International Disco Record Center
Within a few days of working on I.D.R.C.'s Nightly News Magazine, later to be called Spin, as a graphic artist, I met
Editor David Peaslee, a straight up hick from Vermont with the weirdest dress code I had ever seen. Never judge a book
by its cover was written for Dave! His smooth writing style rocked monthly columns that garnered more than eyebrow
lifts in the music industry. This hillbilly could write, not that I was some Harvard linguistic expert, but compared to what I was reading in Billboard and the likes, David was totally on top of his game. An awesome human being to boot. As numerous people in the music industry know, those are few and far between. David was genuine. David's family was from Guildhall, Vermont, way the fuck up there
in potato, cow, pine needle maple syrup country. His family was the nicest, most generous, most giving of all folks
I had ever met to date besides my mom! Really, really nice folks, I love Vermont! Seriously! Go up there all the time.
They had acres and acres of potato fields, cows up the ying-yang, tractors, trailors, pickup trucks, their own gas pump.
I could go on and on. True story, I sold him one of my beat up Dodge Chargers for two cows. Not kidding! Cow title and all.
Never seen anything like this, you know, growing up in the South Bronx what the hell did I know about farms!
We had St Mary's Park up the block that was our farm! For God's sake, their very own gas pump! Like wtf?
They had a huge farm house with the white picket fence, tons of bedrooms just like in the movies, and my favorite ...
a get-away waterfront lake cottage. WOW! For me, the Peaslee family seemed like aliens from an evil-free planet!
David was born to write! I miss David dearly, unfortunately he parted this world way too soon.
Those crazy ass drug infested times caught up to David years later and I heard he passed having HIV.
His writing talents just skimmed the music industry's surface. A great loss to our industry and our literature culture in New York.
I'm sure David would have gone on to be one of our nation's best music industry writers and then some.
Disco was going mainstream and everyone wanted in. IDRC lead the nation in picking what was hot and what was not.
Our DeeJays' had the industry by the neck and record labels listened and reacted to everything we wrote. Our DeeJays'
were making hits even if they weren't destined to be a hit! Our staff had access to some of the best clubs in New York City,
Jersey, Brooklyn, all over the the Metro area. My nights morphed into mornings, mornings into afternoons, days extended
from 24 to 36 hours. What a freakin' ride. Disco fever flowed in my veins. Dinner was lunch, breakfast was dinner,
and brunch on Tuesdays! Crazy. One had to live it to properly discribe the experience. The mad rush, the excitment.
It was so fuckin' cool and the fringe benefits were amazin'. OH, did I mention the 'girl friends'? Lol... Not enough pages
in this journal to even begin writing, besides, I don't kiss and tell. There is one that deserves special accolades. Madeline.
My high school sweet heart. She was a stunning young lady from head to toe, neck twisting, bar stool breaking, dance floor clearing site to behold. We clubed it everywhere. While I loved the attention she got, truth was I was lucky to walk out of those clubs alive. Guys literally walked past me, over me, through me if they could just to have a word! Slip a home number, buy a drink,
sneak a dance, "mira ", I wasn't havin' it! Get the fuck outta' here buddy!
Madeline later in life birthed two beautiful kids who in their own right are extremely talented and gorgeous.
She sadly passed away a few years ago and I miss her friendship dearly. Great gal, fabulous family.
It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.
- Marcus Aurelius
