Project Parties

Society could hardly function without its charity balls; politicians live off $100-a-plate fund-raising dinners; and in Harlem, rent parties--a tradition that became famous during the Depression--still go on. But the latest thing is a project party thrown for the benefit and profit of no one less dear than oneself or one's friends.

The means are as varied as the goals. Chicago Manufacturer Thomas Mc-Comas, 28, a would-be movie producer, staged a "psychedelic night" last September for 1,000 friends and wellwishers, offered them unlimited liquor, steak tartare, ear-shattering recorded music, and a flickering "lobster light" au Leary. Charging $10 a head ($15 for couples), McComas cleared $1,000. It was not as much as he had hoped for but enough to finance his film, No Game Today.

Sin & Soul. In San Francisco's newest bohemia, the Haight-Ashbury district, Al Johnson, an unemployed musician, throws a party every Wednesday night in his basement pad. He serves coffee, invites in an embryo rock group, charges neighbors 50-c- to drop by--and clears $30 to $40 a week, enough to pay the musicians' carfare and, more important, his rent. In Squaw Valley, half a dozen ski bachelors are renting a cabin for the winter. To pay for it, they are giving mammoth spaghetti-dinner parties every Saturday night. Charging $1.50 to $2 a head, they hope to clear enough to live rent-free.

Often the purpose is to launch a new enterprise. Manhattan Adman Burt Pence, 28, and Lawyer Todd Merer, 27, invited 2,000 guests to a party in Greenwich Village last week with the theme, "Sin and Soul in the Seventies," featuring a "monster happening" at midnight with a recording of Kate Smith singing The Star-Spangled Banner, a karate exhibition, and chorines in fluorescent tights and gas masks. The party grossed $5,500, and its profits will go to finance a boutique the pair hopes to open. If they don't have enough for that, they will use the money to finance another and larger party on Feb. 14.

Happy & Foamy. What really turns the paying guests out is a hint of romance. A case in point was the plight of Washington Schoolteacher Barbara Sobocinski, 30, who had met a young matador, Antonio Montes, in Spain last summer. Since then, it has been one impassioned letter after another from Antonio, his latest concluding: "The sun, the lover of Seville, never falters. If you long for the sun of Seville, why do you not come to see it at Christmas? Do you not long for me, as well?"

Barbara certainly did, but her special checking account registered near zero. To the rescue came her room mates, Mimi Feldt and Vivian Franco. Their solution: a party with a slogan: "Send Sobo to Spain!" By the hundreds, their dittoed orange invitations fluttered out over the District of Columbia: "The pleasure of your company is requested at a benefit party. Free beer and setups provided, plus band. Your contribution (of $1) will further the cause of international relations."

The response was terrific. A George Washington University fraternity donated its house, a struggling young musical group volunteered to perform. After a nightlong happy, foamy mob scene, Sobo last week clutched $335 to her bosom, still $154 short of the price of a round-trip ticket to Seville, but enough to airmail a letter off to Antonio with the glad tidings: Expect Sobo in Seville for Christmas.

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