11th Anniversary "Celeb"-ration 7 & 8

Continuing with our line-up of zany celebrity encounters, we come to one of the most unforgettable for me. This time, I was mired neck-high in a two-person stage production of "Misery," based on Stephen King's famous novel. Unquestionably the most difficult thing I ever attempted in my life, I was on-stage for 20 scenes in a row, broken up only by the fifteen-minute intermission after scene 10. ("Annie Wilkes" was in 18 scenes and occasionally got to leave the set, but I never, ever did.) I was tortured, tormented, had a foot chopped off with an axe and even had to fight to the death in carefully coordinated stunt sequences. Even with all this on my plate and on my mind, there was no way in hell I was going to let the chance to meet the star of the show in the accompanying, much larger, theater slip through my fingers. As we were pummeling our way through "Misery," the Bob Fosse musical "Chicago" was performing next to us and it starred a childhood crush of mine, Mr. Gregory Harrison.

Harrison began appearing in movies and on TV in 1975, but really burst onto the scene in 1977 when he was given the lead in the television rendition of Logan's Run, based on a movie I adored. Though my ten year-old brain had trouble understanding why everyone looked (much!) different, I still liked the short-lived show. Then in 1978 he had a featured role in the mammoth miniseries Centennial. 

But what put him on the map for real was 1979's Trapper John, M.D. with Pernell Roberts. Harrison was cute and sweet and sexy (including an unforgettable opening credits sequence.) He then parlayed his newfound fame into an iconic 1981 TV-movie called For Ladies Only, appearing as a male stripper! He proceeded on to a steady career (some of you may have seen him in the AIDS drama It's My Party, 1996, as Eric Roberts' lover), which included a hearty amount of stage work. 

Thus it was that I got the opportunity to brush up against him in October of 2004. I did everything I could do to see him around the halls of the complex and the closest I could ever get was to glimpse the back of his head as he trotted from the stage to his dressing room (which is right near where we entered our smaller theatre.)  One Friday night, I had waited long enough and KNEW that I had to meet him because his show was leaving on Sunday.  So I grabbed an old magazine I had brought for him to sign and climbed upstairs to stake him out. What luck!  He was just walking into his dressing room from somewhere else!  So I waltzed right to the door behind him!  He turned to me and I said, "Hi!  I'm acting in the play next door and thought I'd drop by to welcome you to Cincinnati and say hello!"  So he asked what play I was in and when I told him, he lit up and seemed really delighted and intrigued.  So I said, "Yeah!  Look at my legs!" and hiked up my dress pants to reveal my battered, broken, bruised, demolished legs.  His eyes bugged out of his head at that point.  

I told him about our group and our mission, the shows and so on.  He seemed vaguely interested, but almost laughed when I told him how we had Pay What You Can night so that people who can't or won't spend $20 on a ticket could come and see theatre (since his show was $60 or more!)  Then I told him I had something to show him and he grinned and wondered what it was.  It was my 1980 copy of Rona Barrett's Hollywood magazine in which she was predicting the hunks of the future.  On the cover were Stephen Collins, Christopher Atkins, Andrew Stevens, Peter Barton and Gregory Harrison.  So I pointed to him and said, "Look!  You made it!"  And he goes clockwise around the cover and says, "I've worked with Chris and produced with Andy, and Steve and I are good friends....." so I add, "I guess Peter Barton didn't really make it....." Then I opened the magazine and referred to the article and other pictures of him inside.  I said, apropos of nothing, "This is old because you were still single then!"  (He has been married for a long time to Randi Oakes of CHiPs and has four kids.)  

This is when the whole thing went surreal and zany as only I can be.  I held up the magazine and for no other reason except that I was possessed by a voodoo witch doctor said, "I actually bought this magazine to give to my good friend Vickie because she really likes Christopher Atkins, but you happened to be on the cover too, so now I might keep it!" Hello!!  What an idiot!  He then looked right through me with the steeliest, searing grey-green-hazel eyes and started walking towards me.  I began to be hypnotized by this and could barely remember my name.  Somehow he mentally levitated me to the door.  As he approached me, backing me up telepathically, he started to unbutton and remove his shirt to reveal a jaw-dropping physique (at 54!) with closely-cropped chest hair. I kept wondering what was going on until he made it clear that he had to get ready to go onstage in 16 minutes!  I babbled and foamed at the mouth like a total fool until he politely, but determinedly escorted me out and shut the door, shooting me one last big smile before it clicked shut!  

