KNUKING THE KNACK INSIDE THEIR OWN REACTOR

Teresa and I are shuffling down the ramp of the 707, still groggy from the many time zones we’ve breached coming out here to Los Angeles, when we’re met by the first symbol of the Knack’s largess. The furiously smiling fellow from the limousine service, a huge Conway Twitty-lookalike, is holding a big sign that proclaims: “REIGELL”.