Just because Sybil and I are out frolicking in the South Pacific, couldn't leave you guys hanging. So while I'm gone let's do what the syndicated radio shows do. Yeah, a little "best of ..."
I'll post some of my favorite stories from the past and before you know it I'll be back live and in living color with tales from abroad.
Thanks again for your patronage, your patience and your understanding of my honeymoon sabbatical.
I'll post some of my favorite stories from the past and before you know it I'll be back live and in living color with tales from abroad.
Thanks again for your patronage, your patience and your understanding of my honeymoon sabbatical.
SHUSH MARTIN
By Richie Whitt
Dallas Observer
July 30, 2009
Though former shock jock Russ Martin’s ego
and wallet continue to expand, in the wake of his exile from radio and plea of
no contest to domestic abuse charges he’s losing relevance and relationships.
Russ Martin is a jackass.
He’s a vulgar, passive-aggressive, pompous
bully who for years physically and psychologically tormented his Dallas
“Stuff he’d say to us on the air he wouldn’t
say to us in the hall, because he’s a coward,” says J.D. Ryan, Martin’s radio
right-hand man for 25 years. “To him everything was a bit, but eventually he
crossed the line. It became personal. He made it clear that being successful
wasn’t enough. For him to be truly happy, those around him also had to fail miserably.”
Russ Martin is a hero.
He’s a talented, wildly popular, temporarily
shelved talk-show personality and tireless philanthropist who for years
promoted animal rights and raised money for the families of fallen policemen
and firefighters.
“I consider him a friend, and I’ve always
respected his unique style,” says Dallas Police Chief David Kunkel. “He always
came to the defense of the cops, sometimes when nobody else was. Sometimes even
at the expense of his own popularity.”
Russ Martin is a criminal.
Charged—via Cause No. 1120508—with kicking,
pushing and pulling out the hair of ex-fiancée Mandy Blake in July 2008, Martin
pled “no contest” to misdemeanor charges in Tarrant County
“When we’re able to work out a plea to get
someone counseling, we’re going to take that position,” Tarrant County District
Attorney’s Family Violence Unit chief Sean Colston said after the deal. “We
consider a situation where someone is going to be monitored for two years a
good resolution.”
But above all else, Russ Martin is an
enigma.
A shining ray of hope …
“Every time I see Russ we hug, I cry and I
thank him,” says Joann Jackson, who received a $5,000 check from the Russ
Martin Show Listeners Foundation when her police officer husband, Brian, was
killed in the line of duty in 2005. “What he does is amazing. It’s essential.
He’s a life-saver.”
… shrouded in a deep, dark aura.
“Russ is a miserable person,” says Lori
Miears, ex-fiancée of a former Martin show cast member. “I’ve seen random acts
of kindness from him, but I’ve never met anyone that genuinely likes him. Or
vice-versa. Honestly, I wouldn’t want him within 30 minutes of my mother.”
(continued from page 1)
For the first time in his life Martin has
been muzzled, grudgingly banished from yakking on the station he successfully slapped
on the Dallas
It wasn’t supposed to be this way for one of
the most compelling, crude voices in the history of Dallas December 8, 2008 re-routed history.
On a hot June afternoon, the man who once
had hundreds of thousands of local listeners hanging on his every smartass
syllable and a stable of underling hyenas poised to titter at his one-liners
and smooch his royal ass is reduced to toting a cumbersome cardboard box across
a searing Plano parking lot in preparation to entertain 150 people. (Full
disclosure: I have worked part-time co-hosting shows for 105.3 The Fan since
January.) Though he’ll be paid his $1.1 million salary through April 2011—he
even received his scheduled 10-percent raise in the spring—on a contract being
honored by CBS if he’ll merely sit down and shut up, Martin is determined to
remain relevant.
He does this through his Web
site—www.russmartin.com—where, in a sleeveless T-shirt and blue-tinted shades,
he delivers typically agitated, condescending messages.