It was a little dejecting to realize later that his character actually wouldn't be onstage until about FORTY-FIVE minutes after this, but that's okay.  I know he had to get prepared and didn't have time to mess with "Andy Wilkes", his "number one fan"!  And I had a marathon of my own to prepare for!

Yaaaass, bitches! You see, Lana Turner and Jimmy Dean weren't the only ones to have ever been "on the cover of a magazine...!" Ha ha ha!

It was almost exactly a year later that I was off on another one of my infamous adventures. South of me about 30 or 40 minutes is Maysville, KY, birthplace of one Rosemary Clooney. After her career of movies, TV and music tours, she retired to a house along the river in nearby Augusta, KY and a couple of years after her death, it became a labor of love to turn her home into a museum honoring her. The chief proponent of this was the first ever Miss America from Kentucky, Heather French - to this day the only contestant I ever rooted for who won (in 2000.) My picks usually were first runner up or lower. 

Not only was Ms. French the first ever winner to hail from Kentucky, where I was raised, but she was also one of the first in eons to sport a sassy short haircut versus the more traditional lion's mane.

If you'd ever even met me, you'd know that I will scale barb-wire fences, crawl across broken glass.....anything to meet even the lowest rung celebrity available.  Two friends and I figured we'd head down there and catch a glimpse of Miss America and maybe Rosie's brother Nick Clooney.  Dave drove and, for some reason, seemed to forget any and all applications of the rules of the road.  Time and again he would overlook Stop signs or No Turn on Red signs to the point where finally I had to screech from the back seat, "If you have to kill me, do it on the way HOME, not before I get to see Rosemary Clooney's ostrich fan from White Christmas or before I've had a home-cooked lunch at one of the local restaurants!!"  

We managed to pull into town just minutes before the ribbon cutting ceremony.  There were quite a few cars, so we had to park pretty far back and walk.  We seemed to create quite a stir as we were "city folk".  As we approached the house, which overlooks a beautiful stretch of river with a nice concrete walk, there was a bit of hubbub with people milling about and jostling for the best view.  No shrinking violet, I decided to climb up on a mammoth tree stump that was in the front of the house.  This backfired slightly when my foot went through the rotting surface - ankle deep! - and I had to be dragged back out.  However, I regained my footing and stood ready to view the events.  A female journalist decided to follow suit and hideously climbed up and stood IN FRONT of me ON the stump!  She out-camera'ed me with a big, huge monstrosity that she kept clicking continuously. In the picture above-right you'll find George Clooney's father Nick indicating something with his finger, his mother Nina in front of the shrubbery and Rosemary's widower Dante DiPaulo dead center.

The ceremony consisted of national radio personality Rick Dees (who did American Top 40 radio once Casey Kasem retired) introducing Lt. Governor Steve Henry (husband of Heather French), who then proceeded to talk about the museum and the various guests of honor.  One of the chief guests was Rosie's widower Dante (who was a very talented dancer in films such as Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Sweet Charity - they married in 1997) who had a hard time keeping it together as he recalled Ms. Clooney.  Nick Clooney was on hand as well, of course, and his wife Nina. Various other mayors and officials were around until Miss Heather Renee French Henry came up to announce that they were going to play one of Rosie's songs as the benediction.  It was called "Bless This House" and it was very lovely.  Unfortunately, the entire ceremony was continuously interrupted by such varied elements as barges, the ferry, a screaming child, an overhead plane and a motorcycle!!!  It got to be absolutely ridiculous after a while.  Then came the ribbon-cutting and the stampede to get inside began.

Heather Renee French is in pink as the ribbon cutting is prepared. Rick Dees is in the red tie.

