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”.
KNUKING THE KNACK INSIDE THEIR OWN REACTOR
Connubial Alliance Invades the Heart Of the Beast
by
Richard Riegel
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”.
My fuzzy brain re-examines the various vowels and consonants normally contained in my surname, and decides, yes, that does seem to be me, or us. We’re still not convinced that we’re worthy of such limo transportation—we paid our way into the Cincinnati Knack concert that got us started on this magic carpet ride, after all—but our driver, Tom, has already snatched up our bag, and is propelling us over the moving sidewalk toward the parking lot.