Of Clipboards and (Future) Convicts

The killer as a young genius

My first job in marketing was at an independent music trade show. The show in question was started by my housemate, who saw an opportunity based on an underserved region, and his friendships with a great number of hustling indie musicians. That number included me, but I also held a couple of degrees, and the aggression taught to those who study journalism.

The show needed a lot of everything, and the job was different just about every day, because most of the work was done by volunteers. Organization was haphazard at best. Either I was listening to showcase submission tapes, arranging sessions, selling advertising and sponsorship slots, writing the directory, and so on, and so on. There was always something to do, always a fire to put out, and, well, I've got a motor. I wound up doing so much for the show that it led to my second job in marketing, because the lead sponsor of the show was impressed, and hired me away from it.

Anyway, my all-around fireman duties included talent relations, because music industry celebrities would much rather talk to each other than the public, and need a gentle amount of rousting to get them to conform to a schedule and get to their various rooms. At an event such as this, where the fans aren't just fans but incredibly desperate creatives who are trying to secure fame and fortune by impressing industry, getting them to and from various rooms is pretty much a nightmare. Which is why this advice is absolutely golden: carry a clipboard.

Why a clipboard? Because when you have one, along with the studied air of blue collar indifference and/or annoyance, you seem like someone who has Some Official Duty, and that's all you really need for a lot of real-world situations. I've walked past an inordinate number of security guards with nothing but a clipboard and a desire to not spend time explaining why there was nothing but blank paper on it. It doesn't work nearly as well as it used to, but it still works a lot. People think you are there to check on the electrical or plumbing. Anyway, back to the main story.

Twenty odd years ago, Phil Spector was universally regarded as a producing genius, as close to famous as any rock producer had ever been. We also knew he wasn't a very nice person, not at all, and that he liked to carry a gun to places where he probably should not. He was also one of the biggest names to show up for our show, and knew it. So he came late, with the limo dropping him right at the front entrance of the hotel, with the driver storming off because he had clearly offended someone in the process of getting there.

No security. No entourage. Just a famous and very scary recluse, in front of hundreds of people with demo tapes in their pockets and dreams in their hearts, and no one is particularly interested in having him get to his panel. We also know he's armed and Not Right. (Spector turned out to be all kinds of not right later, and was convicted of murder. He'll be behind bars for the rest of his life. Having met the man, color me not surprised.)

So I whipped out the clipboard, pretended I was at least a foot taller than I am, and decisively cut through the crowd, and shepherded Spector. We got through the crowd, with an awkward pit stop at the restroom (I got lucky and guessed the best right direction to get to one), and the panel proceeded without incident. Spector's limo came back some hours later, and he left without rancor. The trade show's attendees got the access they paid for, and not more.

A bluff, strongly presented, took down the hand and saved the day. Nothing went wrong, when so much could have.

Which, when you are doing event marketing, is about all you can hope for, really.

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