“Not a God damn thing has changed!” Martin
said in a video posted in June before a backdrop montage including nude women
and his arrest mug shot. “I still got jackasses working for me.”
He does this via Twitter tweets, reminding the
2,700 followers of his perverted, potty brand of humor with updates detailing
everything from farting while on a treadmill at the gym, flashing his scrotum
to a random female and, yes, his masturbatory habits.
“Todays twitter from the sh#tter,” Martin
wrote on May 1. “Done w/studio in my house. Internet service died so I had to
whack off to a Hammacher-Schlemmer magazine.”
And he does this by hosting a classic car
show/concert at his Russ Martin Automotive in the Sam’s parking lot at Coit Road
A few fans meander about, some paying $25 to
have their picture taken with Martin’s collection of legendary cars—Starsky
& Hutch’s Gran Torino, the Dukes of Hazzard’s General Lee and the
Batmobile. Martin chats. Poses for photos. For 6-year-old Justin Wilson, he
even signs an autograph.
“I’ve loved him since the ’80s,” Justin’s
father, Thomas, says of Martin. “I like his personality. His sense of humor.
He’s a funny guy that just seems like he’s down to Earth. It was a sad day when
he went away.”
Thomas, from Midlothian ,
doesn’t flinch when Martin’s arrest for roughing up a woman is broached.
“I didn’t have any reaction when I heard the
news,” he says. “I mean, that’s none of our business. That’s Russ’ personal
life.”
It’s as though Martin—a Dallas
(continued from page 2)
“He said a number of times that he likes
dogs more than people,” friend and former co-worker Dan O’Malley says of
Martin. “A lot of folks may feel that way, but Russ has the balls to say it on
a 100,000-watt radio station.”
There’s a magic and a menace to Martin,
simultaneously a rule-bending rebel who counts Kunkel among his allies and a
profane, horny dude who has drawn the ire of porn star Ron Jeremy.
He’s the product of a modest upbringing,
growing up in Pleasant Grove and graduating from Samuell High School Greenville Dallas
“We clicked right off the bat,” Ryan says
over a recent lunch in Southlake. “He was a legitimately funny guy and a hard
worker. In no time we were finishing each other’s thoughts.”
He was still Russ, but well on his way to Brusque
Martin—the cocky guy with the dip in his lip and the boulder on his shoulder.
“He was very happy-go-lucky, not serious
enough for me,” said former KAFM program director John Shomby, who hired
Martin. “He was kind of nutty and funny. He had an arrogant side to him. A
swagger. He was made to be a talk-show host.”
Martin collaborated with Ryan on the
lifestyle TV show Hot Tickets that aired on Channels 21 and 33 for five
years. He then landed a job at KEGL-FM 97.1 The Eagle and, in 1997, got his big
break when Howard Stern vacated the coveted morning-drive slot. After leaving
in a contract dispute, in 2000 he moved to 105.3 and began cultivating the Russ
Martin Show into one of Dallas
With soaring ratings, blossoming chutzpah
and a cult following, Martin in 2008 was included in Talkers magazine’s
“Heavy Hundred” list of the nation’s most important hosts.
The secret formula: Anything he damn well
pleased.
“It was a show about nothing,” O’Malley says
on an April afternoon. “But intriguing personalities with great chemistry can
make nothing very interesting. It evolved into a show where you could eavesdrop
on a bunch of guys. Men liked it because we were a funnier version of their
friends, and women liked it because it gave them a peek into a world they never
see. At times it was total bullshit and we could be jackasses, but it also
turned Russ into a legend.”
The show was Stern-like, with Kunkel
appearing one day and strippers the next, topped by the crew undergoing live
testicle sonograms and prostate exams. Martin was delivering irreverence and
drinking Gentleman Jack on the air (he negotiated the extraordinary privilege
into his contract), quickly becoming Dallas
“Russ’ timing and wit and how he balanced
things, it was just amazing,” says Trenholm, a listener who morphed from
Martin’s e-mail pal to friend, to realtor, to cast member. “Even on 9/11, I
remember being scared to death. But at 3
o’clock when Russ came on I knew it was going to be all right. He
made me laugh, made me cry. Made me somehow feel normal.”
