This year's company awards trip was to Dallas. Never been there. When my family went skippin' across the USA in the car in the summer of 1968 ("Boooorn to be Wiiiiiiiild.......") we managed to miss the North of Texas completely. So there was that one PARTICULAR Dallas landmark we wanted to visit, of course. Also, it was going to be nice to finally be able to troll through company HQ and annoy the executives. Actually, some of 'em quite like me. I'm like a trained seal.

For some reason, they had elected to put up all us'n winners at a hotel AT THE AIRPORT--this will suck, I figured. When we're cut loose in a strange city we like to hit the sidewalks, y'know? Get a feeling for what the place really looks like, and you can't do that from inside a big limousine driven by naked women from Iceland, which is what I'm used to.

(Well, not really NAKED. They're driving a livery vehicle--they have to wear that HAT.)

So, not likely we'd be doing much FOOT from the airport, you see. And this turned out to be true, but it really wasn't much of a problem.

So here we are at the DFW International Airport on Sunday afternoon, after a flight of several hours, and wouldn't you know these idiots have managed to LOSE ONE OF OUR BAGS AGAIN????????? Every time....... every single solitary goddamned time the company sends me someplace.....at least one bag gets lost SOMEWHERE. This time, as it turns out, the bag did not even make it onto the plane. It got on the NEXT one, they said.

Well, not. It got on the THIRD plane after ours--and consequently, this one bag, yes you guessed it, the one with all the stuff we NEEDED, did not arrive at our hotel till well past midnight. No sleep, no rest, etc. Although it did make me kinda glad our hotel was at the airport.....that got me to bed about an hour earlier than I otherwise would have. Did, however, have to go down to the front desk FOUR times, you understand, acting just a tad uglier each time.....since, you understand, the airline had called me, you understand, and said the bag was "on its way over", you understand. For an hour and a half. From a depot, you understand, which we could SEE FROM OUR WINDOW, you understand.....

This assuring that we would doze our way thru most of the next day's speechifying and such. No matter. We managed to hook up with our former co-worker Cliff, who had been sucked out of NJ all the way down to HQ a year earlier--and his lovely wife Debbie, more about which and whom later. Sitting with them kept us more or less awake.....later Monday evening they would perform much the same function for us again, under very different circumstances.

You know the drill if you've read the prior travelogues: the first night (Sunday) they have the divisional awards, then you have the speechifying all day Monday, then the national awards banquet Monday night, then some sort of show or party. Then the first-level award winners, the next morning, get stuffed into a howitzer and shot back home.....it hardly matters, to them, what city they were in at all. They never SEE any of it. (I had that experience once, and only once, and I promised never again. If I can't reach the second level, I pray not to reach the first one either.) Nor do these poor miscreants get to bring a guest.....they have to go bunkies with some other miscreant, of the same sex as they......assuming that's determinable, which it usually is. Not always. I attended one of those Corporate Strip-Searches once.......or am I imagining that? I surely don't have any pictures.....oh well. Shudder.

Where was I??

Oh, yeah......the Monday night AWARDS BANQUET......they had flown in, just for us, a special treat. They had hinted about it a few months earlier.....a "national, Grammy-winning act"......I was thinking at the time that we were going to TEXAS and this could be REALLY REALLY BAD.......it was gonna be somebody in a Big Stupid Hat and brand-new blue jeans.....but, as it turns out, it was the Commodores.

(Sidebar: I believe the year was 1985. Maybe '86. Wayne, Record World Manager, had been shuttled off to a store in Rockaway, NJ....where, I believe, they needed a manager who could teach the locals How To Harness Fire. Think I'm kidding? Ever been out there? It's an unusual experience....you take Route 80 West and just keep a-goin'. Eventually all traces of civilization vanish. It's a pretty ride, don't get me wrong.......but there's nothing but highway and trees. Nowhere thru the tree-cover do you catch the fleetingest glimpse of any trace of civilization. This goes on for miles and miles. Then, suddenly, BANG--a mall. BIG ol' mall. BIG ol' parking lot. LOADED with cars. And people.

So, where do the people COME FROM????? We dunno. There's no trace of habitat around the mall. So, of course, we dubbed the locals "Mall People." They LOOK just like you and me. (Well, not like ME so much.) But we don't know where they come from. There's no houses. We surmised that they either live in caves or, worse, AT THE MALL. But that wouldn't explain why they need CARS.

