One month later, Bonnie was nominated to be president of the Association, and so was I. When the election came, I won by one vote.
For two years it was “Us
vs.Them” - A democracy of concierges against a small but powerful group wanting nothing to do with people who, in their minds at least, were not true to the title. Not worthy to sit at their table. In later years, I would shudder to think of what could have occurred if the results of that election had been reversed.
One thing was for sure: From that moment in the boardroom on, we were to be a Concierge Association and not the Hotel Concierge Association.
All are equals still, and friends to boot.
By 1997, Bonnie, Paul, Kylie had all moved away, out of Philly and on to other careers, or so I’m told. Harmony has pret- ty much reigned over our group ever since. And although I had a hard fight along with these others in trying to make it that way, I have no regrets.
Sometimes, putting up the good fight can make for a better world, and in our case, a world where hotels, office buildings and condos all sit happily along the same welcoming street.
FADE IN/FADE OUT
The black limousine pulled up to the curb. Five coworkers and I emerged as the driver held the door open for us. Flash bulbs popped and necks craned from the many that crowded along either side of the red carpet as we sashayed along it, heading toward the theater’s main doors.
“This is so weird!” said Sharon, a cowork- er whispered to me.
“Relax. Let’s just pretend like we really are somebodies, at least for this moment.”
This was the U.S. premier of the M. Night Shyamalan motion picture, “The Sixth Sense.”
Night (as he liked to be called) had invit- 80 July August 2011
ed us - the property management team of his West Conshohocken-based (a suburb of Philadelphia) office building - to attend his special event.
In later years, more movies would be released with premier tickets going to the truly important people in his life, but with this picture, we got to be there to witness the amazing moment that was about to unfold.
When Night had moved into his office suite a year earlier, he was pretty much a- nobody; a nominal director with two for- gettable films under his belt. (Remember his mid-’90s film starring Rosie O’Donnell? Neither does anyone else.)
But by the time that final “Sixth Sense” reel had finished unspooling on that muggy night in early August, all of us attending the premier knew something major was in the process of happening. Something really big had just occurred. A seminal moment in film history.
Later, Night greeted the Mayor, the press and his new-found fans in the lobby while a young, sweet-faced Haley Joel Osment stared on with actor Bruce Willis by his side. I took it all in. It was very sur- real.
What started out that evening as the drop of a pebble in a cinematic pond quickly became a rushing tidal wave of success for the young auteur. His movie (and its famous gotcha ending) made motion picture history. Worldwide acclaim soon followed.
Later...
It wasn’t all that uncommon to see Bruce or Mel Gibson pass by my lobby desk. The strangest part for me though was when I would get a call from Night’s assistant, to come down to see him. After all, I was his concierge so I had to remain professional, and put aside the fact that the man was suddenly the Alfred Hitchcock of the corporate center.
More movies followed and so did the sycophants, showing up to get a look at the director. Then there were the bud- ding screenwriters.
“Hi, I drove down from Quebec to give this to Mr. Shyamalan” said a shabby, un- showered vagabond, the requisite manu- script was thrust at me - “Please tell me where his office his so I can give it to him personally.”
Or there was - “I’m a close, personal friend of Mr. Shya- er, Shamo, um, Shammy, um...”
Another hapless soul was about to face rejection.
Didn’t any within the scores of next-great- directors who beat down the corporate center doors in order to see “The Man” understand that M. Night wrote all of his own stuff? I would smile weakly with pity while the security guard dismissed each of those dejected scribes.
Night came and then he went, moving his office to his home in the country. It was fun while he lasted with us - living in the tail of that Hollywood comet, at least for a little while.
FOR LOVE OR MONEY
When I came on board as a concierge, it was with a relatively small commercial real estate company called Acorn Development Corporation. I had no ten- ant relations budget to speak of back then; spending money on gifts for clients was not what Acorn was all about, but during those days, it didn’t matter.
Between the unique amenities they allowed me to provide such as dry cleaning pick up & delivery, on site oil changes, auto detailing, shoe shine serv- ice, and so on, along with the more typi- cal concierge services one would expect. I was able to offer a lot, including event planning services - all at no extra cost.
In 1998, Acorn sold its ten office proper- ties to a group out of Chicago called EOT*. My position was soon absorbed into that deal. I had suddenly gone from small potatoes to working for the nation’s largest real estate investment trust.
Along with the company portfolio and its hundreds on staffers, being with EOT also
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