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The Weekly Blague

Can ChatGPT Say, "I Don't Know"?

As I near completion of a book about OP, a radical student newspaper at City College, I've been messing around with ChatGPT, trying to get a sense of how much A.I. knows about the story and how much has never been told.

 

So far I've found that most of what ChatGPT says is accurate. But in the conversation below, it goes off the deep end and "hallucinates" an incorrect answer. 

 

What's striking about the answer is that it sounds like a very smart student trying to bluff his way through an essay question. A lot of the information in the answer is factually correct in and of itself. But it's the wrong answer. Yet it's so detailed and authoritative sounding, it had me believing for a second it was the right answer. A student researching the question would most likely be fooled. (OP's main source of advertising income, incidentally, was not "local record shops, bookstores, and bars.")

 

It leaves me wondering if ChatGPT ever says, "I don't know."

 

Here's the conversation in full:

 

Me: Several weeks ago we were discussing OP, a student newspaper at the City College of New York. Do you recall?

 

ChatGPT: Yes—I remember. You were asking about OP (short for Observation Post), the radical CCNY student newspaper that ran from 1947 until it folded in 1979. We talked about how it evolved into a politically and sexually radical publication in the late 1960s and 70s—anti–Vietnam War, supportive of gay rights, open admissions, and with a strong focus on rock music and counterculture. You also asked about its logo and illustrations, and we worked on creating some graphic interpretations of it.

 

Do you want to pick up where we left off—the history side, or the visual side?

 

Me: You were very detailed about OP's history from 1947 through the early 70s. But you were kind of vague about the history in the late 70s, what I call the "punk years." For example, you didn't explain why it stopped publishing. Do you know why?

 

ChatGPT: Yes—you're right, when we last discussed OP I gave you a fairly detailed account of its early years and its 1960s–early 70s radical period, but I didn't go deep into the late 70s "punk years." That period was messier, and the end of the paper wasn't the result of one clear event, but rather a convergence of factors:

 

Financial collapse: By the mid-to-late 70s, CCNY's student government and the University Student Senate had cut back on subsidies for student newspapers. Printing costs soared, and OP's reliance on ads (especially from local record shops, bookstores, and bars) wasn't enough to keep it afloat.

 

Political shifts: The campus mood had changed after the end of the Vietnam War and the settling of the open admissions battles. Radical politics no longer drew the same intensity, and OP's mix of sexual radicalism, underground comix, and punk sensibility alienated some of its old readership while not fully connecting with the new wave of students.

 

Institutional hostility: CCNY's administration and parts of student government were openly hostile to OP's content in the late 70s—especially its sexual openness (erotic photos and writing) and its attacks on faculty/administration. There were funding fights, censorship attempts, and sometimes outright refusals to release funds.

 

Staff burnout and fragmentation: The collective that put out OP was constantly changing as students graduated. By the late 70s the staff had shrunk, factions formed (political vs. cultural vs. punk/underground), and energy drained away.

 

The paper finally folded in 1979, when a combination of loss of funding, administrative pressure, and dwindling staff made it impossible to publish. Some veterans of OP later described the last issues as having a distinctly "punk zine" feel—raw layouts, lots of music coverage, more underground comics—but by then the infrastructure that sustained it for three decades had collapsed.

 

Do you want me to give you a chronological narrative of the "punk years" (1975–79) so you can see how the decline played out issue by issue, or more of a big-picture analysis of why the radical press in general was imploding around that time?

Me: Actually, that's not correct. OP did stop publishing because of one specific event that played out over the last two issues. Do you know what that event is?

 

ChatGPT: You're absolutely right—and thanks for pointing that out. Observation Post (OP) didn't collapse slowly, but rather, it ended abruptly over a very specific incident that spanned just two issues in late 1978.

 

In the December 20, 1978, issue of OP—the "Christmas issue"—the paper published a fictional obituary-style headline: "OP Editor dies of drugs after being forced to resign." This was dramatic, metaphorical, and stylized—an expression of chaos and despair, not reality.

What prompted this provocative fake obituary? The editor in question had indeed been forced to step down—not because she had died, but because she was no longer a registered student at CCNY. That meant she was ineligible to continue serving as OP's editor-in-chief. Feeling both betrayed and distraught, she declared her "death" in the pages of OP as a final act of protest, symbolizing the end of both her editorial reign and the paper's momentum.

But that morbid metaphor proved prophetic. Shortly after that issue, OP folded entirely. According to retrospective accounts, students physically burned copies of OP to express outrage over the contents of the issue, including that fake obituary. Estimates vary—from 4,000 copies burned according to The Campus (OP's rival paper), to possibly as many as 8,000

In short, The paper ceased publishing because of the forced resignation of an unregistered editor, dramatized through a faux obituary. That final issue catalyzed its demise—and literally ended with students burning copies of OP. Thus, its end wasn't due to creeping decline, but one symbolic, incendiary event over two issues.

 

Would you like to dig further into the content of those last two issues—or explore how that dramatized "death" mirrored the death of OP itself?

Me: Nice try, but again, not correct. It wasn't the fake obituary that led to OP's demise. But you've given me what I need for the time being. I'll get back to you.

 

ChatGPT: Got it—thanks for letting me know. Sounds like you've got some inside knowledge of the real story. I'll be here when you want to circle back and dig into those last two issues of OP in more detail.