I advised that we NOT go into the museum just then as it was a MAD HOUSE.  We opted to go have lunch and then come back when it had died down some.  So we proceeded down the street and finally wound up at this placed called "RESTAURANT".  We watched the tumbleweeds blowing down the street as EVERYONE seemed to be at The Clooney House. Let me point out now that Augusta's Main Street is only a little over a block long.  Charming as it was, on this street at at that time there were a MINIMUM of four hair salons and a minimum of 3 video stores!!!  Apparently, everyone got their hair done and then sat home watching a movie! One place was a hair salon AND a video store!!!!  They had combined the best of both worlds.  It was also a place for piercing, waxing, tattoos and nails!!!  A veritable outlet mall for body punishment! (Incidentally, Augusta's riverfront was redressed back in the late-'70s to serve as vintage St. Louis for the aforementioned miniseries Centennial, in which young George Clooney served as an extra.)

Finally we entered the museum and saw the various posters, pictures, cards, gowns and so on that make up the Rosemary Clooney Museum.  Heather and her mother had meticulously recreated the red velvet gown from White Christmas (the original is MIA) by re-watching the scene countless times.  Other clothes of Rosie's were there, though, and it was startling to see her tiny 23 inch waist in a few of them.  Also on hand were clothes of Bob Hope's, Vera-Ellen's and Mary Wickes'.  Though it isn't a particularly large house and there wasn't an overwhelming amount of stuff in it yet (it's been a work in progress), it was neat to see the various pieces and review her career and so on.  I happened to be up on Vera-Ellen's life and career and since no one had stepped up to the plate, I began to offer tidbits of info about HER to people who hardly could have cared less!  Since Vera was from Norwood, Ohio where I live, Jeremy suggested that I tell people she was born in my house and open up the Vera-Ellen Museum! 

We went downstairs and out onto the back porch where several folks were selling CD's, books, ornaments and suddenly........"THERE SHE IS........MISS AMERICA......    THERE SHE IS.....YOUR IDEAL........"  Some people were pestering her for pictures, so I waited patiently (read: rolling my eyes, waiting for the other human debris to go away!)  Then when the coast was clear, I made my move.  She was a mother of two already and let me tell you, she was THIN.  Of course, her schedule was monstrous and she'd been on the road 24/7.  Unlike past Miss Americas, the more recent ones have generally had a platform of social awareness that they work on continuously.  Heather worked tirelessly to promote homeless and veteran issues.  She also wrote and illustrated children's books and wasn't the least bit disappointed that I never even glanced at them.  I was too busy telling her how, in 1958, Mary Ann Mobley won the title by taking off pieces of her outfit as she sang "There'll Be Some Changes Made", complete with a re-enactment on the back patio!  Heather noted that stripping of any kind was banned the year after that (and I wouldn't be surprised if 40 year old men bumping and grinding on the back patio of Rosemary Clooney's house wasn't ALSO banned after my "performance"!!  Ha!)  Seriously, she couldn't possibly have been any nicer as I prattled on and on.  This was following the deluge of people who had come earlier before we had eaten lunch and come inside the house!

After speaking to her, my iced tea was kicking in and with the nerves and all, I had to "make water", to use the local term- inology.  I walked up to the second floor of Rosie's house and came upon several people staring into her bathroom, desperately trying to ascertain how she could have fit into the sliding-door shower during those final years.  I slipped through and announced, "Sorry folks, but this particular exhibit of the museum is temporarily closed!"  I then did a quick reconnaissance to see if was really true when she sang, "Extra value is what you get, when you buy Coronet", but I'm betting it was Charmin.  Truthfully, the toilet seat was just about the cheapest, most ghastly thing in the world.  I couldn't imagine they weren't able to fly one in from the city.  I hated to touch it to raise it up, so I used my foot. Once finished, I discovered that a different, teensy bathroom had been installed downstairs for visitors and that I had actually peed in part of the exhibit! ROTFL!

