"Oh," Lawrence says into the mike. "Everyone here seems to know you. Are you famous?"
"My family is in the sausage and egg business," he replies. "And our line of sausage is quite well known in this part of the country."
After the polka, Lawrence says, "Cissy, this is the part of the country where people still have manners, and after a dance, you escort your partner back to his seat."
They're about halfway back to his seat when Lawrence calls out from the stage. "...And if you're nice to him, maybe he'll slip you his sausage!"
The crowd roars with laughter. Lawrence's expression is a mixture of delight and bewilderment. He knows he has said something wrong, but no idea what.
Saturday, 9:00am, - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
We've just taken off and I'm seated next to singer Gail Farrell. I'm dreading whatever culinary disaster the flight attendant is preparing to torture us with today, when I notice the direction of the light changing in our window. A quick look out tells me we're making a 180 degree turn, and that we have gained no altitude.
"Something's wrong," I tell Gail. "We're heading back for the airport."
Just then the captain breaks in on the address system, informing us that there is a problem with the landing gear. It seems that after takeoff it wouldn't retract fully, so to "unstick" it, they lowered it again. Now he says that the "locked" light has not come on.
From the cockpit, he can't see the gear, so he's returning to the airport so the tower can give him a visual.
This announcement causes some concern in the group, but no one's panicking yet. From the belly of the Viscount we can hear a series of grinding noises. The pilot comes back on.
"Folks, the tower confirms that our landing gear is down, but we don't know if it's locked. We've tried several times to bump the gear into the locked position, but the light still doesn't come on. This means that either the landing gear isn't locked, and will collapse on touchdown, or a ten-cent light bulb in the cockpit is burned out. We just don't know which is which. We're going to have to make an emergency landing here in Pittsburgh."
Gail is now squeezing my arm so hard she's cutting off the circulation to my wrist.
"We're gonna die!" she gasps. Okay, so maybe a few people are starting to panic...
We make several passes over the airport, and I can see fire trucks and emergency vehicles lined up alongside the runway. Again we hear the pilot.
"We can't see the runway, because if the gear is locked, we'll slide in the foam and lose control of the plane. Those emergency vehicles you see will pace the plane on touchdown, and be right beside us in case of fire should the gear fail."
We all assume the emergency position. As I nick my head between my knees, I can see Lawrence back across the aisle. He is sound asleep.
Saturday, 2:00 pm, - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
After making what turns out to be a routine landing, the flight crew and ground mechanics have determined that the problem was the ten-cent light bulb in the cockpit. The bad news is, we're still in the airport in Pittsburgh when we should be in Niagara Falls. There's no way that we can have the show ready to go by 8:00 tonight. The good news is, the Beechcraft is in Niagara Falls with our luggage.
Saturday, 3:30 pm, - Somewhere in the air above the Eastern US
Lawrence, Jack Imel, accordionist Myron Floren, Irish tenor Joe Feeney and I have commandeered a Cessna, and are flying to Niagara Falls. We're closed in by thunderheads on all sides, and the ride is getting more turbulent by the minute. "It could be worse," I think to myself. "So I'm in a small plane with a strange pilot flying into a raging storm. At least there's no shrimp cocktail."
Saturday, 8:00 pm, - Niagara Falls, New York
Lawrence, Myron and Joe take the stage. Lawrence explains the predicament, and he, Myron and Joe entertain the audience for the next 40 minutes until the rest of the orchestra shows up. While they perform, Jack is walking around the stage setting up tape marks for the performers. Again, no one seems to notice or care.
Monday, 9:00pm, - Binghamton, New York
We are informed that the Viscount is too heavy to take off. It seems that the Binghamton airport is on top of a small mountain, and has a fairly short runway. Before we can get airborne, we would run off the end of the runway and down the mountain. It is decided that we should dump half our fuel to lighten the plane, which will force us to make an unscheduled fuel stop en route. We watch as the Beechcraft takes off. Once again our clothes should arrive ahead of us.