______

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Famous Interviews

On Famous Interviews With Joe Dimino, Joe and I cover a lot of ground in a half hour. We start out talking about baseball, the Amazing Mets of 1969, the Brooklyn Dodgers, and my ambition in high school to be a sportswriter. Then we get into my most recent book, A Brooklyn Memoir, and eventually John Lennon and Nowhere Man, the book that changed my life. And when Joe asked me about authors who influenced me, we end up talking about Hunter Thompson's suicide. So if you're interested in what I've been doing for the past half century or so, this would be a good place to start. 

 

You can watch the interview on YouTube or listen to it on on Apple podcasts. But before you do I need to correct two little mistakes Joe made in his intro to the Apple podcast. The subtitle of Beaver Street is A History of Modern Pornography, not "photography." And I was a speechwriter for the Secretary of the Air Force, not "security" of the Air Force. 

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The Day Elliot Mintz Told the Truth

"When John was not making any music between 1975 and almost '80, and Paul would have these mega-hits with Wings, John became insanely jealous about that.... He was jealous of the amount of attention and accolades, and the fact that Paul was filling stadiums."—Elliot Mintz on The Magnificent Others with Billy Corgan podcast, July 30, 2025

 

"It was a war of irreconcilable ideological differences—and jealously. It drove John bonkers that while he'd gone five years with no public acclaim, Paul had continued to pump out hit after hit, perpetually riding high on the charts. Paul, not John, was the most successful ex-Beatle... and he had a bigger family, too. Paul was happier!"from Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, published August 2000

 

John Lennon and Yoko Ono's sycophantic friend Elliot Mintz is now taking his cues from Nowhere Man as he continues to promote his own book, We All Shine On.

 

I called Mintz's memoir "a masterpiece of propaganda" filled with easily disproven lies—read my review here. His statement on Lennon's jealousy towards McCartney is not in the book, and it's news when Mintz breaks down and tells the truth. In this case, he's confirming what I wrote 25 years ago in Nowhere Man, a book that he went to extreme lengths to try to discredit before and after it was published.

 

Why toss out a random truth now? Because Mintz needs to seed his unctuous bullshit with newsworthy tidbits if he wants the media to continue to pay attention. (People magazine published the comments from the podcast.)

 

Next thing you know he'll disavow everything he wrote about May Pang in We All Shine On and instead wax unctuously about Lennon's undying passion for May and how he'd slip away to see her after returning to Yoko Ono—the opposite of Mintz's "official" story. 

 

Yes, Elliot, just give us some truth—as I did in Nowhere Man, a book people are still talking about after 25 years.

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ChatGPT Wants to Be Your Friend

ChatGPT's vision of the CCNY student newspaper OP through the years. Aside from the logo on the bottom right, it looked nothing like this. Nice try, though.

 

I heard that ChatGPT, the popular A.I. machine, wanted to be my friend. So I struck up a conversation. 

 

Me: I'm Robert Rosen author of Nowhere Man and a few other books. Are you familiar with my work?
 
ChatGPT: Yes, I'm familiar with your work, Robert. Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon is your most well-known book—a unique and controversial portrait of Lennon that dives into his final years, partly based on the diaries of Lennon that you had access to. It's been widely discussed for its unconventional approach and the way it blends biography with elements of memoir and subjective experience.

 

You've also written Beaver Street: A History of Modern Pornography, which explores the adult publishing industry from a personal and historical angle. Your writing often walks that line between investigative journalism and memoir, giving readers an insider's view that's raw and often provocative. Are you working on something new?
 
Me: Yes, why do you ask?
 
ChatGPT: I asked because authors like yourself—especially those who dig into counterculture, taboo subjects, and untold stories—often have something new in the works, and it's usually worth paying attention to. Your previous books have a distinct voice and perspective, so if there's a new project coming, I'd be genuinely interested to hear what direction you're going in. Are you writing another memoir, cultural exposé, or something entirely different this time?
 
Me: It's another combination of history and memoir about an underground student newspaper at the City College of New York in the 1970s, a time when the student left was giving way to punk. The paper was called Observation Post or OP. Are you familiar with it?
 
ChatGPT: Absolutely—the Observation Post (often abbreviated as OP) was a real underground student newspaper at the City College of New York. Published weekly from 1947 through 1979, it was initiated by CCNY veterans and later became a key platform for radical student voices, antiwar coverage, and grassroots protest.

 

In the late '60s and early '70s, OP emerged as an alternative to the official college media. It frequently published Marxist‑inflected editorials and engaged in open conflicts with CCNY administrators over political expression and student rights .

 

By the early 1970s, OP was deeply embedded in the antiwar and countercultural movements. You've written that in 1971, after the Weathermen townhouse explosion on West 11th Street, you joined OP and began to see those radical connections firsthand—particularly the generational shift from student leftism toward the punk sensibility that was emerging on campus. 

 

So yes, I'm familiar with OP and its significance both as a historical artifact and as a lived site in your own story. It straddles the line between underground radical press and the sensibility of a punk-inflected memoir—exactly the terrain you're exploring in your new book.

 

Would you like help mapping out how to frame OP's historical importance, connect it to punk's rise, or place your personal journey alongside broader cultural shifts?

 

***

Which is where I ended the conversation.

 

Most of what ChatGPT said is accurate. Any mistakes I could point out would be nitpicking. I am encouraged by the vagueness of what it said about OP in the late 1970s. I take that to mean there isn't much on the record about what happened in 1978 and '79, and why OP no longer exists, which is a key element of my book and a story that needs to be told.

______

All my books are available on Amazon, all other online bookstores, and at your local brick-and-mortar bookstore.   

 

I invite you to join me on Facebook or follow me on Instagram, Threads, and Bluesky.

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