Rehoboth Beach has always been the perfect blend of my favorite things. Restaurant people toiling day in and day out in the uncertainties of a seasonal resort. Longtime friends who always seem to be there when you need them. And, of course, music. Some of my most cherished memories revolve around playing – and listening to – music. It’s a kind of magic you have to experience to understand. And here we are yet again, after 35 years, reveling in our jazz fest week.
That magic begins as starry-eyed fans file into the venue to claim their seats. The house lights dim, the stage lights erupt into a celebratory glare, and right on cue, our favorite performers strut onto the stage and fill the room with wonderfully familiar sounds. When it’s over, we’re left with a smile, a wrinkled program, a warm memory and perhaps a slight ringing in the ears.
But a lot of these musicians are from places hundreds or thousands of miles from Rehoboth Beach. Many have never been here before. Whose job is it to get them into the spotlights?
Since around 1991, that person has been the vivacious, people-pleasing and ultra-hospitable Kas Naylor. Without Kas and her small army of volunteers, the stars slated to appear on the multiple stages between Dewey and Lewes would arrive in town with no idea of where to go, where to stay or when to be wherever they are supposed to be.
This is not Kas’ first rodeo. She had experience in music booking, management and marketing in York, Harrisburg and Lancaster, Pa. During a short visit to the beach in October 1991, she saw an ad in The Whale newspaper. It read, “Volunteers needed for Jazz Festival.” But it was a week before the event, and all the positions were filled. Nothing if not tenacious, she positioned herself to meet one of the early festival founders and operators, Sydney Arzt.
One thing led to another, and soon Kas was a runner for the acts, i.e., picking up whatever they needed, from toothbrushes to clothes steamers, from bottled water to six theater-sized boxes of M&Ms. Before the event was over, she found herself in the convention center kitchen with Barbara Jerrell, one of the festival founders, who became co-owner of Beany’s puzzle store in First Street Station. Now there’s a little history for ya!
“I had no idea that my commitment to the festival would continue for all these years,” smiles Kas. Though by definition she has to be a Kas-of-all-trades, her official responsibilities boil down to fitting the personal requests (demands?) in the artists’ contract riders into the limited resources of the festival and this semi-rural town. For example, pretty much every artist stipulates a private dressing room. “That’s just not going to happen,” explains Naylor. “We simply don’t have the space – or the rooms.” But, thanks to trusted longtime volunteers, the rooms they do share are spotless and stocked with whatever can be provided, within reason.
When superstar Dionne Warwick requested Cristal champagne, Kas and her band of miracle workers fanned out over the city and managed to come up with two of the $400 bottles. Dionne took a sip out of one and left it open in the dressing room. Kas assured me that none of the bubbly was wasted.
Keyboardist Joe Sample announced his displeasure – from the stage, yet – that he had been denied the four gallons of bottled water he had requested. He had in fact overlooked them on his hospitality cart that Kas had personally stocked. She went to his room and had a stagehand carry a gallon out to the artist during the show. Laughter all around, and all was well.
Another artist begged for an acupuncturist – on a Saturday morning, yet – to relieve her discomfort. She was so nice about it that Kas personally drove her to a practitioner’s home for a treatment that was met with profuse gratitude. A Grammy-winning vocalist requested a teakettle, honey and cayenne pepper. Her voice was angelic when showtime rolled around.
Kas has physically separated angry tour managers, artists and bodyguards to, in her words, “…allow a calmer demeanor to prevail.” She has had to post signs backstage to discourage bands from having meetings until 3 a.m. as exhausted volunteers sit out front dozing.
One artist, the victim of a transportation snafu, was left waiting at his hotel. Kas gave him her personal cellphone number and a promise that if it happened again, she would come and pick him up herself, anytime, day or night.
Naylor sums it up best: “It takes a dedicated group of volunteers to make this festival happen year after year. We are grateful to the countless people in the community who help us pull it off, and when we lose supporters such as the late Tom Kopunek, Mark Banning and Leon Galitzin, we certainly miss them. Every year as the house lights go down and the curtains rise, we think of them with cherished memories.”
But the show must go on. And thanks to the tireless efforts of Kas and her intrepid team of hospitality volunteers, we can be sure this show-business adage is a lot more than just a line item on a contract rider.
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So many restaurants, so little time! Food writer Bob Yesbek gives readers a sneak peek behind the scenes, exposing the inner workings of the local culinary industry, from the farm to the table and everything in between. He can be reached at Bob@RehobothFoodie.com.
