I threatened to tease you with a story from my book-in-progress, so I'm posting my Nelson Rockefeller III story for your review. And I welcome any and all proof-reading suggestions.
Nelson Rockefeller III
I’ve had the opportunity on many occasions to meet and hob-nob with some well-known political figures. One of the wackiest times was a booking we had in Arkansas at the ranch of former governor, Nelson Rockefeller III. The Kingston Trio had been invited surreptitiously by the Gov.’s wife, to surprise him at his birthday party. The reason, we were told, was that the Trio had always been the Gov.’s favorite musical group.
We flew into Little Rock and were met in grand fashion by the Gov.’s private limousine service. They drove us quite a ways out of town to a beautiful agrarian complex on top of a well-placed hill overlooking the rolling Arkansas landscape. We entered the grounds and were driven to a section of buildings that was, in actuality, a private motel. We each had our own room, and the accommodations were on a par with any Holiday Inn.
About 7:00 someone picked us up and drove us to the conference hall, where the party was in progress, with about 100 people in attendance. (Bob Shane claimed, years later, that Bill and Hillary Clinton were there, but we weren’t tuned in to who they were at the time.) We came in through the kitchen (welcome to show biz) and, at the appropriate moment, we took the stage and did our show. The Gov. was duly surprised and elated at having his favorite group give him a private concert, and a great time was had by all.
After the show we were all invited up to the main house for cocktails. The main house sat at the very top of the hill with a commanding view of the entire countryside. The interior was all oak paneling and antique furniture, decorated in a southern genteel style. At one point a few of us found ourselves in the study with the Gov. He went over to the bookcase and picked up a beautiful hand-tooled leather case. He opened it up and extracted an exquisitely crafted throwing ax, wrapped carefully in a soft flannel cloth to protect it from scratches. He explained that this was a numbered art piece produced by some well-known ax-grinder and was probably worth a couple thousand bucks. We all admired it carefully, taking care not to leave any fingerprints on the gleaming stainless steel blade.
Bob Shane took his turn with it and, grabbing it by the handle, made a motion to throw it. Luckily, he didn’t let go, but I think a few hearts stopped for an instant. So the Gov. says, “Would you like to go outside and throw some functional throwing axes?” Of course our machos kicked in and we all said, “Let’s go.”
The Gov. grabbed a couple of his kids and a ranch hand and we went out behind the house to this big field. The ranch hand drove up in a hay truck and put the headlights on high beam, illuminating a huge stump of a tree turned on its side. They brought out five or six axes similar to the one we’d been admiring in the house, but these were well-worn with many a throw under their belts. We took turns throwing these axes at the stump until we all got thirsty and decided to go back inside.
As the party was winding down, Bob announced to our host that, since we had an early flight, we should probably head back to our quarters. The Gov. goes into his study and comes back out with the leather case containing the numbered art piece throwing ax. With great ceremony and awe-filled thanks for years of the best music in the world, he gives it to Bob Shane as a memento of their meeting. We were all kind of drop-jawed, but Bob accepted the gift gracefully and we said our goodbyes.
When we got back to the lodging compound, Bob invited us all into his room for a drink before bed. We’re all sitting around laughing about some of the hoi-polloi we’d just been hanging with, when Bob pulls out his gift from the Gov., opens the case and unwraps the beautifully hand-crafted numbered art-piece throwing ax. He kind of looks it over for a minute and then all of a sudden he just flings it at the wall. It was a good hit and the blade buried itself in the drywall about two inches. We all sat there in shock for an instant and then we just erupted in cheers and laughter. Someone pulled it out of the wall and tossed it across the room into the opposite wall. Then we each had a turn with it and by the time we were ready for bed, Bob’s room was pretty much shredded wheat.
The next morning we were met bright and early by the private limousine service and they drove us back to the Little Rock airport. When we got into the waiting room inside the terminal someone asked Bob where the ax was. He said, “Oh, I left it in the limo.” Huh???!!!
So, to summarize, we had come to the Nelson Rockefeller estate as heroes and had been honored with a very valuable gift as a measure of the Governor’s appreciation for our artistry. As thanks, we destroyed his property and then rudely left his now ruined and value-less numbered art-piece in his private limousine for him to find. Do I need to mention that we never played in Arkasas again?
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