Let me start with this: Martin Streek was the most charming dude I ever met.
He could turn it on like THAT, no matter what the circumstances. There wasn’t a person on the planet that Martin couldn’t win over within minutes. He had a savage wit and an ultra-quick mind. No wonder he had been trying his hand at stand-up comedy. If by the grace of geography he’d have been born in LA, he would have had a three-camera sitcom on CBS years ago—probably after hosting Weekend Update on SNL for two years.
The guy lived to make people laugh and to entertain. He was energized by groups and crowds and absolutely fearless about interacting with anyone. Small wonder he made a career of being a nightclub host at places like NRG, Fever, the Kingdom, the Phoenix, Whiskey Saigon, Joe and Velvet Underground. If you ever went to any of these clubs over the last 20 years, you danced to Martin’s beat.
I first met Martin in the fall of 1986 when I got the all-night shift at CFNY—which, for the current generation, was the original name of 102.1 the Edge. At the time, he was running something called the CFNY Video Road Show, which travelled from school to school, college to college and university to university playing video dance parties. (I know, I know: it sounds so quaint now, but back in the day, it was a big deal.) CFNY announcers like me hosted; Martin drove the truck, played the videos and looked after the road crew.
We covered a lot of Ontario together, including a gig where I fell off the stage in mid-sentence at a school in Shelbourne. Or the time we came across the gangs armed with butterfly knives at an inner city school. Or the post-show 3am chowdowns at truck stops and hotdog stands. I can honestly say that Martin was the first member of the staff to make me, this scared, naïve mullethead from the Prairies, feel welcome in Toronto and part of the ultra tight-knit CFNY family.
I often admired and even envied Martin’s Peter Pan existence, something that I told him many times. While everyone around him grew up and got old, Martin always seemed to be 22 years old. He never lost that enthusiasm that most people outgrow halfway through their third decade. “How,” I asked, “Do you do it?” Martin would just shrug and smile.
Trust me when I say that Martin never did anything by halves. When he committed to something, whether it be a band, an activity, a cause, a project or a sport, he did it to the absolute extreme. These passions included (but not restricted to) the following:
• Snowboarding (Especially at Whistler)
• Skateboarding (He’d even skate to work.)
• Following Tool around North America (I’m sure he was on a first-name basis with Maynard.)
• Getting so close to Nine Inch Nails that he got text messages from the band
• A variety of charities that required much time and effort.
• School visits (He was often first to volunteer.)
• Organizing parties (He did an office Christmas party and that involved booking live entertainment.)
• Running (He went from not being able to run around the block to doing 10K)
• Healthy eating (In the last three years, he shamed me with his devotion to nutrition)
• Skydiving (No, seriously. He liked jumping out of planes.)
• Halloween costumes (One year, he showed up at work dressed up as the Scarface movie POSTER. You had to see it to believe it)
• His cat, Steve, who stayed with him for 20 years. When Martin had to finally put him down, it was the most painful thing he had ever had to do. He took three days off work.
When I was program director of the Edge, I invited Martin to become part of our music committee. After all, he was on the front lines in the clubs at least three times a week. He actually saw crowd reactions, so it would stand to reason that he have input into what the station played. So every Wednesday, he’d attend our music meetings to offer his opinion on what songs should be added to the Edge playlist. His opinions were strong and his arguments often very persuasive.
When I left my post at the Edge in the summer of 2008 to join another part of the company, I went from being Martin's friend and boss to just being his friend again. And over the next year, because we were still in the same building, we ran into each other often.
The last time we spoke, we were at the Nine Inch Nails/Jane's Addiction show back in June. We joked and laughed and argued about the NIN set list and whether or not Jane's was going to play "Ted, Just Admit It." He seemed strong and in good spirits. When I slipped out just as the encore began, I slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile. He smiled back. I had no idea that would be the last time I'd see him alive.
And yes, Martin also had his demons. They’re none of your business.
Wherever he is now, I’ll bet that he’s on a snowboard with 100 inches of fresh powder on a 10,000 ft run in front of him. At the bottom is his literary idol, Hunter S. Thompson, waiting with a pitcher of fine gold tequila.