“That’s true,” said Arnie. “But the hotel security wouldn’t fare well against a bunch of threehundred-pound pro athletes.”
“You’re right,” said Jordy, “but I’m more concerned that the environmentalists will go nuts, and the reason I’m worried about the Van Wezel is that their security people are all about eighty-five-yearsold!”
“Perhaps,” said Arnie, “we should hire some of our own security for tonight. I’ll check with the management at Van Wezel and see if they mind. I hope that I don’t scare the daylights out of them. I don’t want them to think we’re going to have a riot.”
A call to the Van Wezel resulted in an agreement that the performing center would have their entire security force on duty, but they preferred no outside help. They were confident in their people.
Evening approached, and the buses pulled up at the Hyatt for the short trip to the Van Wezel. The attendees had been advised to dine early, and to be ready to leave for the theater at 7:30 p.m. in time to get seated for the show, which was to begin at 8. Although Jordy urged the group to use the buses, there were many who expressed a desire to walk the short distance. At about 7:15, the four buses began making trips to the Van Wezel, dropping off people and coming back for more. The sidewalks between the Hyatt and the Center, just a couple blocks away, were crowded with a stream of meeting attendees, some very large and some quite small, but all seemingly in a jovial state of mind. A few of the walkers seemed to trace a zigzagging path as they headed north from the hotel, the victims of pre-dinner, dinner, and post-dinner beverages.
The entrance to the Van Wezel was jammed. Most of the meeting attendees had purchased tickets to see Kenny Rogers. He was popular with all the attendees, whether athlete or environmentalist.
As the group made their way past the ticket collectors and into the lobby of the performing arts center, a quite elderly ticket taker with a pronounced hearing deficit thought he heard someone say, “There’s Fat,” as he pointed to another line. He looked over in the direction the man pointed, and spotted Too Fat McCann in another line along with Chuck Barkey. The old gent couldn’t believe his eyes. He bolted from his ticket collection position toward Too Fat, leaving a long line of entrants standing there momentarily and then, as they realized they were in a dead-end line, struggling to merge with the adjacent line where there was someone taking tickets.
The tall, thin, white-haired, frail-looking, ticket taker pushed his way through the throng of people toward Too Fat and Chuck. Along the way he grabbed a program from one of the piles and, breathing heavily — almost gasping for air and waving the program and a pen in the air — he half lunged, half stumbled into the line in front of McCann and Barkey. In an excited, breathless voice he said to McCann, “Fats, Fats, may I have your autograph?”
McCann, stumbling back — the old gent was standing so close — said, “Certainly, man, anytime,” and began to sign the program.
“You wouldn’t consider one chorus of ‘Blueberry Hill’ would you?” wheezed the old man while Bernie was signing.
“What?” McCann blinked.
“ ‘Blueberry Hill.’ C’mon just a little,” urged the man.
Barkey laughed so loud that the burst caused the old guy to drop the autographed program that Too Fat had just handed back.
“Holy shit,” cried Barkey. “He thinks you’re Fats Domino! Come on Fats, just a few bars,” choked Barkey almost on the ground with laughter.
Barkey started, “I found my thrill” as McCann, stammering, began to try to explain to the elderly gentleman, who had retrieved his signed program and was now joyously waving it in the air, that he was Too Fat McCann, a football player and not the old singer, Fats Domino.
“Nah Fats, you can’t fool me,” said the elderly ticket collector, “I always been a big fan of yours.” But then, in a loud whisper he said as he got very close, “I understand, Fats. You’d be mobbed if you got recognized by this big crowd. Have a good time in the show. I won’t tell no one that you’re here. Thanks for the autograph.” And with that, he turned spryly and made his way back toward his post.
Chuck could hardly contain himself. He was doubled over with laughter as he tried to sing, “I found my thrill on blue . . .”
But he got no farther before he dropped on his hands and knees with laughter.
