< n I I I ( l. I I' I HUS I NESS Let Them Entertain U. At a meeting of college concert bookers, everybody wants to see or be signed Attention, music fans: Otis Day and the Knights are available for hire at your next school concert. OK. so the origi nals were only lip-syncing in the movie "Animal House,” and the backup musi cians aren’t even the same guys who played thoae cinematic Knights. But Otis, my man. is still one and the same—and what more do you want for a $10,0(X) fee? Of course, for half that, you can get Larry iBud) Melman, the cackling regular on "Late Night with David Letterman.” or for $2,000 (pi us expenses) you can book George iSpanky) McFarland, the chub in the "Our Gang" series. True. "Spanky" is now a 57-year-old grandfather who likes his afternoon nape, but he can still spin tales of what it was like to be one of the great child stars of the '30s in his one-man, two-hour show, "A Little Bit of Yesterday." How do acts like these ever get to college campuses? Well, the process very often begins at the annual convention of the Na tional Association of Campus Activities. This year in Washington about 2,000 pro gram honchos from 600 schools mingled with 200 performers—as well as assorted agents and T-shirt, poster, beer and soda salesmen—all pitching for a piece of the lucrative college market. Entertainment on campus can add up to big bucks: many of the student programmers, who pay $ 150 to register, come to the convention with budg ets as high as $60,000. Scouting tilsnt: For six days student-activi ties chiefs scouted hot comedians, such as Emo Philips, checked out rent-a-beach-par ty operations, and saw 25 Hicks, ranging from "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" to cult classics like "Eraserhead " But for every true headliner, there were several unknowns doing Cat Stevens and Harry Chapin imitations in The Club 750—a showcase so named because that's the most its performers charge per campus appear ance. In one corner of the exhibition hall, Mark Wenzel, who bills himself as "the official mime of the 1986 World’s Fair," passed out fliers to everyone within arm's length of his booth His manager, never more than an earshot away, revealed to anyone who cared to listen that his client boasted an even greater distinction as The Man Who Started Mime in Theme Parks: "Mark was at Sea World in 1972!" Struggling singers Kiki Ebsen and Timo thy Drury hope NACA might launch them into the bigger time. They're familiar with the vicissitudes of show business: she's the daughter of Buddy Ebsen of "The Beverly Hill billies," and he’s the son of James Drury of "The Virgin ian." "Appearing here,” said Ebsen, "gives us the opportuni ty to be seen by a whole part of the country that we normally wouldn’t be exposed to." The clout exerted by school representatives varied almost as much as the talent. Some, PHOTOS BY JOHN TROHA Bl.AC'K STAR Just add water: Rentable, portable beach party like Bill Ostroff who has spent $110,000 this academic year as director of concerts at Northwestern, came more to see and be seen than to sign "I'm here to have a good time and to establish a better working rela tionship with the people I’m on the phone with five or six hours a day,” Other book ers, with slimmer resources, also had mod est aims Susan Haynie. one of a five-mem Hip hop*: Comic Philips ber delegation that drove up from East Carolina University in Greenville, N.C., said, "I'm here to generate ideas, to get resource material, to make contacts.” While most of the convention's exhibi tors pushed entertainment, some focused on more serious matters. Independent agent George Greenfield urged student or ganizers to participate in Hungerthon—a nationwide fund-raising day in May—by scheduling benefits for the hungry and homeless here and abroad. (The project will be jointly sponsored by USA for Africa, Hands Across America and the Na tional Student Campaign Against Hun ger). MTV, the rock-video cable channel, offered to sponsor a free concert this fall on the campus that raised the most money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. Miller Beer added a sobering note by pass ing out "Don't Drive When Drunk” litera ture along with free glasses of brew. No ‘Rotobud’: The performers, though, dominated the show, and the leading light was clearly Emo Philips, the cable-and club comedian who seems an amalgam of Pee Wee Herman, Woody Allen and a court jester. Asked why he sought college audi ences, Philips responded, "I do a lot of col lege dates. College audiences are the hip pest, most intelligent audience for their age group.” Then, in curious Emoesque fashion, he added, "I think it’s important to influence people while they’re very young, so when they’re on their deathbed they’ll be saying 'Emo' instead of ’Rosebud’.” When you’re trying to entice student book ers, it seems, it helps to carry a big shtick. Dody Tsiantak with David Tischman in Washington