Terry Masek: Here are my encounters with the famous
Many people chase fame and when they find it, they try to hide from it. The rest of us make efforts to meet the famous, thinking that such a brush with greatness will somehow enhance our own lives. I must admit that I, too, have fallen under the spell of celebrity and would enjoy documenting a few of my own experiences in today's column.
My first glimpse of a famous person occurred in 1960 when a senator from Massachusetts by the name of John F. Kennedy took his motorcade through the streets of my hometown. He was a Catholic Democrat and my parents were Catholic Democrats, so they took my 10-year-old self to see this future president-in-the-making. I was not eligible to vote at the time, but, in retrospect, I thought it was a pretty big deal to witness my first public figure in person. Little did I know that only three years later, I'd be sent home from school to learn the details of this man's assassination on network TV.
My next episode of celebrity attraction occurred with a star who wasn't yet a star. In 1967, when I was still a girl-shy high school student, an actress by the name of Goldie Hawn was a supporting player in a short-lived situation comedy called "Good Morning, World." After seeing her in a couple of episodes, I felt compelled to write my first fan letter to a celebrity. Not only was the non-famous Goldie kind enough to reply, but we exchanged a number of friendly communications back and forth in this pre-Laugh-In, pre-movie-star portion of her career. Kurt Russell eventually became the man in her life, but I have some small satisfaction knowing that I was on the very fringe of Goldie's life in those early days.
In 1974, I was a graduate student who thought Groucho Marx was the funniest, most irreverent, most anti-authoritarian comedian ever. I had seen all of the Marx Brothers movies and had read all of Groucho's books. I wanted to reach out to him and have some kind of direct contact. What could I do to impress him and catch his interest? I thought I'd ask for an autographed photo, but I wanted to offer him something in return as a form of exchange. So I sent Groucho an autographed photo of myself and asked him to return the favor. Groucho apparently enjoyed my effort and sent me back the photo I requested with the words "nice letter" written on the side. I compared signatures with what was available online and saw that the autograph I received appeared to be genuine.
During the 1976 Olympics at Innsbruck, Austria, an American skater named Dorothy Hamill won the country's hearts along with the gold medal for women's figure skating. For a time, she also captured my infatuation. My inquisitive nature had me discovering that she hailed from Riverside, Connecticut. Naive as I was at that early point in my life, I thought it would be a good idea to get her phone number from directory assistance and give her a congratulatory call. Since she was only 19 at the time, I assumed that she'd still be living at home with her parents. I got the number, built my courage, and made the call.
Surprisingly, Dorothy's father answered and we had a very pleasant conversation. He told me that Dorothy was in Colorado training for the Ice Capades. After I congratulated him on the success of his daughter and told him how the entire country was proud of her, he mentioned that he'd been getting so many calls similar to mine that he'd soon be getting an unlisted phone number.
I've worked as a volunteer for the John Deere Classic for many years. In 1996, a 20-year-old amateur golfing phenom named Tiger Woods came to play in the Quad City Classic (as it was called at the time) at the Oakwood Country Club in Coal Valley. My goal was to meet him and get an autograph. As luck would have it—and since my committee had access to the pro locker room at the time—I was able to meet Tiger and get his autograph on his very first day of tournament practice.
Finally, my last celebrity contact occurred during one of the Bix at 6 practice runs. Four-time Boston Marathon winner and perennial Bix 7 participant Bill Rodgers was running—and laboring—with plantar fasciitis—and so was I. As we trudged up Brady and turned on to Kirkwood, I had the rare opportunity to chat with this running legend for nearly two miles before he began to run ahead. It was my best Bix memory ever.
Terry Masek, of Moline, is an occasional columnist for this newspaper.
