A Philadelphia Eagles fan dies, yet instead of making it into Heaven he gets sent to The Bad Place. Arriving there, he looks around and notices it’s com- pletely frozen over. The man immediate- ly breaks into cheers of jubilation.
“What are you so happy about?” The Devil asks.
The man gleefully replies: “The Eagles won the Super Bowl!” (ba-dum-bump *rimshot*)
For years, I would tell this joke to get a laugh from friends and acquaintances from out-of-town, especially those living in perennially-dominating pro football cities such as Green Bay and Pittsburgh. The unspoken punchline - Hell will freeze over when the Eagles win the Super Bowl - as funny as it appears, always hit too close to home for those of us living here, since Philly had never won the big prize in sports.
A city of chokers. Second bests. Underdogs…
To all you Cheese Heads (Packers fans) and Steel Curtain worshippers, I don’t have to tell you what this year’s van- quishing of the New England Patriots and our first-ever Super Bowl victory, in general, means to millions of Eagles fans.
Yet on that sunny Thursday in February, when we all gathered at the big parade to celebrate what turned into an almost- miraculous season (our best players got hurt early-on/The team was deemed “Underdogs” by the press and Vegas line-setters alike, throughout the play- offs and into The Big Game/The second-string quarterback took the helm to become a true American hero), it affected us all in and around “The City of Brotherly Love.”
On that Thursday, there was more joy and happiness in this city than ever before.
There’s no doubt that countless youth have been influenced by such an
incredible season of fortitude, resolve, and championship.
Who knows how many future Hall of Famers will reference the 2017 NFL season as the most important moment of their lives?
All this recent recognition toward others makes me realize how many people in my own world have helped me along in my career as a corporate concierge/ hospitality writer. Some took great time out of their busy days to try and guide me along. A small smattering of others seemingly sought to stifle my forward movement or tried to undermine me, whether it was on purpose or done so in latent fashion.
Whatever.
I’m grateful to them all - heroes and hin- derers alike!
So, for this issue of Mid-Atlantic Events Magazine, I tip my hat to the following guides. You’ve been my own coaches and quarter- backs through the years.
My Wife
Together since we were kids (we met at summer camp), Dana has always sup- ported my career path. That’s saying a lot, since the last quarter century has had me out so many nights a week or in another city or state or country for long periods of time.
Dana may not always be very happy with me for following my wanderlust-ing heart toward countless points across the western hemisphere while striving to raise two kids together - yet, she’s done so with sweet and loving understand- ing.
Please realize I’ve got this traveling jones pretty much all the time, the need to go-go-go. If there’s a press trip offered to me in Canada or Europe - or pretty much anywhere in between - I’m
gone. And after a youth spent reading the likes of sojourning novelists like Jack Kerouac, Jack London, John Steinbeck and other peripatetic souls, I soon found I had become just like they were, in spirit at least.
So, my #1 inspiration of all has always been my main supporter. Thanks for your understanding, babe! Thank you for allowing me to be me.
“Coop”
When I began my career in hospitality, in 1985, I was still pretty much a boy. Holding hotel front doors for guests and schlepping luggage at a large subur- ban Philly hotel, I was also like a rocket ready for takeoff, seeking influencers to guide me on my way toward wider pro- fessional orbits.
During my very first days on the job the bell captain introduced me to “Coop” (his nickname). We bellmen all had nicknames. I was somehow deemed “Cool” due to my appearing so sullen through those first shaky weeks on the job. Note: I was as far from cool as one could be. What “Cool” really meant to those guys was “Shy.”
Coop was a fellow bellman. Tall, suave; his shirts were always well-pressed and his shoes nicely shined. The handsome young man with the dark moony eyes struck me immediately as an immense- ly-talented engager. A fast-talker. He could have been one hell of a used car salesman: “Might I suggest this particu- lar restaurant? I know you’ll find it to be a lavish, lavish experience.” (Yes, Coop would really use the word ‘lavish’ super- fluously in a sentence.)
Even before the guest could respond, Coop would seal the deal - “I’ll make your reservation for 7:30pm. Oh, thank you for the kind gratuity, sir!” he’d say while stuffing yet another Andrew Jackson into his cash-filled pocket as I counted out a few meager bills of my own from that night’s take. Coop was one-of-a-kind…
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