My girlfriend called: "We're going to be on CNN."
Her beloved sorority, Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.—to be said with reverence and perfectly annunciated, with the incorporated drawn out for maximum effect, innnn-corpor-a-TED; sorors greet each other with a guttural OOO-OOP—was going to make the Guinness Book of World Records. The Deltas were going to close their 47th national convention with a Wednesday night banquet for 12,500 at the Las Vegas Convention Center. It'd be the largest sit-down dinner ever, another feather in the Crimson-and-Cream (their colors) cap of the decorated 91-year-old sorority. Among the Delta's 200,000-strong membership are various bold-facers—actress Lena Horne, singer Aretha Franklin and former Labor Secretary Alexis Herman and, most importantly, my beloved (shameless attempt for snuggle points).
"I knew that. I saw it on MSNBC," I replied, not wanting to sound apathetic but not doing a good job of not wanting to sound apathetic.
What wasn't said was that hosting nearly 20,000 sorors would be a challenge for my girlfriend—a repressed tomboy who can go from Miss Priss to firebrand in 3.2 seconds—to make it to Wednesday without committing sororicide.
• • •
Unlike most of their white counterparts, black Greek-lettered fraternities and sororities display lifelong commitments to bonding and outreach. The largest, dubbed the Divine Nine, honor tenured members and those that excel civically and professionally at their respective conventions. At St. Louis International Airport, I met one of my coming Omega Psi Phi fraternity brothers who'd been feted for 50 years of service.
My girlfriend was so committed to Delta, she who was initiated in a chapter in Hayward, California, quickly joined the local chapter and assumed convention coordinating duties, squeezing them into an already tight work-school-second-job-boyfriend schedule.
Even before moving here in March, her house had become Hotel Eboni, the last refuge for sorors unwilling or unable to pay for Strip accommodations. She loves that house, it's her slice of Americana. One room, painted in red, is the Delta Room. A sign on the door notes that it's off limits to non-Deltas. I helped paint it. She loves that room. I hoped for a small number of house guests: less bodies to cart to the morgue.
• • •
The damn thing about keeping your word is that, well, you have to keep it.
Helping coordinate was becoming a burden. Rushing from this meeting to that, studying in between breaks, keeping the boyfriend happy, trying to secure Delta discounts at restaurants, keeping track of arrival-departure flight times, fielding calls from out-of-town sorors, keeping the boyfriend happy, planning a house-warming party, coping with work, dealing with stress, keeping the boyfriend happy. Sometimes she'd want to talk, others times not.
"I'm just so tired," she said. "I'll be glad when this is all over."
• • •
"Do you think I can borrow your car while you're out of town."
I was headed to St. Louis and my girlfriend needed a second vehicle for a soror from her home chapter in Hayward.
"No problem," I replied, seeing this as a chance to build up goodwill for some future screw up.
I checked in periodically from St. Louis. At the convention's start: Things go well; longtime friends who are Deltas are here, lots of laughs, good food, good fun. Middle of the convention: little sleep, little food, a little perturbed. Convention's end: Tired feet, worn-out spirit, attitudinal from dealing with attitudes, even greater love for Delta Sigma Theta.
She picks me up from McCarran.
Me: "How did the housewarming go?"
Her: "I'll tell you about it later."
Me: "So how would you assess this convention."
Her: "I'll talk to you about it later."
Last night, my girlfriend was a part of history. The largest sit-down dinner ever, with 450 waiters and 320 culinarians serving shrimp Caesar salad, roast prime rib of beef au jus with a Dungeness crab cake medley of garden vegetables, polenta and chocolate cake infused with Grand Marnier.
Sometime today, she'll likely begin opening up about the convention, but don't ask me what she said. We wouldn't be fraternities and sororities if we didn't keep secrets.