Anyway, the sidebar continues, we go to visit Wayne at his new establishment. We arrive as he is teaching his crew about television, income tax and the Inclined Plane. They have a ways to go.

He wants us to have a look at a particular browser card. (Oh oh, sidebar within a sidebar: when we were all at Sam Goody in the late 70s, the company allowed store personnel to get LP browser cards made-to-order.....this after they had given up trying to keep up with Us Punks and our Newfangled Artist Names. So, of course, I ordered a Mike Fornatale browser card, which sat happily in the F's at the Paramus NJ Sam Goody until I left there....with the names of all Mike's LPs carefully embossed upon it, you remember 'em.....Eat Worms, Nazi Dog........Mike Fornatale And His Little Band, Live At His House...... I forget the rest. My prenatal work has not been properly catalogued.) ANYWAY......Wayne points us to the "Soul And Disco" (???) section..... wherein there is a company-created browser card which reads, honest, "COMMODOES." Maybe you think that's funny, maybe you don't.)

So, back to Dallas, and "hee dey is"....the Commodoes. It was horribly smoky, so several of us elected to stand out in the foyer, flanked by several portable Open Bars. I am so extremely knackered from the previous night's ordeal that I only have two beers and then switch over to Diet Coke. After all, I'll be driving the elevator back up to the room, and need to act responsibly.

Cliff and Debbie, on the other hand, are not so concerned about who's gonna be driving the elevator. Not stinking drunk, you'll understand. Just, as I say, not so concerned. And everything is very entertaining, with Debbie regaling us with stories about how she got this guy canned for this reason, and that guy canned for THAT reason.....when suddenly a Robustly-Shaped Individual hovers into view and says hello to Cliff. Apparently they had met on some awards cruise the company had had....at which virtually NO ONE needed to be concerned about Driving The Elevator, you'll understand. So now Cliff pulls Debbie over and proceeds to say something like, "Hey, you remember (insert name here), right?" Without further details. She does not remember. He insists that she does remember. She insists, vehemently, that she does not. This goes on and on, and we bystanders are all mightily entertained. The Robustly-Shaped Individual feels trapped but is smiling gamely, albeit lamely. Finally, after some stilted conversation, he leaves the area.

Debbie begins to launch ordnance. She's howling at Cliff, "What? Is it some sort of problem that I don't remember The Fat Man?" Mind you: she's smiling the entire time this is going on--a sort of exasperated half-smile--and we bystanders are, as noted, mightily entertained. "Who is The Fat Man???? And why to I have to DEAL WITH The Fat Man right now?? You wanna embarrass me in front of The Fat Man?? I don't remember The Fat Man!!!!"

At this point Cliff, of course, would like very much to have never been born. But, just as we can't tell if Debbie is really angry or not, we can't tell if the pained mumbles coming out of Cliff are apologies or further problems. Us, and Ralph DiFronzo the Answer-Team Coordinator (Don't ask. Nice fella though.) are having a grand old time witnessing the tableau. So is, no kidding, the company's Top-Top-Guy-Minus-One, Dave Edmondson, who is standing back by the wall grinning and shaking his head slowly.

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR ANOTHER WORD ABOUT THE FAT MAN!!!!!"

Now here's the part that's not quite so funny: that was the last time anybody saw them together. They've split up. Over The Fat Man. Apparently there was much more said, later on. We went to Dallas hoping to see a spot where history was made, and instead we saw history BEING made.

Curse you, Fat Man. And the horse you broke, riding in on.

The next day was our Day At Leisure, so we procured a car. I, of course, got lost trying to drive it back to the hotel from the Rent-A-Car Hovel, which is of course also in the airport complex. Me and airports do not get along.

Anyway, on this day we are to have our own lives free until I think 4:00, when we are to convene to be shuttled to some Dude Ranch for "dinner", (read: more drinking.) So we map out the locations of a few used record stores, as usual; a few bookstores, as usual, and of course JACK-IN-THE-BOX!!! But first, of course, we went to THAT PLACE......

I expected to be affected by it, but I also thought I'd be able to laugh it off afterwards. Nope. As long as I live, I will never be able to get the Evil Stink of that place out from under my skin.

