As a kid I idolized sports heroes and a few other famous people. I got a few autographs and had my picture taken with a few celebrities. What did I know? I was a kid and was taught that’s how it worked.
Over time though, I never knew what to do with the autographs and pictures I had. Does one display them? Should I be proud of the fact that at one brief moment in time a “famous” person and I each stood next to each other for a brief second? Do I need to provide photographic evidence of this chance encounter? Or, is the autograph I asked him/her to sign for me a more apt indication of my brush with celebrity?
Then clarity occurred, reality set in.
After the first football game of my freshman year at the University of Minnesota, upon leaving the home team locker room (as a student equipment manager) a young fan, asked me for my autograph. Apparently this person was confused. Obviously they had no idea that I was just a regular Joe.
Why would ANYBODY want MY autograph? And as I thought about it even more I wondered why would anyone want anyone’s autograph? I’ve never asked for another autograph (except once for my lovely bride) since that day. And, I’ve only posed with a few celebrities for pictures, but I chalk that up to being in group shots with friends I was with.
The autograph I got for my lovely bride was from Michael J. Fox (she was a huge fan). He was at a function we attended years ago. He appeared briefly, looked terrified and uncomfortable and left after fulfilling his obligation.
Michael Keaton was there and after 5 minutes talking with him you knew he was as funny in person as he is in his movies. Richard Dean Anderson (MacGyver) was there too. Nice guy, but he was far less impressive because he wasn’t saving the day with a gum wrapper, a shoe lace, and a AA battery like he did every week on his show.
I learned a lot about celebrities that night. They’re just like you and me.
Only they’re famous. They may be more talented. Generally better looking. And they have more money than we do. Other than that, they’re just like you and I.
The part of celebrity I have trouble understanding these days is the way our society idolizes celebrities.
Dancing With the Stars? Who are these people?
The Kardashians? What have they accomplished?
And who the hell is Ryan Seacrest?
I get perverse joy from the stories where people try to work their way out of situations by asking, “Don’t you know who I am?” Well, sweetheart, if you had to ask, no, the police officer evidently,
A. Doesn’t know who you are.
B. Doesn’t care, or,
C. Knows but doesn’t care.
Any way you slice it, you’re still in a jam, and have made an ass of yourself by having an inflated sense of yourself.
I’m most impressed these days though by the celebrities who are who they are and don’t flaunt their status or use their station in life to get what they want. I’ve seen it first hand in two instances, and was impressed both times.
Years ago, front entrance the Ritz Carlton in Atlanta. I was there to meet with my rep from Apex One (designers of THE worst looking Gopher football uniforms in history). 
The weather was nice, and I was early so I stayed outside and chatted with the doorman. A very sweaty, disheveled, red-faced man in running apparel approached and attempted to enter the hotel. The doorman I was chatting with asked the runner to please use the side entrance rather than walk through the lobby from the front door.
I was incredibly impressed that Phil Knight, founder and majority stock-holder of NIKE, merely told the doorman, “Alright,” and proceeded to the side door. The man could have bought the hotel and had the man fired. Instead he decided to do as he was asked and not raise a stink. Pretty cool.
A few years later, working with the food service at the HHH Metrodome during a Vikings game against the Raiders. A hapless security guard is attempting to keep Al Davis (the President and Senior Operating Partner) of the Raiders out of the press box because he didn’t have a press-box pass. I had one, but it was in my back pocket instead of being displayed. The guard knew me and had let me enter all the time without seeing my pass.
Before Mr. Davis had a chance to protest I mentioned to the security guard that his life would be a lot easier, and his afternoon would go much smoother, if he allowed the guy with the modified Elvis Presley getup, with the slicked back hair, and the bling, into the press box. Upon entering Mr. Davis said to me, referring to the passes needed in NFL stadiums, “Thank you young man, I never remember to wear those damn things.” I replied, “Yeah, I never remember ‘em either.” He laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
I guess celebrities are just regular folks who happen to be famous. Some just handle celebrity (and celebrities) better than others.
Who knew?
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