At the ripe old age of 20 I had a title, sort of a position, and a lot of
responsibility as a Traffic Manager for London Records. Sounds important, huh,
but what I really did was organize shippers to get the latest releases, and
mostly older ones to the record stores. Based outside of Newark, New Jersey, it
was quite a boiling pot of people I worked with. The employee base was mostly
Cuban or Puerto Rican, so this white boy learned quickly his high school Spanish
didn’t work in the real world. I had a Columbian secretary, Alba Mary, who
smiled a lot and said “OK, Mike,” to whatever I asked her to do. It was only my
boss Mario who would interpret so she would get anything done. And the work
environment could be a hostile one, as the Cubans didn’t like the Puerto Ricans,
who they were jealous of because they were true Americans, remember the line
from “America” in West Side Story, “Puerto Rico in America....” And the Puerto
Ricans hated the Cubans because they were refugees. To the point they had a
floor to ceiling fence to separate them. They came to work at different times,
breaks at different times, and had bathroom privileges at different times. But
mostly they were nice people, doing a job, or trying to, and just trying to get
through life. Survival we call it now, and it wasn’t any different then. “OK,
Mike.”
But as Traffic Manager I chose the trucking companies, and the graft was
the way business was done. Which I learned quickly. From expensive liquor,
ball game tickets, and other types of bribes, excuse me, incentives, I chose the
truckers who would pick up and deliver the records, and sometimes on a timely
basis, as when a new release came out. Within a few months I had cheesed of
some old time truckers, but built a base of new ones I could trust. And of
course was compensated for it, but also threatened by it. Records is big
business, and so many deals went on under the table, behind the scenes that I
had upset small kingdoms within the company, but I found out later the man I
replaced had his hand in everyone’s pocket, and did nothing for free. I did my
job, which made me a threat. And in any language, it helps to have friends.
For example...
There was a black group hitting the charts big from Newark. Billboards
everywhere proclaimed them, their first album was still selling hot, and we had
trouble keeping them in stock, with orders when they arrived from the record
plant to ship them immediately. And everyone wanted them yesterday, including
the trucking companies to deliver. And here is where it got interesting, scary
is really a better word. This group had just come out with a new album,
unreleased yet, but advertised. The group was hot, the demand was hot, what I
was to learn later was this record would be hot. I had just started, and all
the talk was about this album, when a man approached me, offered me an envelope
with cash in it, a lot of cash, $5000 I would learn later, to get him an early
shipment. Befroe the release date. I was to fill a trailer load with their
album, leave it parked, and they would pick it up after dark. I played stupid,
really I was, and said “I would have to clear that,” and he went elsewhere. I
never said a word, and so did his cash. Later I was to find out who really
parked the trailer outside, full of albums, so this distributor could have them
on the streets a week before their release. Illegally. Talk about a hot album,
these were, bypassing everyone at London, and there was quite an uproar.
Fortunately I was out of the picture on this one, this was big time piracy,
record piracy, not a bootleg, but the real album hitting the streets before the
jocks had it to play. And only through these carefully selected record stores,
and not the established ones. All Newark was ablaze with the album, I kept a
promotional copy as a momento of how life works in the real world. Not my
world, and as Alba Mary would say, “OK, Mike.” $5000 would buy a lot of fun in
1974, over $50,000 in today’s money, but it also bought a lot of trouble, as the
guy who took the bribe was to find out. He disappeared, never heard from him
again, and no one at work ever asked what happened to him. But we all
knew....or did we really?
Once he had accepted the bribe, he passed the point of no return. On every
ride when we pass the half way mark to our destination, it is the same distance
to get there as it would have been to turn back. He had passed that mark, and
suffered the consequences. He had sold out, he belonged to someone else now,
and we talked in hushed tones about what had happened to him. No one knew for
sure, all we knew was he was gone. He couldn’t and didn’t turn back, and
suffered for it. Just like Judas did at the Last Supper. Judas’ greed had
gotten the better of him, and even when taking the first communion with Jesus,
being offered one last chance at salvation, he rejected it. He had gone past
the point of no return, and we see one of the most tragic scenes in history
played out. Complete rejection of Jesus Christ. He had every chance to repent,
yet he refused. Call it his Gethsemane, for as Jesus cried out to his Father to
take the cup and change the events, Judas also was to die the next day. Jesus
offered to die for our sins, Judas died for his own. So close, yet past the
point of no return. Where God strengthened Jesus, Satan strengthened Judas, and
he no longer could resist. So Jesus tells him to do what you are to do quickly,
he knows Judas has gone beyond the point, and will not return. And as John
tells us, “he went out.” It was night, and he vanished into it. Much like the
man who sold out for $5000, except Judas is known forever in scripture. And so
many of us who refuse to turn to Christ and repent are forgotten. But not by
God, and not by Jesus. Until your last dying breath the spirit is calling. Yet
we accept a quick bribe, rather than a long term salvation.
Jesus went to the cross knowing he would be resurrected. And when we face
death, by knowing him we will be resurrected also. Judas denied who Jesus was,
sold out to Satan, and is in hell forever. Past the point of no return, he
suffers for his sin, coming so close to the only one who cold save him. How
close are you to Jesus? Have you sold out and gone past the point of no
return? If you are reading this, you haven’t, for God is patient that none
should perish, and is keeping you alive, maybe only one more day to be saved.
As we wondered about my friend who took the bribe, “what did he profit by
selling out?” And what do we profit when we gain the world but lose our
soul?
Today is the day of salvation. Judas denied his, took his own life, his
guts exploding out when he hung himself. Jesus went to the cross voluntarily
for us, so we can have life. And not follow Judas to hell. Til death do us
part is more than a marriage vow, only in death do we not face heaven. Hell is
the point of no return. Heaven is a place of no escape also. We won’t want to
leave, yet there are gates on hell to keep those in who denied Jesus. They want
to escape...so here’s your chance to avoid hell altogether. Pearly gates of
heaven, or gates of hell keeping you in. Your choice, Judas made his, I’ve made
mine. I chose Jesus....before my point of no return knowing when Jesus returns
I will go with him.. Resurrected. And the choice is up to you...and to
paraphrase Alba Mary, when I asked Jesus into my life, he said “OK, Mike.” Like
the Doobies sang, “Jesus is just alright, oh yeah!”
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com