While Martin’s empire expanded into a
seven-figure salary, riskier risks and highly attended “White Trash” concerts
featuring his Russ Martin Show Band, O’Malley and Ryan endured as the
longest-tenured constants in an ever-changing cast.
“I was in high school when Russ came through
Arlington
It was Ryan, however, who always sensed the
darkness. Even as his show thrived and received a stamp of approval from
Chapman, Martin would talk of being dead by age 50. He is 48.
“We called our show ‘The Tree House’,” Ryan
says. “But some days it felt like a prison camp.”
Martin had the uncanny ability to make you
mad, make your day or even make your house payment.
Listeners he might have turned off with
grotesque descriptions or insensitive rants he won back in 2002 with the
founding of his Russ Martin Show Listeners Foundation. With donations from
advertisers and fans—and proceeds from events such as last month’s car show,
which raised $1,500—Martin began giving immediate financial aid to the families
of Dallas police and firefighters killed in the line of duty.
Says Kunkel, “I get emotionally moved by
what Russ does. Gets me misty-eyed just talking about it.”
Last January when Gang Unit Corporal Norm
Smith was shot while serving a warrant, Martin – though his show was already in
moth balls – wrote the widow, Regina Jackson
“The city benefits come too slow,” Jackson
During his peak from 2002-06 Martin—with a
staff spearheaded by Ryan, O’Malley, Dan Lewis, Eddie Boyd, Clo Rayborn and
Everett Newton—consistently jousted with KTCK-1310 AM The Ticket’s Hardline
for the majority of coveted afternoon listeners (men 25-54), often finishing
No. 1. (In his wake and with a new format, 105.3 The Fan is struggling to gain
traction as the area’s third-rated sports talk station.)
In radio, ratings equal revenue.
In Martin’s universe, the two combined to
empower and intoxicate his insufferable persona.
(continued from page 3)
“Russ was an asshole on his show, but he
wasn’t acting,” says former Live 105.3 host Pugs Moran. “In nine years working
in the same building he spoke less than 15 words to me.”
If there was any question that Martin could
be our area’s most callous, self-absorbed and warped prima donna this side of
Terrell Owens, a December afternoon at Abuelo’s restaurant in Plano
For a strategy session. For comfort.
For a last supper.
While Martin, who sat at the head of the
table, received the safety net of having his contract honored, cast members such
as O’Malley, Rayborn and Trenholm talked glumly of filing for unemployment
during what suddenly would be an unhappy new year. Ruining the therapeutic
bonding and commiserating, Martin uttered two words that reinforced the chasm
between his haves (himself) and have nots (everyone else):
“Separate checks.”
Ryan, who didn’t attend and no longer
communicates with Martin, was disgusted by the news. “Some guys in that room
had their lives shattered,” he says. “But instead of picking up the tab as a
small gesture, Russ saw it merely as one last toast to his empire.”
During his three decades in Dallas
Other than his fascination with famous vehicles
and James Garner in The Rockford Files, radio was the core of Martin’s
existence. By all accounts he wasn’t close to his family (though he has on his
right shoulder a military star tattoo identical to the one sported by his
father, who died in February) and has never married, his most meaningful
relationships confined within studio walls or cultivated through a microphone.
Ironic then, that he continually knocked
down those who propped him up. Minions, he called them.
“He was a bully that was always marking his
territory with control and power,” Ryan says. “One of his favorite things to
say was ‘I am the show. I’m surrounded by idiots.’ After a while that gets
old.”
Says O’Malley, “Is he a good guy? That
depends. At times he can be a real asshole and, granted, his humility is less
than stellar. But then he can turn around and be one of the most compassionate
men you’ll ever meet.”
