My Brushes With Greatness, Part One

I have come to the conclusion, over the years, that celebrities just like me. They must. After all, for someone who has never lived in either New York or LA, I've had an enormous number of meaningless encounters with people who are well known, either from show business or politics (if there's really any difference), over the course of my life.

The first one, I guess, was the then center for the then San Francisco Warriors, Nate Thurmond. The then owner of the then Warriors was then a parishoner at the Catholic Church that sponsored the school that I was attending. Then. As a result of this connection, Nate Thurmond, all 6'11" of him, sat at the dais in our school gym at the year-end sports banquet. I was there to be awarded certificates for having been ejected from both the 5th grade basketball and baseball teams for refraining from appearing at practices and games. (I was also bounced from being an altar boy for similar reasons. It was a banner year.)

I also that year, as part of the annual Christmas Seal drive, sold the aforementioned seals to the maid of then-Councilwoman Dianne Feinstein, who lived a few doors down the hill on Lyon Street. I know this may not completely count since I never met the lady herself, but I did meet her front door and her maid, which is more than most people can say. And just for the record, pretty nice digs.

Of course, a few members of The Jefferson Airplane moved in about half a block from us on Washington Street in 1969. I don't think I ever saw them, but I might have seen the moving van.

And remember when George Harrison led a procession of Hell's angels and assorted hangers-on around Golden Gate Park in the summer of 1967? Well, I was conveniently located only half-a-block away on 36th Avenue at the time. And I'm sure that, as George promenaded around Spreckel's Lake that day, that he was heard to inquire about that "that lad who lost his boat here." All right. Maybe not sure.

Moving to Rhode Island in 1970 really put a crimp in the activities of my celebrity stalkers, although I did come to know a fair number of local TV and radio folk over time. I did, also, once meet a true player on a national level, former U.S. Senator John O. Pastore, who stopped into a gas station I was working at to ask directions to Bishop Hendricken High School. He was very nice and I was somewhat less than helpful. He thanked me anyway.

I also knew a guy who was Meredith Viera's stalker back when she worked at Channel 10. He also stalked Caroline Kennedy. I fully intend to discuss this fellow with Meredith some day, God willing.