The Night I Booked The Temptations

Corinna called me from my office.

She said Carmen and the team had just wrapped a planning meeting for our upcoming CloudEXPO Silicon Valley at the Santa Clara Convention Center.

Someone had floated a bold idea: a private concert during the opening reception. A real band. A name people would recognize. She wanted my opinion.

I said,

“Can we get KC and the Sunshine Band? I want to hear KC sing Boogie Shoes live.”

That fantasy lasted about five minutes. They were on tour in Canada and completely unavailable.

The booking people suggested a few other options that could work with our California dates.

Corinna called back.

“Out of everyone who’s available,” she said, “we picked The Temptations.”

I paused for half a second, then said,

“Yesss. I love My Girl. Are they still around? They must be a hundred years old.”

Next, we rented a few billboards around Silicon Valley to promote the event. One of the rotating banners Louis designed featured The Temptations.

When the billboards went live, someone sent me a couple of photos. There it was—our conference logo, our dates, and The Temptations—towering over traffic like a very soulful tech announcement.

Around that same time, my mornings followed a very different rhythm.

When I was at my Florida deepwater mansion, I spent a lot of time at a Starbucks on Federal Highway in Deerfield Beach.

I always sat outside, usually near the trash container, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. The seating arrangement wasn’t exactly curated.

Our table was surrounded by a regular cast of homeless folks, and after a few days, everyone knew everyone.

Same faces. Same seats. Same routines.

I’m pretty sure our table had a reputation.

Not “the tech CEO table.”

Not “the conference organizer table.”

It was the homeless table.

Most of the people there actually were homeless.

I just happened to be the guy running a major tech conference, launching a billboard campaign, and booking a legendary Motown group—while sitting next to a garbage can, chain-smoking, and blending right in.

If anything, I probably looked more homeless than they did.

Then I tweeted one of the billboard photos.

My phone buzzed immediately.

The text read:

“Fuat, those five guys on your billboard are NOT The Temptations. They’re just five random Black guys. You’re going to get sued for calling them The Temptations.”

Apparently, Louis had used a random stock photo.

At Starbucks, two women were having lunch at the next table. I’d seen them there for months.

They had that unmistakable lawyer energy—confident voices, precise language, the kind of tone that sounds billable. I leaned over.

“You guys sound like lawyers,” I said. “I have a question.”

They looked up.

“I just hired The Temptations,” I continued. “We put up billboards announcing a private concert, but our designer used the wrong photo. Not actually them. Are we going to get sued for this?”

Both women stared at me.

And I knew exactly what they were thinking.

Perfect. One of the local homeless guys has officially lost it—now he thinks he hired The Temptations.