Thanks to an on-time departure from L.A. and Indy-worthy driving, the Monkees tour arrived in San Francisco well ahead of schedule. After some brief consultation with Chip and the crew bosses, Barry decided it might be a good idea to do a sound check at seven p.m. the same day after the load-in was complete, allowing the gig day to be less frantic. Given that the day had mostly been spent waiting and sitting and "are we there yet"-ing everyone - including, amazingly, the Monkees themselves - liked the idea. Everyone's personal stuff was unloaded at the Hilton where Bonnie would sort out the accommodations with the desk manager as Barry accompanied everyone else to the Cow Palace auditorium. Everyone except Genie, that is, who insisted on keeping all costumes and props safely locked in a function room that had been dedicated to their storage.

"You don't need costumes for a bloody sound check," she told Barry, "it's not a West End dress rehearsal."

Barry, who had quickly learned to appreciate Genie's skills and judgment (not to mention her fiercely loyal crew) didn't question her protective instincts, and left her with Bonnie to get things settled. The plan was to scope out the performance areas, entrances, exits, and dressing rooms, and deliver the band and backing musicians back to the hotel while all the roadies and tech crew got set up. When things were ready, Chip would call the hotel and the musicians would come back for a run through.

"Wait!" Bonnie hollered as she ran the obstacle course of luggage, rolling costume racks, and the guys' personal instrument cases to catch up with Barry before he could board the lead bus. "We forgot about the contest winners!"

Pam Saunders was scheduled to bring a group of half-a-dozen lucky winners of a 16 Magazine "dinner with the Monkees" contest to the hotel, where a fairly structured (and alcohol-free) dinner had been planned for that evening.

"Ah crap!" Barry exclaimed. No virgin on the tour circuit, he nonetheless hadn't become quite as fluent in colorful language as most of the tour regulars. "Okay, Bonnie, think fast. Bob says you're good at that."

"Whatta time for him to shower compliments..." she grumbled. "Okay, lemme think..." What could turn this potential nightmare of the crushed dreams of six breathless teenagers into... "HEY CHIP!" she yelled in one of the open bus windows. "How many numbers you planning for the run through tonight?"

A blurred chaos of voices could be heard as he consulted the guys, then he popped his head out the window to announce, "Four or five, a range of tempos and volume, you know, to get the levels and feel the space."

"How about an even six?" Bonnie begged, "We got a little conflict here, those 16 contest winners were supposed to come here for that dinner thing... maybe we can turn the sound check into a mini-concert, we'll warn 'em it'll be rough but they're coming to the gig anyway so it'll be a big fat bonus for them."

"SIXTEEN TEENAGERS AT THE SOUND CHECK?" Micky shrieked, shouldering Chip aside to lean halfway out the window. "NO NO NO!"

"Chill out, Dolenz, six teenagers, they won that 16 magazine contest. Pam'll be in charge, it should be fine."

Predictably another bus window slammed open, and there was Nesmith in patented Full-Ray-Ban opposition.

"Hard enough to do a check in a new venue, without screaming fans." A chorus of "Yeah!" floated out from behind him and Bonnie thought how funny it was that Micky, David, and Peter could harmonize even when freaking out. She rolled her eyes and waved at Barry to board the bus. "I got this," she promised. "Look, if you can't handle six screamers now, you are screwed tomorrow night! Besides, you tell me, guys," she called into the bus, standing on tiptoe the better to stare into the window, "would you rather work onstage through a little squealing from fans who got more than they hoped for, or make small talk with 'em all evening with no booze allowed?"

A moment of silence from the bus, then another chorus: "Sold."

The windows slammed shut again and the buses rolled away. Bonnie joined Genie in the hotel lobby and introduced herself to the desk manager who would be responsible for blocking fan infiltration and hundreds of hopeful "Davy Jones' room, please..." phone calls for the next two days.

"Hi, Bonnie Morris. I'll be the den mother for this band of boy scouts, let's go to your office and we'll figure out how to keep this crazy train on the rails."


In half an hour the tour rooms were assigned, keys sealed in envelopes each with a handwritten note from Bonnie: "Here's your key and this is your room. Take it or sleep in the street." She'd had the notes written and ready and filed in her briefcase before Nesmith bundled her into bed the night before. Some pains-in-the-ass on the road were unavoidable, but she'd decided this time that dealing with griping tour members about room assignments would not be one of them. She really didn't care who ended up where as long as the designated people gave her back their original keys an hour before check-out. The guys had the typical four bedroom suite, with generous room to party. Bonnie and Genie each had a suite of their own, one bedroom and plenty of room to work. Funny how that always happened.