Too Fat just looked down at him, shaking his head.
The 500-plus meeting attendees that were flooding into the auditorium took up a significant portion of the seating. The theater reverberated with the chatter and laughter and loud calls from one section to another as people made their way to their seats. Many attendees made a quick stop at the refreshment area or the bar in the lobby as they headed into the auditorium.
Arnie and his group stood in the lobby of the Van Wezel observing the arrivals. They were a little concerned about the state of sobriety of a few and the hints of whiskey and beer bottles in the pockets of others.
“Just get me through this night,” Arnie prayed silently.
At five after eight, with everyone seated, the lights dimmed, a spotlight highlighted an announcer as he walked on stage, microphone in hand. “On behalf of the Sarasota Arts Council and the Van Wezel Performing Arts Center, I would like to welcome you to a night with Kenny Rogers!”
A roar went up from the audience. Thunderous applause filled the auditorium.
The announcer held up his free hand in a gesture to quiet the crowd, and he went on. “I would like to acknowledge the presence in the audience this evening of attendees at a very important meeting in Sarasota this week, the National Environmentalist Society.”
Once again the auditorium shook with applause and hoots, primarily from Arnie’s strange army of attendees. This applause lasted even longer than the initial burst. Arnie’s anxiety level increased significantly. This exaggerated enthusiasm did not bode well for an orderly evening.
Trouble began with the next announcement.
The announcer began, “Before we introduce Kenny, we have an opening act I think that you will enjoy —”
But before he got any further, someone in the audience shouted, “No. We want Kenny!”
And this was followed by a chorus of, “We want Kenny! No other act. No opening act!”
The announcer tried to regain control, pleading for patience and a willingness to wait a short time for Kenny Rogers and to give the opening act a break. Some in the audience, who were not part of Arnie’s meeting, and were generally very senior citizens, began to shout at the environmentalists to quiet down and show some respect for the opening performers.
A few shouting matches between members of the two groups ensued, but finally died down and the announcer jumped in. “I’d like you to give a big round of applause for a new young rock group from the Sarasota area, The Mad Dogs! Let’s put our hands together and welcome these young gents.”
The curtain opened to reveal six shaggy looking young men, four black and two white, with long scraggly hair and outfits that looked like they had accidentally landed on the performers during a wind storm. The group immediately broke into their repertoire with an ear-piercing volume of guitars, drum, trumpet, and saxophone and a lead vocalist who proceeded to scream a steady stream of nonunderstandable words. Additional screaming was provided by the rest of the group as backup.
Then the trouble got worse.
The entire audience, environmentalists and athletes, meeting attendees and senior Sarasotans, all began shouting.
“Get them off the stage.”
“They’re terrible.”
“They’re ruining my hearing aid.”
“Stop! Stop!”
Then someone threw a handful of peanuts at the group. Next, a wine cork bounced off the singer and candy bars bounced on the stage. At that point the curtain quickly closed and the horrible sound of the group was muffled and then stopped.
But the screaming and shouting of the audience got worse.
After a minute or so — although it seemed forever —
the audience turmoil was brought to a sudden halt when Kenny Rogers himself, guitar in hand, stepped out from behind the curtain. The audience became totally silent for a few seconds, and then burst into wild applause and cheering. “My, oh my,” said Kenny in his slight drawl, “you are a cranky audience. Why I almost got hit with a set of false teeth as I stepped onto the stage.”
More cheering ensued.
Kenny held up his hands. “Okay. Okay. Hold on.”
The audience quieted.
“You sure are a demanding audience. I’m almost afraid to perform.”
Additional cheering and applause came from the audience.
“But I’ll go ahead,” said Kenny. “Those poor young fellas you chased away will get a little more practice then they’ll do okay, but another time.”
“I’m afraid I am going to have to do a bit of a solo till they clean up the stage and I can bring on my group. So I’ll tell you what, let’s put that energy you all have to some productive use. Come on and pitch in and we’ll do one of the old favorites together. So put those hands together and get those strong voices going as we, together, do ‘Lucille’.”
