Truckin' De Luxe at the Hilton

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," sighed a portly conventioneer at the New York Hilton's Rhinelander Gallery. He was not, as the conventional wisdom might suggest, fondling a blond or slurping a Scotch. He was excavating a nut-topped jamoca almond fudge, his choice from 32 cholesteroliferous varieties of ice cream dispensed at a 200-ft. bar by Detroit Diesel Allison during the four-day American Trucking Association's convention in October. The ice cream spectacular, with miniskirted waitresses, straw-hatted scoopers and a candy-striped orchestra, was only one of the multitudinous extravaganzas organized for the trucking-industry executives and their suppliers.

Most of the 6,500 registered guests were affluent, to say the least, and 75% of them came with their wives: prime targets for the jewel thieves who prowl the better hotels. Security had to be beefed up; in addition to the Hilton's regular complement of 70 guards, the A.T.A. provided 35 officers. The New York police department detached some plainclothesmen and mounted patrolmen to monitor the portals. This was something of a departure for the N.Y.P.D., but the convention after all was expected to unload $3 million a day on the city. Hilton Chief Barren Hilton himself called the A.T.A. convention manager, Vaughn Bonham, to thank him for selecting the Hilton (a choice made almost ten years in advance). For months, suppliers worked on themes for parties to woo the truckers. Cases and cartons and carcasses flowed into the bowels of the Hilton, from the trucks that many delegates owned, as if in preparation for a siege.

Staging a mammoth convention is as much an exercise in diplomacy as logistics. Telephone operators, bellmen and maids were given lists of VIPS' names. Since the Hilton could accommodate only 2,400 of the delegates, the less important visitors had to be discreetly dispersed among other nearby first-class hotels. A.T.A. staffers spent 250 hours compiling 2-in. by 4-in. index cards with information on each member and each supplier, his company, even his wife. Thus the planners ensured that at the daily luncheons in the Grand Ballroom, trucking-company executives were strategically interspersed with suppliers' representatives; competitive firms were well separated.

While their wives went to programs for the women's division (Joan Kennedy spoke to them about improving one's self-image), the men attended seminars on such subjects as the potential deregulation of the industry (the owners don't want it) and the tariff problems of heavy carriers. Representatives from all 51 A.T.A. state chapters listened, debated (often heatedly) and took notes. "Our company feels this is a way of life," said Newton Graves Jr., a vice president of Yellow Freight System, one of the nation's largest common carriers. "We have 15 people and their wives here. I have given each one of them a list of all the meetings we expect them to attend. They better go." Many trucking executives, like Graves, spent a good part of each day discussing new models and products with the manufacturers. He adds: "This is the toughest week I put in during the entire year. It's hard work, hard work."

Well, not entirely. By 4:30 the first evening, the Pullman Trailmobile the dansant for 4,000 was in full swing. Thereafter came such perennial draws as the Fruehauf Corp.'s mighty two-night bash, for which they trucked in Count Basie and band, as well as a disco combo, plus dance instructors to help unlimber the foxtrot generation; Thermo King's "Saloon," featuring the Great Jubilee Banjo Band and drawings for a radio-controlled miniature tractor-trailer for someone's lucky kid; and, of course, Mack Trucks' elegant soiree in the Trianon Ballroom, where a giant golden statue of its famous symbol, a bulldog, was displayed on the stage like an Inca god. At each convention Mack gives away 4,000 stuffed bulldogs, each year a little different; they are considered collectors' items. As a host at the Sears, Roebuck disco room celebration said, "It doesn't matter how much it costs. We are here to give our customers a good time. So that when I go out on the road, they know who I am and they say, 'Hey, you had a great party.' "

It was. All of them were. The A.T.A. itself gave the final banquet, featuring Bob Hope (fee for his act: $45,000). It also gave a luncheon of chicken curry and boeuf stroganoff for 50 of the hotel staff, which had scooped up perhaps $100,000 in tips during the four days. That's convention business.

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