Roger, gauging his reaction to each and every compliment, dig and quip. Fortunately, by now he’s composed himself and is able to look grateful and humble and good-humored about the whole thing. The mayor, the senator, Teddy and others then take turns toasting and roasting him while the guests polish off their crêpes Martinique and roast tenderloin of beef. Finally, it’s Roger’s turn.
He thanks the usual suspects, lingering on his deceased mentor and boss, Jackie Vaughn, though moving on before he calls him the father he never really had. He takes a long breath and widens his stance. He’s been crafting this speech in his head since before the fair opened, figuring he’d wait until the final days to deliver it, yet this is the perfect audience. “As grand as it is, this is just a fair. One hell of a fair, but
just a fair
. We’re still such a young city, and pretty soon it’s gonna be important to figure out what we want to be when we grow up. Everybody has their own vision, but it’s clear to me that if we invest in downtown, the rest will follow. We need better schools and safer streets and less reliance on Boeing. We need swimming pools, a new aquarium, a multipurpose stadium. And we’ve gotta continue cleaning our lakes and give mass transit a chance. What I’m saying is that this fair can’t be the pinnacle of our community resolve, but rather an example of a new way of getting things done.”
Even the waiters are listening now, cradling bottles of champagne, not wanting to break the spell he’s casting. “We need to keepand preserve what we love and what needs to be kept, like the Market,” he says slowly, then waits out a few boos and grumbles. “We also need to seriously consider expanding this monorail up to Everett and down to Olympia. We need a city that lives up to its setting without losing its soul or this’ll soon feel just like any other impersonal western city. We need to strive to not only be a hub for world commerce, but for technology and innovation and culture too. What we have right now is a green light, and hopefully the inclusive spirit, to build a city unlike any this world has ever seen.” He scans the faces in front of him, most rapt, some confused, and a few people start clapping. “Wait a minute,” Roger jokes. “You think I’m done talkin’ already?” After a final flurry of observations and ideas, he realizes he’s on the brink of announcing that he eventually intends to run for mayor, but instead he simply raises his empty glass.
AFTERWARD , he’s hugging everyone, his faith in himself at least temporarily revived. He knows that a half-true rendition of his life story will now be passed around like brandy. How he waited tables at Vaughn’s while going to the university, then dropped out to manage restaurants for Jackie V., who made him VP and dragged him into his World’s Fair pipe dream once his throat cancer spread. How, the more meetings he ran, the clearer it became that he had the persuasive powers to pitch the dream. And how, after the governor appointed him fair president in ’60, his enthusiasm spread like an epidemic and he sketched the idea of the Needle on a cocktail napkin late one night. Amazingly, he still lives with his mother and is engaged to that knockout right over
there
.
He feels bigger than his daily self, as if, at this very moment, he could address and inspire thousands. Even Victor Rosellini shuffles over for a photo. As the owner’s arm settles across his shoulders, Roger realizes he’ll soon join the luminaries—the actors, athletes and politicians—whose autographed pictures hang on these walls. And that years later, he’ll walk in and wince at how young and confident he looked; or, worse, not find himself at all. Talking with three womenat once now, floating on whiskey, he feels their heat, the proximity of their breath, eyes, lips and breasts, the warmth and ease of their hands on his forearms. This anarchic desire to show
He thanks the usual suspects, lingering on his deceased mentor and boss, Jackie Vaughn, though moving on before he calls him the father he never really had. He takes a long breath and widens his stance. He’s been crafting this speech in his head since before the fair opened, figuring he’d wait until the final days to deliver it, yet this is the perfect audience. “As grand as it is, this is just a fair. One hell of a fair, but
just a fair
. We’re still such a young city, and pretty soon it’s gonna be important to figure out what we want to be when we grow up. Everybody has their own vision, but it’s clear to me that if we invest in downtown, the rest will follow. We need better schools and safer streets and less reliance on Boeing. We need swimming pools, a new aquarium, a multipurpose stadium. And we’ve gotta continue cleaning our lakes and give mass transit a chance. What I’m saying is that this fair can’t be the pinnacle of our community resolve, but rather an example of a new way of getting things done.”
Even the waiters are listening now, cradling bottles of champagne, not wanting to break the spell he’s casting. “We need to keepand preserve what we love and what needs to be kept, like the Market,” he says slowly, then waits out a few boos and grumbles. “We also need to seriously consider expanding this monorail up to Everett and down to Olympia. We need a city that lives up to its setting without losing its soul or this’ll soon feel just like any other impersonal western city. We need to strive to not only be a hub for world commerce, but for technology and innovation and culture too. What we have right now is a green light, and hopefully the inclusive spirit, to build a city unlike any this world has ever seen.” He scans the faces in front of him, most rapt, some confused, and a few people start clapping. “Wait a minute,” Roger jokes. “You think I’m done talkin’ already?” After a final flurry of observations and ideas, he realizes he’s on the brink of announcing that he eventually intends to run for mayor, but instead he simply raises his empty glass.
AFTERWARD , he’s hugging everyone, his faith in himself at least temporarily revived. He knows that a half-true rendition of his life story will now be passed around like brandy. How he waited tables at Vaughn’s while going to the university, then dropped out to manage restaurants for Jackie V., who made him VP and dragged him into his World’s Fair pipe dream once his throat cancer spread. How, the more meetings he ran, the clearer it became that he had the persuasive powers to pitch the dream. And how, after the governor appointed him fair president in ’60, his enthusiasm spread like an epidemic and he sketched the idea of the Needle on a cocktail napkin late one night. Amazingly, he still lives with his mother and is engaged to that knockout right over
there
.
He feels bigger than his daily self, as if, at this very moment, he could address and inspire thousands. Even Victor Rosellini shuffles over for a photo. As the owner’s arm settles across his shoulders, Roger realizes he’ll soon join the luminaries—the actors, athletes and politicians—whose autographed pictures hang on these walls. And that years later, he’ll walk in and wince at how young and confident he looked; or, worse, not find himself at all. Talking with three womenat once now, floating on whiskey, he feels their heat, the proximity of their breath, eyes, lips and breasts, the warmth and ease of their hands on his forearms. This anarchic desire to show
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