Attack of the Night People
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I'm Jake Brennan, and on my podcast, Disgraceland, I tell the stories behind music's biggest names, the moments that changed music history forever. Sonic Youth was cool, but was the band cooler than the couple on the cover of their album, Goo? Cool enough to escape the glare of the international paparazzi? Cool enough to escape murder? Disgraceland is part of the Exactly Right Network. Listen to new episodes every Tuesday, bonus episodes Thursday, and rewinds on Sunday on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. On August 4th, 1962, Marilyn Monroe died. Then the rumors started, and she died again. And now we're going to set the record straight and learn about the way Marilyn Monroe actually died, the third way.
Pushkin.
This episode will discuss death by suicide. If you're suffering emotional distress or you're having suicidal thoughts, support is available. For example, from the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline in the US or from the Samaritans in the UK.
New York City, 1956. A young man goes into a bookstore and asks for a book. I, Libertine, by Frederick R. Ewing. The bookstore clerk checks their stock. It seems that they don't have a copy right now, but let's see if he can order one. He thumbs through the list of books available from the store's wholesalers. Strange, he can't see it anywhere. What's it called? I, Libertine, the young man says. And who did you say was the author? Frederick R. Ewing. The clerk still can't find it. Do you happen to know the publisher? Sure, says the customer. Excelsior Press. The clerk keeps looking through his lists. He can't see any mention of Excelsior Press. Are you sure that's the right name? The young man says he's sure.
The bookstore clerk can only shrug in confusion. I'm sorry, he says. The book doesn't seem to exist. The young man thanks him and walks away, looking disappointed, but also strangely amused. Later, another young customer approaches the clerk. I'm looking for a book, he says. It's called... I, Libertine by Frederick R. Ewing. Oh, says the clerk. Someone else asked about this. I looked for it and it doesn't exist. Sure it does, the customer insists. Freddie Ewing. You know, the noted expert on 18th century erotica. Haven't you heard his radio series on the BBC? The clerk decides to call his wholesaler. It's very odd, says the wholesaler. We've been getting lots of calls asking for iLibertine, but we've never heard of it.
Or Frederick R. Ewing. Or Excelsior Press. What on earth is going on? I'm Tim Harford, and you're listening to Cautionary Tales.
In the middle of the night, in a building in Carteret, New Jersey, a man in his mid-thirties is talking into a microphone wearing nothing but Fruit of the Loom jockey shorts. It's stiflingly hot because also in this building is a 50,000 watt radio transmitter and there's no ventilation. This is not what Gene Shepard had in mind when he moved to New York with his young family in tow to try to crack the big time. He'd been jobbing around various provincial radio stations, starting in his Indiana hometown.
Next, HG Grubbage and the news.
There's no HG Grubbage. It's Shepard, playing the character of a self-important newsreader and reading out odd little snippets he's seen in the newspaper. Like the zookeeper whose paycheck was eaten by an elephant. Or the man in the Canary Islands who tried to cross the Atlantic in a barrel.
He sailed two yards and turned over twice. Two bystanders rescued him, then two medical attendants took him to the local psychiatric hospital.
Shepard collects these stories. Not quite garbage, he calls them, but grubbage. Mostly, though, he doesn't read stuff out. He just talks. And talks. No script, no notes.
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