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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Life Experience
- Published: 02/16/2021
I’ve never been very adept at spotting celebrities. Not because I don’t recognize them, I simply can’t figure out why their faces seem familiar. It isn’t facial blindness but more of a mental blind spot. A few years back as we walked west on New York City’s 47th street after a Sunday matinee, I told Louise a woman who just past us looked very familiar. My wife was about to respond but I cut her off by saying with confidence, “Pretty sure she’s one of the secretaries at the middle school.” Louise stopped in her tracks. After a few steps I turned to look back as she stared at me like I was a simpleton. “What?” I asked innocently.
She stood shaking her head. “That was Joan Rivers,” my wife told me, as if explaining rudimentary addition to a kindergartner.
“Oh wow. You’re right,” I replied, impressed with her encyclopedic knowledge.
“I simply do not understand,” she continued incredulously as we began walking again, “how you could possibly mistake one of the most iconic authors and comedians in America for a secretary at the middle school.”
“Well,” I said, trying to come up with something to defend my shoddy cognitive abilities, “at least I remembered her from somewhere. Hey, can you please walk a bit faster? I’m starved.” Of course by this time I was in a huff for having missed the chance to nod a friendly ‘good afternoon’ to the great Ms Rivers.
During the ninth season’s filming of Blue Bloods, a long running NYC police drama, we got work on set as background extras. In one scene a principal actor, Donnie Wahlberg—Mark’s younger brother—elbows me aside as he ducks beneath crime scene tape in Central Park. There were at least twenty takes to get the action exactly as the director wanted; that’s how many times Mr. Wahlberg pushed past me. And yet if I were to step outside my door and bump into Donnie, chances are good I’d be racking my brain wondering why the guy seems so familiar. I recognize a celebrity as someone I should know, I just never remember why I should know them.
By December of 1972, the year I should’ve graduated high school, the majestic State Theater in New Brunswick had fallen into a sad state of dilapidation. The stench of race riots from the late sixties still lingered in the downtown streets along with mold inside the theater, so moviegoers migrated to the surrounding malls and new multiplex cinemas of nearby suburbs. After a brief closure, the owners of the State partnered with a redevelopment company hired by the city and were granted permits to hold a few live concerts.
One such event featured a relatively local artist from Freehold, Bruce Springsteen. My friend Lopez and I were given t-shirts and hired on as security for the night but never actually told what to do. It was just as well because ticket sales were so abysmal, nobody even bothered collecting them. Lopez and I leaned, even sat, on center stage, smoking cheap weed and staring outward at mostly empty seats. Our backs were turned to Bruce who would soon become “The Boss”. We didn’t pay much attention to his backup instrumentalists either, soon to be known as The E Street Band. Before they even finished performing their breakout album Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ, Lopez and I left through a stage door to get more beer. That album would be released less than a month later on January 5, 1973 and rocket to top the charts by that summer. If I don’t recognize Mr. Springsteen, it’s because I was too stoned when we first met.
Although my facial cognitive disconnect has probably robbed me of many opportunities to acknowledge celebrities in person, it’s less frustrating, and way less embarrassing, than mistaking someone for being famous who isn’t. I assert this with confidence based on my own experience.
When I was in my mid twenties, someone erroneously approached me on a city street insisting I was the singer and songwriter Sting, front man for a popular band back then called The Police. While this encounter eventually proved a bit awkward for the woman with hypersensitive recognition skills, I found it complimentary to be mistaken for an attractive rock star. As I got older, however, these cases of mistaken identity took a downward turn. I was standing on Broadway, outside ABC Carpets, smoking a cigarette and waiting for my wife to emerge when two young men sidled up for a photo op assuming I was Keith Richards, lead guitarist for The Rolling Stones. No disrespect to Keith’s artistry on guitar, but a quick internet search of Mr. Richards will reveal why this isn’t one hundred percent flattering. Lastly, one of my employers for the aforementioned background work recently sent a text informing me I should audition for a role as Salvador Dali lookalike. Although grateful for the opportunity, I responded with a polite ‘no thanks’ and not just because I happened to be out of town.
Still Bill, 02/08/2021
Familiar Faces(Still Bill)
I’ve never been very adept at spotting celebrities. Not because I don’t recognize them, I simply can’t figure out why their faces seem familiar. It isn’t facial blindness but more of a mental blind spot. A few years back as we walked west on New York City’s 47th street after a Sunday matinee, I told Louise a woman who just past us looked very familiar. My wife was about to respond but I cut her off by saying with confidence, “Pretty sure she’s one of the secretaries at the middle school.” Louise stopped in her tracks. After a few steps I turned to look back as she stared at me like I was a simpleton. “What?” I asked innocently.