From afar, the weekday 3-7 p.m. show seemed a harmonious convergence of
camaraderie and cleverness. Martin’s “tree house” was actually a plush, private
studio (these days used to program Frisco RoughRiders’ baseball on The Fan’s HD
signal) inside CBS’ otherwise pedestrian studios along Highway 183 near
Mockingbird. Thick carpet on the floor. Customized faux finish on the walls.
Magic in the air.
A red siren flashed when Martin’s show—and
only Martin’s show—was on the air. It didn’t, however, blare the dirtiest of little
secrets: Psst, it wasn’t real.
“We faked almost everything,” Lewis says in
a recent phone call during which he has to twice pause to choke back tears. “If
I was supposedly making an angry call to my wife, I was really just standing in
the corner. There wasn’t even a phone. People thought Russ was just so
brushed-up and brilliant on all these topics, but everything we talked about
came from a pre-arranged ‘phoner’ called in by a plant we had on this big
list.”
The show did have its authentic on-air
moments, like the time the crew blasted a cranky computer with real bullets
from a real pistol while drinking real alcohol.
Says Lewis, “Real stupid.”
Though most of the program’s bits were as
shallow as Martin’s tolerance, listeners bought the charade, hook, line and
thinker. His favorite running gag—as choreographed and manufactured as professional
wrestling—was his taunting of program director Gavin Spittle. Was there a
“Welcome to Spittleville” sign in the CBS building’s front window? Yes. Did
Martin actually set the boss’ desk on fire or have henchmen O’Malley and
Rayborn strip a defiant, struggling and humiliated Spittle’s pants and
underwear before locking him in the hall? Nope.
Spittle, who earlier this month became
program director at Houston
“I think that’s why Russ hated us,” former
Live 105.3 late night host Richard Hunter says of the station’s other on-air
personalities. “We peeked behind his curtain and saw that it was all contrived
bullshit. Except him being a horrible person. That part was totally real.”
What was authentic was Martin’s ability at
105.3 to feed his bank account and insatiable ego, with initial program
director Bob McNeill granting eye-popping raises and requests for outlandish
amenities such as the luxurious private studio and a customized gym across the
hall. Martin grew selfish with his empathy and loose with his money, buying vintage
cars and in 2005 moving from Plano into a 8,600-square-foot mansion on Byron
Nelson Parkway in Southlake that once belonged to former Dallas Stars’ player
Richard Matvichuk, was next door to former Dallas Cowboys’ linebacker Greg
Ellis and was accented with three grand peaks, ornate double doors and an
upscale swimming pool.
Ironically, at the same time, Martin accused
Kraddick (the popular 106.1 KISS-FM morning show host) of hacking into his comedic
bits and living a disgustingly lavish lifestyle.
“He used to make fun of Kidd’s mansion and
always say ‘If I ever get that way, kick my ass’,” Lewis says. “Well, he got
that way. I told him. And because I did we had a huge fight.”
Martin also aimed his scope at Ticket
founder and afternoon host Rhyner, even going so far as to hire a private
investigator to follow the rival and rummage through his trash.
“If he wanted to ruffle my feathers,
consider them ruffled,” Rhyner says. “But you have to consider the source. Russ
was trying to be Howard Stern, and there’s only one Howard Stern. Listeners
eventually saw right through him as a pathetic copycat. At the end of the day,
he was harmless. He’s gone, and we’re still thriving.”
Martin saved his most spiteful venom,
however, for the few who dared stand up to him, or had the stones to leave.
Lewis graduated with Martin from Samuel in
1979 and became integral on the Eagle show in 1997. He was a producer,
gruff-voiced “Jonathan Dodge” doing traffic and one of Martin’s best friends.
Says Lewis, “I loved him like a brother.”
Long a “third banana” to Martin and Ryan,
Lewis had the audacity to accept his own show shortly after the move to 105.3.
But after only five months he was fired, with – according to Lewis – Martin’s
fingerprints all over the transaction. Asked by Martin to return to the show,
Lewis accepted.
During a spotty relationship on Martin’s still
escalating show, Lewis made what he calls “the biggest mistake of my life.”