I had not been aware that you can actually GO UP TO THE WINDOW AND LOOK OUT OF IT.......what a horrible, horrible sensation. And, as always, how interesting to compare your mental picture of something with the reality of it. Funny thing, this time.....my Mental Picture was spot on. Of the building, the street, the knoll.....all right where I wanted it. Where my picture fell apart was in the matter of the ENVIRONS. I had always pictured Dealy Plaza as being smack in the middle of a Cityscape, or at least what passes for a Cityscape if you're not in New York. But no. The plaza is literally the Last Chance Texaco......you're in the city grid, then BOOM there's Dealy Plaza, and suddenly you're metaphorically on the Long Island Expressway. How very curious. If those first couple of shots had missed, and the driver had hit the pedal hard, there would not have been another chance. They'd have been halfway to the f***ing airport.

So, my brain is trying to hurt me, as usual.....I'm having some really palpable flashes from all the Local Ghosts......not JFK himself but all the peripheral figures in the story, now all dead, are following me around as I take pictures like any other idiot tourist. But, unlike any other idiot tourist, MY evil brain is pelting me with Paul Cotton's voice singing:

I lived in no holy house but the Grand Hotel
The backstreets of this old town I know so well
Now my friend, I've got to go,
Please tell everyone I know
Say goodbye, bye bye Dallas, I can't stay
Shoulda been at the Palace yesterday
Bye bye Dallas, got to go....

...and suddenly this formerly innocent little ditty is chilling my s**t as it takes on a whole new shell, as it were. Had that damned song running through my head for the ENTIRE TRIP, could not shake it for an instant. How about that?

Well, we were running short on time, as TIME HAD STOPPED while we were in that evil scumsucking place.....so we skipped most of the planned destinations and headed off to one record store in particular, WAY out of the way of course, which purported to be one of the best such places in the entire Southwestern USA......and when we finally got there, of course, it was closed. Sign on the door spoke of some sort of family emergency or something, closed for THAT DAY ONLY. Which figured, of course.

But that's okay because we went from there to...... JACK-IN-THE-BOX!!! I'm sure I need not discuss AGAIN my all-encompassing Jack-In-the-Jones. So I won't. AND.... I bought two little Plastic Jacks for my dashboard, as spiritual replacements for the ones stolen out of my other car in 1991....... Oh, shut up, what do YOU know about Plastic Dashboard Jacks??????

So that evening we got on the bus which took us to a place called "Texas Lil's", a tourist-trap dude ranch. We were hoping to see Cliff and Debbie and find out how the Fat Man Bidness had ended, but they did not show up. We, of course, had no idea what was going on, and in fact did not see either of them for the entire rest-of-the-trip. So, although we had no idea of the carnage that had ensued, we were somewhat bummed that we had to endure this Not-Quite-For-US place without the company of other like-minded humans. So we sat around this big ol' hall and listened to what started out as a fairly promising country slash rock slash bluegrass band with real mandolins and fiddles and "evathang" ......but quickly deteriorated, as the crowd got more and more lit, into Just Another Atrocious Wedding Band From Jersey, But With Big Stupid Hats. They played all the songs you know and hate. They even played the @!!*$ Macarena, for crying out loud.

And I did.

We did have SOME fun, just so you shouldn't think it was a tortuous experience without a glimmer of amusement--goodness knows I would not wish to leave THAT impression. They had a HAYRIDE around the grounds, which we went on twice.....once 'afore sundown and once after dark. Through the woods and once around the compound, b'cracky. Then, back on the bus.....the FIRST bus.....and back to civilization.

The next day was the Day In Fort Worth. They had private shuttle buses to take us revelers to three general locales: Tandy Center (our HQ), the Fort Worth Stockyard District, and the Museum District. We concluded to skip the museum area, and go first to HQ to take the big tour, then spend the day at the Stockyards, where there's s'poster be some mighty fine eatin'. So we get off the bus at Tandy Center, go into the lobby to register for the tour, and....it's full. What? We were on the SECOND BUS out of about fourteen! Well, they done had plenty o'room on the SECOND tour, which was in the mid-afternoon. This would, effectively, kill all our plans for the day, but that's par. So we signed up for the afternoon tour--and, grumbling, headed back outside to catch the bus to the Stockyards, hoping there'd be enough there to keep us occupied till lunchtime.

