I am well past the point where I am star-struck by celebrities. Yes, there was a time when I was, like many, somewhat enamored of a TV or movie star. Of course, I was about 16-years-old. I have written about the first time I met
Alvy Moore who played Hank Kimble on Green Acres; and you can read about it here. Again, I was 16 and he was such a nice man that he well-deserved the esteem in which I held him.
However, as I grew older and got used to, in my media career, meeting these people, I discovered that they are simply people. Some are incredibly nice and some are—and I won’t mention any names here (Reggie Jackson)—total jerks.
Old Blue Eyes
In my early days of radio, there was an instant where I embarrassed myself by my excitement over meeting a celebrity. I was a rookie at a Palm Springs radio station and Frank Sinatra was scheduled to come in one day to record a commercial for his wife’s fundraiser (The Barbara Sinatra Children’s Center). I was just hoping I could get a glimpse of him when he came in. I mean, really. Mr. Sinatra was a mega-star, a legend in his own time and I was, and still am, a fan.
The program director had assigned the job to one of our more seasoned professionals but Mr. Sinatra arrived two hours early and, as he and a friend were coming up the stairs, my boss turned to me and said, “Get in the production room and get ready to record him.” I remember my palms sweating as I thought to myself, please don’t screw up!
When he came into the studio, I said, “Hello, sir. We’re ready to roll.” He glanced at me and nodded his head. I rolled the tape and said, “Don’t be nervous.” My little joke went over like a lead balloon. He turned those blue eyes on me and they appeared as cold as steel. I cleared my throat (and maybe moistened myself) and said, “Whenever you’re ready, sir.”
He read the script in one take. It was five seconds too long and he sort of bumbled through it as if this was the first time he’d read it, but I wasn’t about to have him read it again. He asked, “Got it?” And I said, “Yes, sir.” He turned to leave and I came around the console and said, “Sir. May I shake your hand? I’ve always wanted to meet you.” He turned back to me and shook my hand, saying, “It was nice working with you today.” Pretty cool.
Three years later, I had worked my way to the position of Program Director. Since I was the boss, I had a nice office near the front of the station and, again, Mr. Sinatra was coming in to be a guest on one of our afternoon programs. I was sitting at my desk when he arrived and he zipped right past my door. I was not going to chase him down just to say hello. Yet, as I was regretting that I had missed a chance, he popped back into my doorway. He said, “May I come in?” Frank Sinatra is asking me if he can come into my office?!!?
“Of course, sir!” I was standing up to come around to greet him and he said, “Don’t get up for me.” Of course, I did anyway and he extended his hand and said, “It’s good to see you again.”
He didn’t use my name and I wasn’t sure if he actually remembered me or was just being polite to one of the managers of the station(s). Either way, he was being most gracious.
And many of the celebrities I’ve met when I was producing a monthly television program for United Cerebral Palsy of the Inland Empire were wonderful people. Television hosts Jack Narz and his brother, Tom Kennedy, come quickly to mind. Producing the annual Arthritis Foundation Telethon in the Coachella Valley found me working each year with Maureen Reagan and her mother, Jane Wyman. Got to the point where I could call them friends.
Is it a Polo Puck?
But the one who snubbed me, completely ignored me, did one of the nicest things for me and, though it was over 30 years ago, I can still picture it and will never forget it.
For reasons, which now escape my memory, I was out at some polo club in Coachella. It may even be where they now have the annual music festivals. I’m sure I was assigned to be there for a radio station promotion I had to do. It was probably a charity, celebrity polo match; some kind of fund-raiser. I had my eldest son with me who was about eight- or nine-years-old.
I can’t recall who owned the place but he was this mega-rich guy and, as they often do, he had some connection to the entertainment industry. Juice Newton (who had top ten hits at the time with Angel of the Morning, Queen of Hearts and others) was there to sing the National Anthem. She sang acapella and did a nice job.
But the real reason most people were there, is that Sylvester Stallone was there as a guest of the club owner and was going to throw out the first polo puck (or whatever it’s called). This was in 1987 or early 1988. He’d just returned from Israel where he was filming Rambo III. I think many of the crowd was there because they’d heard he was going to be there. Again, I can’t honestly remember why I was there or what I was supposed to be doing, but I did find myself glancing around from time to time to see when/if/how he’d arrive. I was wondering where they’d land a helicopter or where they’d park his limo.
At one point, my friend Tom turned to his wife, Mona, and said, “Do you wanna see him?” Then he pointed to the group of about 100 people who were walking across the field from the clubhouse. We were standing on the sidelines of that field and I spotted him right away in the midst of the crowd. He still sported the long hair he had in the movie, had on mirrored wrap-around sunglasses and was holding hands with some redhead. Accompanying him were three astronomically huge body guards.
By that time in my life I’d gotten over placing celebrities on pedestals. But I did admire him. One of my favorite stories is of how he was all but broke yet turned down hundreds of thousands of dollars for his screenplay of Rocky, holding out for (less money but) a starring role. The production company finally accepted and the film was shot in 29 days, eventually earning several Oscar nominations, including two for him, and took home Best Picture that year. That launched his career and I always admired how he stuck to his beliefs.
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I still don’t understand how it happened but the crowd continued towards the stands and I unexpectedly found myself in the heart of the multitude as they swallowed us up and continued past. Without moving an inch, I saw Mr. Stallone walking towards me. I have no idea how it happened but his bodyguards split and an instant later I was right in front of him. I stepped towards him and sort of motioning behind me, said, “Sir. Would you shake hands with my son, Mario.”
He didn’t acknowledge me and brushed right past me. I was a bit taken aback and I turned with him as he walked past. I hadn’t realized that I’d stepped about ten feet away and ahead of my son but I saw Mr. Stallone let go of his woman’s hand and reach down to my boy. As he shook his hand I heard him say, “How you doin’, Mario.” Again, Mario was about eight-years-old but he knew who Rocky was. Mario said nothing but his big eyes said it all.
I said, “Thank you, sir!” But he didn’t acknowledge me and kept on walking.
I understand that these people in the public eye must get pulled in every direction by people nice and otherwise. And I’m sure that once you reach a certain level of fame, everyone wants a piece of you. The heights that Stallone had reached at that point in his career must have seen him being swarmed with people wherever he went. So I really didn’t care that he didn’t acknowledge me. And I will never be able to thank him enough for pausing to shake hands with and talk to my young son.
Once in a while I find myself wondering if he’d one day run across my decorated police officer son and have Mario thank him for stopping to shake his hand that long ago day.
