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Miami Beach, May 1959.

It's past 2am on the last night of the annual pop music disjockey convention and everyone's in high spirits.

Disjockey Alan Fried sits alone at a banquet table drinking a bourbon. It's his fourth at the night. Maybe his fifth he's lost count.

Not that it matters, it's all free, paid for by his friend Morris Levy and Morris' label, Roulette Records.

All around him, Fried's fellow DJs are schmoozing and celebrating. And why not?

They're in a pastel colored ballroom at the Swanky Americana Hotel, overlooking Miami's famous white sand beaches.

The Count Basie Orchestra plays on a massive bandstand and the liquor is flowing freely.

Fried makes his way back to the bar for another round. He should be sharing in the festivities, after all.

Next to Count Basie, he's the most famous person in the room. He practically invented the term rock and roll.

He has a hit TV show in New York and a syndicated radio show on WABC. And he hosts concerts and road shows that routinely sell out with big name headliners like Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis.

As he crosses the room, people he's never met call out his name and slap his back.

Each time, Fried manages a week's smile. No matter how many bourbons he drinks, he can't shake the worry.

Looking around him, he sees wads of cash openly changing hands. This is how the music business works.

Record companies pay off DJs with cash, gifts, and girls. In return, the DJs play their singles on the radio.

In the industry, it's known as Paola, and Alan Fried has taken plenty.

But for Fried, Paola is something done on the down low behind closed doors. This is way too brazen.

But across the room, his friend Morris Levy is all smiles and rock is laughter.

Levy couldn't be happier. Since launching Roulette Records lesson three years ago, he's already built the label into a powerhouse.

Levy is a bear of a man, well over six feet tall, with a gravely voice and hands like catchersmiths.

Half the industry is terrified of him, not because of his size, but because of his alleged mafia connections.

But to Fried, he's like a brother. He calls Morris by his Jewish nickname, Moisha.

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