Olympic Naysayers Turn Into Believers

The city at night: Think of it as an exceedingly clean, mainly sober Utah version of Mardi Gras.

Even many who were reluctant to invite a global extravaganza to their ordinarily quiet city find themselves swept along in the spirit of the polyglot, parka-swathed, pin-trading hordes packing downtown sidewalks.

“I thought I wouldn’t have anything to do with it, but now I’m eating my words,” said Greg Pappas, a local commercial printer, as he stood in a long line at Olympic Square, one of several free downtown Olympic entertainment sites. “The traffic isn’t as bad as they scared us into thinking it would be, and I’ve run into athletes who talk with you, guys who are more customer friendly than a lot of pro basketball players.”

At times, police say the crowds downtown have topped 100,000--a figure especially remarkable in a city of 180,000. On Saturday night, people rang cowbells, and sidewalk musicians played bluegrass banjo, Greek bouzouki, even classical cello. Celebrants flush with Canada’s ice skating victory wore maple-leaf decals on their cheeks, while others sported USA berets, coonskin caps and hats made from twisted balloons. At a sporting-goods store, two strangers stood transfixed by a big-screen broadcast of curling.

“Amazing,” said one.

“It’s all amazing,” said the other.

Beside a granite monument at the site of Salt Lake City’s first Sunday school, a scalper just in from New York trolled for extra tickets. Asked what he’d pay, he said: “Give me a women’s cross-country biathlon and I wouldn’t give you a doughnut. Give me a hockey and we’ll talk.”

Although scalpers complain that business is soft, tickets for such high-profile events as figure skating go for a cool $250 on the street. Tickets to the Medals Plaza are $75, a price fueled by residents selling scalpers some of the 80,000 that were given away in a drawing last month.

That such prices put many events out of reach didn’t bother Carlene George, a community college advisor who has shepherded her students to a number of free events.

“I’m having the time of my life,” said George as she gazed at a 25-story banner, draped over the Mormon Church’s main office building, depicting a mid-twirl figure skater.

In Olympic Square, throngs waited patiently in Disneyland-style lines, listening to official Olympic greetings recorded by Alex Trebek of “Jeopardy” and Utah Gov. Mike Leavitt. After about 30 minutes, they reached the metal detectors--and earned the opportunity to queue up in even longer lines for hot dogs and souvenirs.

At the Olympic Superstore, the grand location of official doodads, uncomplaining crowds waited 40 minutes to get in and then another 40 minutes to make it to the cash register. The wait was about as long for Pfizer pharmaceutical company’s three-minute test to “determine your ideal Olympic sport.”

But waiting is an unrecognized Olympic demonstration sport all its own.

“The other night, I waited 2 1/2 hours for an eight-second luge ride,” said Tara McMillin of suburban Sandy. “But what could I do? I was on a date.”

Three women carrying hockey sticks and wearing lots of makeup, Viking helmets and long robes posed for pictures with tourists.

“Hockey opera,” one of them explained, warbling a few off-key notes.

Crowds watched ice carvers hack away at huge blocks with chain saws. Groups clustered around entertainers--here a contingent from the Air Force Academy’s Band of the Rockies, there the Sweet Adelines.

Of course, the big draws downtown are at the Medals Plaza, where athletes bodysurf above the crowd as bands such as the Goo Goo Dolls and ‘N Sync rock for about 20,000 roaring fans.

Blocks away, a similar-sized crowd jams the huge Mormon Conference Center for a production called “Light of the World,” an epic that traces the painful saga of the early Mormons and ties their perseverance to that of Olympic athletes. About 1,500 performers participate, including the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, local schools and ethnic dance troupes.

Outside, the trees of Temple Square blaze with red and white lights and crowds gaze at the sky for nightly fireworks.

“I just love the feel of it,” said Jan Robinson, a nurse from Sandy. “I’ve been here twice and I’ve had so much fun I had to drag my husband with me.”

To be sure, there are complaints. Some businesses outside the heart of the city say they’re languishing, victims of local officials and media who cast Olympic traffic as something akin to a visitation of locusts.

But for most, life has been only mildly disrupted.

A local women’s bowling league canceled play during the Olympics to spare its members traffic headaches. The University of Utah couldn’t give law boards and other tests because of heavy security on the campus where many athletes bunk. Maids who clean apartments across from the university have to pass through metal detectors before they can start their scrubbing.

For people like Seattle transplant Kurt Kuykendall, such inconveniences are worth it.

Eating breakfast at a restaurant counter, he said he was delighted to see people on the streets when he got off work at 3 a.m.

“It looked like a city,” said Kuykendall, a hospital worker. “The only other time I saw people really excited was when the Jazz made the playoffs.”