“One night I told Russ I really cared about
him as a friend,” says Lewis, his voice cracking. “Soon as I said it he started
using it as a weapon against me. Ours turned into an abusive relationship,
because Russ has difficulty with people who care about him. His mindset is that
he’s got to hurt them before they hurt him first.
“He re-hired me just so he could get the
satisfaction of firing me.”
In the ensuing months, Martin caustically
referred on the air to Lewis’ wife as “the queen of double penetration.” When
Lewis took time off to comfort his wife in the wake of her father’s death, he
received a call from Martin while inside the funeral home.
“He was pissed I didn’t make time to
pre-record some traffic bits,” Lewis says. “He was cussing me out, calling me a
‘lousy piece of shit.’ It was the last straw.”
But it was just the first domino.
A year after Martin fired Lewis in December
2003 he began airing the real name of Lewis’ son and boasting that he hoped his
former partner would commit suicide so he could become the child’s father
figure. While working at a comic book store in Rockwall, Lewis’ 16-year-old
daughter suddenly heard her private conversations read on the air by Martin.
Lewis says Martin’s show initially supplied incentive and a tape recorder to a
co-worker at the store, a fact vehemently denied by O’Malley and Ryan.
“I got death threats from Russ’ listeners
because I had dared leave his precious tree house,” Lewis said. “The one I’ll
never forget was a guy who said he was going to ‘rape your daughter and then
ass-fuck her until she dies’.”
Only a formal complaint by Lewis to CBS
stopped Martin’s verbal attacks on his daughter, who underwent psychological therapy
for her trauma. But Martin merely changed tactics. When Lewis acted in a play
in Dallas Victoria
“Part of me pities him,” says Lewis. “Because
it’s sad for someone to be so insecure they have to act that way.”
Since his firing, Lewis has had one word of
communication with Martin. In 2007 — out of the blue — he received a late-night
e-mail:
Moo.
“Who knows?” Lewis says. “I’m sure he was
drunk.”
(continued from page 4)
“I’m not totally shocked by his arrest, no,”
Ryan says. “Russ was always fighting to chase away his demons.”
Urban legend has it that Live 105.3
employees were instructed not to as much look at Martin, much less talk to him.
Former 105.3 hosts Hunter and Moran won’t go that far, but they do claim that
Spittle warned them against uttering anything negative against Martin or his
show.
“I was absolutely instructed not to talk
about him or to him,” says Hunter, who says he never had a conversation with
Martin in 2 ½ years working in the same building. “The frustrating thing is
we’d have Gavin telling us not to tread on Russ, but then I’d hear [Spittle] on
with Russ trashing me and my show. There was a very cancerous element to Russ.
The way it worked was that he was protected, and the rest of were expected to
take everything he dished out.”
Counters O’Malley, “I’m not saying Russ was
the most approachable guy. But he’s Russ, not Medusa.”
Moran—along with Hunter now a host at
KMNY-1360 AM—related working with Martin to the 1957 movie A Face in the
Crowd, in which Andy Griffith plays a coarse-yet-charming disc jockey who
climbs the corporate ladder by insulting everyone around him. He claims to have
seen Martin shout a 20-year-old station receptionist into tears “just for the
hell of it” and says he attempted to strike up a conversation with Martin in a
private VIP section at a station function only to have Martin turn his back and
yell “somebody get him away from me!”
“He’s as mean as a snake, but he’s also a
total pussy,” Moran says. “He’s a big, strong man behind the microphone where
he’s protected by a double-standard. But call him out in public and watch,
he’ll turn and run.”
Though he hosted the most sexually charged
program in the history of Dallas 10:30
p.m. , resulting in the first premature ejaculation of the porn
star’s illustrious career.
Said Jeremy to Hunter, “Who the fuck does
this guy think he is, Mick Jagger? I’ve introduced Kid Rock and he’s not half
this big of a diva.”
While the complaints by the shows
sandwiching Martin’s fell on deaf ears, the yes-men bobbleheads dared nothing
more than to kowtow to his quirky controls.
