The Mystery of the Shrinking Convention
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“Hey there, chum, I’m the mayor now. It had better work!” said Richie. He’d been elected in 1989, and hadn’t lost since. He was 52, with brown hair, two years younger than Bill, who was almost bald.
“After all,” said Bill, enthusiastic cochair of Chicago ’96, the city’s convention host committee, “we are expecting 15,000 media representatives.”
“That’s right, boys,” DeLee said, waving a piece of paper. “And don’t you forget it! I’m here to warn you not to cut back the convention schedule, or else!”
Bill looked thoughtful. “Gee, you know our old pal Arnie Karr, president of the Hotel/Motel Association? He was kind of upset too. He said cutting a day of the convention could cost $20 million.”
“Oh no!” Richie said. “What would dad do?”
