Sometimes perception is everything. Hurricane Rita headed straight for Austin right after Katrina, so Powell was acutely aware of the danger. Rita changed course, but several big acts cancelled ACL. Rhode Island's Rhythm and Roots Festival attendance was down in 2006 because of weather reports on Hurricane Eduardo, which bypassed the fest. A SARS epidemic in Toronto scared artists into canceling out of Windsor and London, but Ted Boomer asked a member of the Canadian Consul General to call artists and explain there were no cases of SARS nearby, and they played. Hurricane Cindy hit Maine with torrential rains all day, but 1,000 walkups purchased tickets in the rain. Benjamin noted, "When you see things like that, you just say 'Thank you.'"

Artists arrive late, wander off , fall ill and, occasionally, die. Dolins said that Z.Z. Hill "created the tradition of booking someone who would die just prior to the festival." Pocono had late cancellations in both 1993 and '94, but Cloeren, ever intrepid, said "I kind of enjoy getting on the phone and refitting the pieces together." The larger the lineup, the easier it is to plug holes.

Nobody can plan for everything. In Arkansas, in 2005, the King Biscuit licensor pulled the name just weeks before the festival, leaving the festival with obsolete merchandise from years past; the festival became known as the Arkansas Blues & Heritage Festival, necessitating logo, advertising and merchandising changes in short order. During the festival, King Biscuit personnel sold King Biscuit merchandise in a vacant lot a couple blocks away. In 2006, the Executive Director quit a month before the festival. "We haven't had a lot of luck in the last decade with festival directors," said Pillow. Lori Dean and her partner were in California on September 11, 2001, with the festival September 14th. Renting a car, they made it to New Jersey in 42 hours.

Mazzolini, who won a Grammy in 2006 for the SFBF, says he's never had a disaster, but "I've had a lot of dramas."

Elmore asked promoters what keeps them going, and we got two kinds of responses: magic moments and the existential satisfaction.

Pillow loved the late Little Milton singing "Hey Hey, the blues is all right," and the audience chanting it as they left. Menius's all-time thrill? "Anytime I get to see an entire set."

Boomer recalls an early site held 4500 people, but "We had 5500. If you dropped a drink, it wouldn't hit the ground." The award-winning Essex Scottish Pipe Band planned to march through the crowd, playing. Security couldn't imagine getting the bagpipers through, but Boomer said "it will be Biblical, the seas will part." Eric Burdon was there, they piped "Sky Pilot," and Burdon broke down crying. Notwithstanding, Boomer admits that "the biggest thrill is surviving."

Michael Cloeren's fondest memories are of the late Ruth Brown, and his first year, in 1992, when Johnny Copeland called to ask, "Is there a slot for me?" But there wasn't, until a cancellation. Cloeren called Copeland, explaining he didn't have much of a budget. Copeland offered, "I'll play for that, just bring me back if I do good." He headlined the following year. For sheer showmanship, Eddie Clearwater entered on a palomino horse dressed as an Indian, and one year James Peterson performed the first 20 minutes of his set coming down a chair lift and walking through the crowd to the stage.

Tom Mazzolini recalls BB King showing up, unannounced, to do "How Blue Can You Get" on a borrowed guitar, and the thrill of an unknown Stevie Ray Vaughan doing all the songs he would become famous for. Like most promoters, he loves giving gifted newcomers a start, and watching the crowd's reaction to undiscovered talent.

Michael Lang said, "My biggest thrill is that people stop me all the time and say 'Aren't you the Woodstock guy? Woodstock changed my life, or my parents' lives, or my children's lives.' "

Life-changing is hard to top. Maybe festival promoters aren't madmen, after all. E