Stern Show What's the story of Artie's Dad ?

Discussion in 'The Howard Stern Show' started by SternsEgo, Jul 2, 2016.

  1. SternsEgo

    SternsEgo Well-Known Member

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    I know he was paralyzed, and eventually committed suicide ? How did he end up in the chair in the first place ?

    I remember hearing a story once from howie. Arts dad asked Art to move some table, art made some b.s excuse to get out of it, the old man was on the roof and fell off while moving the table...made no sense.
     
  2. Phil McKrakin

    Phil McKrakin AKA Howie POTY The Bar VIP

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    He didn't die doing what he loved.
     
  3. Rockside7

    Rockside7 VIP Extreme Gold

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    Asked Artie to hold the ladder, Artie got high and fucked around and his dad 'fall down, go boom'

    Achy, breaky, neck.
     
  4. johnfreeman1

    johnfreeman1 Well-Known Member

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    He was putting a TV antenna in he fell when his ladder broke
     
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  5. lovetalkradio

    lovetalkradio Well-Known Member

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    I knew part of this, but didn't know Artie was involved. No wonder why he's so fucked up.
     
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  6. MacTrekker

    MacTrekker Well-Known Member

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    Artie's Dad, Arthur Lange, Sr., installed rooftop TV antennas. On the side he also would hook up people to cable illegally. One day Art Sr. asked 18 year old Artie to go with him to a job and hold the ladder, Artie had better things to do so the old man went alone. Like a dope Art Sr. put his ladder on top of a picnic table, he fell off and ended up a quadriplegic. Artie blames himself and does a lot of drugs. His Mom goes on welfare. The family tried to sue the ladder manufacture, problem was Art Sr. stole the ladder and no attorney would take their case. Art Sr. finally dies after 4 years from an infection. 30 years later Artie still blames himself because he didn't go with his Dad and still does a lot of drugs.
     
  7. MacTrekker

    MacTrekker Well-Known Member

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    Artie has also speculated that one of his dad's friends euthanized Art Sr. at his own request.
     
  8. Rhinosaucerous

    Rhinosaucerous Self-hating Millennial

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    Like father, like son. Although I think Art Sr. sounds like more of a degenerate to me.
     
  9. daphnejoanes

    daphnejoanes Vodka Swilling Cat VIP

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    I didn't know that they tried to sue the manufacturer.
     
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  10. GoshGeeGolly

    GoshGeeGolly VIP Extreme Gold

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    Artie performed at his Dad's trial circa 1968. counterfeiting I believe? or was it money laundering?
     
  11. Time Bandit

    Time Bandit Well-Known Member

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    I think I recall that too
     
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  12. Dream Theater

    Dream Theater DAWGS E-BULLY Squad Gold

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    Retards like Artie's Dad are the reason why everything like a ladder has ten thousand warning stickers on them. :facepalm:

    [​IMG]
     
  13. bobblebooey

    bobblebooey Well-Known Member VIP

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  14. thegroovologist

    thegroovologist Well-Known Member

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    "That horrible Friday I daydreamed through my classes as usual, had lunch with some friends and then drove home at about 1:30pm. When I walked through the door I was greeted by the sight of my mother sitting in the kitchen, crying.

    "Mom?" I said. "What is it? What's happened?"

    "Daddy had an accident," she said through her sobs. "He fell off a roof."

    I could tell by how hard she was crying that everything was not ok. "Ma," I said, afraid to ask my question. "Is he...dead?"

    "No, Artie, he's alive...but it's not good," she said. "It's not good at all."

    My father was laid up at St. Barnabas, the same hospital in Livingston, New Jersey where my sister and I had been born. I drove my mother and I over there in my car at the time: a fire engine red 1976 Buick Special that I would total precisely eight days later. It was the last decent car that she or I would have for the next ten years.

    October 18, 1985 was the day of my dad's accident and my very last day at Seton Hall. For the next four and a half years, until my father's death, I dealt with the guilt of not being there to hold his ladder by engaging in every single piece of shitty, self-destructive, self-pitying Wah! Wah! Wah! type of behavior that there is. Drinking, drugging, gambling and bar fights that led to several arrests became my every day routine; that was just what I did at night. My mother and sister, however, responded by being strong - no, very strong - women."



