UNFINISHED DOCUMENTARY, KINGDOMS OF THE RADIO | 1995
I’m sure that everyone has their “I met Zongo when” story. I don’t think that people should become celebrities for being stupid enough to get duped by the CIA, but that’s just me. It’s not his fault, I mean Zongo’s never been the brightest star in the firmament.
He was still going by “Fred” when he used to come into the club now and again. Broadway was a different scene back then. It’s pretty seedy now, but back in the day, a night on the town felt more “up scale,” cosmopolitan, even. Even us dancers felt like we were on the leading edge of a progressive wave. Believe it or not, a lot of us were early feminists. What can I say? The job paid better than waiting tables, and if some drunk decided to get grabby, the bouncers were more than ready to toss them back out on the street.
That’s actually what led to my early retirement. One of Z’s made buddies was getting too handsy with another one of the dancers and a new bouncer that didn’t fully appreciate the North Beach ecosystem stepped up to set him straight.
I was in the alley, smoking a pre-performance enhancer when the back door to the kitchen slammed open and three goons dragged the poor guy out and commenced to test the limits of his medical insurance.
When they were finished, I could swear that one of them looked over at me and said, “You didn’t see nothin’,” but maybe I saw that in a movie, it all runs together now. I did what I could for him, but when the cops came into the club the next night asking questions, I figured that it hadn’t done much good. It was right around then that I ran into Zongo and he told me that he was starting this new scene up the coast. I figured that it just might be the opportunity I needed to lay low for a while.
Talk about “out of the frying pan, into the bonfire.”
Román Leão 
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