by Mark Segal
After the show, four of us were scheduled to have dinner with Elton, but he was running a little late. We were told he wouldn’t be around for at least an hour. We decided to use our all-access passes and leave the comfort of Elton’s suite. Outside the suite was bedlam. People packed everywhere, many of them in costumes: aliens and all types of animals. But an equal number were quite simply not in costume. I remember one guy who wore nothing but a six-gun holster and a ten-gallon hat. Oh, and cowboy boots. There was no one way to dress—anything from white tie and tails to leather, latex, and fur.
Exhausted from the sensory overload, an hour or so later we returned to the dining hall. When we got there, Elton, now dry, embraced us. As we all posed for a photo, Elton whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, Mark, we’ll do this.” Then an idea sparked. One that I thought might really fascinate the star, whose song “Philadelphia Freedom” celebrated one of his favorite cities.
I had never done anything close to a megaconcert, but the idea began building in my mind as we flew to London to close the deal with Elton’s foundation. Except for Live Aid, nothing of this magnitude had ever been staged in Philadelphia. This wasn’t Mickey and Judy putting on a show in somebody’s father’s barn. This was a very big deal. For some reason, I wasn’t frightened by the job ahead.
Elton had already given me the okay in Vienna, so the meetings in London were working sessions to flesh out some of the details, though we still needed to iron out the contract. Elton arrived at one of the meetings with dogs in tow. As the plane took off from London, I looked at Jason, shook my head, and kept wondering what I’d gotten myself engaged in.
* * *
My father used to have a saying when he and Mom treated us to an all-you-can-eat buffet. I’d look at the array of food and begin putting every single thing I wanted onto my plate: mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, fried chicken, biscuits, and whatever else. The mound of food would be sky high. Dad would come over with his reasonably loaded plate, smile, and remark matter-of-factly: “Your eyes are too big for your stomach.”
First the mayor explained that I’d have to work through the existing contracts with Welcome America, the city’s quasi-government corporation that usually produced the July 4 celebration. Welcome America had contracts in place for events such as this. The most beneficial was with WPVI, the ABC affiliate that broadcast the Philadelphia July 4 concert every year. Another was with Sunoco, the oil company that had the naming rights to the events. Obviously, the concert needed to be dedicated to AIDS awareness, to connect us to the work of Elton’s foundation. It also had to give our local organizations a chance to showcase themselves. The mayor had no problem with that, but it seemed this was the last concession that Sunoco, WPVI, or Welcome America would ever give us. They viewed us as competitors rather than partners. And fought us on everything including port-a-potties.
My two partners in this endeavor were my friends Dan Anders and Jeff Guaracino. Dan, a lawyer working at the law firm Pepper Hamilton LLP, provided us with pro-bono legal work, which otherwise would have cost us tens of thousands of dollars. Jeff worked for Greater Philadelphia Tourism and Marketing Corporation (now known as Visit Philadelphia), and was given to us by his boss, Meryl Levitz. Jeff had come up with Philadelphia’s historic and award-winning LGBT tourism campaign, “Get your history straight and your nightlife gay.” To complete the team, we brought on Nina Zucker to do the day-to-day public relations and Rita Mezzaroba to spearhead contributions and in-kind services. That was our team, along with Jason, who kept me calm no matter what situation reared its head.
The mayor, knowing that he had just handed me the key to the city’s biggest day, realized his guidance might be needed. Thus began our weekly eight a.m. meetings in his cabinet room, every Wednesday. His reasons were twofold. Primarily, he would help mitigate the inevitable turf wars that would occur with an event of this magnitude. And secondly, he reveled in the fact that, as the most anti-morning person he knew, I had to drag myself to City Hall at that early hour. My reaction, as Dan tells it, was that I threatened to show up to the weekly meetings in pajamas as protest. To his great credit, Dan talked me out of it.
* * *
The first point of order was to have a firm contract with Elton. At this early juncture we still had only a loose agreement. Dan, EJAF, Elton’s tour manager, one of his lawyers, and I all jumped on a conference call. I thought, logically, that we could save on costs by having Elton onstage solo with a piano.