The audience went wild as Kenny started to strum his guitar. Thanks to his willingness and stamina, Rogers provided a non-stop two hours of music, the last hour and a half accompanied by his band and backup singers who were finally able to take the stage. Kenny, during his solo half hour did “Lucille” and then “The Gambler” — twice. Each time the crowd enthusiastically sang along. After he was joined by the rest of the band they did a few of their lesser known songs like “Buy Me a Rose,” “Loving Arms,” “Let It Be Me,” and “The Kind of Fool Love Makes.” It looked like they were ending at this point, but incredible, prolonged applause encouraged the group to go on with “When a Man Loves a Woman,” “My Funny Valentine,” “Love Will Turn You Around,” and “Through the Years.” The crowd was totally mesmerized and very appreciative, cheering wildly at the end of each song and sometimes singing along or clapping to the rhythms.
During his last song, Kenny took his guitar and, still singing, left the stage and stepped down into the audience. He left the music to his band and backup group and began shaking hands as he walked through rows of spectators. He spoke with many of the athletes that he recognized but also took time to chat briefly with some environmentalists and other members of the audience. After a couple of songs he returned to the stage for a brief finale. A long, loud, standing ovation at the end resulted in two encore songs before the curtain closed. The crowd once again requested “Lucille” and “The Gambler” and they were not disappointed.
A very energized audience left the auditorium, many humming or singing their favorite Kenny Rogers tune. The meeting attendees headed back toward the hotels, some by bus and many by foot. Spirits were high but none were higher than those of Arnie and his committee. Another day complete and no major problems.
Pam said, “Thank God. Hopefully we are over the hump. Tomorrow night is the banquet and that will keep most of the people in the Hyatt.”
“Yes,” said Jordy, “that should be a little more controllable. No outsiders.”
“Yes,” replied Arnie, “but I won’t breathe easily until Friday morning when they’re all checked out of the hotel.”
“Well,” Melissa said, “I’ll breathe more easily when I get the feeling that every meeting attendee has left Sarasota and is on their way home!”
“Yeah,” I know what you mean,” said Jordy, and they all chuckled.
“Well, folks,” said Arnie, “go home and get some rest. Tomorrow is a long day and we have to be really alert at the banquet to make sure everyone stays happy and has a good time. So take your social host or hostess pill in the morning and be ready to shine. Good night. See you in the morning.”
Good nights were expressed all around and they each headed for their cars.
C h a p t e r 25
The meeting sessions on Thursday flowed as well as the previous day, and everyone seemed to be pleased. The presentations appeared to hold the mixed audience’s interest. Even Ed Mundhill had moved to a front row seat next to Rama Schriff, but the two didn’t say much to each other. A presentation by Nathan Adamson, an environmental engineer from a cosmetic company in California, described his work to reduce the non-hazardous waste at his company’s facility. The effort led to the replacement of a waste/scrap shredder with a compactor and a more aggressive recycling program.
Bill Gladly asked Adamson if a lot of cosmetics contained fragrances that were derived from bugs and if bug parts were in their waste stream.
Before Adamson could answer, Tony DiNardo shouted, “Maybe you basketball players should stop using makeup if you’re scared of bugs.”
Gladly retorted, as the audience applauded, “I was asking about the bug parts in the waste stream because I thought that it could be turned into a product especially for football players.”
This led to some additional applause, and then Adamson assured everyone that their cosmetics didn’t contain any bug juice or bug parts so all athletes could be comfortable with their makeup and cologne.
This got applause from both athletes and environmentalists.
Fred Sawyer, an engineer with a Florida citrus juice company, reported on the replacement of filter bags with a filter press to improve the quality of wastewater discharged from the company plant.
