GREG AND JENNY AND THE MOB

       The microphones stopped working. The PA system crashed and our control over the screaming mob vanished. There was a moment, like an inhale, when the roar of the mob held its breath in pulsating anticipation to hear our voices again. But the plug had been pulled somehow, and the disconnect was intolerable. The collective voice of the crowd began to rise again into a tumultuous and terrifying several-thousand-headed-beast. Ancient Scylla reborn and magnified a thousand times. Trying to shout over the screaming madness was pointless. They had come to see us, to take away a part of us, and if they couldn’t hear us, they were going to stampede the stage to get us.

       In the holding area with my co-star and colleague, Kim Delaney, and still unseen by the thundering crowd, we looked at each other with expressions that said, “Is this for real?” We had headlined a small number of these personal appearances before, usually a couple of hundred fans in attendance at the opening of a new mall, or an amusement park, or what have you, but we could tell the size of this crowd, this day, was beyond anything we had experienced before. We were known as “Jenny and Greg”, on the popular ABC daytime drama, All My Children, bringing in upwards of twenty million viewers a day. Our storyline was essentially a modern day ‘Romeo and Juliette’, the triumph and tragedy of young love. Within a few months, it was obvious ours was going to be a successful storyline. We were beginning to learn how successful.

       They had flown us down to Tampa from New York to help promote an event on the local ABC affiliate talk show. It was the official opening of a new monster mall. Organizers had been running commercials several times a day advertising the event, including big ads in the local papers: COME SEE JENNY AND GREG!!! I enjoyed all the fuss and attention. It was first class everything. When the limo delivered us to the ABC studio, the entire staff was on their feet when Kim and I were ushered in. From there we waited in the Green Room filled with gourmet appetizers and drinks.  The producer stopped in to briefly go-over the interview questions. Then, Kim and I went onto the set for the ten-minute spot. A feeling of cockiness slowly crept in as I fielded the fawning, softball questions the host threw my way.  I was beginning to feel very comfortable with interviews, it was quite a treat to realize how popular I’d become. I began to think I was a natch for this kind of thing. All I had to do was look around at all the excited faces turned in my direction to know something special was happening. At the end of the local ABC affiliate interview, I turned to the camera and said, “Come out and see us tomorrow. It’ll be fun!” And they did. Boy did they.

       The mall organizers had erected a temporary platform on one side of Center Court that served as the stage. It was raised about three feet high from the floor of the mall, approximately twenty feet wide and ten deep. Two chairs had been placed in the middle of the stage, with a cordless microphone on each.  Back behind a large curtain where we couldn’t be seen, we were escorted to the stage entrance, accompanied by two mall assistants and two uniformed security guards. The MC, already on stage, was rallying the audience with teasers: who do you want to see?

       JENNY AND GREG!!!

       Who do you want to see?

       JENNY AND GREG!!!

       Who?

       JENNY AND GREG!!!

       I can’t hear you. Who?

       GREG AND JENNY!!!!!!!

       The crowd chanted louder and louder. Peeking from behind the curtain I was stunned at what I saw. Center Court was a massive three-tiered commercial cathedral, packed shoulder to shoulder with screaming faces, bodies squeezed tightly together, without an inch to spare and ringed above by still more people overflowing dangerously at the balcony railings. This wasn’t the two or three hundred fans that we had experienced at previous venues. This was easily over five thousand people, maybe six. I turned and looked at Kim and saw her eyes beginning to fill with fright. I looked at the assistants and the two security guards and their eyes also were beginning to fill with fright. Raising my voice, I asked a security guard, “How many people were you expecting?” And he said, “Maybe five hundred, at most.”

       Then we heard the MC from the stage shout, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a big welcome to…… GREG AND JENNY!!!!! And the crowd went wild, screaming even louder than before. Taking Kim’s hand, I led us up onto the stage and the mall simply exploded into an insane frenzy. A massive surge pushed towards us, pressing against the feeble stanchions lining politely in front of the stage, barely suggestive of a barrier.  We waved at the crowd and walked over to our chairs. Picking up our mics, the screaming began to modulate slightly, as we waited for the audience to calm down. A wave of people stood before me, mostly college and teenage girls, many middle-aged women, and a few men scattered throughout. Finally, I tapped my mic to test if it was working, and finding that it was, I yelled, “Hellooo, Tampaaa!!” And they burst into another ear-splitting cheer. Kim spoke into her mic, “We are so happy to be here!” and again they roared. I said, “Wow, Tampa. You are amazing!” And they screamed again. This exchange of hyped-up dialogue went back and forth for a minute or so, and I noticed that every time Kim or I spoke into our mics, the audience would quiet down to hear what we were saying. It was a kind of crowd control, and within a short time I felt we had this monster handled. But just as I was beginning to feel an excessive level of self-importance, the sound system cut off.

       The bewildered body of feverish humanity waited impatiently for us to resume playing the celebrity game. They paid the price of admission by showing up and they expected a full show. But there couldn’t be a show if they couldn’t hear us. I turned to look behind us to see what the organizers were doing to fix the problem, but they were already in frantic panic mode. The two security guards were throwing their hands in the air, shaking their heads, and looking behind them at the two female assistants, who looked even less prepared to help with the mics. The crowds’ roar escaladed every second. Perhaps they thought the event was over. I didn’t know. But when all they saw was our lips moving, they quickly grew agitated. This wasn’t part of the deal. They had come to take possession of us, in some surreal way, and it was collection time. When the connection was suddenly severed, they felt gypped. And the beast didn’t like that.