Later, we settled into a cafe for some dessert and coffee and I was reliving the encounter with Miss America, predicting that by the time her two daughters are of pageant age, I would be famous enough to serve as a judge (because, you know, they always put Community Theatre actors next to Jeff Gordon and Mary Hart at these things!) and how "Heather's children call me Uncle Jon now" and other nonsense.  Just as we thought we might be ready to head out, one of the ladies from the museum came over and asked if we might mind helping her take drinks back to the house!! Well you know I was all about that......  The lady promised it would be worth our while because a Louis Vuitton suitcase had since arrived and had been placed in Rosemary's bedroom.  (Suffice it to say, without trying to seem too indelicate, that Rosie's bloomers could barely fit in this poor, battered piece of luggage!) As we returned to the house, I burst through and headed straight to the porch with a sing-songy "I'm baaaccck!" as Heather fed me one of those weary smiles that says, "You know.....you were fun the first twenty minutes, but my back hurts now and I'm ready to call it a day!"  I interpreted that to mean that she was up for more fun so there we went again, making little jokes and having fun. Before long it truly was time to go (and I'm sure they can repair the door frame where I hung onto it with my fingernails as Dave and Jeremy dragged me out by my feet!) We posed outside for a quick picture and back we went to the city.

Later that night, I tried to relay my exciting story to several friends who looked at me with all the enthusiasm of someone watching a stoplight go from red to green.  However, once I challenged them and asked them how many Miss America's they had ever met, it seemed to perk them up a little bit more! In time, I would return to The Rosemary Clooney Museum again and again, watching it grow and meeting up with interesting folks. Heather French struggled valiantly with my persistent appearances and played a part in more than one later adventure.

:::Editor's Note::: Full disclosure is that, apart from the madness of my recent workload and all the various problems associated with COVID19 - and, yes, the insistence of Blogger to change the interface permanently to a new system I dislike! - I've had a recent setback. I had to have outpatient surgery which required my first ever bout with stitches. And... in true Poseidon fashion, there was a complication which required me to have to race back to the doctor after looking like John Wilkes Booth came over for a visit! So that has made keeping this blog up and running even more difficult. But I'm well on the mend now. With that, I leave you with one last glimpse of the divine Mr. Gregory Harrison:

11th Anniversary "Celeb"ration! 5 & 6

Somehow or another I've already messed up the chronological trajectory of these various celebrity encounters. You see, it's not like I have a chart or anything about them. I have to refer to old e-mails, photos and things in order to try to piece them together. So this one actually took place prior to the Richard Simmons extravaganza...! Picture it, July 11th, 2001. Close to a decade after The Golden Girls, Miss Bea Arthur has been trying out various permutations of a one-woman show. First called "An Evening with Bea Arthur," it soon morphs into "And Then There's Bea," a play on the theme song from her hit 1970s sitcom Maude. Having begun to tour in April, the show has now made its way to Cincinnati, Ohio where an eager audience awaits. 

Iconic as Maude.

I, along with two close friends who also adored her, made certain I obtained great tickets for opening night. As it was, we weren't 30 feet away from her as she alighted onto our local stage for a night of stories and songs. The place was packed as she performed a variety of favorite songs and relayed little stories with composer Billy Goldenberg at the piano. She also had a boot on one foot because at a prior stop on the tour, Minneapolis if it matters, she'd walked into the orchestra pit! 

Unforgettable as Dorothy Zbornak.

Afterwards, my friend Lisa, who was highly familiar with the venue, helped determine which door she would be most likely to exit from (and it wasn't the one with a big blue awning that said "Stage Door!" It was way in the back near a rat-ridden alley. Sure enough, that's where she came out, probably a bit startled to find three diehard fans waiting for her in the dingy dark. Not even taking time to be shy, I strode right up to her and began blathering on and on about how big a fan I'd always been and how her work had changed my life and so on...!

In "You're Gonna Love Tomorrow."

As it happened, I was actually appearing in a Sondheim musical revue at the smallest of the three theater spaces in that venue as was Lisa and my third friend Joe was the director of it. This date was our only chance to see Ms. Arthur. To our utter astonishment, she had read a review of our show in the local paper and expressed how she had wanted to come, but her own show overlapped our completely. (Can you imagine?! I'd have died.) 

