By morning, the question became unanswerable. You couldn’t rewind live TV. You couldn’t search a database. You could only replay the 1.5 seconds of grainy footage in your mind until it turned into something else entirely.
So next time you scroll past a blurry meme or a glitching YouTube upload, pause. Ask yourself: Was that 87?
In the pre-internet underground, channel 87 (or, more accurately, the mid-band around 87.75 MHz on analog cable) was the fabled home of the Z Channel , Playboy’s Night Calls , or regional independent stations that ran R-rated movies after 1 a.m. Because broadcast standards varied by city, channel numbers became oral folklore. In Boston, it was 68. In Chicago, 44. But the mythic “87” stuck as shorthand for any forbidden frequency. was that 87
And yet, something has been lost. The thrill of the near-miss. The shared mythology of the almost-seen. The whispered question that bonded late-night conspirators.
In the chaotic, low-resolution world of late-night VHS tapes and scrambled cable signals, three words captured a generation’s collective anxiety: “Was that 87?” By morning, the question became unanswerable
You turn to your friend or your sibling. Heart racing. Voice low. The Code of the Scrambled Signal “87” wasn’t a year. It wasn’t a score. It was a legend.
Then it’s gone. Replaced by a test pattern or a preacher selling salvation. You spin the fine-tune knob. Nothing. You could only replay the 1
Even if you don’t know the answer, you’ll understand the feeling. David L. is a writer based in Portland. His first memory of channel 87 was a 1986 Buick commercial that turned into a werewolf.