Dale Bowl of the University of Florida, followed Sawyer’s presentation with a commentary on the impact of wastewater on fish life in the Florida waterways and bays. He was very complimentary of the work done by Sawyer and his company. Bowl also talked about the “Red Tide” and what little was known about why this algae invaded the Florida shorelines so frequently. He also urged more research into possible preventive measures. He implied that the fishing industry, which suffered greatly as the fish were killed by this intruder, might be willing to fund some of the research. Some environmentalists from coastal states seemed keenly interested in this information and started a buzz.
An employee of the Sierra Club provided an impassioned plea for support of regulations to reduce or eliminate logging in federally owned forests, arguing that the value of the timber produced was miniscule compared with the environmental damage caused by the harvest. The speaker also hypothesized that bare areas in the parks encouraged littering and would turn these areas into “veritable trash dumps.”
This led to some lively interchanges between the speaker and audience members, some of whom favored the ban and others, who thought that logging was valuable both commercially and as a way to refresh the forest. Some suggested that rapid replanting would prevent the “trash dump” concern.
And then, of course there were many presentations on global warming and its effect on trash disposal. Some speakers claimed that elevated temperatures would hasten the degradation of trash at disposal sites and shorten the duration of the unpleasant odors caused by the decaying trash. Others argued the opposite. That is, the enhanced decay would cause more odor and greater danger of overgrowth of bacteria and other parasites, creating a health hazard. One speaker claimed that global warming would have absolutely no impact on any aspect of the environment or on the trash to which the environment is exposed.
This debate led the chairperson of the session, Sylvia Schuster, a professor of environmental studies at Humboldt University, to conclude, “All of this hot air must certainly have an effect on something.”
This got some chuckles from the audience but groans from the panel of speakers.
The trash talk workshops were loud, animated, and seemed to be enjoyed by all. The camaraderie within the group was beyond what either environmentalist or athlete would have expected.
The sessions ended on time, and everyone headed to their hotel rooms to dress for the banquet.
C h a p t
e r 26
Although the closing banquet was scheduled to begin with cocktails at seven, Arnie and his committee members arrived at six to check out the Grand Ba
llroom. They were thrilled with what the hotel staff had accomplished. Three well-stocked bars were set up on different sides of the huge room. Twisted silver foil strands were hung from the ceiling and glistened as a large mirrored ball rotated near the ceiling in the center of the room and reflected the light from four spotlights shining on it from high on the ballroom walls. The light color changed at fifteen second intervals adding a surreal feel to the room. Enormous floral arrangements had been placed in each corner of the ballroom and each table had a beautiful bouquet on an elevated stand so it didn’t prevent the guests at the table from seeing each other and being able to converse. On the one side of the room that lacked a bar, a long hors d’oeuvres table was set up and decorated although food had not been placed as yet.
“God,” said Arnie, “it’s beautiful. Can you believe we’re at the closing banquet? After tonight and tomorrow’s farewell breakfast it’s over!”
“Yes,” said Pam, “but I still can’t believe we are really pulling it off.”
“Oh man,” Jordy chimed in. “By noon tomorrow I think I’ll be in bed and spend a week there recovering. Hey Melissa, why are you so quiet?”
“I’m just in awe,” said Melissa. “With all the problems and the giant misunderstanding, I still can’t believe that everything seems to have worked. Everyone seems reasonably happy and the sessions certainly generated a lot of good discussion and interaction.”
“Yeah,” said Pam, “and we didn’t have to quell a riot, although I thought that on registration day that is exactly what was going to happen.”
“Yep,” said Arnie, “I guess we lucked out. Maybe we’re being rewarded from above for being such great people!”
They all laughed.
“Hey,” said Arnie, let’s break with our staid behavior and go over to the Boat House bar and have a pre-cocktail time drink.”
“Good idea,” said Jordy.
And the group headed out of the ballroom without noticing the back door open as three very large figures quietly entered the ballroom. C h a p t
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