I got a text from my filmmaker friend Drew, earlier today, invoking a name I’d not heard in a long time — Ugly George.
For those who may be unfamiliar with that distinctive name, Ugly George was a somewhat notorious New York City figure from the late 70’s. As mentioned on this ancient post, George was one of an elite, forward-thinking cadre of televisual pioneers who took to the burgeoning frontier of public access television with singularly prurient zeal. Alongside similarly inclined folks like Screw Magazine’s Al Goldstein and erstwhile porn actress Robyn Byrd, Ugly George hosted his own, late-night cable show on public access that pushed any number of envelopes and buttons. But where Al Goldstein basically used his show — “Midnight Blue” — as potty-mouthed bully pulpit for his disgruntled-consumer invective (in between clips of grainy porn and escort-service ads), and Byrd used hers as a somewhat numbingly repetitive vehicle for self-promotion, Ugly George had a gimmick all his own, and despite his inarguable disregard for taste, decorum and decent human conduct, his endeavors did indeed make for genuinely compelling viewing.
George’s particular shtick involved the man roving the streets of the city looking for inexplicably obliging women (he referred to them as “goils”) to “interview.” It should be noted that Ugly George dressed in a frankly ridiculous and disarmingly revealing silver get-up that one would be very hard-pressed to describe as “flattering” (hence the man’s moniker), augmented by weighty video-capturing equipment (that technology still in its toddlerdom) that made him look like a kind of portly, priapic cosmonaut.
Once George lured in a willing subject, he would then invite them to a nearby alley, secluded courtyard or vacant vestibule and somehow convince them to voluntarily strip on camera (among….umm…. other things), all the while luridly narrating for his viewers (whom he referred to as “students”) the progress of his pursuit. I imagine it was designed to be titillating, but even if you were understandably revolted by George’s antics, witnessing his strenuously unlikely powers of persuasion was pretty fascinating.
Astonishingly, Ugly George kept it up for a very long time. As a kid, I do remember seeing him on the streets every now and then (suffice to say, he was hard to miss). Beyond the audacity of his venture, Ugly George was no small-risk taker, loaded down with clunky video equipment strapped to his back, making him something of a vulnerable target when he fell afoul of a vexed boyfriend or self-appointed moral vigilante. I vividly remember local news reports about George getting the crap beaten out of him on a few occasions, which I suppose was an occupational hazard.
After a while, Ugly George seemed to fall off the radar, his name reduced to a sleazy footnote from a bygone era of a less salubrious New York City. I remember Al Goldstein going through a series of financial tribulations before passing away from a kidney disorder in 2013, and I believe Robyn Byrd is still out there somewhere (she once accosted me, circa 1986, at the Tower Records on West 66th Street, brandishing a copy of the Beastie Boys’ License to Ill and asking me if she should buy it, to which I said “yes”), but I never heard what became of Ugly George.
Prompted, presumably, by this same thought, my friend Drew texted me out of the blue this morning to see if I might know how to get in touch with him. Now, why Drew thought I might know how to reach his Ugliness momentarily begged several questions (what sort of company must he think I keep?), until he explained that he thought Ugly George would make for a great documentary. I concurred and said I’d reach out to another contact of mine, erstwhile Screw Magazine illustrator Danny Hellman (who once gamely sold me an original illustration of Cop Shoot Cop and Iggy Pop) to see if he might have any leads.
As it happened, however, while I was waiting to hear back from Danny (who, regrettably, never crossed paths with Ugly George), Drew got back in touch with me to say that someone had done an Ugly George doc. We were both deflated by this discovery. I remember feeling similar when I learned, right before meeting with a literary agent, that someone had beaten me to the punch with a book about idiosyncratic singer/songwriter and former Modern Lovers leader Jonathan Richman only a year earlier. These things happen.
In any case, in the event that the above description has piqued your curiosity or gotten you all hot and bothered, … you can view that documentary (sadly unembeddable) by clicking right here.
Recent Comments