For the umpteenth time, the other night I watched my DVD of “The Wizard of Oz,” and once again that movie sparked happy memories of a convention I attended back in the early 1990s.
One morning in the Alexandria news office, my boss and I were enjoying a chat and coffee in the break room.
“Hey Denny, I’ve got a great story idea for you. They’re having a munchkin convention at the Holiday Inn tonight.”
“Munchkin convention?!” I asked, sure he was joking. “What’s a munchkin convention?”
“You know. Midgets. Little people. They’re meeting there from all over the country.”
“Are you kidding me, Jon?”
“Nope.”
That evening, I drove to the Holiday Inn, still wondering if Jon was playing some kind of joke on me. In the parking lot, I looked around for signs of little people, like little cars maybe. I’d never met a little person in my life. In the lobby, I asked if there is a Little People Convention underway. The desk clerk pointed me to the pool area.
Opening the door, for a couple seconds I was stunned. Little people were everywhere, jumping and diving into the pool, sitting in groups poolside, talking, laughing, having so much fun.
I expected Toto the dog to come scampering over to me.
“Toto, something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore,” I thought to myself.
I walked over to a poolside group, introduced myself and said I’d like to write a newspaper story about their convention.
“Sure, please have a chair,” said a man who looked to be the oldest.
I was a tad intimidated. At six-feet tall, I felt a bit out-of-place as I sat down on a pool chair, opened my reporter’s bag and took out my notebook.
“He’s so tall,” I heard one young woman whisper to another.
Then we shook hands, me bending over slightly to reach them one by one as they told me their first names.
After I sat down, I stretched and slouched in the chair so I wouldn’t be looming above such short people.
And then we began to gab and laugh, having a heckuva good time.
They told me about the challenges of being little people – about how in their homes they have smaller everything – chairs, tables, cupboards, countertops, this, that and the other thing.
And they spoke about how some people look down on them, literally and mentally, often treating them as if they are children. I couldn’t resist; I asked them if they had seen “The Wizard of Oz.” Oh yes, they loved that movie even though they said it helped create the dumb stereotype of little people as childish “munchkins.”
A few told me about their marriages, their children, their jobs. And they began ribbing and teasing one another with hilarious wisecracks.
After taking photos, I told them how much I’d enjoyed our time together. As I walked away, past the pool, they were all yelling goodbyes, smiling and waving.
In the motel lounge, I ordered a beer. At my table, I heard a voice say, “Hi, Dennis. Mind if I sit down?”
“Oh, it’s you!” I said. “Please sit down!”
She, Shelly, was one of the people I’d just met. She ordered a beer too. She sat across from me at the table, her head barely above the table’s edge. And we proceeded to have a delightful, rip-roaring conversation.
Meantime, lounge music was playing.
“Wanna dance?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
On the dance floor by the stage, I had to kind of scrunch down and lean forward to hold her around her waist as we attempted a slow dance.
Then we sat down for more talking, more laughing.
As I stood up to say goodbye, I said meeting her and the others was one of most pleasant, fun times I’d ever had. She smiled and said “Thanks, Dennis!”
Ah yes, those little people had given me a great big good time.
