Storming Fort Marcy

As soon as we told my parents we were going to have the reception at Fort Marcy, my dad started asking what kind of a fort it was and who we might have to fight off. I tried to explain that it was only condominiums named after the old fort that also had an event facility for banquets or wedding receptions. I don't know how well I ever explained it, and in the end I was only partially right anyway. If Fort Marcy wasn't much of a fort, it wasn't much of a wedding reception facility, either. At least in the business sense. The party, as parties are wont to do, turned out great in the end.

The location was so perfect -- outdoorsy, but close enough to the Plaza to march like soldiers to the bar after the reception -- and we got such a good deal that we're reluctant to not recommend the place. But there were, um, problems. We had not planned on making any kind of a grand entrance because we are control freaks and knew that we would want to check things out before the reception. When Heidi and Guy showed up a little early they saw that I was already there. "You're not supposed to be here!" Heidi exclaimed. "It needs supervision," I said. Again, I was both right and wrong.

Things were actually under control, but not by the employees of Fort Marcy. Apparently the event planner with whom we had been working for several months had walked off the job earlier that week. In her wake she left chaos. We had come to Fort Marcy the day before to visit with "Mike" -- if that is his real name. He seemed nice enough and let us lock the liquor and beer up in his office and put everything else in a less secure room, which everyone had a key to. That way I could come up before the wedding on Saturday and ice down the Cokes and then the bartenders would be able to get the wine and beer when they and "Mike" got there later that day. With some glitches, the first part of that plan had worked. But when we got to Fort Marcy between the wedding and reception, the second part was in danger of collapsing. Mike wasn't there, and no one had a key to his office. A few desultory tables had been put up. Everything seemed in imminent danger of collapsing into a liquorless disaster with no place for anyone to sit.

Fortunately, we have friends. Reyne and Danielle were already barking orders -- one of which was to grab the bottle of Limoncello that we did have and go off by ourselves. Which we did -- and it was no time before we glimpsed Montana's brothers and sundry friends carrying cases of beer up the stairs.

The key to "Mike's" office had never been found. Montana's brothers, always in character, had broken a window to get to the beer. The party, of course, turned out great.

I said I felt bad about the broken window, but that would be a lie. In truth, it kind of warms my heart to ponder "Mike's" reaction on coming into his office on Monday morning.