Convention '93 Salt Lake City


People, including your humble servant,
are creatures of habit and accustomed
to routine. My troubles began
when I left my downtown Los Angeles
home to attend the AFA's 19th Annual
Convention in Salt Lake City, Utah.
As the plane crested the ring of
jagged mountains and dipped into the
Great Salt Lake Valley, I knew something
was wrong. The sky was blue.
Really blue blue, with a scattering of
snow white clouds. The air was crystal
When I debarked and tried to
breathe, I panicked. I couldn't see the
air nor feel it. Perhaps Utah doesn 't
have air. I'll die.
Well, I didn't die but the invisible air
was not easy to get used to. Fortunately,
the van from the hotel arrived
and took us aboard. On the plane, my
travelling companio ns had banished
me to a distant seat and asked me to
act as though we didn 't know one
another- they do this routinely -
but the van was small and cozy
enough that we three , Aletta Long,
Jean Hessler and myself, arrived at the
convention as a group. The others on 

group- naturally.
The Little America Hotel, I must
admit, was a very pleasant and comfortable
place to stay. The ambience
was a mixture of comfott and modest
luxury situated in an almost park-like
environment. It was a very enjoyable
experience to walk about the grounds
amidst the intense colors, greens and
blues for the trees (yes, folks, blue
trees) and the brilliant red, yellow and
pink of the flowers . And an unlooked
for blessing was that of being able to
meander freely about the grounds and
su rrounding neighborhood without a
thought of getting mugged or having
to dodge the drive-by shooters. Capital
folks , those denizens of Utah.
Inside the hotel , a friendly, homey
atmosphere prevailed and promoted a
relaxed sense of ease and comfort.
The convention meeting rooms, large
auditorium , banquet hall and commercial
displays were very conveniently
laid out in close proximity so
that it was quite easy to get from
attraction to attraction.