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NEWS STORY

The Lonely Vigil
Marty Anderson has taken NBA fanaticism to new heights--just ask his wife.

BY NIGEL JAQUISS
njaquiss@wweek.com

 

 

NBA Commissioner David Stern was reportedly amused by Anderson's stunt but didn't offer much hope; Stern told an interviewer that he hoped Anderson had packed his long underwear.

 

Anderson's public shenanigans include sitting in front of a bulldozer that had been sent to clear land behind his house (when he was 9) and streaking through five L.A. shopping malls for a radio promotion.

 

 

The billboard advertises KEX, but it is owned by AK Media, whose boss, Barry Ackerley, also owns the Seattle Supersonics.

KEX's broadcast rights to the Blazers games are a wasting asset. Blazers owner Paul Allen recently purchased KXL and will presumably move the team's games to his new toy when its current contract with KEX expires.

*PHOTOS BY MICHAEL PARRISHNEWS STORYMany an NBA widow will tell you that some men prefer watching basketball to making love. Marty Anderson is a prime example. What began as a promotion for his employer, radio station KEX-AM 1190, has turned into an extended, largely solitary vigil for the 25-year-old Anderson, who has sworn to remain on a billboard until the NBA strike ends or the season is canceled.

"I'm going through basketball withdrawal," he says from his 48-foot-long walkway 40 feet above the parking lot at 725 SE Powell Blvd. "I got a video basketball game up here, and it ain't cutting it."

His wife of three years, Rhiannon, stops by daily but has declined to stay the night. "Absolutely not," she says. "It's cold up there." As for conjugal visits, she says that unannounced guests and the billboard's visibility ensure that Anderson's doghouse-sized plywood-and-shingle hut is used only for sleeping.

Besides, after nearly three weeks without a shower, Anderson may also lack some of his usual charm. He attempts sponge baths, he says, but hygiene has worsened with the weather.

As for other challenges, he uses a small portable toilet, which gets emptied twice a week. It is sandwiched precariously in the open air between two parallel billboards.

But life at the top isn't all bad. Anderson says he no longer notices the constant traffic noise beneath him. From his damp La-Z-Boy recliner, Anderson enjoys a commanding view of the clouds in front of Mount Hood. His temporary roost, while breezy, contains all the comforts of home--including computer, cell phone and television.

Pigeons from nearby grain elevators cruise by with alarming frequency, but Anderson coexists with them--his hat is pristine.

"I leave them alone; they leave me alone," he says of the birds. "We've got a mutual trust."

Although such temptations as Club Coco II (The International Gentleman's Club) and the always-open Hot Cake House beckon from near the base of Anderson's perch, he swears he hasn't made a terrestrial visit since election day.

To keep busy, he pedals a stationary bike, although he has clocked only about 20 miles. Anderson lists two keys to his endurance: coffee and cigarettes. As soon as he wakes in the morning, he drops a plastic bucket over the billboard's railing. His new friend Carol Schulman, who runs a coffee kiosk in the parking lot below, loads a fresh pot into the makeshift elevator. She does the same in the afternoon and estimates Anderson sucks down 100 ounces of coffee a day--all free.

"Marty doesn't drink mochas, just regular coffee," she says. "I couldn't afford him if he drank mochas."

Schulman isn't the only local merchant who fuels Anderson's quest.

"I been eating a lot of fast food," Anderson says. "A lot of fast food. I can call the Hot Cake House any time. They deliver."

If area businesses feed Anderson's body, passing motorists nourish his soul. Horns sound constantly, and many motorists stop to gawk or even talk. "That's the best thing," he says, "all the honks and the recognition."

But fame has it downside, too. One couple parked their car and stared at Anderson for what seemed like hours. "I swear they thought they were at the zoo," he says. For those who don't normally drive near Anderson's billboard, KEX provides access via a telephoto Web cam. "I feel like I'm always on display," he says.

Of course, he is living the American dream--getting paid to sit in a La-Z-Boy and ingest unhealthy substances. Even better, Anderson's boss in KEX's promotions department, Rich Connor, doesn't mind that he's playing hooky. Although the initial flurry of coverage from television and The Oregonian has faded and Anderson could descend with no loss of face, KEX is still getting mileage from the strike watch.

"It's great for the station," Connor says. "He's become a nice visual, an interactive billboard."

Connor confirms Anderson's claim that the billboard was Anderson's baby. "It was absolutely his idea," Connor says. "I wish I could take credit for it."

Of course, KEX management would rather have people talking about the Blazers, whose games the station broadcasts. Although some people might consider Anderson's pursuit frivolous, Connor says the station hasn't received any complaints.

Schulman hears mixed reactions from her vantage point in the billboard's shadow.

"A lot of people think it's pretty stupid, but it gives them something to talk about," she says. "I think it's a good distraction from a long winter."

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Willamette Week | originally published December 9, 1998

 

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