The Bell Curve -- Joseph N. Bell

If you were watching the ball drop in New York’s Times Square on New

Year’s Eve, you probably saw me. I was on top of the Minskoff Theater

marquee, seven stories above Broadway. If you missed me -- and admittedly

it was a little congested in that area what with 500,000 people milling

around -- you certainly saw the results of my work. I was one of some 65

people -- including my wife and stepson -- pitching red, white and blue

confetti into the swirling winds dancing and darting about Times Square

at midnight.

The catalyst for delivering my family and me to the Minskoff was my

friend and neighbor, Treb Heining. You’ve read about him in this space

before. Best known for his histrionics with balloons, Treb puts the icing

atop political conventions, Super Bowls, Olympic ceremonies and similar

public events. Last week marked the 10th straight year he has scattered

-- not dumped, mind you -- confetti on the New Year’s Eve celebrants in

Times Square.

We were part of the scattering process because Treb told us early on

that if we wanted to visit New York over the holidays, he would put us on

his “team.” (Our official title was “confetti dispersal engineers.”) In

return for our efforts, we would have a quite remarkable -- and, finally,

breathtaking -- vantage point for what is probably the most auspicious

New Year’s Eve celebration in the world. We would also, we discovered

later, have a great deal of fun despite freezing all the extremities of

our bodies.

My feeling about seriously cold weather has been quite clear since I

moved to California 42 years ago. I’m against it. By living in northern

Indiana and Chicago for almost half my life, I feel I have done my time

in a cold climate. The New York trip did not change this conviction.

Frigid fingers, ears and feet were simply the price we had to pay to

experience our New Year’s adventure. As a result, I have made a

commitment -- my only year-end resolution -- to spend the Christmas

holidays for the next 10 years in Southern California. Then I may or may

not look at it again.

Meanwhile, back at the Minskoff, I found the logistics of confetti

fascinating, more so -- I’m sure -- than the half-million people who

later combed it out of their hair below us or the sanitary engineers who

swept it up. The theme this year was red, white and blue, just as it has

been across the country since Sept. 11. So our confetti was evenly

divided among the three colors, plus a deluge of silver strands thrown

out first to cast a special radiance during the singing of “God Bless

America.”

Treb had eight teams stationed at various heights in buildings around

Times Square. The confetti -- 2,000 pounds of it -- was delivered to

these buildings several days before the event so it would be sure to be

in place on the afternoon of Dec. 31. We convened six hours before

midnight in the headquarters of the Business Improvement District that

picked up the tab for this bash. There our leader gave us instructions

(take off any loose jewelry so it doesn’t end up on Broadway, don’t jump

the release gun, throw the confetti out as far as you can) followed by a

pep talk that would have won points in any football locker room.

By the time we headed to our battle stations about 8 o’clock, Broadway

was packed beyond our view with remarkably orderly and exuberant human

beings, some of whom had already been standing there for several hours to

pay homage to a city and a nation. We required a police escort to get us

into our buildings, passing through celebrants who examined us closely to

see if Rudy Giuliani, who was working the crowd nearby even though he

would be an ex-mayor in a few hours, was among us. We entered the

Minskoff stage door, but -- alas -- there was no show playing. Two dozen

of us engineers took a backstage elevator to a dingy, depressing

seventh-floor corridor.

But the door at the end of the corridor opened on Wonderland. When we

stepped through it to the roof of the marquee, we entered another planet

-- a planet where the lights dwarfed even the Las Vegas Strip and the

positive energy from the street below was a palpable force on our rooftop

that built steadily in intensity as the new year approached and warmed

both my body and soul.

To our right, the ball that would fall at midnight was poised. Beneath

it, Dick Clark was holding forth and a fluid knot of people told us where

Giuliani was touching flesh at any given moment. To our left, New York’s

new mayor waited to be sworn in on a raised platform. Behind him and

extending as far as we could see, were people packed into tightly

controlled pens to preserve space for emergency vehicles and VIPs. When

one pen was full, a new one would start, suggesting a sense of infinity.

As midnight approached, our instructions were repeated. The silver

strands would be launched with the strains of “God Bless America”; the

confetti would follow 10 seconds before midnight. We were poised and

ready. When the moment came, Treb strode up and down behind us shouting,

“Go, confetti.” And then it was all over.

Where there had been a cacophony of voices from below belting “God

Bless America,” there was suddenly silence. The mayor was sworn in and

left, followed by the ex-mayor. The pens were broken down, and the crowds

melted away. By the time we cleaned up the confetti that had blown back

on the Minskoff roof, Times Square was drowsing. When we crossed Broadway

to our own private celebration, the only action was coming from

orange-suited sanitation workers cleaning up our debris, surrounded by

New York cops who had been both highly professional and remarkably

cheerful in their security duties and could now go home.

New York was ready to doze. I wanted to get warm. But, especially, I

wanted to tip a New Year’s drink so I could properly toast the

resilience, courage and humanity of the people who make up this

remarkable city.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.