Named the best in the country four years running, University Union excels at bringing the likes of Bill Cosby and James Carville to campus.
Named the best in the country four years running, University Union excels at bringing the likes of Bill Cosby and James Carville to campus.
B Y - J E N A - M c G R E G O R
f she ever needs to, Katherine Atteberry can add "Chauffeured Bill Cosby" to her resume. After all, she has the T-shirt to prove it.
"I drove and he lived," reads the black magic marker scripted across Atteberry's University Union T-shirt, right above the famous comedian's scribbled signature. Cosby signed her shirt after she picked him up at Ben Epps Airport and deposited him backstage at the Coliseum. She then shed her cool and blasted through the door to where her Union cohorts were anxiously awaiting the scoop on the Cos.
"HE SIGNED MY SHIRT!" she screamed as they crowded around her, asking "How was he? Was he funny?"
"He was really different than I thought--sort of hard to get used to," says Atteberry, the coordinator of the Union division largely responsible for Cosby's appearance. "But you know, he was in his gym clothes, he nicknamed me 'Shorty.' He may be Bill Cosby, but really, he's just a guy."
This kind of insight into the backstage character of celebrities is just one perk to being a member of the University Union, UGA's nationally known student programming board which organized and produced the Friday night Homecoming show. Union members have had dinner with Democratic political consultant James Carville, writers John Updike and Amy Tan, and right-wing journalist William F. Buckley. They've chauffeured performers like Henry Rollins, the Chieftains, and jazz drummer Jason Marsalis to and from the Atlanta airport--securing themselves a couple of hours of celebrity gossip. And they've learned that sometimes--in the case of former Olympian Greg Louganis, country music darlings the Dixie Chicks, and comedian Bill Maher--public and private personas can be worlds apart.
 After all the hard work, Union members get to meet celebs like Cosby backstage. Cosby was an expensive Homecoming act, but ticket sales recouped his six-figure fee. |
But it's not their conversations with the stars that have won the University Union the prestigious "Excellence in Programming" award from the National Association for Campus Activities an unprecedented four years in a row. Among schools with a full-time enrollment of 15,000 and above, NACA has recognized UGA based on its level of student involvement, its dedication to reaching goals, its creative promotion of events, and its commitment to diversity.
"They want to know if you're serving all of your audiences," says Candy Sherman, UGA's assistant director of Student Activities. "Would a graduate student and a freshman be happy? Are you working in conjunction with other departments and integrated into the campus community?"
The answer, NACA would say, is a resounding yes.
osby's name first came up over a year ago, when last year's Homecoming band, the B-52s, lost its bass player less than a month before the show. When the band found a new bass player, Cosby's name was placed on the back burner until this year.
"I was against Cosby at first," Atteberry says. "I thought if we were going to spend $107,000, why not get Adam Sandler or Chris Rock. But to find something that both old and young would enjoy is really hard."
 | |
Thanks to Union, they've all been here: (from top) political consultant James Carville, drummer Jason Marsalis, comedian David Spade, Sonic Youth bassist Kim Gordon, "Pop-Up Video" creators Woody Thompson and Tad Low--and, shown hamming it up it backstage, the Momix dancers.  |
|
To account for such jaw-dropping expenses, students prepare cost projections that justify their reasons for choosing a show. "People are always saying, 'Why don't you bring Garth Brooks or Jimmy Carter?'" says President Soo Jin Kim. "People don't realize we have budget constraints."
Although the University has never nixed a controversial show, when complaints arise students must be able to explain their choices.
"When you have an opportunity to do diverse shows, like [lesbian comic strip artist] Alison Bechdel or [Asian American writer] Ronald Takaki, maybe we'll lose some money," says lecture coordinator Wayne McGowan. "But we know we'll make it up on a James Carville or a Kurt Vonnegut."
On the day of the Cosby show, Union members began setting up before 7 a.m., and didn't go off duty until 11 p.m. At past shows, they've peeled potatoes for the band Live's dinner and steamed 300 costumes for the Harlem Boys Choir.
After a typical show, Union members clean up and sometimes help strike the set. The following week, they'll look at audience comments to improve future shows. And sometimes they hardly notice what happens onstage. "Once Cosby gets onstage I don't know what I'm going to do with myself," Atteberry says before the show. "I'll be thinking, 'Did he like his sweatshirt? Did my ushers do their job?' You're thinking so much you get desensitized to who's up there."
his process, though not always on the same scale as Homecoming, happens close to 50 times a year, excluding the 600 film screenings the Union offers in the Tate Theater in an average year. As a memento of these shows, students have created a Union office "wall of fame" with stars' signed black-and-white glossies.
They're inscribed with "To the Union, Dawgs
"If James Carville wants to hang out down at the Grill, that's great," says Sherman, recalling the time Carville paid for 12 students' dinners at the downtown diner. "But that should not be the expectation. Most of these people are on a tight schedule, and they're very tired. But when they do take the time, it's a bonus--and the kids remember it forever."
Case in point: On the short drive from the Georgia Center to the Tate Center, James Carville told lecture coordinator McGowan that Zell Miller was in his wedding and that he wished he'd studied more in college.
"Even if you've heard it in an interview before, when you're sitting right there with them, it's so fascinating," McGowan says. "For a while, you get to talk to them on another level."
Former coordinator Robyn Painter got the chance to pick up Nadine Strossen, president of the ACLU and one of Painter's heroes, from the airport. "I want to do human rights advocacy, and there's not a career path that your counselor can set out for you and say 'this is what you do,'" says Painter. "She gave me some good ideas about how to get started."
The list goes on. Nobel Peace Prize winner Mairead Corrigan Maguire invited McGowan to visit when he was in Northern Ireland. Jazz pianist Marcus Roberts asked Matt Hunt for song requests over dinner. And Soul Food author LaJoyce Brookshire gave Yarnell Culler relationship advice at Applebee's.
"I was against Cosby at first," Atteberry says. "But to find something that both old and young would enjoy is really hard."
ear the wall of fame, almost completely hidden from view, a little sign reading "Corner of Shame" is stuck above a few other pictures. The Dixie Chicks refused to sign autographs as their agent had promised. Bill Maher of "Politically Incorrect" was unhappy with the lighting in the volleyball arena at the Ramsey Center and made sure everyone knew it. Greg Louganis cancelled his scheduled press conference and didn't say a word on the ride from the airport. "I had seen him on Oprah and he was so cheery," recalls Union vice president Elizabeth Simpson. "But sometimes you don't see the Oprah side of them. You never know what you're going to get."
Cosby's signed photo will find itself on the wall of fame, and the Homecoming show was a success: the crowd exploded with laughter as Cosby, America's funniest Dad, told tales of getting his daughter and her 840 SAT score in and out of college. And as Union members had hoped, it was funny to both students and alumni. Although only about 6500 of the 9500 available tickets were sold, sales were good enough to make back the 100 grand they'd spent on Cosby.
On the drive back to the airport, Cosby's agent praised him and the show as the star lit one of his signature cigars. Atteberry thought about how she'd only seen 45 minutes of Cosby's act--she'd had to load up the car, run tickets to will call and help seat the disabled. Now that the show was over, she had just one more thing to worry about: getting Cosby to sign her dad's copy of Fatherhood. He did.
 More than 70 Union volunteers helped get the Coliseum ready for the Homecoming show--which meant cleaning and labeling 900 chairs and ushering thousands of people to their seats. |