And now, the conclusion of "Carol Burnett, Judge Judy and the Toughest Decision of My Life" (Part I Here) ...

When Florence Henderson breezed through the doors of the Beverly Hilton, I was filled with hope. Carol Burnett was understandably unnerved by my t-shirt. Judge Judy was at least wary. But Florence was my chance to rehabilitate my image and maybe even get into the ELLAs -- and hear what promised to be an unforgettable tribute to Andy Williams.

I tried to make eye contact with Florence, who had joined the Carol-Judge Judy conversation, but I was blockaded: Carol's husband, Florence's husband, and Judge Jerry had formed a security perimeter around the ladies' Green Zone -- and I was stuck languishing in Sadr City.

I began circling, looking for an opening, but no luck ... until Lainie Kazan barreled through the doors and right into the ladies' Green Zone. (Lainie Kazan = suicide belter?) The cordon had been broken, and I slipped right through. I tapped Florence on the shoulder just as Judge Jerry, acting more like a bailiff than a justice, lunged toward me.

"Florence, it's Mo Rocca."

Florence wheeled right around.

"Mo!" she chirped and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm so glad to see you, and so sorry I couldn't do your show." I had invited Florence to be part of my nightclub act ("Mo Rocca 'Cross America") at Birdland last month. She would've sung about Kentucky, her home state. (Actually, like Lincoln, she claims both KY and Indiana as home states.) She'd graciously declined through her tireless manager, Kayla.

Florence more than made up for that by giving me the nod now. Judge Jerry backed off, and I was safe.

"This is an amazing event," I said. "I'm just speechless watching all-"

"Mo," said Florence, cutting me off. "Have you met Judge Judy?" I'd found it peculiar that Judy occupied such alpha status among these icons. (With all due respect, didn't Carol Burnett outrank Judge Judy?) But I wasn't about to rock the boat. Besides Carol had made her exit and moved into the Ballroom.

"Judy, this is Mo Rocca," Florence said. "He's very clever."

I was about to say that my mother loved her show, but I thought that might come off as rude. So I lied: "Great to meet you. I love your show."

Either she could tell I was lying (the truth is, I don't watch her show) ... or maybe she was weirded out by the way I extended my hand ...



I just didn't want her to read the blasted t-shirt. Whatever the reason, Her Honor seemed unimpressed. That's when I decided to launch a full-scale charm assault:

"Well, it's great to be here," I said. "Too bad there's no ticket for me to go inside. I mean I got all dressed up!"
Silence.
"I love Andy Williams," I added.
"Do you even know who Andy Williams is?" Judge Judy asked/interrogated.
"Yes," I blurted out. "Days of Wine and Roses, Born Free, his amazing variety show!"
"How old were you when that was running?" Florence asked with an easy laugh. Things were starting to roll now.
"Oh, gosh," I said, ready to win them over with a good one. "I was in vitro!"

My joke made no sense. "In vitro" made no sense. I'd meant to say "in utero," which hardly would have been funny. But it least it would have made sense. "In vitro" made absolutely no sense.

Judge Judy and Florence stared at me blankly - my stunning lack of wessonality met with dead silence. (Judge Judy's withering look was tantamount to a gag order.) I made one last feeble attempt:

"I'll tell you one thing: I'd go all the way to Branson to hear Andy Williams sing."

"I wouldn't go that far," Florence deadpanned. (She really is very funny.)

Florence then did us all a favor by changing the subject: "Mo, have you met my daughter?" I only had seconds to make her acquaintance (she combines the glow of Marcia, the penetrating gaze of Jan and the spunk of Cindy), before everyone had entered the ballroom. I wasn't getting in.

Oh well, it was all for the best. I had dinner plans in Santa Monica with my friend, Rod, anyway. And I had a fun story to tell him. I went upstairs to change out of that t-shirt and into something that didn't make me look like John Hinckley. On the way out, I passed through the lobby. And that's when something extraordinary happened.

"Excuse me," said a lovely woman. "Are you Mo Rocca?"

"Why, yes, I am," I said. She touched my arm -- and I was pretty sure I wasn't being apprehended.

"I love what you do!" she said. It was none other than Jane Ayer, the Hollywood public relations icon, and the woman behind this event.

"Well I love what's happening here," I said. "I mean, I'm just slack-jawed by the talent here. If only I could actually go inside the ball--"

And before I could say "--room", Jane handed me a pass for table 233. Was this really happening?!!

"Oh gosh, I don't know what to say. I had dinner plans, but I'm sure I can work it out. This is like a dream! This is my moment!"

"Thank me later," Jane said. "There's a show about to start. Now get in there!"

I ran towards the doors of the International Ballroom, as I dialed Rod's number into my Blackberry. He answered right away.

"Hey, Rod, you're never going to believe what's happened..." And I explained the whole story. "So I have to back out of dinner."
There was silence on the other end.
"Rod? Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here. You're canceling?"
I could tell he was upset. "Well, I mean I don't have to," I said. "I know we had plans. It's just that this is pretty amazing."
"Uhuh," he responded flatly.
"Hey, maybe I could get you in, too. I bet I could."
"No," he said definitely. "I'll just stay in Santa Monica. Go to your dinner."

Rod has become a good friend. He only moved here a few months ago from New York, and these were firm plans. I suppose I could understand why he might be a little sensitive. Plus in LA, as opposed to NYC, plans really matter, since you have to drive everywhere.

"Maybe I'm being silly," I said, still hoping he'd let me off the hook. "I mean, it's so last minute. It would be obnoxious of me, I guess..." He wasn't letting me off the hook. "So ... I'll probably see you in about 20 minutes."

"Okay. Call me if you change your mind again," said Rod.

I hung up - and was faced with a brutal choice: Enter the International Ballroom for a magical evening of song led by Andy Williams ... or preserve my friendship with Rod.

The whole predicament brought up a lot of guilt and abandonment issues. I considered calling Dr. Saguaro for advice, but I don't really do the psychotherapist-by-phone thing. Finally I looked deep inside my soul ... and decided I couldn't take the risk of karmic retribution. I was going to meet Rod for dinner.

But before I left, I would walk into the International Ballroom, to bask in the gleam of the ELLAs for one brief shining moment. With stiff upper lip and head held high, I strode in. Jane's two assistants asked if I was set for what promised to be an amazing evening. I smiled and nodded. If I'd spoken, I would have choked up.

Everyone was getting seated. That's when Pat Boone, the first star I'd seen that night, walked past.

"Mr. Boone," I asked. "Could I have a picture with you?"

"Of course, young man."


Above: Pat Boone and Me

Dinner at Santa Monica's Border Grill was muted. I nibbled on my chanupas. I barely touched my ceviche. The waiter could tell I was preoccupied.

Afterward I sped back to the Beverly Hilton and stood outside the ballroom with a bunch of overly tan Australian tourists (I'd given my pass back before I left for Santa Monica) and listened through an open door as Andy closed out the ELLAs with "Our Love Is Here to Stay" - a reassuring sentiment after a tumultuous evening. A tuxedoed usher pertly swung the door shut on us.

"Awwww," howled one of the boozed up Aussies, "that's not veery nice."

Look, I'm not angry at Rod. (At least I don't think I am.) And I certainly hope he's not reading this blog. (If you know him, do not ask him to read this. It will only make him feel guilty.)

I guess I just want to know if I did the moral thing. It hurt me to miss the ELLAs. But I figured it wasn't worth ruining a friendship. It wasn't, was it???