“What’s the projected audience?” the tour manager asked. Before I could finish my reply, he interrupted, “We’re bringing the bloody band!” I tried in my best negotiator’s drawl to get him to reconsider, but he knew his craft, and a single piano would not work for a huge crowd (expected to be as many as 500,000 people) out in the open. We relented with little fanfare. The band was in. Due to the various agencies and nonprofits involved, Elton had to be contracted by yours truly—a personal services contract. There was no way out now. I had to deliver.
Working with city agencies for a fifty-person block party can be a headache. Multiply that by tens of thousands and it’s a nightmare. The agreement with the mayor was that we’d be given the budget that was usually set aside for stage production. (Even here, Welcome America tried to get a share.) All other expenses we’d have to come up with ourselves. We had thirteen months to put it all together; it was a daunting project no matter which way you looked at it. Fundraising, programs, production staff, concessions, souvenirs, everything down to street closings and traffic patterns.
On February 9, 2005, we held a press conference to announce the event, now titled Philadelphia Freedom Concert & Ball. The concept was to give the city a free concert and use it as a way to promote AIDS awareness. There would be a grand ball in the massive Philadelphia Museum of Art, as I’d envisioned in Vienna, which would pay for it all. We were holding the press conference from the mayor’s reception room with the mayor and many other elected officials. The room was at maximum capacity and every official who had any connection to the production wanted to be up front and in camera range. Elton was to join us courtesy of the satellite hookup via WPVI from Las Vegas, where he was doing his regular show at Caesars Palace. We scheduled it for 12:05 p.m. so it could be carried live on all the TV channels’ noon news programs. Everything was set.
The plan called for the mayor, EJAF president Robert Key, and Elton to speak, and then I would introduce Geno Vento from the famous South Philly Geno’s Steaks who was donating $100,000. As we were about to begin, Key told me he’d never given a speech of this importance before. I looked at him and said that I didn’t believe him. But it turns out he was telling the truth. Up to that point, EJAF had never accomplished something on this scale, although Vienna was grand and drew 100,000 people.
The foundation was made up of Elton’s friends and exiled employees from the business side. It seemed a place for castoffs; even an ex-lover was on the organization’s payroll. Key, aside from his EJAF duties, was, according to him, directing the construction of Elton’s new French getaway home. (On a side note, let me state clearly that post-2005, EJAF has become a professionally run organization in which Elton can take much pride.)
At the first meeting with the general manager of WPVI, she had told us we could work together on finding mutual sponsors. I asked her what the financial split would be. She had no answer. I then asked her who they had already lined up. Again she wouldn’t answer. When I asked how much money they would give us to produce a show that would be financially beneficial to them, her response was that they were helping us by broadcasting it in the first place. I understood that to mean we’d receive zero dollars from them and realized, on the spot, that they could be counted on for nothing. It saddened me, since up to that point, other GMs at WPVI had been supportive of the LGBT community and committed to fighting AIDS. They had been a major partner in the original AIDS awareness campaign in the 1980s, which was revolutionary for its time. This woman might have been good for the stat
ion’s bottom line, but not its soul. And she made it very difficult for us when she proclaimed that no sponsor of the concert would get any airtime, including forbidding us to put our sponsors’ logos on the stage unless they bought time on the broadcast from WPVI.
After this woman’s departure from WPVI and promotion at ABC, the new general manager once again became a partner in promoting diversity. The current general manager, Bernie Prazenica, is a champion for diversity at every level at the corporation, and a friend.
