The Miss Florida pageant is about to begin and friends and family of the 40 contestants pour through the doors of the Mahaffey Theater. They are decked out in dresses and jewels, suits and ties, perfume and hairspray.

ADDITIONAL CONTENT

Click here for a Web site, photos and video from the pageant.

Neither the tall lobby ceilings, the dark, reflective beams, nor the thick, gray carpet quell their voices. They are eager fans. They want to know how their "girls," as many call the contestants, will measure up.

But most don't notice the other unofficial judges in the crowd. The ones dressed in more sensible style: maroon vests over white button-down shirts, black pants, black bow ties and flat-soled shoes. Compared with the glitz and glamour of the pageant-goers and the girls themselves, these women are nearly undetectable.

They are the ushers of the Mahaffey Theater, a group of volunteers whose chance at a crown would have come many years ago. As they help fans find seats, they monitor the crowd and maintain a running commentary on the pageant.

For the most part, they have had little room for glamour in their lives.

Maryann Garbaciak is 65 years old and traveled frequently for her job. Dolores Smith, 80, was busy raising five kids. Olivia Beatty, 69, tried out for a pageant once, but that was a long, long time ago

Stationed across the theater floor, the women observe each night of the four-day-long competition until its conclusion Saturday night with the crowning of Miss Florida.

"The best part of this is watching how they dress," Garbaciak says as she takes tickets outside the theater doors. Her eyes, magnified through thick glasses that seem to blend into her skin, wander over the crowd. Some of the pageant-goers look as done-up as the girls on stage. She speaks in whispers.

"It's just amazing," she says. "I never saw so much makeup in my life."

She used to travel across the country, teaching seminars on accounting practices. Now, like the majority of the volunteers, she is retired. She likes early nights, dance numbers and people-watching. Working the pageant gives her a lot of that.

Friday's show is about to start. The doors to the theater open and Garbaciak and Beatty slip inside to help direct traffic as some of the 1,200 pageant-goers extract themselves from the lobby and line up.
When Miss America 1999 glides through the aisle in a red-sequined gown, Beatty leans over, whispering to Garbaciak: "I feel like we should gussy up our uniforms. We're underdressed." The black and maroon ushers uniforms are provided to them by the theater.

Beatty is a big fan of the pageant. Each night includes group choreography, three professional singers, six professional dancers, "witty" banter between the two hosts and a soundtrack for each of the segments. Beatty judges the talent competition as delightful. Most of the girls sing or dance. One or two recite a monologue or twirl a baton.

She has a different view of the interview competition. That's when each contestant picks a question out of a fishbowl and answers on stage. The questions sometimes cause the crowd to snicker. Like this one:

"Who would you rather have as your roommate? Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton?"

Or:

"In the movie 'Pirates of the Caribbean,' Johnny Depp plays the ultimate bad boy, Captain Jack Sparrow. Is your type more of a bad boy or a Steady Eddie?"

Beatty tilts her head. "That's a weird one," she says. " 'Steady Eddie'?"

She never made it to this stage of competition. In 1959, when Beatty was 17, she attended an open audition for the Miss Pittsburgh pageant. Pageant officials lined up hundreds of girls, dressed only in swimsuits.

She was the first to be eliminated.

The swimsuit competition at the Mahaffey each night is tough for everyone involved. Aside from the music playing softly in the background, the theater is quiet as each contestant struts across the stage, turning and posing at all angles for 30 long seconds. The official judges inspect the girls' suits closely to make sure their bodies are covered and decent.

Smith had already reached her judgment.

The swimsuit segment -- now called "lifestyle and fitness in swimwear" -- belittles the contestants and takes the focus off their intelligence, talent, and beauty, she says.

Smith is a small woman with small lips and a little bit of lipstick. She wears white earrings in the shape of miniature triangles. Since she began volunteering at Mahaffey 16 years ago, she has seen the girls' swimsuits shrink steadily from modest one-pieces to belly-baring bikinis.

"I know it's entertainment," Smith says. "But you have this beautiful dress, so dramatic. And then you come out in a skimpy old bathing suit?"

Smith, too, has had a pageant experience. Her daughter Paula was a newspaper intern in 1971 when she was assigned a story on the Miss St. Petersburg pageant. To get behind the scenes, Paula reluctantly signed up for the competition.

"She didn't think she had any business being one of the contestants," Smith recalls. "She wasn't prepared."

Paula's talent was synchronized swimming. Because there's no swimming pool at the Mahaffey, pageant officials filmed her routine at the North Shore pool and ran the reel on a screen during the talent competition.

Paula lost.

Smith didn't much care. The pageant girls are beautiful, talented and intelligent, she says. They even throw their support behind important causes, competing in the pageant with their own platforms.

Last year's queen founded an organization called HOPE based on her platform, "Helping Other People Eat." This year's winner, Tallahassee's Kylie Williams, chose "Realistic Support for Our Troops."

Smith has done quite a lot, herself. Recently, she won a key to the city for her volunteer work, but not just for the pageant. She's worked with Meals on Wheels and cancer patients. She raised her five children with a strict hand and grander ambitions.

"This was never my bag," Smith says of pageants. "Too much froufrou business."