Wheeler and the Burdons

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It started as a joke. Steven Wheeler had always loved to play tricks. As a kid, he pulled dumb little pranks. He’d make crank phone calls until caller ID put an end to that. He’d tape Snap and Pops to his parents’ toilet seat and laugh when they screamed at the tiny explosions. Occasionally he’d get in trouble, but not much.

As he got older, he started to lean into hoaxes. He’d spread ridiculous rumors just to see how many people would buy into them. These started as innocuous lies, such as claiming his uncle was the U.S. Secretary of Labor. Who would lie about that? Later, he’d go on to claim that he had briefly been married to Juice Newton. It was an odd, obscure enough reference that before the internet was in everyone’s pocket, it was easy enough to get away with.

It was all harmless fun.

Not long after he got out of college, Steven began to volunteer at a community radio station. He had a show where he played an eclectic mix of music. You might hear an old Muddy Waters song followed by the Clash. Steven thought it was funny to just take sharp left turns with the music and act like there was an intentional flow. Steven began to just make up facts about the music between songs. He’d claim that Eric Clapton was inspiration for Captain Kangaroo, and that Janis Ian actually was an heir to the Bisquick fortune. It was all ridiculous, but what Steven learned was that people would believe almost anything he said. Not everyone, of course, but enough that when he ran into people on the street they’d want to talk about whatever nonsense he had spewed.

His show was the most listened to on the community station, and one of the local AM stations offered him a paid weekday afternoon slot. They promised him he could keep us his shtick, and Steven agreed. Why the heck not?

The Wheeler Show - not a particularly creative name - did well from the start. His audience was divided by people who were in on the joke and those who bought every word he said.

The program director for the station pressed him to reduce the amount of music and up the amount of talk. He also pushed him to come up with a more unifying theme. Wheeler resisted leaning into politics. Enough people had already taken up that mantle, and, besides, he was just into this for the laughs. He didn’t want to be responsible for shaping the fate of the nation or even his corner of southern Washington State. Let the Limbaughs of the world play in that sandbox, he said.

“What about UFOs and the paranormal, stuff like that?” the PD asked.

Art Bell was really the only big name in that space, and Steven was fine with adding his. It might be fun to kind of explore the territory Leonard Nimoy had with In Search Of.

He started with Bigfoot, which is a very good place to start. He claimed that an anonymous law enforcement source had told him that there was an alarming uptick of Sasquatch activity in the area. It didn’t take long before Alice, a somewhat regular caller, got on the line and said that she heard that a family of Sasquatch had been spotted hanging out in the parking lot of a local convenience store. Callers to the show confirmed the sighting, and added their own details. By the time the show was over Steven’s audience learned that the family consisted of two parents and three young Sasquatch, that they had been digging through the dumpster looking for food, and that, incredible as it may sound, a passersby could hear them singing “The House of The Rising Sun” as they sat in a circle eating the food they had found. Because of this, the family was dubbed the Burdons, after Eric Burdon, lead singer of The Animals.

Steven covered other topics - killer bees were found in an abandoned Winnebago, a couple of UFOs landed on a farm and the aliens supposedly had taken up residence in the barn, and scientists had discovered a colony of mole people living in caverns that criss-crossed town - but nothing kept his audience’s imagination as much as the Burdons.

Every episode, Steven and/or his callers had updates on the furry family. By all accounts, they were not aggressive, but they were skittish and tried to avoid people. Though occasionally they would be spotted singing some classic rock song, tending to favor British invasion music (but not the Beatles for some reason. They seemed to avoid the Fab Four).

Most of the callers were clearly in on the joke. Occasionally someone would call in with sincere reports of finding traces of the Burdons (knocked over garbage cans or maybe weird footprints that could have just as easily been human as Sasquatch), but most of the callers had increasingly outlandish tales of the Burdon family’s antics.

One caller claimed that the Burdons had actually come into his house for dinner one night. They didn’t speak English, of course, but they seemed to communicate through song. The caller said his wife was on a trip with a friend when it happened, which was just as well because as pleasant as the Burdons were and as melodious their singing voices were, they did have that rotten egg smell that people report upon Bigfoot encounters. But the caller didn’t mind. He did say he had to spend a day deodorizing his house, but that was okay. They Burdons were good guests, and they even helped do the dishes before they left into the night.

Steven Wheeler’s show was syndicated after a few months. People around the country tuned in to hear the latest news of the Burdons and other tall tales. Wheeler had to get an assistant to respond to all the mail and messages he received. The ones that bothered to write in were usually the ones who bought the bit, and Wheeler wanted to make sure they got a response.

It wasn’t long after the show went national that things took an ugly turn. Bigfoot hunters began to descend on the town. Most were nice - if somewhat kooky - people. Others were hoping to bag a unique trophy.

At first, Wheeler capitalized on the situation. He started a BurdonCon, and charged people for a live address and Q&A. The convention was well attended and Wheeler made a good amount of money off the deal.

The day following his address, the first injury occurred. A bigfoot hunter spotted something in the woods. Unfortunately, it was another Sasquatch enthusiast. On the plus side, he was only hit in the leg and would be okay. When Wheeler heard the news, he made it a point to ask for calm on the show. He pointed out that killing the Burdons would likely be treated as murder, and that the family meant no harm.

This dissuaded some, but not all, of the trophy hunters. There was more gunfire in the nearby woods. And, although no one was hurt, the Sheriff’s Office contacted Wheeler and told him he had to put a damper on the whole business.

For his next show, he had a friend call in to say that he had seen the Burdon’s carrying their possessions through the woods in hobo style bindles. In short order, others called with confirmation that the Burdons had fled the area.

There were no further reported sightings and within a few days, the hunters and curiosity seekers left town.

Wheeler didn’t talk about the Burdons again. He moved on to other topics, with an emphasis on transitory phenomena, such as UFOs flying past town.

Two weeks after BurdonCon, Steven was at home drinking a beer. He was pondering his next move. Maybe the Bigfoot and little gray men era of nonsense was coming to an end, and maybe he could just play music. He knew that wouldn’t work. People didn’t want to tune in for his eclectic tour of music. They loved the stories, the conspiracies, the glorious absurdity of it all.

And, heck, so did he. He just would have to be a little more careful, he supposed. He would cautiously ride the gravy train, but at least he knew he needed to keep one hand on the brake lever.

He drained the can and made his way to the kitchen for a cold replacement. As he cracked open the new can, he heard something from his back yard. It sounded like music. He opened the kitchen door and looked out. It was music. Five figures were in the yard, near the back fence line that backed up to the woods. He couldn’t quite make out their features, as the floodlights didn’t reach that far back.

The five figures, two larger ones and three distinctly smaller, were singing. It took him a moment to realize that it was The Rolling Stones’ “Ruby Tuesday..” Steven knew he should have shut the door and called the police. But the song was lovely and mesmerizing.

As the song reached its final “Still I’m going to miss you,” one of the larger figures hopped the fence with ease and grace and helped the younger ones over. The other large figure waved at Steven before turning and clearing the wooden fence.

Wheeler never told the story of what happened that night. Not because he didn’t think anyone would believe it. More because he was sure too many of them would.

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