That’s me in the middle at Temple Grove in 1965.
Have you ever met someone famous? Not just been in the audience. Really met them. Had a real conversation that wasn’t just you gushing about how you love their work.
If you haven’t had that opportunity, imagine for a moment what it would be like.
You’ve probably played that game where someone asks who from history you’d like to meet. But have you ever thought about whether you could actually have a normal conversation with that person?
Or would you be like one of those characters in the movies who is so starstruck they can barely put two words together?
I’m pretty sure my reaction would be just as embarrassing as anything I’ve ever seen in a movie.
So, in the interest of helping you avoid a similar disaster, here’s my sage advice:
If you’re going to meet someone famous (or even semi-famous), do it either before you realize they’re famous or before they become famous.
In this way, you’ll avoid becoming a blathering idiot as most starstruck regular people tend to do.
Case 1: He Was Just Andrew’s Dad
It started with a normal, regular, adult conversation at a birthday party at the Discovery Zone in Pittsburgh, PA’s North Hills neighborhood in the 90s. He was the birthday boy’s dad.
The birthday boy was my son Hunter’s kindergarten classmate, Andrew. It was still early in the school year—before Andrew and Hunter became best friends. Before they started having play dates at one another’s homes.
That normal, everyday conversation at Discovery Zone took place 3 days before I processed the fact that Andrew’s last name was Romero. And that Andrew’s dad’s name was George
O.M. Goodness! I’m not even a zombie fan. Yes, I did watch Night of the Living Dead once. When I was in college. And I wasn’t interested in repeating the experience. (Horror just isn’t my genre.) But still…
George Romero! Yikes!!!
Thank goodness I hadn’t known who Andrew’s dad was before I met him. Otherwise, the conversation on my end would have gone like this: uh-uh-uh-something-unintelligible-uh.
Are you with me?
But because the conversation came first, before the recognition, I was able to be totally cool and normal later when George stepped into my foyer to pick up Andrew after a play date.
Hence my advice, dear reader.
If you’re going to meet someone famous (or even semi-famous), do it either before you realize they’re famous or before they become famous.
Case 2: He Was Just Kevin’s Big Brother
It was early evening at Temple Grove Campground in Mercer County, PA. My gaggle of Baby Boomer friends and I raced each other to the big white canvas tent where we’d have evening children’s church.
Our parents were all headed in the opposite direction to the even bigger white canvas tent where they would be able to enjoy their own evening service in peace.
We took our seats toward the front on the rented flat-seated wooden folding chairs. We fidgeted and tried to fan ourselves a bit, as 10- or 11-year-olds will do in a hot tent in July, while we waited for the service to start.
And then he stepped into the tent. Tall, grown up, well-built, handsome. Totally crush-worthy. He was Kevin’s brother, someone whispered.
As the service started, it was the normal stuff. A fun camp song to get our attention. “We’re on the Upward Trail.” Followed by a more calm, serious song to settle us down. “Kum By Yah.” Then a prayer. And then… Barry stood up.
As he started telling us a story, he used a piece of charcoal to draw elements from the tale on a plain white sheet of flip-chart paper. A number. A fish. A meandering stream.
I was transfixed by the story and the sight of art being created right before my eyes. (Later, they told us what he had done was called a chalk talk.)
And then, the story was over. And there on the paper, no longer just a disconnected smattering of tiny elements of a story, was the face of Christ.
O. M. Goodness!
It isn’t quite accurate to say I “met” Barry Biddle that day. It’s not like someone said, “Sharon, I’d like you to meet Barry Biddle,” as I shook his hand. I was just one girl in a sea of young faces, after all.
I might have told him I loved his talk. Maybe. Probably not.
If I was a grown-up I would have for sure. He was a guest speaker, after all. It would have been the normal thing to do.
Plus on that day, he wasn’t yet a renowned Kansas City artist. He had only recently graduated from Graceland College (where, a decade later, Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner would become its most famous graduate). The ink on Barry’s art degree was barely dry.
No, on that day in July 1965, few people had yet glimpsed the artistry that in 10 years would grace the cover of Décor Magazine and be blatantly copied by Hallmark Cards.
On that day, he was just Kevin’s big brother. Who was an amazing artist. I was impressed, but not intimidated.
I’m Still Impressed, But…
Fifty-plus years later, Barry is now my big brother. (Technically, he’s my step-mother’s step-son.)
Being a family member, I’ve been surprised by the effect the prospect of meeting Barry could have on someone. The thought that someone could be even a little starstruck over him just never occurred to me.
But then I started The Hunt for the Lost Biddles. I started looking for copies of his limited-edition silk screen prints from the 70s not seen by anyone close to him for 50 years.
The very first one I found came to me from a Kansas City antique store via Etsy. The owner gave me the distinct impression she could very likely become starstruck were she to meet him. I didn’t expect that.
I guess that’s what it must be like for young children of famous actors…(or famous directors!)
Anyhow, the Next Time You Meet Someone Famous…
…or even semi-famous, try to do it either before you realize they’re famous or before they become famous.
And, barring that, just remember… inhale… exhale.
And then pretend they’re just a person like you. Because they are.