It was one thing for Martin to have a
personal video security system that allowed him to peek down the halls and even
into Spittle’s office. It was another to so neuter his staff that no one had
the balls to tell the emperor that he was stark naked.
“Everything he did was founded in
manipulation,” Ryan says. “Power and control. That’s what he got off on.”
While his staffers – other than Ryan, who’s
also having his CBS contract honored – made ends meet on salaries of no more
than $35,000, Martin alienated them by shoving his wealth down their throats.
It was Ryan who routinely presented the staff with a bigger percentage of his
quarterly ratings bonus. It was Martin who once arranged for a uniformed and
armed Dallas SWAT team to deliver his personal $100,000 cash bonus to the
studio in a briefcase. And on a day when Rayborn groused about not being able
to afford new tires for his car, Martin reveled in the fact that he made a
$250,000 down payment for his new house in Southlake, brandishing the check
around the room like a mine’s-bigger-than-yours 12-inch penis.
Martin also made a habit of systematically
repeating his philosophy of Darwinian monetary distribution: “Only stupid
people are poor.”
Over time, Martin’s tree house morphed into
a gold-ensconced castle. Maximum occupancy: One.
“I don’t fault him for the money he made
because he worked hard for it,” says Ryan. “But the way he went about making
sure everyone in the room knew about his wealth was just classless.”
O’Malley admits Martin did have flashes of personal
philanthropy, offering to pay the medical bills when his ear was bitten by a
dog, picking up the dinner tab for his 12-person bachelor party and attempting
to soothe the anguish of his dog’s death by buying him a bass guitar.
“Of course a couple weeks later he ordered
me to be in the band,” O’Malley says. “That’s the genius of Russ.”
If it wasn’t the psychological mind fuck of
reminding everyone in the room that they were financially inferior, Martin kept
his crew in check with random acts of humiliating perversion. It wasn’t
uncommon for Martin to sneak up behind a co-worker, whip out his penis and flop
it on the unsuspecting guy’s shoulder.
“If you worked for Russ, you were sexually
assaulted in one way or another,” says a former staff member who requested
anonymity. “I’m not saying he was gay or bisexual, but...how about
inappropriate and extremely peculiar? Let’s go with that.”
Ryan remembers the beginning of the end as
the day he told Martin, who was whining on the air about his ballooning weight,
to cut back on his whisky consumption because of its high sugar content. Martin
became enraged, abruptly ordering his long-time sidekick to “Shut the hell up
and get outta here.” During the next commercial break, Martin—whom several staffers
said often exhibited drastic mood swings fueled by cocktails of Adderall, human
growth hormones and Gentleman Jack—continued berating Ryan, telling him to “Go
home!” Ryan left, returning only after Spittle called and begged him back.
Martin greeted him as if the incident never
happened.
“Apology? Are you kidding?” says Ryan, who
missed only four days of Martin’s show in eight years. “Russ’ next apology for
anything will be his first.”
Eventually, Martin’s act eroded his staff’s
confidence and ground the show’s creativity to duplicate dust.
“You have to keep in mind that no one ever
forced us to work for Russ. We were there by our own free will,” O’Malley says.
“But he insulted everyone in that room so many times that it finally had a
cumulative, defeating effect.”
In the end the show developed a staleness
and repetitiveness that resulted in sagging ratings.
“Russ was a hard worker in the early days,
but for the last 18 months we were stuck in a pattern of regurgitation,” Ryan
says. “Our bits weren’t funny and we couldn’t shock anybody anymore. We just
ran out of gas.”
Ironically, one of the first Martin-Ryan
collaborations on their TV show more than 25 years ago included the Jimmy
Buffet song “Changes in Latitudes.”
If it suddenly ended tomorrow, I could
somehow adjust to the fall.
Though painful, Ryan says he’s prepared for
a career – and perhaps a life – void of his former best friend.
“I’m grateful to Russ for everything,” says
Ryan. “Meeting him and what we did together was one of the greatest things
that’s ever happened in my life. And, honestly, if I had it to do all over
again I would.”