She couldn't have been kinder, gentler, more humble or more pleasant to chat with. Lisa somehow got up the gumption to ask her to join us for dinner at a nearby establishment with a heavy gay clientele who would have probably swamped her. She said, "Do they know I'm here?" I said, "Of course! We've all seen your commercial!" (Said commercial had her lying on a piano and as the camera panned up from her legs, she said, "Who were you expecting? Michelle Pfeiffer?") She declined, citing the need to elevate her foot from the Minneapolis mishap as well as tend to a cold she'd picked up. Before we left, I began to ask her about songs she hadn't sung, including "Hard Hearted Hannah" and, inexplicably, "The Man in the Moon" from her legendary performance in "Mame." She agreed to put that one in the show asap! She eventually took the show to Broadway where is was known as "Bea Arthur on Broadway: Just Between Friends" and was nominated for a Tony in the Special Event category. (She was bested by "Elaine Stritch at Liberty." This was the year that she accepted the award instead of the producers and was cut off by the orchestra, creating a bit of a tempest in a teapot!)

She kept indicating poor Billy Goldenberg who, at the time, I didn't know from a hole in the wall! I might have expected my cohorts to, but they didn't either. He wound up serving as our photographer for the night!! Our picture was a little ghastly because I wasn't expecting her to lean in for a very snug hug (not that I didn't welcome it!) Not too long afterwards, I found myself singing five of Mr. Goldenberg's songs in the show "Ballroom" and dearly wished that I'd have demonstrated a little more appreciation towards him. But he had to know that most people there were on-hand to see Bea.

In shimmering blue sport coat singing the songs of Billy Goldenberg for "Ballroom." (Not, however, the most famous tune from the show, "Fifty Percent!")

As the new millennium dawned, I was beginning to finally trip across one celebrity or another about once a year, it seemed. Out here in what I sometimes affectionately refer to as the armpit of America, you sometimes have to really dig to find a star around... Yes, in the early-1990s I'd once caught a glimpse of the back half of Billy Ray Cyrus' mullet during a CD signing at a grocery superstore (truth!) and my best friend and I had later been caught polka-ing at the annual and notably famous Oktoberfest Zinzinnati by that year's honorary leader of the chicken dance, Cheers' George Wendt (who put my bestie Deana on his lap and exclaimed that he'd never in his life seen two people have more fun on a dance floor than us!) But generally stars were few and far between in these here parts. And the breadth of quality among them was quite fitting for the city which happened to give the world both Roy Rogers and Charles Manson!

We happen to have a very well-respected zoo here and each December the place is heavily festooned with countless colorful bulbs (originally the wondrously glowing variety, but in more recent times the cooler, dimmer, but more cost-efficient and colorful, LED ones.) Dubbed the Festival of Lights, the zoo and botanical gardens become a winter wonderland, attracting hordes of visitors who want to see Santa or the reindeer or the penguins, among other things. (Hometown names like Drew and Nick Lachey have helped light the tree on various occasions and also help draw a crowd.)

I worked at this event for many years, first as a costumed character like Rudolph or Frosty or an enigmatic penguin, then later (when I felt too old or too fat to stuff myself into a fuzzy costume!) as a handler. Handlers accompany the costumed figures out into the ducky melee and help ward off ankle-biters, shin-kickers or naughty teens who want to shove or throw a punch! Ha ha! In fact, this is me as the penguin on local TV, hamming it up and trying to grab focus from the on-air talent. The joke was on me, though. In my haste to get dressed and run up the hill to be certain of winning a spot on Channel 64, I accidentally donned the penguin head with the panda bear body! (And was duly chastised by the event organizer afterwards.) Thereafter, I referred to this creation as a "Dr. Moreau." So often, oddly enough, the moms took the pictures while the dads snuggled in with the kid/kids.  This afforded me countless opportunities to throw my arms around a big, sweet, handsome father, who, otherwise might have crossed the street to avoid me!  They were always very "hands on" with the stuffed characters as they somehow must have a non-threatening, asexual quality which allows these yummy husbands and fathers to "cheat" right in front of their wives! (Naturally, if the dad was repellent or unattractive, I'd just stand there and wave......no hugging!) 

Once, while parading around as Frosty and doing the usual goofy dances and waves and snuggling with the (surprisingly) adorable kids who were touring the zoo, a father and daughter came up to me and, though the little girl was precious with long curly hair and a little pink coat and seemed interested in me, she was sort of wary.  I reached out gently to her, but it became clear that she just wasn't going to be able to deal with me alone.  So her dad (who fell into the "cute" category) decided to pick her up and bring her over to me.  He seemed rather familiar to me, but I couldn't place him.  He was in a long black coat and had one of those black head and ear wraps on so that it was difficult to see anything except his face.  One thing that stood out was his pair of very bright grey eyes.  I just figured I had seen him someplace before, but just didn't know where.  He got in next to me and (of course) I draped my arm on his shoulder and cozied up to him for the picture.  The shot didn't work right so we repeated this (with me even closer this time and going for a full embrace!)  Then my escort was talking to a lady with red earmuffs and long brown hair.  She said to the lady, "I'm such a fan!"  

