Poe-try

7/1/1994

It is the only true sign that summer is upon us. Forge the rising mercury…the afternoon thunderstorms…the mini-skirts…thongs…baseball…vacation plans and the drop-tops moving down the main drag. The question that truly puts an end to spring while marking the beginning of the dog days…the six words that put it all into perspective: “Are you going to the Poe?”

For nearly a quarter-century, Bobby Poe has held his convention in Virginia. This includes his attempts to move the thang to Atlanta. A lot of slick operators convinced Bobby that he should go big-time and take his convention to a larger, more centrally located city. They said it would be better. Attract more people. Make more money.

They were wrong.

The Poe just doesn’t play in convenient surroundings. You can’t just drop in. You have to want to go.

How did this all come about? Why are we arguing the value of conventions? To understand the phenomenon of the Bobby Poe convention, you must go back in history. It just so happens that 23 years ago, Bobby decided to invite a bunch of his friends down for a gathering.

Because that’s what it was. And that’s what it always has been. A gathering of friends.

In the beginning, it was the Bobby Poe Convention. That didn’t fit. It became, simply, the Poe. And it was good. It has endured the test of time. It’s kind of like the Masters. Well, maybe not.

Those who are quick to condemn the Poe because “nothing is ever accomplished” should have to file a report on the major accomplishments at other conventions. Has anyone ever stood up during the middle of a panel discussion anywhere and said, “I understand. I have been wrong. I have seen the light. I will change my ways beginning first thing tomorrow?”

Conventions, all conventions, are more often judged today on what they don’t accomplish. And most don’t accomplish a lot.

Where the Poe differs from the others is that it never promised a lot in the first place.

It wasn’t so very long ago that there were only two conventions a year: Gavin on the West Coast and the Poe back East. Now, it seems like there is a convention every third week or so for something. I mean, are we gathering next week in New York for the New Music Convention or are we massing for a Conclave in Minneapolis? Or is there a video deal in Miami or that computer interaction in Las Vegas? Maybe it’s a Dance thing in New Jersey, or a Blues forum in Memphis or a Jazz-t-thon in New Orleans.

And who is speaking at these things? President Clinton? Tipper Gore? The head of the FCC?

Who cares?

The Poe has always been special. It wasn’t who was speaking, but who was there. It wasn’t who was on the panels, but who was hanging in the halls. It was then, and it is today, a long weekend hang with no pressure. I gave us all the time to get to know others in the business.

Oh, there was a time when the Poe was a rite of passage. You hadn’t grown up in radio or records until you had experienced your first Poe.

Who can forget the nude couple who descended on the escalator at two o’clock in the morning while being egged on to greater exhibitions by a crowd of revelers? Or the time the breakfast meetings were cancelled and the bars opened at 7 am? What happened to the hookers who roamed the halls and the aging beauties in evening gowns who attended the gala cocktail party?

And the Poe always brought out the best characters. Was that Bill Drake holding court in the bar? Buzz Bennett spending the night in the elevator? John Fagot with the pig’s head? Long John challenging somebody…anybody to a fight. There’s Scott Shannon saying he doesn’t know anything about ratings except how to make them go up. Didn’t Bob Wilson get invited early in the launch of R&R? He did have a few drinks and tried to play guitar with a local band. I know, because I was with him. And the ghost of John Long lives at every Poe with the sightings of a chubby streaker chugging through the lobby with a lighted tail of toilet paper stringing behind. Was a winner ever determined in those fire extinguisher Olympics? What about the MD who was found in the grocery store shopping in her nightgown? And can anyone forget Jim Davenport, who always brought an excuse from his wife allowing him to fool around “just a little?”

And before you start complaining that it’s all about the good old days, it was only last year when two label executives got into a screaming match in the hotel lobby, innocent comments made in two panel discussions made headlines (and problems for the individuals) and the boa made his first appearance.

Long before it became fashionable, Bobby started a golf tournament. Why? Because some people wanted to play. That’s all it takes at the Poe. Why are you doing that? Because someone wanted to do that. It’s that simple.

Pretense? There’s none at the Poe. The most egotistical radio or record person will eventually be brought down in flames. That bar is a nasty place for phonies, especially after midnight.

So what if Bobby nominates everybody for everything? So does Gavin. And who wasn’t proud when they won? Those who have given an acceptance speech at one Poe or another read like a Who’s Who of the radio and record industries.

Maybe there aren’t quite as many people who attend as before. The truth is that there aren’t as many people in our business as before. Real people. The Poe still draws more than those regional or specialized deals that pop up in other places.

In a couple of years, we’ll be celebrating the 25^th anniversary of the Poe and many feel it may be the last. If that happens, I’ve got a feeling we’ll miss the camaraderie and the good times. We’ll miss the opportunity to make complete and total fools of ourselves without any repercussions because we can blame it on the Poe.

I’ll certainly miss the longest running industry poker game in history. And since I’m down a couple of dollars, I’ve got only one thing to say to those of you who want to be critical of the Poe:

Shut up and deal.