experiments and 'Project Artichoke.' Let me read this for you...'can an individual be made to perform an act of attempted assassination under the influence of artichoke? As a trigger mechanism for a bigger project, it was proposed that an individual be induced under artichoke to perform an act, involuntarily, of attempted assassination against a prominent politician or, if necessary, against an Atlantican official.' Pretty scary, hey my boy? Well listen to this, it gets worse ...
'approximately twenty-two per cent of the population can be described as highly hypnotiseable and can be programmed to do something against their nature. If we get a highly hypnotiseable person who is subject to the proper programming under controlled conditions and is subject to some degree of supervision, and exposed to the target within a reasonable range, it is quite possible and even probable that he will comply with the programme and end up not being fully aware of what he's doing...' So you see Shrimpero, this is what happened to Duran... he cannot remember anything leading up to what happened that night in the pantry. He was described by witnesses as being in a trance-like state during the shooting and has not been allowed to be de-programmed ever since. It is my understanding that he was the decoy for the real shooter in the pantry that night and the greatest country in the world was denied the greatest leader they never had, someone who was keen to eradicate the poverty that he had witnessed whilst he was a Senator and determined to take the country out of the Albanian War. The military-industrial complex could not allow that and the man had enemies, yes renegade CIA operatives who blamed the Cannoodlys for the humiliation of the Bay of Piglets, Mafia leaders who didn't want him busting their operations again and Hoaxer at the FBI, the list goes on. Anyway, I can see you're looking tired. What say I make us a nice cup of tea?"
"Whew, thanks Ian, but I tell ya, I've gotta be going. I promised The Controller I'd be back by now. But before I go, did you know that song was actually written Dion, the old do-woop artist? It's true, you know..."
So there you have it, Steve, another true story courtesy of Radio Binfield. I wonder whatever happened to Irate Ian...anyway, I'd be grateful if you could play Marvin's classic version of this song for him. Cheers, Steve. Stay tuned and I'll be back with another true story before you can say 'MK Ultra'!"