    ---


    "The night before my father died I had dinner with him and we watched T.V. together for a while in his room. After a while, I told him that I was going to go to my friend Mike Lawlor's house to watch some college hoops. I made sure he was okay and said goodnight to him and started to leave. But as I got to the door, he did something he never did - he called me back.

    "C'mon," he said, a genuine tone of sorrow in his voice. "Take a few more minutes and talk to your old man."

    I gladly sat back down and we talked for a while. He had, from the moment that he'd been injured, done the best he could to keep up his sense of humor - which wasn't easy under the circumstances. But tonight he was very sad, much more so than usual, and he didn't try to hide it.

    We talked a little, but for the mot part we sat there in silence together. I could tell that he didn't want to be alone.

    "Well," he said, trying to smile, "you'd better get going if you want to catch the game." As I got up to go, my father made one more request.

    "Put your hand on my hand, sport," he said.

    I held his hand and watched him struggle to bring my hand up to his mouth to kiss it.

    "I love you, son," he said. He started to cry.

    "I love you too, Pop," I said, unable to hold back my own tears.

    We cried together for a few minutes before we both got it together. Then I fixed his blankets and made him as comfortable as I could in preparation for a night's sleep - giving my mom a rare break. I said goodnight, went to the door, turned out the lights and that was the last time I saw him alive.

    I went drinking over at my buddy's house, watched a couple of college basketball games I'd bet on and after losing both bets, returned home drunk at about 4am. On my way to my room I looked quickly toward my father's room and everything seemed calm and as normal as it could be. I went upstairs and fell asleep until three hours later, at 7am, when I awoke to the sound of my mother and my Uncle Rich knocking hard on my bedroom door. I was not happy about that at all.

    "What?" I yelled. "What is it?"

    "Artie, there's an ambulance outside for your father," my uncle said.

    I opened the door and standing next to Uncle Rich was my mother, crying.

    "He's gone, Artie," she said, sobbing. "He's...gone."

    I ran downstairs to my father's room and found two paramedics and two police officers next to his bed. The police tried to stop me from coming into the room until I explained who I was; then they let me approach. And there was my hero, the toughest motherfucker I would ever know, lying there, lifeless. He had died sometime in the middle of the night while I was at my friend's house doing shot after shot to deal with the fact that I had lost a bet on a fucking college basketball game. Four and a half years of paralysis had transformed his powerful, muscular arms into jelly. His face looked fat and his stomach was distended like a starving African child in a Unicef ad.

    I closed my eyes and started to cry just as hard as I ever have. It wasn't just the shock of the loss, it was the way that he'd gone - much too soon and so unlike the way that he'd lived. I wasn't going to accept that. I wasn't going to let that become my father in my mind. I wasn't going to open my eyes until I remembered him the way he was when I first got to know him. Standing there beside him, I fought back my sorrow until I saw him again: in the early Seventies, with his hair long, his face young, walking with a strut in his step like a typical guy from the streets of Newark who thought he was invincible. My dad was Superman to me and in my mind he always will be. And that's all that counts."



    http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96849879
     
  15. Phil McKrakin

    Phil McKrakin AKA Howie POTY The Bar VIP

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    Stupid ladder!

    [​IMG]
     
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  16. Time Bandit

    Time Bandit Well-Known Member

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  17. Quality Control

    Quality Control dove Gold

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    Interesting. I've never heard the specifics of this. Someone itt mentioned Art's dad put the ladder on a picnic table like a retard. I Iaughed. Sorry 'bout it.
     
  18. O Face

    O Face VIP Extreme Gold

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    No one would take the case because the fall was not due to some defect in the ladder or inherently dangerous condition caused be the ladder. It was because Pops placed the ladder precariously on a picnic table :facepalm:
     
  19. jobbey

    jobbey Well-Known Member VIP

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    Hes dead
     
  20. daphnejoanes

    daphnejoanes Vodka Swilling Cat VIP

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    I was thinking the same thing. Ladder I own has so many warning stickers on it I just leave it in the garage.