Back to the broadcast. So, we were all ready for the press conference. The aforementioned general manager of WPVI came over and told me not to introduce Geno’s when we were live, since they were not sponsoring the concert broadcast. After I declined her demand, she countered with a different issue: the satellite transmission seemed to have a problem, so they couldn’t broadcast at all. It was now past noon. This went on for a while. I guess the tipping point came when she realized that the station needed the publicity too. We finally got clearance before the end of the noon newscast. I made it a point to have Geno on live. What the general manager hadn’t realized was that the sponsors WPVI had lined up for the broadcast were calling me directly, expressing how proud they were to be contributing. They were mistaken on that front, since WPVI would be keeping any dollars made from broadcast advertising. But it was not in anyone’s interest to let them know they were not actually helping combat HIV/AIDS. Jonathan Saidel, former city controller, told me years later that he stood at the back of the press conference and looked over the scene, saying to himself, What is Segal doing up there with all those thieves? They’ll eat him alive.
When the conference was over, Dan, Jeff, and I had a meeting to discuss a budget. I took a napkin and a pen and we began to sew things together, stitch by stitch.
* * *
We began adding new acts to the lineup, which now consisted of Sir Elton John, Patti LaBelle, Rufus Wainwright, and Bryan Adams. Comedian Wayne Brady had come on to emcee the show with Bruce Vilanch. We now had our own orchestra with Peter Nero and the Philly Pops, our legendary ensemble made up of musicians who played orchestral versions of a variety of musical genres. And, of course, the fireworks finale! One treat that I was especially proud to have secured to start off the show was a video dedication to AIDS awareness from my friend Walter Cronkite. On the logistics side, we had redrawn the Parkway concession areas, gotten my old friend John Dougherty from the electrical union to agree to line the Parkway with bigger and better LCD screens than previous years, and we even found a more efficient way to reroute the traffic.
Little more than a month before the concert, I woke up one morning to a startling news headline: “Mayor Announces Live 8, a Mega-Concert Celebrating the Twentieth Anniversary of Live Aid.” The date of the concert would be July 2, two days before our own megaconcert.
It’s during times of crisis like this that you discover who your true friends really are. Many realized what was happening, and stepped up to the plate to help make it all work. We decided to simply accomplish what we’d set out to do: put on the best July 4 concert in city history, and the largest AIDS awareness event ever. In a way, Live 8 freed us. It finally made me realize we were our own bosses; we didn’t have to answer to anyone. I stopped worrying about our competition and I didn’t think twice about making decisions that I would have previously run by others first. Though I admit I took my newfound autonomy a step too far on one occasion.
We were advised that President George W. Bush might want to be present and give a speech during the ceremony at Independence Hall, when Elton was getting his award. Citing Bush’s homophobic reelection campaign and his generally unwelcome policies, I categorically and not so politely told his representatives that he was not welcome on our stage. Yes, that was a step too far, and I was admonished by the mayor, who politely explained that you never turn down a visit by the president of the United States. In any case, Bush did not end up coming.
One night over dinner, Dan, Jeff, Jason, and I were laughing about the absurdity of it all and recalling the mayor’s gentle warning to me that the show had to be family-friendly. It was this advice that made us realize that there was nothing outwardly gay in the show, and we needed to fix that. Fortunately, Jason and I had a trip to New York planned, to see Bruce Vilanch. After watching him play Edna in Hairspray, we went backstage to chat about his hosting duties. He was getting out of his costume as we met. We asked him if he’d consider doing Betsy Ross, the woman credited with making the first American Flag, in drag. As two assistants were helping him out of all the padding he needed in his role, he said as only Bruce can, “Please note, I’m a big man, but even I need padding to pull off Edna. How do you think I can get a costume ready in a month?”
On Monday morning Bruce called to say it would be done. Seems the Hairspray dressers, wig makers, and costume designers wanted to contribute to our show, and creating a complete Betsy Ross costume from scratch was their way of giving back. How I love the Broadway community!
To assure that July 4 was as patriotic as possible, Congressman Bob Brady arranged for an Air Force flyover just as the show began; the police would sing “The Star-Spangled Banner”; and a color guard of the military would open the show.
Our Wednesday-morning meetings in the mayor’s office were now somewhat calmer since his staff was busy dealing with Live 8 and had to contend with an even more outlandish set of demands. It was fun to watch knowing that we had absolutely nothing to do with that chaos.