While Trenholm, who works at Martin’s auto
shop, still considers him a close friend, O’Malley does little more than
exchange an occasional e-mail and Ryan hasn’t contacted Martin in months. A
couple weeks after the show was canceled, Ryan joked that he was in “Russ
detox.”
“The man is a genius,” Ryan says. “When we
were on, it was pure radio magic. But things changed. He became consumed with
fame and fortune. I saw it come true: Alcohol and money magnify a person’s true
character.”
While it may take the loss of his confidants
to introduce Martin to humility, his arrest certainly had little initial
impact. After finally taking the stage at Live 8, he addressed the crowd about
his impending legal battle:
“For those of you who don’t support me,”
Martin screamed, “Fuck you! Fuck you!! Fuck you!!!”
The Russ Martin Show Band then broke into
Elvis’ “Jailhouse Rock.”
Says Hunter, “That’s the way it happens with
guys like Russ. Their own hands eventually knock down the sand castle.”
(continued from page 5)
“One of the real radio
mysterious is how his show was popular,” says Rhyner. “To me it wasn’t original
or funny or entertaining. The few times I listened I always came away wondering
the same thing: What’s so great about this?”
Despite his fits of anger, vivid moodiness
and general disgust for mankind, only those who know Martin best saw this one
coming.
On the night of July 14, 2008 , Martin made a phone call
to his 27-year-old fiancée, Blake. Under investigation by the Internal Revenue
Service for improper mortgage interest deductions, he was checking if Blake had
followed up on the status of mailed documents.
She hadn’t.
What transpired in the next 45 minutes would
forever change their lives and, in effect, the face of Dallas
“My initial reaction was ‘Well, it finally
happened’,” Lewis says. “Russ’ drinking was out of hand. His ego was out of
hand. At some point he was going to take a swing at someone.”
On his show Martin often joked about
throwing Blake in the dryer as punishment, even once getting the petite blonde
to crawl in and pose for a photo he posted on his Web site. But this wasn’t
fake, or funny.
In a statement to Southlake police that
prompted an arrest warrant for Martin, Blake said he told her “You better hide
because when I get there I’m going to beat the shit out of you!” Anticipating
an imminent confrontation, Blake turned on a recorder.
Martin arrived around 9:30 p.m. and pushed her into a wall when she
tried to get her laptop computer and leave. According to the four-page warrant,
in the ensuing melee Martin pulled five chunks of hair out of Blake’s head,
kicked her in the thigh and pulled a Glock semiautomatic pistol out of his
waistband, never pointing it directly at her but chambering a round and cocking
the hammer in an intimidating manner.
“Shut up!” Martin yelled on the tape, played
during a pre-trial hearing last month in Judge Jamie Cummings’ Tarrant County
Criminal Court No. 5. “Or you are going to get hurt.”
As Blake – who refused interview requests
through her attorney – got in her car to leave for her parents’ house in Plano
In his interview with Channel 8 Martin was
asked if he touched Blake in any sort of aggressive way, or even touched her at
all.
“No,” Martin replied. “Not to my ... again, you're talking about a year ago ... on
a night when, in my mind, nothing really happened short of: I was an ass, I
busted her laptop and I asked her to leave.”
Channel 8’s report included a copy of the
arrest warrant and photos of Blake’s injuries, but fell short of asking Martin
the obvious follow-up:
“If you didn't lay a finger on her, how
exactly did her hair get pulled out and how'd she get a bruise on her
thigh?”
Blake did not call 911 and only approached
Southlake police days later when she sought assistance in going to the house to
collect her belongings. On July 17 Judge Carol Montgomery issued the warrant,
suspended Martin’s concealed-handgun license and enacted a 61-day emergency
protective order keeping him at least 200 yards from Blake. Martin was arrested
the next morning while working out at Larry North Fitness on Southlake Boulevard
With Martin’s case already reduced to
misdemeanor assault by a grand jury that refused to indict him on the felony
charges, his Denton-based lawyer Tim Powers petitioned Judge Cummings to suppress
the warrant and recording because of sloppy police work. He noted that Martin’s
arrest occurred before lead Southlake Detective Richard Anderson had conducted
a proper investigation, not even confirming the existence of a 911 call. Blake
also filed a formal complaint against the police department, alleging that she
was “coerced” into pursuing charges against her boyfriend of three years.
