I worked in television production for thirty long years, schlepping around audio equipment and hoisting camera gear as a lowly location audio mixer and cameraman. My knees had taken a beating over the years, and I finally decided to call it quits and retire from the game.
So, people always want to know which shows I loved and which ones I absolutely loathed. And let me tell you, there's one shoot that haunts me to this day. We're talking early '90s, and I'm with Citicam - a major production company in New York City that's all about cutting-edge lighting and lean, mean crews of just three people. They've got a seriously impressive client list with big names like MTV, The Home Show, and none other than the legendary Geraldo Rivera and his daily show Now it Can Be Told. But this particular shoot? A total nightmare.
Despite my previous successful shoots with Citicam, this particular one was shrouded in mystery and deceit. I was given no information about where we were going or what we were shooting until the night of the shoot itself. The clients were Heraldo's brother Craig Rivera and producer Cable Bruce, and they gave us an address in the industrial part of Jersey City - a place notorious for its danger and rough reputation.
When we arrived at the warehouse we picked up a mystery man, they didn’t tell us who he was or what he was. He then led us to another location in a residential neighborhood, an abandoned house with boarded-up windows. It’s then we were told the shocking truth: we were there to shoot people smoking crack in a real crack house. I was gobsmacked, but the intregue of adventure and excitement won me over, and I went along with it. .
The front door was nailed shut, so we had to go around to the back of the house. There was a small window that seemed to be open, so we climbed up onto an old washing machine and passed our gear through the window. Upstairs, we found three or four people huddled around a stove for warmth, waiting for us. We interviewed them, and their stories were devastating. The previous owner of the house ran the crackhouse and took a cut of the drugs to let people stay there. He had lost everything, including the house, due to his own addiction. The lone woman we spoke to had lost her children due to her drug use. Their stories were heartbreaking.
After the interviews, we shot footage of them passing around the crack pipe and smoking. When we were finished, we scrambled back down the stairs, out the window, and back to the van. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief, knowing we had just endured something most people would never experience.
But then, the producer had the gall to suggest that we needed to capture footage of people using heroin as well. Apparently, the story was now about both crack and heroin. So we set out on a search for the elusive "mystery man" who had vanished during our initial shoot. I watched as money exchanged hands between the producer and the shadowy figure, and then we headed back to the crack den. We had to go through the same rigmarole of scaling the washing machine, clambering through the window, and making our way upstairs, where we nervously waited. Eventually, the mystery man materialized and, as if by magic, a bag of white powder – heroin, as it turned out – was produced and passed around. We filmed them as they snorted it, but inside I was seething with anger. This was patently unethical, and we all knew it. Not to mention, it was probably illegal.
One woman even turned to the camera and asked, "Is this what you wanted?" We finally wrapped and headed back to Manhattan. I got out of the van before we entered the Holland tunnel and walked back to my apartment in Hoboken. I was shaken, shaken enough to walk from Jersey City to Hoboken in the middle of the night.
The next day or the day after, I called the Village Voice and reported the incident. They asked if I knew where the house was, and if I'd be willing to take them there. Of course, I said yes. I never heard back from them for a long time, and by the time I did, I had moved on from the show, but I never worked for them again.