She stood shaking her head. “That was Joan Rivers,” my wife told me, as if explaining rudimentary addition to a kindergartner.
“Oh wow. You’re right,” I replied, impressed with her encyclopedic knowledge.
“I simply do not understand,” she continued incredulously as we began walking again, “how you could possibly mistake one of the most iconic authors and comedians in America for a secretary at the middle school.”
“Well,” I said, trying to come up with something to defend my shoddy cognitive abilities, “at least I remembered her from somewhere. Hey, can you please walk a bit faster? I’m starved.” Of course by this time I was in a huff for having missed the chance to nod a friendly ‘good afternoon’ to the great Ms Rivers.
During the ninth season’s filming of Blue Bloods, a long running NYC police drama, we got work on set as background extras. In one scene a principal actor, Donnie Wahlberg—Mark’s younger brother—elbows me aside as he ducks beneath crime scene tape in Central Park. There were at least twenty takes to get the action exactly as the director wanted; that’s how many times Mr. Wahlberg pushed past me. And yet if I were to step outside my door and bump into Donnie, chances are good I’d be racking my brain wondering why the guy seems so familiar. I recognize a celebrity as someone I should know, I just never remember why I should know them.
By December of 1972, the year I should’ve graduated high school, the majestic State Theater in New Brunswick had fallen into a sad state of dilapidation. The stench of race riots from the late sixties still lingered in the downtown streets along with mold inside the theater, so moviegoers migrated to the surrounding malls and new multiplex cinemas of nearby suburbs. After a brief closure, the owners of the State partnered with a redevelopment company hired by the city and were granted permits to hold a few live concerts.
One such event featured a relatively local artist from Freehold, Bruce Springsteen. My friend Lopez and I were given t-shirts and hired on as security for the night but never actually told what to do. It was just as well because ticket sales were so abysmal, nobody even bothered collecting them. Lopez and I leaned, even sat, on center stage, smoking cheap weed and staring outward at mostly empty seats. Our backs were turned to Bruce who would soon become “The Boss”. We didn’t pay much attention to his backup instrumentalists either, soon to be known as The E Street Band. Before they even finished performing their breakout album Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ, Lopez and I left through a stage door to get more beer. That album would be released less than a month later on January 5, 1973 and rocket to top the charts by that summer. If I don’t recognize Mr. Springsteen, it’s because I was too stoned when we first met.
Although my facial cognitive disconnect has probably robbed me of many opportunities to acknowledge celebrities in person, it’s less frustrating, and way less embarrassing, than mistaking someone for being famous who isn’t. I assert this with confidence based on my own experience.
When I was in my mid twenties, someone erroneously approached me on a city street insisting I was the singer and songwriter Sting, front man for a popular band back then called The Police. While this encounter eventually proved a bit awkward for the woman with hypersensitive recognition skills, I found it complimentary to be mistaken for an attractive rock star. As I got older, however, these cases of mistaken identity took a downward turn. I was standing on Broadway, outside ABC Carpets, smoking a cigarette and waiting for my wife to emerge when two young men sidled up for a photo op assuming I was Keith Richards, lead guitarist for The Rolling Stones. No disrespect to Keith’s artistry on guitar, but a quick internet search of Mr. Richards will reveal why this isn’t one hundred percent flattering. Lastly, one of my employers for the aforementioned background work recently sent a text informing me I should audition for a role as Salvador Dali lookalike. Although grateful for the opportunity, I responded with a polite ‘no thanks’ and not just because I happened to be out of town.
Still Bill, 02/08/2021
Lillian Kazmierczak
03/13/2022That was a great read, Bill. I chuckled through the whole story. Know that you are not alone in this, I spent 4 hours sitting next to Marty Reisen (Tracy Austin's tennis coach) on a plane, had a great conversation and I had his book in my bag the whole time. He was probably waiting for me to ask him to sign it. When I get off the plane I realized who he was and a friend assured me I was right. The sweetheart he was, he autographed the book and said His ego took a blow in the plane! Luckily for you, Joann Rivers never knew you thought she worked at the middle school, or you would have been her next comedy bit! Great bit of writing Bill!
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Still Bill
03/15/2022Haha! Now THAT’S a close encounter! My wife once used an exercise bike in a small hotel gym for half an hour next to Tom Jones; they exchanged pleasantries but she was too intimidated to ask for an autograph!
Thanks again for reading,
Bill
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Louise Bader
02/16/2021The phenomenon of fame is an interesting topic. Enjoyed reading you funny experience being almost famous.
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