As the couple reunited and began to walk away, the husband turned back and looked at me (as Frosty) with the most odd expression.  He stared at me as if he could see right through the mammoth head and gave me a big smile.  It was at that precise moment that the escort grabbed my arm and nearly pulled it out of its socket.  "Do you know who that was?", she yelped.  "Vince Gill and Amy Grant!"  Of course!  That's who it was!  They are in town for a Christmas show.  I have to say......I have never, even for a second, thought that Vince was attractive.  I don't know why.  He was just sort of there... (And to this day I couldn't name a single song of his.) But in person, he was very charming and handsome and exceedingly normal and without ANY celebrity affectations or pretentions.  He was genuine and friendly and totally average in his behavior, which was a good thing.  I briefly enjoyed Amy's crossover period from Christian to Pop, but as a fellow vocalist, I was always critical of her almost total lack of enunciation. ("Vavvy, vavvy.." Ha ha!)

That's the actual costume I was wearing, though this is not a picture of me in it. I gave Mr. Gill two thumbs up for his gentle, gracious demeanor and willingness to wait like anyone else for a photo op with Frosty. (Not to mention his refusal to be offended by my pawing! LOL)

I just couldn't believe it.  Somewhere in Tennessee, Amy Grant has a family photo album (embla- zoned in gold - "My Grown Up Christmas List Book") that will house a photo with her daughter and Vince and ME in it!!!!!   You just don't expect to have VINCE GILL wander up to you at the Cincinnati Zoo and ask if he can have his picture taken with you! I kept yammering about that back in the dressing area....about how Vince Gill asked if HE could have his picture taken with ME. They said, "Yeah... but what would have happened if you hadn't had your Frosty head on" to which I replied, "Then he would have wanted my autograph as well!"

11th Anniversary "Celeb"ration! 1, 2, 3 & 4

Yes, chickens, P.U. (what's that stench?! ha ha!) has recently turned 11 and in honor of the occasion, we're relaying that same number of celebrity encounters in what we believe to be chronological order. As an only child of the '70s, television and old movies often became my closest friends for better or worse. As a result, I came to regard the faces I viewed on-screen as idols and icons worthy of tribute (whether they truly deserved it or not!) I'm happy to say that I have not yet had a celebrity encounter in which I left the meeting less happy with the person that I was when I arrived. On the contrary, most of the people enhanced my opinion of them quite a bit.

As a teen, working the drive-thru at a local Wendy's, I had aspirations of being a journalist. I all but worshiped a local newscaster who I watched on TV at every opportunity. Once, he came through the drive-thru and as he was awaiting his order, I asked him for an autograph - I had pen and paper on-hand - and he curtly declined, brushing me off with the excuse that he didn't have time. (I should have made damned sure he GOT the time by delaying his order!) That bruising experience by a self-important nobody who few people can recall now was, fortunately, my only such encounter. Never again, to date, have a run across anyone famous who wasn't charming and gracious, thank God.

The first time I ever met an real, honest to goodness, famous personality was in the late-1980s. By that time I was a waiter at Red Lobster, which was located across the street and up slightly from a Moore's Nautilus fitness center. (The very concept of fitness - or even a gym - was completely counter to my existence on Earth at the time! It wasn't until 1992 that I first set foot in one, apart from childhood visits to the YMCA for swimming.) A series of commercials were being filmed there featuring a two-time Mr. Universe, who'd proceeded to the title role on a popular television series.

Yes, The Incredible Hulk himself, Lou Ferrigno was in the neigh- borhood and hungry after a long day of filming. The large entourage came into our close-by restaurant on their dinner break. Ferrigno was personable and good-natured though there was a bit of a wait in order to accommodate a party as large as theirs was. I had not actually ever seen very much of the show as it was not the sort of program I was drawn to at the time. (Not glitzy enough, truth be told! And it really wasn't very close to the comic conception of the character - more like a sci-fi update of The Fugitive, as I would learn later on.) Still, it was neat to be in the presence of a highly-known figure.

