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This was Sam’s first time at the conference he’d been an employee at Star Bright, not needed to sell the goods, but Quantum Leap was his baby, his and Al’s.
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The older guys, ones who’d been in World War II, were easy touches for him – a chest full of ribbons, all earned the hard way, a few Viet Cong prison camp reminiscences after hearing their own recollections of liberating Paris, and a few tales of being up in orbit with the Apollo missions, and he could write his own check with some of them. Some of ‘em even remembered him as America’s poster POW, and Al figured he’d funded at least twenty million dollars’ worth of science on Vietnam guilt alone from this crew in his career as a pitch man for research projects the government wouldn’t fund by itself. They loved it when Al was there, he’d discovered – they were rich, but he’d been an astronaut, and that was a degree of success that none of these people could earn. And he intended to enjoy the fact as much as possible that evening, just as he always did when he pitched a funding sale to these rich nozzles. The rich, Al observed cheerfully, were different – they threw better parties. The party at the Waldorf-Astoria was in full swing when the men arrived. “I hope you’re right,” his irritated partner groaned. Then when we do the pitch, they remember that we were those great guys from the opening night cocktail party. We go in tonight, we schmooze, we charm rich guys who don’t know what in hell we’re talking about but hope their names will go down in history on our idea.
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“There’s gotta be an easier way than this.” We’re here to help them part with their money in a worthy cause.
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Somebody likes, it, they write you a check. Tomorrow they start hearing oral presentations on the proposals that were submitted, and then… then, the good part, is that there’s a bunch of foundations and people with more money than they know what to do with, and they decide if they like your proposal. “Because, Sammy boy, the National Conference on Educational and Scientific Funding is the largest collection of suckers with money you’ll ever wanna find. They were, after all, heading into a cushy cocktail party you never knew what – or who – might happen. “Remind me again why we’re doing this, Al.” He regarded his white shirt and gray pin-striped suit with horror, but there was no way out of the suit that evening.Īdmiral Albert Francis Calavicci, Ph.D., was finishing adjusting his uniform and attempting to determine his exact level of babe magnetism. Doctor Samuel Beckett, Nobel Prize winner and wunderkind Science Director of Project Star Bright, adjusted his red foulard tie glumly while staring in the hotel room mirror.