Back in the last century during one of the graduations for the School at the Medinah Temple when staff then was "volunteered" to assist with the proceedings, my role/job/task was to police the backstage area and direct traffic as new graduates who received their diplomas walked offstage. Of course, one of the speakers receiving an honorary degree that day was her YOKOness and believe me, she put on a show worthy of her best Fluxus performances. First, in the middle of her acceptance speech, she excuses herself to potty, I mean, interrupts the flow of the entire ceremony to take a whizz. How great. Later she horns in on Bill Viola, the keynote speaker, to interject a nonsequitor or two enough to frazzle his speech. And finally she involves the whole audience in participating in a time-based conceptual piece she announces midway through the festivities. Now that is a bona fide graduation.
But of course, I digress. The real gist of the story is when a fastidious middle-aged fellow immaculately dressed in a blue blazer with gold buttons, from the looks of it, an Ivy League type, approaches me to request, "Listen, young fellow, can I ask a specific favor of you?"
No doubt, I snap to with, "Yes, sir."
"I need for you to go onstage and tell Yoko that her party will be waiting for her in the backroom backstage."
"Yes, sir."
"But, and this is very important, you must escort her to the backroom personally, understood?"
"Yes, sir. I understand, sir"
"Please do that as soon as possible."
"Of course, sir."
So when a lull occurs, I strut out onstage and nonchalantly whisper like a Secret Service agent into Yoko's ear the instructions that I've been commanded to pass along especially the part of my job to be her personal escort. Well, the ceremonies finally end and I again strut onstage and offer my arm to a weirdly discombobulated yet frail Yoko who dithers along, weaving and bobbing as we walk back to her "party". The woman is blabbering away as if stricken senile the three or so minutes it takes to go backstage and I'm literally hauling her along. Well, we arrive and first thing I hear from the guy who asked me this favor is, "How are we feeling, Yoko?"
"I'm fine," she answers in a sort of singsong but faraway tone.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"It's going to be a long ride. Do you need to use the bathroom?"
"No."
"You absolutely sure?"
"Yes."
"Yoko, please use the washroom NOW."
"Okay."
Wow, I am flabbergasted. Then I realize that this guy is her manservant and she must be drugged up for whatever reason to be treated like a three year old.
The gleam shines less brightly.