Here's where my usual bad luck turns positively Fellini-esque. We get on the bus, about twelve or fourteen of us. One of the guys up front starts a conversation with the driver, who is from Dallas, as it turns out, and has never been in Fort Worth before. Well, no problem, right? He's shuttling between the three most obvious places in the city, and besides, surely he has a MAP.

Surely pigs have antlers.

This flaming retard gets us so THOROUGHLY lost....on NUMBERED STREETS, now.....that we fear we're going to end up like the Donner Party. We coax and persuade him to head back to Tandy Center and ask directions. He is, understandably, loath to do this, as he does not wish to look like an idiot. Thing is, he IS an idiot. So finally he goes back. He gets directions, and then heads off in the same circle AGAIN. After a short but convivial period during which we all pleasantly (honest) tried to help the driver find his way, we all start howling at the stupid bastard every time he makes another mistake. Finally, I suggest to him, politely, that he turn around and point his bus back toward Tandy Center before I hijack it, or words to that effect. Eventually, we get back there.

Now, here are the two poor Concierge Ladies sitting in the lobby...the same two ladies that just had to tell us we couldn't take the morning tour....and they see us storming in the door, heading right for them.

I, believe it or not, speak first. I vividly remember leading off with a big smile and saying, "I'm gonna try not to raise my voice now.....I know this is not your fault.....BUT....."

They were mortified, of course. They had some poor Security Bastard with a walkie-talkie run out and grab a Bus-For-Us....and he then grilled the driver extensively on his knowledge of the environs. The guy passed the test, and got us to the Stockyards...which of course, if you haven't already guessed, turn out to be about EIGHT BLOCKS FROM TANDY CENTER. How could they NOT be?

Postscript to Saddam Hussein's Bus Ride: about four or six of our original Donner Party stayed on the original bus, with the original driver, willing to give him one more chance. I am quite sure that there they remain; sad little piles of crusty bones, cameras still hanging around their necks, as the faceless Zombie Driver spits them in circles around Fort Worth.......forever. The Ghost Bus.

So, to the Stockyards. Home of....well, the stockyards, right? But also a lot of neat interesting stuff, cute little shops, and of course Billy Bob's....the "World's Largest Nightclub," which everyone of us Tandy-oids who has ever been to Fort Worth talks about nothing else but. Jesus. All it is, for crying out loud, is a Really Big Strip Joint, and frankly I am made queasy enough by Normal Size Strip Joints, and does my bride have any idea how lucky she is?? So we skipped Billy Bob's. Just us two, that is. EVERYONE ELSE went there, and bought a ton of Billy Bob Souvenirs and Memorabilia. In the late morning of a weekday. I dunno.

After we wandered around the main street and environs, we went to a truly fabulous little BBQ place for lunch....called Riscky's. I recommend it without reservation, and if you don't wanna take my word for it, http://www.risckys.com. So there. We even brought home two plastic cuppys with their logo, a big ol' Dead Cow's Head. In fact, I'm drinking out of one, I just realized, right now. Of course, this much fun could not last, and we ended up waiting and waiting and waiting for a shuttle bus to take us back so we could make the tour on time, and the damned bus just never came. Finally, one showed up, and we hoped we'd get there in time.

We arrive just in time for the tour, so we think. As it turns out, we....are......late. The tour groups are all leaving. Big groups, of twenty and thirty people. So they scrape together a final group, made up of us Bus-That-Never-Came stragglers. I'm fuming. But, unexpectedly, this turns out to be a real boon. Because there are only six of us, we get a much better tour and can actually interact with people that the bigger groups didn't get to talk to, and go into places where they didn't get to go. It was really quite a lot of fun. We saw all the executive suites, and all the guts of the operation as well. Including the studios where they make the training videos and such.

That evening, they closed the big indoor courtyard at HQ and had a "reception" for the entire group. With no alcohol--after several days of virtually bathing us in it. Everyone was all tuckered out and just sitting around, the dopey DJs couldn't get anyone to dance....it was extremely anticlimactic. Then we got on the bus and got back to the hotel without further incident.

So, to recap, we saw the place where JFK was killed, and we watched our friends' marriage end right before our eyes. Frankly, I would not be too shocked at this point to find out that the Fat Man shot Kennedy.