At that hearing – more than two weeks before
the scheduled July 27 trial – Martin entered his “no contest” plea.
Martin
answered “yes” when Channel 8 asked if he was innocent, and explained his plea
as the “only way out of this for me, and for her family.”
Martin’s arrest intrigued his listeners, so
much so that even three months later his irrationally loyal fans were leaving
multiple comments to the Dallas Observer’s Sportatorium blog insisting
the event was an elaborate hoax orchestrated to produce publicity for his show.
For a year Martin’s only acknowledgement of
the incident came on his Twitter page bio: “Had a big L painted on my scull
[sic].”
“Everyone was shocked,” says O’Malley. “I
know people were quick to crucify him, but if I knew for a fact that he was
guilty I would’ve walked out immediately.”
Trenholm said he only saw Martin “put his
hands” on another person one time in eight years, calling the object of the
anger on that occasion a “computer weasel.”
For a guy who made his living off racy bits
and made his reputation on good deeds, Martin’s arrest caused confusion and
consternation amongst his friends, contemporaries and even his enemies.
“I haven’t talked to him since his arrest,
and I feel really bad about that, but I never know what I would say or how I
would say it,” says Kunkel, who visited Martin’s Southlake home multiple times
and went bowling with him and Blake. “In my business nothing surprises you, but
from watching them interact it appeared as though they were truly in love. If
the charges are proven true, it’s an element to his personality I never saw. He
was always very respectful toward others.”
Says Moran, “I knew he had serious anger
issues, but I never thought it would manifest itself in domestic violence.”
Though industry sources—citing the show’s
fall from No. 2 in the ratings to No. 14—indicate Martin’s arrest wasn’t a
motivating factor in flipping 105.3’s format, others aren’t so sure.
Says Hunter, “He finally gave his bosses
some leverage.”
Without his show, Trenholm says Martin stays
busy working out, tweaking his Web site and visiting his auto shop every
morning. And, of course, cashing his approximate $30,000 checks on the 15th and
last of each month.
For doing nothing.
(continued from page 6)
“At gym now. Short HOT blonde on treadmill
next to me. May let part of my scrote hang out to taunt her.” — Twitter “tweet”
from Martin, May 2nd, 10:48 a.m.
Actually, Martin did speak to the Observer
for this story. Seeing that it was mannerly to at least introduce myself, I
approached him during a break at the car-show concert.
Me: “Russ, Richie Whitt of the Dallas
(Handshake.)
Russ: “Cool. Well, thanks for coming out.”
He is cordial. He is concise. And most of
all, he is sweating his ass off.
Almost immediately upon playing, the RMS
Band loses power to its instruments. In his first 15 minutes on stage, Martin
spews “bitch,” “damn” and “bastard.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says at one point. “Kids.”
As the heat escalates, the gathering
shrinks. Martin’s ensemble valiantly plays through a 45-minute set featuring
songs from Loverboy, AC/DC and even the Village People’s “Y-M-C-A.”
But in the end, the listeners wilt to fewer
than 25.
“Russ is fine,” Trenholm says. “He’s not
going out of his mind without the spotlight. He’s just biding his time, waiting
for the next opportunity that we all know will eventually come around.”
Though his representatives could technically
talk to stations interested in hiring Martin, most radio experts – alluding to
the fact that an ailing radio climate won’t support seven-figure salaries for
hosts in the foreseeable future – suggest Russ won’t be back on the air before
his contract expires in 21 months.
“This is Russ’ ultimate nightmare,” contends
Ryan. “Being ignored.”
No comments:
Post a Comment