My husband and I worked a series of odd jobs when we first moved to Nashville. That’s what you do when you move to a new city without job prospects and you don’t know anybody; when you’ve interrupted your education to get married–and to party.
Let’s see…I waited tables. I answered phones. I worked an assembly line hanging coiled wire and got one of my front teeth knocked out. I cashiered. And I worked construction with my husband.
The construction gig wasn’t half bad. We were roofers. Purely shingles. No tar. Just the two of us working for a shady contractor who built golf course maintenance houses.
We got on the job site early when the skies were streaked with color. We had our morning coffee and breakfast biscuit on the roof. It was pretty. Golf courses generally are.
This was back in the mid 80s when you could still make decent money working construction. But the gig didn’t last as long it was supposed to. The contractor had to leave town fast before a few of his jobs were completed. My husband got wind that he was skipping and…well, we got paid. Cash.
We lived downtown then, during the first Nashville renaissance. The Ryman Auditorium, the original Grand Ole Opry was boarded up, abandoned at that time. Lower Broad was still full of pawn and porn shops, but upper Broad and 2nd Avenue were rocking.
There was excitement in the air. And we were part of it.
The Market Street Apartments are on 2nd Avenue South. That’s where we lived, in expensive digs that cater to what we called yuppies back then. We were friends with some of them. Others looked down on us. It was hard for us to come up with the rent, but we managed. Our realtor/landlord loved us. He said he wished he had a building full of people like us. People that paid their rent on time. That made us feel good.
Anyway, there we were in between jobs with the rent due soon. I hoped we would work some of the construction contacts we’d made and get something similar to the golf course gigs, something where we could work together. My husband said that was unlikely. Cushy gigs like that are few and far between in construction.
Besides, it was getting cold. My husband hates the cold. He wanted to work inside. He wanted to DJ. That’s why we came to Nashville. So he could work in radio. And that’s how we met, in college radio.
But you don’t just walk into a mid-major radio market from a small radio market and go to work. It doesn’t work that way, no matter how good you are, especially back then when radio was a big thing and every job in the top 50 market was highly coveted. You had to pay your dues.
As the old story goes, we knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a lady that managed a strip club. The strip club needed a DJ.
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I could name names in this post and from a journalistic perspective I should, but I’m not a journalist, so I’m not going to. If that puts you off, I understand. This is my hobby. I don’t get paid for it. I’m not going to risk getting sued over blogging. And this physician sues people. He also pulls guns on people.
That said, he’s been the subject of many write ups in The Nashville Tennessean and The Nashville Scene since I’ve lived here and upon researching him, I found articles concerning his weight loss and family medicine practice dating back to 1979.
Here’s a run down of some of the antics that he has been “disciplined” by the Tennessee Board of Medical Examiners for:
- Molestation of patients
- Sex with a minor
- Abusing and insulting patients and employees
- Frequenting a brothel
- Unethical Billing Practices
- Brandishing a handgun in the physicians cafeteria of a Nashville hospital
His discipline consisted of being required to see a psychiatrist, attend Sex Addicts Anonymous, be interned in a treatment facility, have a physician sponsor and pay various fines.
Several years ago my husband and I were watching the local news and a story came on about him. He was being accused of exchanging opioids for sex with prostitutes. One of the ladies had gone to the police with allegations that he abused her. His lawyer was excoriating the woman on the news. My husband and I looked at each other. It was the first time we’d heard about him in years.
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I hated my husband working at the strip club. Duh. I threw few fits over it–to no avail.
“It’s good money,” he insisted. “I make more in tips in a couple of days than I can make all week working construction.”
I wasn’t appeased.
“I’m not working there for that,” he assured.
“Yeah. Right.”
“Then quit your job and go to work with me if it’d make you feel better. You can sit in the DJ booth. Nancy won’t care.” Nancy was the manager of the joint.
I was waiting tables again at a hotel coffee shop. The tips sucked and the manager was making passes at me. So I turned in my notice and went to work with my husband at the strip club.
It seemed like the logical thing to do. Of course I was twenty-two at the time.
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Great post 🙂 If it is not a problem asking, when did your husband quit working from that place or is that confidential. I know he was not involved in anything that one manager did, it was just out of curiosity cause you make it abundantly clear in the post that you did not approve of his working there. Anyway, I am working on a review of Kiss Me Deadly that I am hoping will be up by midweek or late week. Anyway, keep up the great work as always 🙂
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He didn’t last long. About 9 months. He hated it. It was a very toxic environment. Very depressing.But I got a lot of good story material there. I learned a lot about people. And we managed to save up a few thousand dollars and open a bank account. From there we were on our way. It was a long time ago.
