A friend and I were in our (then) home town of Little Rock, Arkansas, completely bored one evening. We went downtown to the Excelsior hotel to ride up and down the glass elevator to pass the time. When the door opened at the top floor, we heard a live big band playing. We were young jazz musicians at the time, so we got out of the elevator to go see who was playing.
We poked our heads into a ballroom to see a room full of people in tuxedos, an ice sculpture, a huge spread of food, and a big band partially made up of musicians we knew from the area jazz scene. So, like any young punk musician would, we walked in to listen (uninvited and underdressed).
After a few minutes, we discovered the purpose of the party. It was a pre-campaign fund raiser for Bill Clinton. We found out, because Bill Clinton walked up to us, shaked our hands, and asked how we were doing. We told him were musicians and just wanted to listen to the band. I was a saxophonist, like Bill (but better—God he’s awful). He was very friendly, and didn’t kick us out himself.
A few minutes after he walked away, a security guard ejected us.