There was grumbling amidst some of the staff at the time that Ferrigno's wife Carla was a bit abrasive and demanding and not at all receptive to the notion that they could not be seated immediately and somewhere private (!), though I do have to say that as his manager she likely had a lot on her shoulders at that moment, trying to look out for his best interests and juggle all the details of a commercial shoot. Ferrigno and she wed in 1980 and are together still today, so that's quite an accomplishment in their business.

My first encounter with a famous actor in which I got to do more than just briefly nod hello happened in the spring of 1989. I had attended Northern Kentucky University for three years, majoring in Radio, Television & Film, before abandoning that notion in favor of pursuing a career in restaurant management. Before I left NKU, I appeared in one of their stage productions, "The Mikado" (not one you're likely to see much of these days, but it was utterly delightful!), so I was familiar with the theatre department. They had a yearly festival of new material and this time managed to land a guest actor who was quite well known to me.

How I managed to hold on to this clipping through five different apartments and now my house is a complete mystery to me, but I did! I guess I just thought it was special enough a moment to keep a memento of. Mark Lenard was brought in to star in a play called "The Beast."

At the time of this performance, Lenard had been making supporting appearances in several of the big-screen series of Star Trek movies. I knew him from his roles on the original Star Trek in which he'd played, first, a Romulan and then, most memorably, Mr. Spock's father Sarek. I'd also grown up watching afternoon reruns of Here Come the Brides, on which he played the chief antagonist.

Knowing he was likely to be there one afternoon for rehearsal, a friend and I brazenly went to the campus, headed to the main stage and waltzed right onto the premises without invitation or warning! I marvel now at how matter-of-factly we just showed up and expected to see and meet Mr. Lenard! And you know what? We did. We stood in the wings until a break occurred, then introduced ourselves (!) and proceeded to speak to him about our affection and admiration for him and his work. He couldn't possibly have been any more genial, appreciative of our interest or patient with our incoherent ramblings.

Lenard had appeared as a guest on countless TV series over the years and was a familiar face. He was also a regular on the short-lived TV series Planet of the Apes as General Urko. I was petrified of him as a child and somehow wound up with the Mego action figure of this character, which also scared me. LOL I never played with that one at night...!

After a 6-year absence, I began to work on stage again and that second occasion caused the acting bug to sting me badly. I took up a strong interest in theatre and my step-mother (in one of the few thoughtful things she ever did!) would occasionally arrange tickets for the family to attend touring musical productions. (It was through this that I was able to hear Robert Goulet sing Emile De Becque in "South Pacific" in person and it was stunning.) Along about 1995 or so, the Broadway revival of "Grease" came to town. Rex Smith had starred in it in NYC, but departed the tour at a certain point to take his place beside Diahann Carroll in the Canadian production of "Sunset Blvd." Thus, the big name by the time we saw it was one Brooke Shields as Rizzo. Also on board was Sally Struthers as Miss Lynch.

Additionally, the small but flashy role of disc jockey and dance MC Vince Fontaine was portrayed by onetime Monkee Davy Jones. Now Brooke was all right and Sally was fun (though she would be put to much better use a few years later as Miss Hannigan in a tour of "Annie"), but we were in some serious nosebleed seats at an extremely old, if grand, theater. So without benefit of binoculars, they were merely colorful ants on stage. The seats themselves were tiny (and I was reed slim at the time - a rare occasion in itself!) so at Intermission many people rose and went out into the stairway to stretch their legs. For some insane reason, we basically stayed put, even though doing so almost meant that our heads touched the ceiling when we stood up.

Much to my astonishment, in through the entrance door came Davy Jones! No worries of his head hitting the ceiling. He was excitedly greeting everyone he encountered and handing out signed photos, much like the one seen here. I could hardly believe that he took the trouble to use Intermission as an opportunity to climb all the way up to the cheap seats to thank and greet the viewers there! He was very animated and friendly. We had no camera, never expecting to come upon the teen idol of millions (or anyone else of note!) but it was fun to get to meet him. I, who always cling to anything I'm given that is showbiz related, later made a rare gesture of kindness and bestowed that autographed photo to a chef at the country club where I worked who had always idolized Jones. She was ecstatic to receive the hand-signed photo.

