Lee Geiger

The middle of the road is where the white line is – and that’s the worst place to drive

Robert Frost (taken from Meggan Knott’s yearbook photo)

Saturday, November 1

3:00pm – It’s time to get in the game.

I text a handful of my Claremont McKenna College (CMC) classmates from the Class of 1982 and inquire where the pregame action is happening. Jon Stott, a former CMC athletic marvel who switch-hits at golf, though not very well from either side, responds in minutes and advises I motor over to the sportsbook at the Mandalay Bay hotel. It’s easy to love Jon.

I begin my trek from the Staybridge Suites, a low-budget playpen chosen for its location next to Allegiant Stadium, home of the Las Vegas Raiders. It’s also next to an In-N-Out burger, which I’ll take under advisement should room service be required. The good news is, instead of the scorching desert blast furnace, it’s a mild 70 degrees. The bad news is it’s a 30-minute hike, even though the gold-toned Mandalay Bay rising like a Phoenix from the other side of the freeway looks like you can reach out and touch it. As we will come to learn during this weekend in Sin City, the only thing that is closer than it appears is trouble.

3:30pm – Cruising through the Mandalay Bay casino brings back many memories, most of them bad. Some, really bad. Did I ever tell you about that time I played blackjack with Dennis Rodman? Another time, perhaps.

Holding court at a sportsbook table is Meggan Knott. A sassy woman with a sly sense of humor whose silver hair matches her silver-tongue, Meggan could easily play a bawdy member of the British Royal Family in a Netflix docudrama. But whenever she flashes one of her patented mega-watt smiles, served up with her mischievous been-there/done-that eyes, you’d bet the mortgage Meggan was a well-respected madam who proudly made her fortune franchising a string of high-end bordellos. Many words come to mind to describe Meggan, but my personal favorite is unstoppable.

This mini-class reunion doesn’t happen without Meggan. Yes, Ken Valach’s and Chris Townsend’s life-is-short generosity cover the expenses of food, booze and entertainment, but Meggan is the engine that makes it happen and the glue that holds everything together. Over fifty folks are here this weekend, and Meggan’s phone bleeps incessantly from a constant stream of questions/requests/whines asking who/what/where/when from people who have already received a dozen emails from Meggan detailing who/what/where/when. Such is the job of the unpaid CMC cruise director.

Meggan invites me and two other sixty-something dudes up to her room, which should surprise no one. Meggan is a bodacious broad, and we three members of the male species possess as much fear of her as admiration. Meggan instructs us to scoop up some CMC swag to take to her car, and we wisely do as we’re told. It’s been 43 years since graduation, but any CMC man who picked up his diploma in 1982 knows never to question an order delivered by a female classmate, a courageous woman of strong character who had the balls to enter an undergraduate institution then known as Claremont Men’s College.

6:30pm – Ken Valach is CEO of Crow Holdings Development. It’s safe to assume the job pays more than minimum wage. He’s also one classy guy, as exhibited by his decision to sponsor tonight’s soiree at a private room at Del Frisco’s Double Eagle Steakhouse. Ken can’t be here this weekend because his additional duties as Chairman of the CMC Board of Trustees require his attention. Something about hiring a new school president. It’s too bad Ken’s two jobs require hundred-plus hour work weeks, cuz the pulled pork is outstanding.

Joining us tonight are Karen Jacobson and her son Benjamin Schwartz. They are the widow and son of Jerry Schwartz, a popular, gregarious classmate who recently passed away. People go around the room telling stories of Jerry, none better than one shared by Cindy Schwartz. Seems Cindy and Jerry shared a mailbox for a time at CMC by virtue of having the same last name, and Cindy marveled how Jerry’s Playboy magazines would arrive at the same time as her law journals. No doubt they both read them for the articles.

I share a table with the one-and-only Dan Debevec. Dan is a human exclamation point, and I try to wrap my head around what it must have been like when he and the erstwhile Meggan were married. The energy produced each morning around their breakfast table must have rivaled nuclear fisson. Though now divorced, Dan and Meggan talk to each other like two pals who’ve shared a million secrets. Their friendly banter coordinating this weekend’s events, as well as the mutual respect for each other, makes me proud to know them both.

8:30pm – It’s the bottom of the ninth inning and the Dodgers’ Andy Pages makes a jaw-dropping catch to send Game 7 of the World Series into extra innings. The fact I’m trying to discreetly watch the action from my phone while Jackson Browne plays a string of wonderful tunes is not lost on Kevin Ennis and Court Houseworth, who are sitting to my left and right. My behavior is shameless, selfish, and despicable. But it’s Game 7.

11:00pm – After a late-night Bataan Death March back to Del Frisco’s to find her car, Meggan drops me and Joel Jones off at our hotels. Ahead of her is a half-hour drive home and an email she needs to bang out with details about tomorrow’s football game. Meggan is a certifiable beast.

Sunday, November 2

Noon – I’ve been to my fair share of Raider games when they played in Oakland, and it comes as no surprise there are copious amounts of weed being smoked in the parking lots. But while there are plenty of fans wearing black Raider jerseys, most are adorned with the names of players who are dead or played decades ago. There is definitely something missing here–namely a criminal element. The Raider fan base has indeed matured, and you no longer feel the need to carry a weapon.

4:30pm – Raider fans don’t come any bigger than Chris Townsend, Founder and President of Townsend Public Affairs (TPA), and it’s because of his largesse and connections that we have the mother-of-all suites to enjoy the game against the Jacksonville Jaguars. The Raiders have just scored in overtime, and they’re going for a 2-point conversion to win the game. Allegiant Stadium is rocking, and the tension is thicker than a microeconomic textbook. The stage is set for a dramatic come-from-behind win on a play that will take place right in front of our suite, a masterpiece of football strategy that will get the vaunted Silver and Black their third victory of the season.

Or not.

6:00pm – Jon Stott left his wallet in a Vegas taxi, thus leaving him without a driver’s license to get thru airport security. He manages to get a copy of this passport and birth certificate, items he’s sure will satisfy TSA. But just as I’m removing my jacket and belt, I look behind me and see the TSA agent pointing Jon in the direction of Canada. Godspeed, Mr. Stott.

9:00pm – I toss my backpack in the trunk and start the journey home, exhausted but unbothered by the two-hour delay to Oakland. It has been a fun and memorable weekend, definitely one for the books. I am blessed to be included in what has become a tremendous Class of 1982 tradition. While driving back to Moraga, I take a moment to thank the grace, humility, and camaraderie of my fellow CMC classmates, the extraordinary generosity of Ken and Chris, and the Herculean logistical efforts of Meggan.

I conclude this missive with two thoughts. Go Stags. And Green sucks.