Schmoozing with the celebs at Concordia gala

By: FRANK MICKADEIT
(OC Register - May 23, 2005)

My wife and I waited in line Saturday evening at Concordia University's scholarship fundraiser to have our picture taken with the event's emcee, who happened to be the woman my wife invites into our home every New Year's – Stephanie Edwards.

Listening to people ahead of us tell Stephanie how great she looked and how much wit she brings to KTLA's Rose Parade broadcast, I was thinking that while that is true, I wanted to cut through the small talk.

I weighed two options. First one: "Steph, do you ever get so hammered on New Year's Eve that when the alarm goes off at 4 a.m. you're tempted to say, 'Ah, the hell with it. Let's see if Bob can make the All American Donkey and Mule Riders seem vital – I'm taking a sick day'?"

But I went with my gut, which was to tell her about how in 1978, I had gotten fired from my job, was on academic probation at a junior college, got up most days around noon and was in danger of having my mom evict me. I waspulling down $44 a week in unemployment, so it's not like I was a total bum, but there aren't many scenes from that era I'd put on my personal highlight reel.

The only channel I could get on the black-and-white TV in my bedroom was the CBS affiliate out of Santa Maria. Every day about the time I was debating whether I should expend the energy to fully wake up and possibly go make a quesadilla, I'd turn on this daytime variety show that featured seven young men and women, one of whom was Edwards. (Another was Tom Chapin– Harry's brother.)

The show was called "Everyday." They did comedy sketches and played music, and I don't know what it was about that dumb little show, but I loved it. But I was one of the few; it got cancelled, forcing me to look for work.

The shock-surprise on Edwards' face when I told her this was genuine. I'm not sure whether it was the notion that anyone would remember a daytime show that ran for about a year almost 30 years ago, or that a total stranger would share this pathetic episode from his life, or that she would encounter such an individual dressed in formalwear at a fundraiser for a fine Christian college. Whatever, that moment alone was worth the tux rental.

Ken Norton, the former heavyweight champion, was at our table, sporting a black cowboy hat and a diamond in his ear that I put between three and five carats. It may have been even larger, because everything about Norton is so big he makes everything else seem tiny. Like how even your normal-man-size hand disappears into his like a toddler's when you shake. How even a full-size Stetson looks like a beanie on his massive head. He also was amazingly nice to all the people who stopped by to chat. My wife asked him if he'd seen "Million Dollar Baby" and what he'd thought of the fight scenes. I wanted to ask Norton if he thought he still had enough left to kick Hilary Swank's ass, but I knew that would bring a swift kick to my leg.

Pat Boone didn't wear leather, as I'd hoped, but rather a classy white dinner jacket and a great tan. He sang "Love Letters in the Sand." Watching him would hardly be rare, since he's sung it a million times. But watching Ken Norton watching Pat Boone sing "Love Letters in the Sand" – that's ... well, that's something. Norton sat stoically, his face never betraying whatever was going through his mind as Boone crooned, at one point launching into a whistle solo. Should I lean over and whisper in Norton's diamond-studded ear, "So, how many times have you seen him?" Did I want to live?

My favorite voice of the night belonged to Concordia student Matt Preston, who did a honey-coated tenor solo on "Earth Angel" during a revue of '50s music by a student ensemble. And boogie-woogie piano by musical director Rob Blaney evoked "The Killer" himself.

I had to wonder, though, what was going through Boone's mind as a sultry little vixen slinked around the stage doing "Fever" in a breathy voice. Wholesome entertainment today, but I daresay it would have been banned on a campus like this during his heyday.


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