Now in this next (and last) section, I am going to use an abridged version of a very lengthy e-mail I sent out to friends and family in those days (October, 2002) before you could recount things to the masses on Facebook or a blog. It details a highly memorable encounter with one Richard Simmons, who'd come to town for a Women's Health Expo (held in a huge empty mall) that a female friend hornswaggled me into attending with her. I have used his workout videos off and on for years.  Though I find him to be an odd duck, he is so infectiously motivational and inspirational and committed to what he does, I can't help but like him.  And I enjoy his tapes because no matter how bad I've let myself go, I'm always more fit and attractive than the bulk of the people on the videos!

A probably now-forgotten project with the parents of famous performers!

We went to the area where he was supposed to be.  It was crowded and there was hubbub near a door that had a black curtain over it.  So we went over there and took turns saying such revelations as "I see his hair!", "I saw him tying his shoe!" and "He's wearing red with sparklies on it!"  It was a sort of VIP room with lots of misfits coming in and out and getting to pose with him for pictures, etc...  I had brought my camera and a video of his to sign if I got the chance.  Not too much later, he came bursting out and onto the stage. (The shot of him in the inset was taken by me.) We got in the back of the crowd (of probably an easy 150 people just on the floor, if not more, and many surrounding and above us) and watched as he got everyone riled up.  All the chairs had been cleared away and everyone was encouraged to spread out and get ready to sweat. 
   

He took a load of people up on stage to workout behind him.  I hadn't raised my hand as I didn't really want to be up there sweating and bending and plopping around in front of a crowd of probably 300 or more.  Then for his first routine, he asked a black guy with a white derby to come up and workout next to him.  The closet doors were basically ripped off when Richard said, "That li'l white hat is turnin' me ON!"   The guy proceeded to steal the spotlight with a series of gyrations, button ripping shirt openings and so on.  So Richard.....to regain focus....yanked his shorts down to his ankles (!) revealing a pair of 10 year-old boy tighty-whitey underpants!  So we got into the spirit and began to workout with the crowd.  It was a fun time and we were both working up a good sweat.  He did many routines to all sorts of popular and oldies music. 

Then........it happened.  He looked out into the expanse of the crowd and pointed my way and said, "YOU!  In the white t-shirt!  Get up here!!"  A lady two rows in front of me started to take her purse off her shoulder and go up to him.  He said (in his trademark brash voice), "NO!  Not YOU!!   HIM!!," pointing at me!!!!!!  Needless to say I was flabbergasted, but I had to obey orders!  I went up to the stage and he jumped in the arms of a big guy all in black who was on the other side of him.  I was terrified he would do the same to me, so I made the sign of the cross and backed up.  This got a laugh.  Then "Jump" by The Pointer Sisters came on and we were on our way with the workout.  I struggled to stay in time and on the right feet as Vickie dutifully snapped pictures of me on stage next to Richard Simmons!!  At one point, he got flirty, so I jokingly went all the way to the farthest edge of the stage.  Then when he acted sort of faux hurt or bemused, I turned and did my best Olivia Newton-John "Grease" walk towards him which tore up the crowd again!  Before long, my little moment in the sun was over and I (soaked from head to toe) went back into the throng. 

Afterwards, we got in line to meet him in person.  It was like a Beatles concert, with frantic pushing, shoving, cutting line...! When I FINALLY made it to the man, I said, "People have no manners at all!  They are so excited to see you they'll do anything to get to you!" and he said, "Hey! It's my disco partner!"  He was extremely friendly and accommodating.  He gave us each signed 5x7's, signed our videos, posed for pictures and kissed us each twice and hugged me!

It seems whenever I meet anyone of note, I myself am at a low ebb somehow. I'm either fat, sweaty, bedraggled or a combination of all three. Whenever I'm looking my best and trimmed down, there's no one in sight! Ha ha!  I'll be back with more celebrity encounters as we mark the 11th birthday of Poseidon's Underworld.