I have a “Star Trek” logo tattooed on my calf, and I’m pretty sure you weren’t expecting this story to start out like that.

It’s because all the tats on my calf are “achievement badges.” In the case of the Trek logo, it’s because, as a late-teen, I helped run sci-fi conventions in Virginia Beach, VA (and nearby). It taught me a ton: how to run a business, how to do bookkeeping, how to deal with the chaos of a large event, how to advertise and market, and so much more. In fact, helping run “Sci-Con” and “Beach Trek” in the late 1980s and early 1990s is probably why I wasn’t phased when I was asked to start what is now “PowerShell + DevOps Global Summit.”

At the first Beach Trek, which I vaguely remember being in the late 1980s… actually, how old do I look in this photo?

Yeah, so my on-site job that year was to escort our Guest of Honor, Denise Crosby, in and around the event. You know, make sure she got to the right place at the right time, didn’t get mobbed by fans, that kind of thing.

We were getting redy for her main speech, and I got her into the ballroom maybe 15 minutes early. The event just prior to hers was wrapping up, and it was a charity auction run by Bjo Trimble. Bjo was often known as “Star Trek’s Biggest Fan,” and she knew bloody everyone in the cast and crew for the shows and movies. She’d gotten a bunch of stuff to auction off, and as Denise and I went in, she was just on the final big-ticket items. The first was the hem from Spock’s white terry-cloth robe from “Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home,” which went for about $85. In the 1980s, mind you. The second were three four-inch snippets of cloth—in maroon, mustard, and blue—from the “Next Generation” costume shop. $110.

Denise was like, “um, what’s happening?”

I explained that, in addition to being pretty unique keepsakes, costumers would buy these things so that they could get better material matches for their own costumes. Although honestly, that can go wrong: the Next Gen snippets, for example, were way darker than you’d think, because they were selected with the knowledge that they’d be filmed under incredibly bright studio lights and then color-corrected in post. But I digress. Denise nodded, understanding the explanation, and then added, “And I guess it’s for charity.”

“Exactly. You could get like two hundred bucks for a lock of hair, I bet.”

Way to not be creepy, Don. But she did chuckle.

So we watched Bjo finish up, and then Denise took the stage to great applause.

“Before I get started,” she started, “what am I bid for a pair of white, I think they’re cotton, Calvin Klein underwear? Clean! From my luggage.”

My walkie-talkie lit up.

The bidding began.

Denise got it up to over $400—close to $500—by additionally offering to autograph said undies, and to put a red lipstick kiss on them. Which she did, in the comfort of her hotel room that evening. The winner received the garment the next day to much fanfare.

Denise is a classy lady. There was no reason for her to do that, and we certainly didn’t expect it, and the money went to the Tidewater AIDS Crisis Task Force. I loved how Denise just took the ball and rolled with it, wasn’t afraid to have a little fun, and kep amping up the bids by offering to autograph and such.

The conference went well.

The next year, we contracted with Michael Dorn, who played Worf on the show. A few weeks prior to the event, we get a call from his agent, asking if he should pack extra boxers.

Um.