Looking forward to your Kiss Me Deadly post. It’s one of my favorite noirs. Very stylish. And then there’s that briefcase…Just like in Pulp Fiction. Hmmm…Ha!
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Do not forget that Alex Cox’s Repo Man was also influenced by Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly only instead of the dangerous nuclear material coming in a box, it came in the trunk of the car 🙂 Anyway, keep up the great work as always and keep those comments coming 🙂
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I’m in for the next part, Pam. Interesting to read more of your life story. I would be hopeless working in construction. 🙂
The behind the scenes world of strip clubs and the like has often been the source of some great fiction, (and films) so there could well be a book in there.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Thanks Pete. My husband grew up in a construction. His dad had a tile business. Consequently he hates it. Hence the strip club gig.
Glad you’re on board. It’s just a two parter.
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What a funny, scary, cool story about your past. I loved it! I love the vibe and what we learn about your husband, you, and life in general in the 80s. You are a natural at memoir writing.
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Thanks so much Cindy. Part II is in the future–Lord willing. Oh my gosh, the 80s! So long ago. I was listening to a podcast radio program and they were playing 80s music–they were calling it “Oldies”. Ha! It is what it is.
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Great story… I remember that story you are referring to.
Back during the early 80s, it could get sketchy on Broadway…My friend and I (we were 15-16 and very naive) traveled to one of the pawn shops and ran straight to the car with a Les Paul in our hands with people eyeing us.
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Thanks. But like I said, “Mum is the word…” That guy is crazy. He’s old but still…
Yeah, lower Broad was gnarly then. It reminds me of the people who pine for Times Square of old…How it was so much more real and artistic. Nobody does that around here about lower Broad. We’re like, “It’s commercial! Yay!” There was this old “Blues Club” called the Turf back then. We wanted to go in there and check it out…This one guy who lived down the hall from us…Also a doctor (he was weird too, but not as weird)…told us we were crazy. He told us we’d probably never be seen again if we went in there and he was serious…We didn’t go.
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That is why I kept it at that.
You are right…people don’t realize how much it is cleaned up since then…I like it. The one place I would go to then was 2nd avenue and it’s antique shops. I also went to the Penny Arcade in the day but that is about it…I left the clubs downtown alone even when I was old enough to get in.
You can see some of it in the movie “Nashville” in the mid-seventies.
Some of those clubs had really bad reputations.
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Oh yeah. Back in the day…Headed over to your site now.
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Sounds like you have led a storied life, Pam. I’m looking forward to reading the next part in your tale.
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Mmmm…As for the strip club, I was more of a conscientious objector. I hated that place. Glad your enjoying it. This doctor, he’s still around. He’s still practicing! I called his office and a receptionist answered.
If I had done just one of the things that he has been “disciplined” for I’d be in jail.
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Fascinating Pam, from construction to strip clubs. All great background material. I felt like I was reading a novel. Looking forward to part two.
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You are spoiling me with your compliments John. I do appreciate them.
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So there’s a vacant dj slot at strip club? Where I do apply? I got the records. Haha I wouldn’t nowhere to look. BTW I’m a carpenter too. Brilliant little adventure into your past life. Really enjoyed it Pam. Wish I could write as articulated as you. So easy to read.
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You are too kind Mikey. Your no slouch. You have writing skills. You keep me engaged and your stuff is fun and humorous. I read a lot and I genuinely enjoy your blog.
Thanks for reading.
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Oh you so kind, backatcha 🙂
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Hey Pam, my review of Kiss Me Deadly has just been published on my site 🙂
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Oh boy! This had so many twists and turns impossible to predict and it’s only part one!
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Thanks Jay. Just a two parter. Appreciate your kind words.
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Being in the music business…I met my fair share of strippers and invites to see them dance at their clubs. This was in California in the 90s. I never took any of them on their offers,strip joints are depressing as hell. I did get hired to book a band by their manager who thought I would like meeting at a strip club….20 minutes later after signing our contract,I was gone….
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Yes, anyone who has spent anytime in a strip club (not for enjoyment, but for business or the like) will attest to how soul killing that environment is. It’s sad to see these women sell their souls one dollar at a time. Thanks for stopping by…I’m off to your site now.
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