Beekman

Beekman

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<p>An outdoor event at Mohegan Arena at Casey Plaza during the 2020o pandemic.</p>

An outdoor event at Mohegan Arena at Casey Plaza during the 2020o pandemic.

WILKES-BARRE TWP. — “How are things going for you?”

I received that question nearly every single day for almost two years, and my response was always the same:

“We are in the business of promoting mass gatherings during a pandemic. Let’s just say things are not going well.”

We all have our pandemic stories, and this one is mine.

We were in the business of bringing people together at a time when everyone was being separated.

Our job was to pack thousands of people into finite spaces, but we could no longer be within six feet of each other.

We were tasked with somehow creating memories during a time that we all wanted to forget.

During the pandemic, the live event industry was the first to shut down and the last to reopen. In the space between, countless events were canceled, way too many venues were shuttered, and a staggering number of jobs — and lives — were lost. That time-period was a severe gut punch to all businesses, but it was a Mike Tyson right-hook to the concert industry.

When everything shut down, I was one of the lucky ones. I woke up every morning and went to work. For a week or two, I did that work at home. After that, I was in the office every day. It was eerily quiet being one of only a few people in an arena that could hold 10,000 people.

I was struggling. I wrestled with the guilt of knowing that so many of my colleagues were at home, no longer working. I worried and wondered how long the craziness was going to last. More than that, I had no idea what to do next. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not good at sitting still. I had no idea what to do, but doing nothing was not an option.

Within a few months, people and businesses started to adapt. We washed our hands a lot. We placed coverings over our mouths and noses. Grocery stores re-opened with capacity limits and one-way directional signage in the aisles. Restaurants soon followed suit, creating outdoor spaces where outdoor spaces had not existed.

Luckily for us, Mohegan Arena had a sizable outdoor space as well. In fact, our outdoor space could hold more than 3,000 vehicles.

The wheels started to turn.

At this point, I need to give credit to my team. My friends and coworkers at the arena always supported my crazy, harebrained ideas. I’m sure they often walked out of my office rolling their eyes and grinding their teeth, but they always stood up and supported me.

I knew there was nothing we could do to save our budget or rescue our fiscal year, but perhaps there was a way to bring a few employees back to work. Perhaps there was a way to give our local newspapers and television stations something positive to talk about.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to create live events during a pandemic.

We spent a good chunk of our summer sweating out one idea after another in that parking lot. We measured distances. We painted lines. We estimated expenses on stages, video screens, audio towers, etc.

Were we onto something, or were we crazy?

Our efforts were validated one random afternoon when I received a phone call from Los Angeles-based comedy agent (and Kingston, PA native) Doug Edley. He told me that Jim Gaffigan was kicking around the idea of doing a few drive-in comedy concerts, and he knew we had a sizable parking lot that just might accommodate the idea.

When I explained to him that we had already done a lot of the necessary research, we were off and running. Within a few weeks, we were hosting a live event during a pandemic. Granted, it was in a parking lot, and people were sitting in their vehicles the entire time, but it was still a live event.

In hindsight, I think everyone — including Jim Gaffigan — would agree that it was weird. Imagine going to a comedy club where jokes were told, but no laughs were heard. Instead, concert-goers were urged to honk their car horns as a sign of laughter. The whole thing was so strange, yet so rewarding!

I did not realize how much I loved my job until I could no longer do it. I missed chasing concerts, announcing concerts, selling tickets. Most of all, I missed the interaction between audience and performer. But for one night, in the middle of a parking lot, things were abnormally back to normal.

We went on the host a few more concerts in that outdoor space — local bands, tribute acts, fundraisers, etc. It kept us busy and somewhat sane.

Late in the summer, I received another exciting phone call. This time it was my friend Bill Orner, another NEPA native and manager for bluegrass phenom, Billy Strings. Bill had been keeping an eye on what we were doing in our parking lot while simultaneously routing a small tour of drive-in concerts for his artist.

When it comes to concert production, Bill‘s vision and skill-set are unmatched. He said he admired what we had been doing, but he had ideas on how it could be done differently, and better.

He explained that he would be moving the stage, adding additional LED screens, and bringing in a festival-grade sound system that promised to carry the music to everyone in the parking lot as well as families sitting on back decks in nearby homes and those walking into neighboring shopping centers to purchase more hand sanitizer.

The next few weeks were exhilarating as we readied ourselves for what ended up bring three consecutive sold-out nights with Billy Strings in the Mohegan Arena parking lot. At the conclusion of the third concert, Bill gave me a hug and said, “Next year, let’s do this indoors.”

And that’s exactly what we did.

During such a forgettable time, those parking lot concerts provided memories that will last a lifetime. Suddenly, we had something to do, something to celebrate, and so much to be thankful for.

For me, it was the sight of people singing in lawn chairs next to their vehicles and dancing in beds of pick-up trucks that I found most rewarding.

It provided a much-needed sound of normalcy and served as a welcome reminder that music can carry us through anything.