DIE-HARD FANS BASK IN GLOW OF STARS

Oscar was busy putting his temporary house in order a couple of afternoons ago: cables getting hooked up, lights being hoisted, trash being swept away. He was getting ready for the 1.5 billion or so guests he was expecting for his 58th annual get-together and awards show.

About a hundred or so of his helpers were strolling around the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, Oscar’s usual abode this time of year, tightening, straightening and fixing. Seemingly bored security guards stood at the perimeter, looking on impassively.

And spread out over the hastily erected grandstands surrounding the event’s official entrance--where all those limos and Mercedeses would deposit their stellar cargo--were about 30 die-hard fans.

They would spend the next 24 hours in various degrees of discomfort for the privilege of seeing stars emerge from their rides, pose for the huge battery of cameras and microphones, and then saunter into the pavilion for Oscar’s party.

“I don’t really know if it’s worth it or not,” said Sam Ibrahim, a recent Southern Californian by way of Chicago, “but I kept seeing it on TV, and it looked like a blast. So when I moved out here, I knew I had to come and camp out.”

He squinted into the sunset and added, “No, it’s already been worth it. We already saw (nominee Jack) Nicholson and (nominees/performers Huey) Lewis and the News going in for rehearsals. It’s, like, fantastic. But they’re all so short .”

“Sure, man, it’s worth it,” stated George Tressler, Ibrahim’s bench mate. “Sitting out here in 70-degree weather and checking out the famous? Come on! The guys back in Chicago are drooling already!”

The pair’s votes for Oscarhood: “The Color Purple” (picture), Meryl Streep or Whoopi Goldberg (actress--a split vote here), and Nicholson (actor).

Best director?

“I don’t know--the whole business with Spielberg really confused the issue,” Ibrahim opined.

In another section of the risers, Gregor Wolf--who traveled all the way from Frankfurt, West Germany, to do his star-gazing--pored over a pocket German-English dictionary.

“I am still trying to be improving my English,” he admitted, “but I am very excited to be here among the stars for this.” He added (in German) that he was a film student and projectionist back home and had often dreamed of attending the awards in person.

Wolf was quite sure of this year’s winners: “(Sydney) Pollack for regisseur (director) . . . Harrison Ford for actor . . . and Whoopi Goldberg for actress. She was ausgezeichnet (excellent in ‘Color Purple’ .”

Mention of that film clouded the young man’s face. “I think the Spielberg leaving-out was very unfair,” he said. “I have been his work studying for two years, and I think he’s best director in the world right now. For that reason only ‘Color Purple’ should win for picture.”

Faint, adoring shrieks from the direction of the artists’ entrance brought a smile to Wolf’s lips. “Is very exciting being here at last,” he murmured.

But down below the risers, moving among the growing shadows, two raggedly dressed unofficial garbage collectors sifted dejectedly through the day’s leavings, hoping for a scanty dinner. No luck, though.

“This year’s not near as good as last year, man,” one of them said to the other as they shambled off toward 1st Street.

The security guards remained impassive.

“This year hasn’t been nearly as good as last year,” said the vendor as he adjusted his cart’s umbrella toward the Monday-morning sun. “We sold a lot more stuff last year--more drinks, more hot dogs, stuff like that. Same number of customers, but less volume. Maybe people watching their weight.”

A smile broke Leonardo Ibarra’s professional concern. “But it’s a great job, you know? Sitting out here, looking at all the cute girls, getting some sun. It’s real kickback. And it’s exciting, seeing all this stuff going on around here.”

The tempo of “the stuff going on around here” had picked up over Sunday’s leisurely once-overs. Teams of video technicians moved their gear into position along the entrance ramps. Scores of Oscar’s helpers--all marked with the large triangular credentials badge--trundled cranes and cherry pickers into position. Media personnel were checking their cameras, testing their microphones, combing their hair.

Along one of the entrance ramps, the rounder half of “At the Movies”--the Chicago Sun-Times’ film critic Roger Ebert--adjusted his tie and waved to fans.

“This thing just keeps getting bigger every year,” Ebert said to a fan while signing an autograph. “Aren’t you having fun? I am.”

But just then a picket line was being formed in front of the pavilion by disgruntled video projectionists of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees (IATSE), Local 150, who said they were being “prevented from doing their jobs” by ABC, the network broadcasting this year’s Oscarfest.

“How are the Oscars unfair?” asked one young fan, reading one of the picketers’ placards.

“They won’t let us do our jobs,” replied the bearded picketer. “They won’t let us run the projection equipment.” The kid shrugged, turned away.

“ABC brought in their own video projectionists day before yesterday (Saturday) after we set up Friday and told us we were no longer needed,” explained Brad Lewis, the local’s press secretary--the bearded picketer--to a reporter. “We want ABC to hire union projectionists.”

But as it turned out later Monday afternoon, the picket line was designed to be “informational” only: According to IATSE sources, there was in fact a Local 150 projectionist working inside, and the picketers merely wanted more union workers inside.

“It’s kind of a sour grapes picket line,” said one of the union sources, who declined to be quoted by name out of sympathy for the picketers. “The ones who are picketing are the ones who didn’t get the job.”

The dozen or so “informational” picketers didn’t stop the risers from filling up by Monday morning, though.

A thicket of almost 700 sunglassed heads, checking out one another, rustled at the slightest glimpse of a limousine or flash camera. Signs and banners of all kinds choked the grandstands: “All right, Whoopi!” rubbed elbows with “We Still Love You Steven (Spielberg),” while the largest sang an ode to Hollywoodiana: “Hey Babe, Let’s Do Lunch!” A buzzing murmur of anticipation rose and fell as a limo went south on Hope Street.

Over in a corner of the stands, a trio of San Bernardino nurses--Debbie Zepeda, Pam Williams and Kris Ayala--waited for the fun to really begin. They had been there, they said, since 9 in the morning and were surprised by the crowds that had forced them into the risers farthest from the “action.”

“It’s cool, though; we’re still in the front row,” said Ayala with a grin. “I dragged these two here because last time I had such a blast. Now we’ll be the Terrible Trio.”

“I always watched it on TV and figured I was missing something kind of special,” said Zepeda. “I didn’t have to be dragged at all. So I miss a day of work, big deal. This is worth it already.”

The Terrible Trio closed out an informal poll taken among the fans Monday by agreeing with the poll’s very unofficial results: “Color Purple,” best picture; Nicholson, best actor; Goldberg, best actress. The only “no opinions” came from the security guard watching one of the backstage entrances, who said impassively that he’d been told “not to make any statements to the media of any kind.”

But he added, under his breath: “I just wish I were inside, watching the thing happen.”