       From the far side of the Center Court all the way to the cordoned-off barrier five feet from the lip of the stage, this sea of people began pressing forward, slowly undulating ever closer, howling in a frightening madness. Realizing there was no hope of stopping the onslaught, I reached over and took Kim’s hand and we walked hurriedly to the point where we had entered the stage. But the assistants blocked our retreat, yelling that there was no exit out the back. The only hope was to muscle our way through the massive mob and get to the elevator in the middle of the court to the right of where we were. If we could get there, the elevator would take us up to the safety of the mall offices on the fourth floor. With the two security guards in front of us, the MC, and the two assistants at our sides and back, we plunged into the roiling insanity and began pushing through the crowd.

       Like linebackers in a football game, the uniformed guards pushed through the human obstacles that were slapping and punching and grabbing and pulling, resisting our every step, never letting up their earsplitting screams and shrieks. We were being crushed from all sides, making desperately slow headway through the mayhem. Arms and hands and even feet were thrusting into our little circle of protection, touching, and squeezing whatever parts of our bodies they could reach. Someone grabbed and yanked my hair, pulling me off balance and I stumbled to my left, and that’s when someone else grabbed my crotch and I instinctively doubled up my fist and raised my arm to strike out, but it was an impossible thing to do. People pulled me left, right, slapped my back, and grabbed my shirt. I heard Kim, barely, from my right side, cry out from time to time. A cacophony of sound made it impossible to hear anything. Clothing, paper, and other unidentifiable items were thrown at us. The organizers seemed to have tightened up around Kim. A death-defying scream came from the top balcony, heard, somehow, above all else: “GREG!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!! Glancing up I saw a woman lifting her shirt, baring her naked chest for all to see.

     Our little phalanx continued to push through, and then, unbelievably, against all odds, we finally made it to the elevator. It took 10 minutes to go 90 feet. The guards pushed us into the elevator and pushed out the fans trying to enter with us. The doors closed and we began our ascent. The elevator was glass walled; the crowd went berserk at we rose above them. We watched people run for the stairs. As we gained distance from the mob below, we began to relax a little. All of us were in a state of shock and relief. Nobody said a word.

       The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, and we were rushed a short distance to the mall offices. Once inside, we were greeted by office personnel standing behind their desks looking wide-eyed and opened mouthed. Then we were hustled down an inside hallway to a windowless back room. There was a table and a few chairs, and shelves with stationary supplies along the walls. We sat down, caught our breath, and listened to the office manager explain that we were safe. All we had to do was wait it out and everything would calm down soon. He said that the Tampa Police had been alerted and were on the way. He then left the room, closing the door, leaving his secretary to keep us company. The security guards remained stationed at the front doors. All was suddenly quiet. The secretary said, “We have bottled water back here somewhere. Would you like some water?” 

       Fifteen minutes went by, and nothing happened. We exchanged small talk and sipped our water. We were in a storge room, cut off from the world, in solitary confinement, at the end of a maze of hallways, hunted by six thousand maniacs, thirsting to tear us apart limb from limb, protected by two underpaid and unarmed mall security guards.

       Then, like the rumbling of distant war drums, the sound of the mobs’ deepthroated roar began to pierce faintly through the wall. They were coming again. They had figured out where we were. They had charged up the stairs and spread out in search of us and had zeroed in on our hidden location. Within no time the roar was back full throttle. They were on the other side of the wall in a hallway outside of the mall offices. The mob began pounding on that thin wall dividing us, insanely, hysterically, still screaming our names. The pounding grew louder and louder. Things began to bounce off the shelves, a stapler, pencils, pens, typewriting paper. The room seemed to shake. We were cornered and trapped, again. I looked at Kim and she had tears in her eyes. There was no escape.

       The door burst open, and the office manager quickly slipped into the room. He leaned against the door, catching his breath. His mouth was opening and closing, but no sound issued from his lips, and his eyes bulged incomprehensibly. Finally, he croaked out, “Don’t worry, everything is under control. The police have arrived, and they are on their way up here. We are going to be fine; we’re going to be fine.” With a hideous smile pasted on his face, he cautiously opened the door and peeked down the hallway, then left us alone again.

       The pounding on the wall and the deafening howling continued for several minutes, and all we could do was try not to imagine what the mob would do to us should they break through into our final sanctuary. They wanted their pound of flesh, and they were determined to get it. We weren’t Kim and Larry. We were Jenny and Greg, and to them, they owned us. And in the frenzy of anonymity, they were no longer themselves either, but a mob that could devour with impunity.

       But then, the riot from outside the walls began to soften. The cavalry in the form of the Tampa Police had arrived to save the day. The monster was retreating.

       We waited in the back room for another half hour, to be sure. And I remember thinking just the day before how much fun it was to be the center of so much attention, to be so well adored. It occurred to me that maybe ‘fun’ wasn’t the right word.