Two weeks before the concert, on Wednesday, June 15, 2005, the headline on the front page of the Philadelphia Inquirer read, “Caught on Tape: City Deal-Makers,” then the subheading, “Lana Felton-Ghee Wanted More Action on City Contracts. The FBI Heard it All.” At this point I believe the mayor understood the ongoing problems we were encountering and began to show compassion. While the Inquirer story was about the alleged corruption at the top of Welcome America, our concert was unrelated and above reproach. In fact, we seemed to be the only people connected to city government who were not called in to be interviewed in the investigation by the FBI and the federal prosecutor. When I later met the former federal prosecutor, Patrick Meehan, while he was campaigning for Congress, I asked him why we hadn’t been called in and he said, “We knew you were clean and we didn’t want to give you any more problems than what you already had.” That was a kind remark. He went on to be elected congressman for the Seventh District.
In the days leading up to the event, the mayor had a request for me: “Mark, I want you to speak on the July 4 morning at Independence Hall.” My response was that I would be too busy that day ushering Elton around; we’d agreed to give him an award at Independence Hall in the morning, then go to the William Way LGBT Community Center and name a portion of the Street “Elton’s Way,” then jet over to the Philadelphia Museum of Art for sound check.
The mayor insisted, and after each meeting Dan and I wondered why he was pressing so hard. Then it dawned on me: I would be the first openly gay person in history to make a speech on July 4 at Independence Hall. I called the mayor one morning and agreed to do it.
* * *
The morning of July 4, Jason and I dressed in our suits and walked to Independence Hall for the award ceremony. We’d done a walkthrough the day before. Elton’s security was demanding that they be allowed to carry their guns onto the premises, to which the National Park Service guards firmly said no. I wasn’t sure if that situation had resolved itself or not.
At Independence Hall, looking out over the platform in front of the building, a chill went down my back. Then my friends Robert Metzger and Barbara Lichtman came over to wish me luck. As I watched them return to their seats, I noticed a man next to Barbara in the front row. It was Barney Frank. When I approached and asked him what he was doing here, he said he knew this was an historic event and wanted to support me. I was so very honored. This also made me fully realize the magnitude of what I was about to do.
Elton was supposed to make an appearance fo
r the morning program, which was being broadcast live. Our start time came and went and Elton hadn’t arrived. The mayor quickly decided that enough was enough, and said we’d start the program and stall until Elton showed up. He made an introduction, and we all stood for the national anthem. I peered up at Independence Hall, marveling at what was happening, when suddenly we heard sirens. Oh my god, I thought, something’s wrong. For a second, I thought it might be a terrorist incident. I turned around to see a black SUV with a police escort screeching to a halt in front of the stage. Out popped Elton and his armed guards. That’s one way to avoid being searched by security. At the command of the mayor, I retrieved Elton and brought him into the building to wait until called to the stage.
The program continued, a band played some patriotic music, and finally the mayor introduced me. The boy from the Wilson Park projects at 25th and Ritner, the boy raised on the other side of the tracks, was about to address Independence Day from the nation’s birthplace, Independence Hall. Approaching the podium I took out my speech and began:
“Mr. Mayor, Senator, Congressmen, Fannie Weinstein [she was still with me in spirit], ladies and gentlemen, what a wonderful exciting and historic July 4 this is in Philadelphia, and tonight will witness the brilliant musical talent of a legend and the man who gave our city its anthem, ‘Philadelphia Freedom,’ Sir Elton John. I’m on the stage for two reasons today. First, as a producer of the Philadelphia Freedom Concert & Ball with Sir Elton John, which will raise awareness for HIV/AIDS. That mission began over twenty years ago when Jane Shull and I created the first AIDS Awareness Day in Philadelphia in the early 1980s. Then, AIDS was a gay man’s disease; today, more than half of all new cases in the US are not. In most parts of the world HIV is a heterosexually transmitted virus.